The Archons *HF*
By Harbinger
THE ARCHONS: A Hell's Fire tale of deceit, revelation, and the spark that ignites a war. By
Harbinger.
NOTE: To fully understand this story, you should have read The Legacy, Judgment Day, The
Kirax War, Vantage Point, and The Rift.
Prologue
Prelude
Many saw Time as the force that conquered all opposition. Nations, individuals, ideals... all were
swept away by the raging forces of Time. By its own whims, men lived and died... nations and
worlds were conquered... destroyed. Some purported to have control of their own destinies... to
be in command of their own future. Some of these people would go one step farther. As Time
wore on, groups would spring from the ashes of conflict, and attempt to control the fates of
billions... attempt to manipulate the gossamer fabric of history itself. The first of these groups
was called the Hellfire Club. Founded after the Fall of Camelot, a few men tried to manipulate the
destiny of the world. For centuries, they were in control... the power behind the power
that dominated Earth. Even when the Club was severed by an internal conflict, its three Courts
held their tremendous power over the heads of the population. Power was their wine, and Earth
was the goblet from which they drank. Perhaps they were too confident in their own abilities to
maintain power... for other groups would appear as Time passed. This is the story of the First of
those challengers to the power.
Part One: First Strike
Moscow. The Present (February 11th, 1999).
"Claudia!!!" Robert Maxwell shrieked. "Where are you?!!"
The roar of the crowd enveloped him. His mind was filled with their voices. Trying to find a
lone, solitary voice within the cacophony was maddening... but he had to try. He felt the panic
around him, as ashes stung his eyes. He was shoved by a group of people trying to escape the
building, and fell to the floor. He instinctively covered himself with a telekinetic shield to keep
himself from being trampled, while he continued his telepathic efforts. Claudia...are you out
there?
Then, the faintest voice came to him. Yes, Robert...I am here.
Are you all right?
No... Got caught in the blast. I'm burned... maybe worse. Barely holding on to
consciousness.
Stay awake for me, Claudia...please. It will help me locate you.
I'll try, Robert.
With all of his telekinetic might, he erected a large bubble of force around his body, throwing
several people off of him. He stormed through the crowd, moving against them. While they were
trying to escape the building, he was trying to get deeper into the complex. Sweat dripped down
his forehead, both from the strain of the telekinetic shield he was holding up, and from the
overbearing pressure of so many terrified minds. It was difficult for him to filter out their
thoughts, even with his psi-baffles active. Amongst the voices, he heard one that sounded
disturbingly calm... and lethal. The first bomb caused precisely enough damage... ten minutes
until the second goes off.
"WHAT?!" the Harbinger shouted. "Dammit!"
For a moment, he debated whether to save Nemesis, or go after this person with the second
bomb. He knew that if he didn't disarm the second bomb, then Claudia could very likely be killed
by it. So he released his mindlink with Nemesis, assuring her that he would be back, and locked
onto the mind of the man who planted the bombs. He found a corridor that seemed relatively
calm, and began to run down it. Doors surrounded him on either side, each leading to a room
that held at least a dozen computers, servers, printers, and other devices of that nature. The
flourescent lights were sporadic, going off and on at random. He instinctively flipped on his
infrared sensor suite, and saw through the darkness. Through one of the walls, he saw a short
man, crouching over something with a cool heat signature. The man's body temperature was
obviously high, and the Harbinger knew he had found his bomber. He raised his arm toward the
wall that hid the bomber, and unleashed a plasma bolt. His telekinetic shield protected him from
the blast, but it threw the short man into another wall. Thank God that didn't set off the
bomb, the Harbinger thought. The short man tried to stand, and the Harbinger quickly
backhanded him with his bionic fist. The bomber was instantly unconscious.
Robert Maxwell knelt before the bomb, and set to work. His fingers deftly opened the case, and
he analyzed the contents. Strips of plastic explosive filled most of the box, with a detonator in the
middle. The timer read 8:34. Looks like about three kilos of C-4 in this thing. And the
wires... so damn many of them. There were wires of varying colors... red, blue, green,
yellow, black, white. He couldn't be sure which was the trigger... which would disarm it. His
optics began electronically scanning the bomb, looking for a weakness within it. Robert Maxwell
didn't notice the short man rising in the shadows. He was knocked forward, the bomb sent
scattering across the floor, to the other end of the corridor. Robert Maxwell cursed, and elbowed
the bomber in the face. "You little shit! You're going to die for this!"
"They call me Vanguard... don't be such a prick when you talk to me. Have a little respect."
"Cowards like you don't deserve respect. You only deserve to die." The Harbinger's bionic hand
stretched outward and clutched the neck of Vanguard. "Now, if you can give me one reason not
to kill you, then I'll consider letting you live. You'll still be turned over to the authorities."
"If I am captured, Nemesis shall die. As will the Clan Chosen."
"You're selling, but I'm not buying. What are you really after?"
"Look into my mind, old man... you'll see."
The Harbinger did a superficial scan, to make certain that it wasn't a trap, and ventured within
Vanguard's mind. The only memory the little man would give him access to was one of...
"...The Obelisk. So you're the bastard that stole it!"
"Not I, personally... but it will be used to destroy your friends, if you do not cooperate."
"Cooperate? You mean, let you blow up the DataNex facility worse than it already is? No
fucking dice." He threw Vanguard into the wall, and telekinetically dropped the same wall onto
him. "If you hurt any of them, I'll see you die very slowly and painfully..."
Vanguard was dazed, but still conscious. He arose from the rubble, and spoke. "You... cannot
hope to match us. We have allies in places you never dreamed! And today, your world will
crumble to the new order..."
"I've heard this shit before. Just tell me which wire to cut, before I cut off your head instead."
"The green one. Or maybe it's the blue one. Red, perhaps? Oh, it seems you have impaired my
memory... must have gotten a concussion from the wall you dropped on me."
"DAMN YOU! How many people are you going to kill here?!"
"As many as it takes! They mean nothing to us!"
"Then you're no better than I am..." the Harbinger said as he turned away. He saw the bomb at
the other end of the corridor, and ran for it. I don't have time to deal with this little ass. He
was just stalling...dammit!
He reached the bomb, just in time to see the timer reach zero. His eyes widened, as the building
exploded.
Part Two: Children of the Battle Mage
Thirty Years Ago. Arcadia.
He was the most powerful mage of his world... the Battle Mage, Luthos. He had earned his title
and power in combat, and through intensive training. His mentor, the great Unferth, had died
over one hundred fifty years before. He had passed to his student one final lesson, in his last day:
the Obelisk Binding. Only one being was ever allowed to possess the Obelisk Binding... and that
person was the Battle Mage. Luthos accepted the mantle from Unferth, and was given his ring.
The ring was molded in the shape of a serpent, with a red tetrahedron atop it. It controlled the
Obelisk itself, and was perhaps the most coveted artifact in Arcadia.
On this night, Luthos lit his way by the light of the ring. He passed tree after tree, hearing the
distant howling of werewolves and necrotaurs. As he neared his destination, he could smell it.
He was approaching the swamp, the place that had seemed very much a home to him these last
several years. The stench of decaying flesh from those unwary travelers who had fallen into it,
combined with the steam that rose from the muck, served to make it a most unpleasant
experience. But that wasn't why he was here. He saw the lights ahead... the coruscating balls of
light. He dissipated the mystical glowing within his ring, and approached the lights. Three
spheres, one of red, one of green, one of blue, one of yellow. "Hello, my children," he said.
He held out his hand, and the yellow one lightly came to rest within his palm. He cupped it in his
hands, and kissed the glowing ball. "My sweet Lynna... it's been too long since I have come to
see you." He released the tiny light, and watched it rejoin the others. "Marianna, Natanya,
L'Tisha... I have missed you all." He sat upon the filthy ground, mere feet from the muck. The
balls of light surrounded him, and danced around his head. He smiled, basking in their gentle
warm glow. They were the Will O' Wisps... the souls of dead children. His children.
He had been away from home, during a campaign against the Maligned, when his children were
taken from him. A pack of Orcs attacked his home village, and slew his children. The Orcs took
his wife as a concubine, only to later feed her to their Master. He was granted this slight reprieve,
for his children came back as these Will O' Wisps. He cradled each one in his hand, and he could
almost make out their tiny forms within the beautiful lights. Lynna, his favorite daughter... so full
of life and joy. She often painted rainbows in the sky with her developing magical abilities... she
was the joy of his life. Marianna was sweet, and shy. She spoke very quietly, and one had to
listen very carefully to hear her words... but they were always worth listening to. Natanya was a
wild spirit, a child of adventure. How she loved to try to tame Wyverns with her magic. He
never found her fearful of anything. L'Tisha was but an infant when the Orcs struck... born after
he had departed for the land of the Maligned. He regretted never getting to see her... she was two
years old when she was killed, impaled by an Orc's spear. His wife, Inya, always tolerated his way
of life. She understood that his purpose was a great one... and she was honored to be his wife.
But he also respected her, remembering the time she stood down a Troll that was demanding
tribute from his family. She struck it in the head with a mystical dart, and knocked it off balance
long enough for the other men in the village to slay it. His family was so dear to him... and he had
lost them all.
He focused on his joyous memories of his family... the times they picnicked on the mountains of
Narth, that day they were invited to join the King of Ansara for a banquet in Luthos' honor. As
the lights danced around him, he playfully reached out to them, tickling them with his fingers.
They made sounds like the chimings of crystals, soothing melodies that slowly tugged his eyes
shut. He fell asleep with his children around him. It was a dreamless, restful slumber... he smiled
as he slept. While he rested, his ring glowed... blood began to run from its gem... and the Will O'
Wisps kept their distance.
The Obelisk was about to be stolen.
--End Prologue--
Chapter One
Part One: The Good of the Whole
The Present. A HYDRA bunker located in the Swiss Alps.
Bluespark's fingers coaxed the keyboard, forcing the distant server to relinquish its secrets. One
by one, classified files were laid bare before him. The Israeli Mossad purportedly had the best
computer security in the world. Here, a mere seventeen year old managed to circumvent the
protocols in under an hour. HYDRA agents stood on either side of him, making sure he didn't
attempt an escape. They had kidnapped him several weeks ago. The new year had barely begun,
and he was already being held at the mercy of an international terrorist organization. Still, it could
have been worse. I could be in Moscow right now, with those people in the DataNex
facility. The thought didn't make him feel any better about his current predicament, however.
At last, he found the file he was instructed to receive. "MUTANT DESIGNATE: The Iceman."
He downloaded the files onto a CD-RW disc, and opened the drive. He plucked the disc from its
seat in the drive, and flipped it like a coin. He grabbed it as it came down, and handed it to one of
the guards. "Can I have my dinner now, or are you going to make me crack the CIA too?" he
asked with a smirk.
"The child has a lot to learn," came a voice from the shadows. "But HYDRA shall break his
spirit."
"Hail HYDRA," Bluespark said. "You know I have complete loyalty to you. But I don't
appreciate being...manhandled...by these goons."
"There is no 'I' or 'you'. There is only HYDRA."
Bluespark sighed. "Right. Does HYDRA wish to see its premier computer expert die of
starvation, or is HYDRA going to keep it sustained?"
"The good of the whole outweighs the good of the one."
"Yeah, well, this 'one' can't keep the 'whole' alive if he's dead."
"You will have to learn, my child, that you do not take such tones with your superiors." Then, to
the guards: "Withhold his food for tonight. Perhaps he will know better tomorrow."
The shadow-cloaked figure left the small room, and Bluespark sat on his bed. The guards
switched off the computer, and watched as he fell into a fitful sleep.
Part Two: Harb the Hero, But with a Complication
Three Weeks Ago. New York City.
Robert Maxwell waited patiently in line at the foreign exchange. Claudia had sent him here to
obtain funds for their trip to Moscow. They were to see the unveiling of the DataNex Center, as
Nemesis was one of the main investors in the project. He sighed as he waited, and casually
listened in on the thoughts of those around him. The woman in front of him had an Aerosmith
tune playing in her mind. He scowled slightly at the taste of the people in this century, and moved
on to the next person. The man standing at the counter was in his late thirties, and toted a gym
bag. He seemed to be in need of a shave, and looked more than a bit nervous. The Harbinger
quickly scanned the bag, and his sensors detected amounts of gunpowder in an arrangement that
indicated... bullets? Great...we're dealing with some kind of terrorist here.
He walked towards the man, as casually as possible, and stood at the counter with him. "Excuse
me," the Harbinger said. "It seems you shortchanged me... this exchange rate is just outrageous.
Would you mind terribly if I asked you to convert my rubles back to American dollars?"
The man looked at the Harbinger, and the teller at the counter spoke. "Sir, if you would get back
into your place in line, then I will be happy to help you when it is your turn."
"Oh, fiddlesticks," Maxwell said as he put his hands into his pockets. "I know those rubles are
right here... if I can just find them..."
The man holding the bag was getting agitated. "Just get back in the back of the line!!! Do you
have a problem listening?"
"Actually, no, my hearing is quite acute. But yours probably won't be after I do this." The
Harbinger punched him in the jaw, then in the stomach, sending him crumpling to the floor. He
took the bag and set it upon the counter, and opened it. "See... guns. I just kept this nut from
robbing you blind. Aren't you thrilled?"
The teller looked absolutely shocked. "How... I mean... thank you. But how did you know he
had guns?"
The would-be robber stood up. "He's probably a stinkin' mutie! That's how he knew!" He
lunged at the Harbinger, and missed. Robert Maxwell drove his fist into the man's abdomen, and
slammed his back against the counter. "And what if I AM a mutant? Do you have a
problem with it?"
"N...No problem at all...*gag*"
"Do you have any electrical tape, miss?" the Harbinger asked the teller.
"I... I don't think we do."
"Then I'll do this the old fashioned way." He took his fist and punched the man. Once. Twice.
Three times. His nose was bleeding, and he was unconscious. "There. The police can take care
of him now." He let the man fall limply to the floor, and spoke to the teller. "Now, can you see
about exchanging my currency, please?"
Mere minutes afterwards, police and press were swarming the building. They all heard accounts
of the strange man that prevented a holdup in the foreign exchange, and wanted to meet the man
who had "saved the day". Robert Maxwell felt like the center of attention. And that's exactly
what he was.
"Sir, how does it feel to have prevented this potential tragedy?" one reporter asked him.
"Um...well... I guess I'm just a citizen who is damn sick and tired of this city being overrun with
crime."
"Do you feel like a hero?"
The Harbinger laughed. "No, not really. Anyone would have done the same thing in my place."
"What of the witnesses that believe you are a mutant?"
"I am a mutant. But I pose no danger to anyone...except those who would harm the
innocent."
"Does this mean you're declaring war on the criminal element of this city?"
Oh, damn, I've really backed myself into a corner this time. "Not...exactly. But... I won't
stand for crime tearing this city apart any longer. If I see-- on second thought, I have to be
elsewhere right now." He decided that he was putting himself in jeopardy by being so outgoing
on television, and knew he needed to escape the situation.
"Wait... Sir, where are you--"
But he was already gone. He had that talent sometimes...being able to just disappear in a crowd.
His telepathy allowed to him to accomplish such feats... making his face appear different enough
that he wouldn't be recognized. Of course, on camera, his face would always look the same. But
it served his purpose.
He had performed his errand, and prevented a holdup in the process. Needless to say, he was
feeling fairly good about himself. Then, the thought hit him... What name are they going to
use when they show me on television? Unless that...reporter... a telepath... oh my God...
--End Chapter One--
Chapter Two
Part One: The Theft
Thirty Years Ago. Arcadia.
Taki, the Dragonmaster, came to as the sun's light spilled across the landscape. His career as a
warrior had begun to wane, though his skill had not. His king had cleansed Arcadia of his
enemies, and the world was at peace. Taki himself was quite satisfied. His wife, Lorah, lay next
to him, sleeping soundly. He heard the shouts and cries of his son, who was outside, playing
amongst the other children. In his three hundred years of existence, he had not felt this happy.
He was utterly content... he wanted for nothing, but for this state of bliss to continue.
His village was called Northrim, a small hamlet near the Maligned border. There was a time when
very few men dared tread this soil... so close to the land of the Undead. Tales of unwary travelers
being killed--and worse--disseminated throughout Arcadia, and most stayed away from this land.
But such happenings were long-past, the Undead having been wiped out over a decade ago. The
Dragonmaster stood and put on his robe, a gift from his friend. Luthos had stood by him through
hundreds of campaigns, and they made a formidable duo. He had not seen his comrade in many
sunsets, and wondered idly where his friend had left to. He knew Luthos was a private man, and
typically spoke very little... but he was still concerned. He laughed at the thought. After all, the
Battle Mage was over a thousand years old... he could undoubtedly take care of himself.
...
Luthos awakened with a start. Darkness still enveloped the swamp, but that was not unusual.
Sunlight was never able to permeate this place... so deep within the forest. But he still felt
something was amiss. The lights of his childrens' souls hung in the air, several feet away from
him. He felt a warm liquid on his hand, and looked to it. Blood covered his hand and fingers,
leaking from his ring. He cried out in shock, then quickly regained his calm. He called to his
children, but they would not come to him. "Why? Why does my ring run blood? Why do my
children now flee me?"
He sensed a great disturbance in the magical balance of Arcadia. As he tried to stand, he lost his
footing and fell into the pool of blood. The disruption in mystical energies shook him to the
core... it was unlike anything he had previously experienced. Then, without warning, his hand
raised itself into the air. The ring glowed red hot, and bolts of lightning sprang forth from it.
Each bolt struck one of the Will O' Wisps, and he shouted. "NOOOO! My children!!!"
Their spheres of light shattered and faded, and the ring glowed even brighter. Hands reached
from the swamp, and one clutched his leg. He unfurled a hex bolt at it, crumbling the decayed
fingers. Then the blood that had seeped from his ring ignited into red flame, and consumed him.
He shouted and jumped forward, to escape the burning. He ran through the forest, trying to
escape the blaze that pursued him. He summoned water to his skin, to extinguish the flames on
his body, and continued to flee. His heart was heavy as he ran, and he realized that he had almost
nothing left now. His family had been completely taken from him... worse--by his own power, his
children were destroyed! As he breached the perimeter of the forest, he fell down upon the soft,
lush grass. The sunlight was being obscured by blood red clouds, and a tall man stood over him.
"Battle Mage. Your power is mine."
...
Northrim was in flames. Fire had literally rained from the sky, and consumed the village.
Dragonmaster was trapped beneath the rubble of his hut, and screamed for help. He only prayed
that his son had managed to escape the inferno. He felt his wife's fingers on his palm, and he
rubbed her hand. She did the same to him, so they could be certain the other was still alive. After
several more minutes, he stopped screaming. His wife's fingers lay still...and cold...against his
own. Tears dripped onto the dirt below him, as the straw and wood lay atop him. Around him,
the village was silent. Only the distant smouldering of the dying flames could still be heard.
Northrim was dead.
...
He stood before the Obelisk... the incredible gift of magic, given physical form. Luthos was
trapped in a mystical binding, one that was seemingly created by his own power. The taller man
looked at him. "Yes, it was created of your own power... How else could one contain the 'master'
of this world's magical energy? There is still one thing I require of you, and I have no more time
to waste. If you please..." With a single gesture, Luthos' hand was outstretched. His assailant
created a sword out of nothing, and sliced off the Battle Mage's hand. He took the ring off of the
severed hand, and put it on his own finger. "Thank you... you have been most helpful. Please
don't scream so loudly, though... it's most annoying."
With the last shreds of his power, Luthos summoned his hand and reattached it. He knew he
would be ineffectual as a spellcaster with only one hand, and he had to have it attached once
more. "Who... who told you of our ancient way? How did you know how to obtain my ring?
Why have you done this?"
"Oh, my misguided friend... one learns much when traveling through the dimensions between
Earth and Limbo. I have waited long enough for this moment... I hope you'll forgive my quick
departure. And I foresee dark times ahead for your world... so I suggest you be careful, Luthos."
The man took the ring, and placed it within an indentation upon the Obelisk. Almost immediately,
his body flowed with renewed vigor, and a power older than Arcadia itself. His laugh echoed
throughout the land, as he vanished with the timeless artifact.
Luthos whispered to the dark air around him, "He was a Prophet... he was a Prophet... our
destruction..."
Part Two: The First to Fall
The Present. The IHFC mansion.
The White Queen listened as the same man knocked upon her door repeatedly. "Antoine, I do not
wish to speak to you! Leave me!"
"But Jon... you never explained why you stopped talking to me in the first place!" he shouted
through the door. "I think I at least deserve an explanation!"
She stood, and opened the door. "You worked for HIM! And even GREGOR!"
"Did you know the Prophet? Now...just a damn minute.... I never said I worked for the Prophet!"
"You didn't have to, Antoine! I know what kind of games the man plays... he's using both you
AND Gregor to get to me! And do NOT lie to me and tell me he is dead!"
DuQuesne sighed. "All right... so the Prophet isn't dead. I don't see why you're getting so upset
about this."
"Yes, well..." a third voice came. "That's a long story. And unfortunately, I haven't time to get
into it." With a mere gesture, the White Queen was unconscious.
"P-P... Did you have to do that?" DuQuesne asked.
"Shut up! If you had been doing your job, I wouldn't have had to intervene. Now, to prove your
worth to me, find me the one they call Darque Feonix. And... if at all possible... Ryan Jensen.
These three will make exquisite prisoners for the oncoming war."
"I understand, Prophet. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to Feonix."
"Very good... I'll have the Obelisk shunt the good Nytshade to our warehouse, and then we can
send Feonix and Jensen the same way."
Q and the Prophet left the White Queen's chamber, on to their next victims.
Part Three: Dark Forebodings
The Present. Siberia.
Mythia sat on the ground, her mind deeply concentrating on the task at hand. Deep in the
Siberian wasteland, she found herself at ease... and alone. Her visions came less and less often,
and she found herself needing to know more. After Apothecary had left her in the night, over a
month ago, she had tried to find him. She knew he would go to them... to find the Obelisk. But
she also knew that others sought the mystical artifact. So many others... and well they should. It
held power beyond anything the world had seen. But she was frightened by the fact that one man
had held this power for three decades. She feared the explosion in Moscow was only the
beginning... she saw the connection. There would be only ruin and pain for the people of this
world, if she did not act quickly.
As her efforts produced fruit, she stood. The clouds thundered and gathered over her. She was
struck by the raging lightning, and felt her body being infused with life and energy. What's more,
she was given a new vision... one in which her lover fell by the hand of another. Dead. By the
same man who now held the Obelisk. But it was worse than that... this vision held a greater
threat... one shrouded by the future. Someone... a woman... seemingly above them all..
controlling them as puppets.
Mythia had seen enough. If I'm going to stop this, I have to intervene NOW. She raised
her arms to the sky, and called down the lightning upon her, and she was gone.
--End Chapter Two--
Chapter Three
Part One: The DataNex
Six Hours Ago. The skies over Russia.
Robert Maxwell tinkered with the circuitry in his bionic hand as the plane flew over the Asian
landscape. He was seated at the window, though he didn't bother looking outside the airplane.
He had seen it all before, at least a dozen times. Granted, in his time, this land was a nuclear
waste facility and penal colony, it still didn't look much different. The Black Queen was seated
next to him, entering and retrieving data on her laptop computer. The Harbinger's synthetic skin
shifted, and revealed more of his circuitry. "Cut that out, Robert," Nemesis scolded. "Most of
the people on this jet don't know about us."
"Well, isn't this your private Learjet?"
"Yes, it is... but they still don't know we're mutants. And it's imperative they don't find
out."
"Yeah... 'Claudia Sandubal, respected businesswoman and investor, found to have the X-Factor
gene.' I think the business community would still see dollar signs anyway. The world of money
seems to not particularly care about genetics."
"Be that as it may... we can't take any chances."
"You got it, babe." He shifted the skin back over his cybernetics, and he seemed perfectly human
once more. "I've been a bit concerned about that incident at the foreign exchange, myself. I
know that reporter was telepathic...and my psi-baffles haven't exactly been up to specs lately. I
just hope nothing bad comes of it... as far as I know, all she actually got out of my head was my
name."
"It was an unforgivable lapse in security, Robert. You may have compromised the Court, or
worse."
"If anything happens, I'll take care of it, just like I always do."
"How? More gunplay, more violence?"
"I can be diplomatic!"
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"People always used to tell me to lighten up. So I did. And all you do is jump down my throat
for not being security-conscious enough." He noticed that she was becoming agitated, so he
decided to change the subject. "You know, I really like this suit. And my suede shoes."
"And that ridiculous tie," she added.
"You don't like smiley faces? Killjoy. I brought my jam shorts, by the way."
...
After the jet touched down in Moscow, Nemesis and the Harbinger were chauffeured to the
DataNex center by limousine (courtesy of the Russian government). As they arrived, they were
greeted with a swarm of journalists from around the world. Fortunately, the reporters were
focusing on the other investors... though that may have had a bit to do with the Harbinger's
telepathic persuasion. "Robert, are you controlling the reporters?"
"Nah... not much point. Besides, I think CNN wants your hot body all over their monitors," he
said, indicating a woman holding a CNN microphone that happened to be approaching.
"Get away from me, Robert," she said, and the Harbinger obliged, immersing himself in the
facility.
"Hello. Amelia Johnson, CNN News. You're Claudia Sandubal, right?"
"Yes, I am. I suppose you wish to interview me?"
"If your schedule permits, we could do it right now."
"Very well."
"All right then... in five, four, three, two..."
Nemesis put a fake smile on her own face, at least appearing to be happy to be there. Something
felt wrong to her... desperately wrong. She hoped that Robert would be all right, in the facility by
himself.
"This is Amelia Johnson, CNN News, here at the Russian DataNex Center, located in Moscow.
I'm here with Claudia Sandubal, one of the chief investors in the project. Ms. Sandubal, what
is the function of this building?"
"It is a Research and Development facility, as well as a data archive. It's three hundred
state-of-the-art computers are available for individuals to use, for a small fee. The computers are
also to be leased to universities and corporations for calculations and compilations that take
considerable computing power. Spare CPU power will be loaned to anyone who requires it, after
paying a modest connection fee. It's part of a massive project to rebuild the battered Russian
economy, and if it is successful here, more facilities like this can spring up all over the planet."
"What about those who cannot afford the fees being charged here?"
"We have several computers set aside for public use, and those do not carry a use charge. Their
drawback, however, is that they have slower connections than the other, more powerful,
computers."
"And does this facility impact more than just the local Moscow area?"
"Yes, definitely. You see, any computer on the planet may pay to use the computers within, and
will be connected to them at incredible speeds, in upwards of three hundred megabits per second.
The systems have multi-language support, and are tied into the very backbone of the Internet:
banks and businesses."
"It sounds like quite an impressive facility, Ms. Sandubal. Would you mind taking us on a tour?"
"Not at all... if you'll just follow me."
After several minutes walking through the facility, Nemesis stopped at one of the computer labs.
"This room contains thirty Silicon Graphics Workstations, which can be used for--"
Her words were cut off by a jarring explosion from within the computer lab. The door was blown
from its hinges, on top of her, and she was knocked senseless. People were screaming, running,
trying to escape. The explosion had impaired her hearing, yet she could still hear the screams of
those that were inside the room when it exploded. Robert...
...
The Harbinger sat up with a start, expecting a fight. Instead, he was greeted with silence...
darkness. His mind had been replaying the day's events, except through Claudia's eyes. Such was
the psionic link they sometimes shared. His body ached, and his cybernetics were sluggish to
respond. His optical replacement seemed to work sufficiently, and he switched to infrared bands.
Still, darkness. "Dammit, what's wrong with this thing..."
Something struck him at the base of his skull, and he was once more unconscious.
--End Chapter Three--
Chapter Four
Part One: The King is in Check
The Present. The IHFC mansion.
Darque Feonix attempted his meditations, today just like any other day. And, as usual, his
relaxation was battered and chafed and otherwise disrupted by the curse Anti Christ had placed
upon him. His visions were still unfocused, and he was never quite able to truly gain any insight
from them. But there was also a bright side to his disability: it was a good lesson in humility. He
had always acted very aloof and superior around the other members of the Club, and now found
himself functioning at less than optimum performance. Maybe he would think twice before
dismissing the problems of others as meaningless and insignificant.
As he hovered in the air, a presence was detected at the periphery of his senses. "You don't have
to pretend I don't know you're there. Come out and identify yourself," he said, his eyes still shut.
He heard footsteps approach him, and he slowly lowered himself to the floor. He stood, eyes
open, and faced the stranger. "And you are..?"
"I am called the Prophet. But my name is quite meaningless... since I have something far more to
offer you." He slapped Feonix across the face, and the White Rook recoiled from the blow.
"Why did you do that??" he demanded, then discovered the reason on his own: for the first time
in months, he was having a clear, distinct vision. While its exact details eluded him afterward, he
experienced a full ten seconds of crystal clear precognition. Then, the chaos that had reigned in
his mind returned, and he looked at the Prophet suspiciously.
"That is just a taste of what I can do. If you wish, I could remove your curse completely..."
"At what price?"
"I ask very little. I only need your assistance in helping me 'acquire' Johnathan Delcroix and Ryan
Jensen."
"As long as you don't harm either of them, I'll help you. Ryan, I'd be more than happy to help you
with. But I want the pleasure of killing him myself. I assume that is your objective?"
"Not exactly. But he will only serve a limited purpose. What becomes of him after he performs
the function I require matters little to me. You can do with him as you will."
"Then you've got a deal."
"Splendid."
...
"Why did you do it?"
"Hmm?"
"Why did you resurrect them? You know they'll just pose a threat to you later."
"My dear Ryan... I am the undisputed ruler of Hell now. I have billions of souls at my command.
No mortal human--or mutant--could be more to me than a passing annoyance. I revived them all
for your sake... and perhaps for the sakes of the others who survived. You would have certainly
blamed yourself for their deaths... and you could hardly be held responsible for them, as you were
incapacitated by Anti Christ at the time."
"That's not an answer. You don't do things out of the goodness of your heart."
"Rest assured, I will collect the debt someday. Perhaps sooner than you think."
"I'm not your ally. They aren't your allies. We'll never do your bidding."
"Not voluntarily, perhaps... but you will do it nonetheless." The HellGoat sighed. "But not
today. Today, you have a greater challenge to face. If you triumph, we shall meet again."
"Wait, what are--"
"Farewell, Ryan." The HellGoat vanished before the Red King could say another word. As he sat
in his swiveling chair, he pondered taking a nap, noticing his schedule for the rest of the day was
free. "Maybe some evening news would calm me..."
He flipped a switch, and a projector lowered from the ceiling. A screen dropped several feet
before it, and the projector hummed to life. The channel was already on CNN Headline News,
and so he didn't have to bother with his remote. "This was the scene in Moscow earlier today,
as..." The rest of the words faded into nothingness, as he began to black out. He heard voices
speaking above him. "We must still retrieve Blaze, Feonix. Where is he?"
"I can take you to him."
"Allow me to send the Elemental on his way... and we'll be on our way."
"Understood."
Ryan felt the chair shift beneath him, and then leave him altogether. Rather, he left it. As
his alertness waned, he had the most horrible sensation of suffocation, a perception that was most
often the accomplice of a teleportation effect...
Part Two: Too Much Information
The Present. Los Angeles.
Damon Stanford had been running for hours. They were after him, he was certain... though he
didn't know who they were. He suspected they were the same individuals that had been
infiltrating his computer for the past few months, but he wasn't certain. His lack of contact from
the Harbinger unsettled him even further, doing little to alleviate his uneasiness. He heard the
footsteps behind him, as he turned down an alley. They weren't shooting at him, though he wasn't
quite sure why. He assumed they didn't wish to wake the neighborhood, as it would probably
compromise their pursuit. He panted heavily, and looked behind him. Seeing nothing, he turned
forward just in time to barrel into a cluster of garbage cans. Papers, rotted food, and
miscellaneous trash rained about him, and he caught a stray cat's escape in the corner of his eye.
Before he could stand up, he had several guns pointed in his face. They all bore silencers, and the
men over him were dressed in darkness.
"What should we do with him?" one asked.
The only man not holding a weapon, apparently the one in command, spoke. "He already knows
too much about Project: ReduX. Kill him."
"N-no--" were the only words Damon Stanford managed to utter before his life was ended.
Part Three: Dangerously Close
The Present. Along the banks of the Hudson River.
The rain followed him, even now, as it had always done before. Where others had snow and hail
and sleet, he was only greeted with the rain. All his life, it had always been so. He had never
been told his true origin, as he had really no idea where he came from. His entire life was lived on
this Earth, though it had been three thousand years since his earliest memory. He had been many
things in his life... once a missionary, later a feudal lord. Still later, a jouster, and a smithy, and a
spellcaster. When the time came, he even explored the New World, finding wonders that the Old
World could never have supplied him. He had first awakened in the Valley of Armageddon three
millenia ago, still but a child. If not for the kindness of those he had never before met, he would
have perished of thirst. He never learned where he came from, in all his years. Why would he be
denied that single truth? He once believed he had eternity to find his origins... but the twentieth
century taught him otherwise. Having brought order to parts of the Old West, surviving the First
World War, he thought he could handle any challenge. Yet, in one instant of overconfidence, his
life was shattered. Captured and twisted into part of the sentinel program, he could no longer
look upon himself with anything other than rage and utter disgust. While he called himself the
Apothecary, he had no potions to cure his own ails... his own troubles. Then there was
Vengeance, the sword that had been with him for nearly two millenia. Some said that deep within
the blade lay a sliver of Excalibur itself... whether the rumors were true, he could not verify. Even
the Harbinger had been at a loss to explain the composition of the sword. He had discovered
Vengeance purely by chance. It was stuck in the center of a road in Germany, near Frankfurt. He
searched for years to find the owner... to no avail. He eventually accepted it as his own, knowing
the true owner was probably long dead by then, anyway.
He had been so completely immersed in his retrospective, he had not even noticed it. The sheath
that held his sword was glowing. He drew Vengeance from it, and looked at the golden emblem
on its hilt. What had normally been an engraving of a golden star had become a blood red
pyramid. He looked around, seeing that he was still walking by the banks of the Hudson River,
and smiled. He had only heard of a red pyramid from two individuals: Luthos and Dragonmaster.
And it was always in their descriptions of the Obelisk. And so his dreams were about to be
realized. He spoke to himself in hushed, secretive tones. "I don't know how--or why--but this
sword is somehow connected to the Obelisk. And if it's behaving this way... then it could only
mean one thing... the Obelisk is near."
--End Chapter Four--
Chapter Five
Part One: At the NYSE
The Present. The New York Stock Exchange.
The Clan Chosen were standing on the balcony overlooking the floor of the New York Stock
Exchange. It had been Nedereth's idea, for he wished to check the status of his current (minor)
investments.
"If you wanted to know how the market's doing," Thresh complained, "You could have just tuned
to CNN FN or something."
"But it's nothing like actually being here," Nedereth countered. "I haven't seen this floor in
years!"
"What are you invested in, anyway?" she asked.
"I am just checking on my Microsoft stock... it's making money for now, at least. Not that I'll live
long enough to enjoy it."
"Yipee," Thresh said sarcastically. "Why aren't we looking for Bluespark?"
"How would we find him? He vanished without a trace. I'm sure he can take care of himself."
Luthos and Dragonmaster were sitting, conversing with each other. "Have you felt any
emanations from the Obelisk?" Dragonmaster asked.
"I felt a surge this morning... though I am uncertain why. It would be easier if I knew this world
more intimately."
"And Apothecary, too, searches for the Obelisk. I hope we beat him to it."
"So do I. He would not know what to do with its power... it could very well kill him. And he
would take all the power of the Obelisk with him... leaving Arcadia in darkness."
"I doubt Poth would be able to find the Obelisk," Nedereth said, sitting next to Luthos. "I mean,
he even resorted to sneaking aboard Inferno to siphon information out of us. Information
we didn't have."
"Speaking of which," Dragonmaster said, "When have you last contacted the Harbinger?"
"I haven't talked to him since before we left his arctic base. Knowing him, he probably hasn't even
realized that we left."
"It's more than likely that he's in Moscow, looking over that DataNex thing," Thresh said. "I
noticed that every time he heard something about it, he looked kind of tense and uneasy. Like it
meant something to him."
"It's his business, I suppose," Nedereth said. "We can't drag it out of him. And if he wants to
speak to us badly enough, he'll contact us himself."
"And what of our funds?" Luthos inquired.
"Oh, we have enough to last us indefinitely," Nedereth said. "But I'm feeling kind of bored... we
haven't made an old-fashioned hit or done an espionage job in quite awhile."
"I haven't killed anything in months," Dragonmaster said.
"Well, enough talk," Nedereth said. "Where to next?"
"How about--" Thresh began, before she saw Luthos fall forward out of his chair. He writhed on
the floor, clutching his wrist. The wound that had been inflicted upon him thirty years earlier
became evident, and blood ran from the laceration on his wrist. Only by the force of his will did
his hand stay attached to his arm. "C-can't take it... they can't...."
"Luthos! What's wrong with your wrist?" Thresh asked.
His eyes darkened, and the whites of his eyes turned darker than his own skin. "Won't...can't...
the Obelisk... you have to stop them!"
"Let's get him out of here, now," Nedereth said quietly to Thresh. Nedereth and Dragonmaster
picked up the Battle Mage, and carried him out of the Stock Exchange.
Part Two: Awakened, Alone
The Present. Somewhere.
Robert Maxwell came to again, this time ready to fight. He stood up, and glanced around
quickly. He turned on his night vision, and saw that he was in a small closet. "Now why the hell
didn't my optics work before..."
When he found the door, he slowly turned the doorknob. He stepped out of the small room, and
into a larger one. There was enough ambient light in this room for him to see unaided. He
returned his optics to the visible wavelengths, and he saw it. The crimson pyramid was the first
indication... but the stone, semi-rectangular column below it was further proof. The crimson
color permeated the room. The pyramid itself glowed faintly, a small disc of white light bouncing
around slowly within it. The inscriptions and indentations upon the object were quickly translated
to him. They were the instructions for controlling the object itself, but were vague and cryptic.
What caught his eye was a part that talked about the "light of a dead child's soul". He reached out
to touch the object, becoming more and more convinced it was the Obelisk. A spark of energy
leapt from the pyramid to strike his intruding finger, and he shouted, drawing it back. "Damn,
that smarts... I guess touching is not allowed."
"Excellent, you are awake."
"What? Well, I'll be damned."
Before him stood Vanguard, none the worse for wear from their fracas in Moscow. "The Obelisk
has tremendous healing power... but only to those who wield its power."
"Stop bragging. Where's Claudia?"
"Ahh... the woman that accompanied you to Moscow? She put up quite a fight. After awhile, she
begged and pleaded and tried to bribe her way out. Her injuries eventually claimed her, though
our methods of extracting information probably didn't help much."
"Liar. I'd know if she were dead." To the depths of my soul, I would know it...
"She is not important now. When the Prophet returns, all your questions will be answered. And
you'll have some company, as well."
"Swell. Anyone I know?"
"Oh, at least a few of them are passing acquaintances of yours..."
Part Three: The Capture of Gregor
The Present. The home of Gregor McMendl. (Albany, New York)
He tossed and turned in his bed, unable to get any rest. He wished that Vicki were with him. The
young cosmetologist he had met a few weeks before, quite by accident, was on his mind a lot
lately. Her eyes were the first thing he had noticed about her... they were of the deepest emerald,
and infinitely more precious. She lived nearby, not more than a half hour's drive away, but he was
reluctant to visit her. He knew that getting involved with her, at this point in time, would
probably be in poor judgment. There were too many things happening around him, things that
could put her at risk. Despite his resignation and severance from the Hellfire Clubs, he found
himself constantly drawn into their affairs. Whether he liked it or not, he would always be tied to
the Club. By his brother, Avalon, and by his own history with it...
"Having trouble sleeping?" a woman called to him.
"What? Vicki?" he said, half-consciously.
"I'm afraid not..."
"Then who is it? How did you get in here?" He didn't feel himself to be in any danger. Beneath
his blankets he was generating a knife composed of the pollutants in the air, a tactic he hoped his
potential attacker hadn't anticipated.
"If you need something to call me, let it be 'Clairvoyance.' Whether you come willingly or not is
entirely your decision. But, one way or another, you'll be coming with me."
"Clairvoyance? Sounds like the kind of name an Archon would use."
"I am aware of your former alignment with our organization."
"So they've corrupted yet another person... How old are you?"
"Twenty-four. And I joined of my own accord... I was not forced."
"I hate to hurt you just because you're following orders, but..." He jumped from his bed, and
leaped for her with his sulfurous knife. From his perspective, she moved more quickly than was
humanly possible. Before he knew it, his dagger had been wrestled from his hand, and had
dissipated back into the air. She stood before him, smiling. "How the hell did you do that?" he
demanded.
"Time-dilation. I slowed down the time field around you... and that allowed me to take your
weapon. I was warned of your mutant ability."
"Talk about an unfair advantage..."
"Shut up," she said, as she accelerated his temporal field.
He felt himself tiring, time was slowing down around him (or maybe it was speeding up for him?
he wasn't sure). He dropped to the floor, sleeping peacefully.
With a thought, Clairvoyance summoned an Obelisk portal, and she and Gregor McMendl
vanished into it.
--End Chapter Five--
Chapter Six
Part One: A Most Timely Interruption
The Present. The BHC mansion.
He laid her down gently, not breaking their embrace. He put his hands around her waist and lifted
her shirt half up. He broke the kiss and lowered his lips to her smooth stomach. She winced when
he kissed her there, sucking in her stomach. Obviously ticklish, very handy information Havoc1
thought at the time. He kissed her again, and again she winced. He did it again and looked up at
her face, teasing her.
He felt the soft skin of her ticklish area. He lowered to her jeans. He loosened her belt and slid her
pants and underwear off. Her silky legs separated slightly as the jeans came off. He ran his hand
down the out side of her thighs. He kissed her knee, then started on the inside of her thigh. As he
got higher, the more she winced, just like when he kissed her stomach.
"I think I've seen enough," a voice interrupted. Havoc1 turned around, and Monet opened her
eyes. Neither move nor spoke, both frozen with fear.
"Don't be so frightened, children... I have no interest in your 'fraternizations'. I've simply come to
perform my small, yet important role in the unfolding of the future... the way it should
occur."
Havoc1 and Monet began to feel dizzy and light-headed. The Black Prince tried to stand and
approach the stranger, and stumbled on his feet. The man caught him, and prevented him from
falling to the floor. "Just sleep now... your time shall come, Prince." Havoc1 lost consciousness
in the arms of the stranger, and Monet quickly followed.
"This certainly presents a problem..." he said, noticing Monet's half-naked state. "I certainly hope
she doesn't get cold back at the warehouse." He snapped his fingers, and summoned a portal.
The finger snapping was wholly redundant: he could activate portals with his mind... no gestures
were required. But he had, like the other Archons, developed a certain flair for the summoning of
portals. It was hardly very dramatic to simply conjure one up, without making some pre-emptory
movement...
The Avatar smiled as the Black Prince and the Black Page vanished. His next acquisition would
be Rahsas, Black Bishop.
Part Two: The Prophet
Forty Years Ago. The Realm called Limbo.
He was forced to abandon his quest for peace in this world. "Limbo is simply not ready for my
'radical' ideas," he told himself. The world of his birth no longer wanted him; indeed, it seemed to
wish him dead. It was a dangerous thing to advocate peace in a realm as chaotic as Limbo. Of
course, the Prophet wasn't truly a pacifist. It was simply far easier to subvert a world if it was at
peace, and defenseless. Perhaps his reasoning was incorrect, as the denizens of Limbo descended
upon him. The anger in their eyes indicated to him that he needed to act quickly... his last vision
of Limbo's future revealed more violence than ever, and the exile of one called Belasco to the
Earth. Perhaps I, myself, will trek to the Earthly plane... but not before I gather my own
resources. Through the magic of a scroll he had stolen from N'Astirh, he vanished from
Limbo.
Ten years later, he acquired the Obelisk of Arcadia. He knew it would leave that world in
perpetual darkness and chaos, but he cared little. Arcadia had only negligible potential for
conquest, being inherently primitive, and shatteringly violent. Even if he could assume power, the
constant violence that resulted would reduce the world to cinders... No, he had greater ambitions.
Earth, that so-called 'world-of-opportunity', was his goal. After stealing the Obelisk, he
transferred to Earth... more specifically, the Andes Mountains of South America. Within a cave
he let the ancient relic rest... until such time as he needed its power.
Over the next several years, he began to build a power base. Being precognitive certainly had
tremendous advantages, as it afforded him an edge over others. He could bet on sporting events,
and never lose. He could play the blackjack tables, and always know what the dealer held...
whether to hit or stay. He tried his hand at the stock market, and met with great success. Twelve
years after his arrival on Earth, he had risen to be one of the richest--and most unknown--men in
the world.
It was then that Elaina Tolliver entered--and irrevocably changed--his life.
--End Chapter Six--
Chapter Seven
Part One: First Encounter
Eighteen Years Ago. Tolliver Enterprises.
"Ms. Tolliver, your next appointment is here," came the voice of the secretary.
"Who is it?" Elaina Tolliver asked.
"Navin Langley."
"Send him in."
A few minutes later, he entered her office. The first thing she noticed was his height. At least
seven feet, if not more. As he walked in, he smiled, and his sapphire eyes began to draw her in.
She caught herself staring, and shook her head. "Mr. Langley, I've heard so much about you."
"Likewise, Ms. Tolliver," he said cheerfully.
"Please, take a seat," she said, indicating the chair in front of her desk. He obliged, grinning, and
took his seat.
"That's quite a view you have," he said, peering out the window that revealed a panorama of
Manhattan.
"Thank you. Now, shall we get down to business?"
"Certainly. I have a proposal for you."
"I'm listening."
"When a person becomes as wealthy as I have, one would tend to be target for any number of
schemes and scams... attempts to divest one of his rightfully-earned fortunes."
"I know the feeling. Go on."
"What if I told you I could warn you of these plots and perils ahead of time? Even before
they've been planned!"
"I'd say 'I'll believe it when I see it.'"
"And I foresaw your skepticism. And thus, I brought these..." He reached into his briefcase,
which seemed terribly small in proportion to his large frame. Pulling out a stack of papers, he set
them upon her desk. It was a huge list of dates, and numbers and percentages. "This is the
performance of your company for the next five years."
"Is it now? And I'm meant to believe this?"
"It shall be proven all on its own. Perhaps a test would be in order. What does the list say the
gain in your company's earnings will be this quarter?"
"Six percent. So?"
"The quarter ends next week, does it not?"
"It does. But you could have obtained our projections for the quarter through means of your
own. How else could you have made this list except by guesswork?"
"I see you're going to be difficult about this. So be it... I know you are a mutant, Elaina Tolliver.
And I know that eight years from now, you are going to fake your death and reappear as Jon
Ellen Tolliver, daughter of Elaina Tolliver. And you shall also engage in a romantic liaison
with a man named Gregor McMendl. Then, you will be kidnaped and--"
"Enough! What is it that you are after, Mr. Langley?"
"I am offering you more information of this nature... in exchange for access to your resources,
financial and otherwise."
"What's wrong with your fortune?"
"While I may be extremely wealthy, I am not well known. My name holds very little sway... and
thus it prevents me from acquiring certain data... information that you have the power to
obtain."
"What sort of information?"
"Are you aware of something called Project: ReduX?"
"Vaguely. I've heard the phrase."
"Yes, well, I would appreciate it if you could coordinate your 'resources' to seek out information
about the Project. After you have seen proof of the validity of those papers I have set
before you."
"Six months should be long enough for us to see whether you are deceiving me or not. But
somehow, I am beginning to doubt that you are lying to me."
"Splendid. If you wish to contact me before the six month mark, I'm sure you'll be able to locate
me. Until then... enjoy the information I have given you." He showed himself out the door, and
on to his next task. Things had gone just as he had predicted. In exactly two months, she
would contact him, in utter shock that his predictions had worked out exactly as his
papers indicated. Being precognitive most definitely had its advantages...
Part Two: The Captives
The Present. Warehouse of the Archons.
Robert Maxwell sensed several mental presences enter the room, through some kind of
teleportation (as his EM sensors registered). He detected Ryan Jensen, Jon Tolliver, Havoc1, and
Monet. Sitting up, he spoke. "Okay, I guess now I'm just waiting for Rahsas, Gregor, Blaze,
Darque Feonix, and Silver. Have any of you seen Nemesis?"
Ryan spoke first. "What the hell are you talking about, Maxwell? Is this your doing?"
"ANSWER QUICKLY!" Nytshade warned.
"I have nothing to do with this. I was captured. I'm really sick of being accused of shit all the
time. Now, have any of you seen Nemesis?"
"No, we haven't," Havoc1 said. "I thought you two were in Moscow!"
"We were. Now I don't know where we are, or where she went. Hell, the question could even be
when we are!" The Harbinger looked at the Black Page. "Would anyone like to tell me
why Monet is wearing almost nothing?"
"Oh, damn," Havoc1 said. Monet was unconscious, perhaps from the shock of the teleportation.
But she was still in the same state of undress she had been in before their abduction.
"Don't even bother explaining," the Harbinger said. "Just let me take care of this." He mentally
triggered a massive unleashing of microbots, and they set to work creating garments for Monet.
"I can make a shirt and a pair of pants made of black fabric... that will have to suffice. Doesn't
really look like we're going anywhere anyway." When the microbots finished, he clutched in his
hand the thin shirt and pants. The tailoring was rather shoddy, and the Harbinger knew it, but it
was the best he could produce under the circumstances. He had to save as much of his cybernetic
resources as possible, for the inevitable confrontation with their captors.
Monet slowly came to, and before she even said a word, the Harbinger held out the clothes to her.
"Just get dressed before you say anything," he said.
She put on the black shirt and pants, and noticed their ill fit. The shirt sleeves were a bit long, and
the shirt itself was somewhat short, only coming to within a few inches of her navel. The pants fit
well in the waist, but were a bit on the short side in length. He scanned her thoughts, and spoke.
"I'm not a tailor, Monet. This is as good as it gets. You'll be able to get your real clothes
when we get back to the BHC mansion."
"IF we get back," Jon said.
"Again with the pessimism. You people... argh."
"Who are our captors, Maxwell?" Ryan asked.
"A little group called the Archons. They have the Obelisk of Arcadia. Someone called the
Prophet leads them. He's the one that kidnapped you and the White Queen, Ryan. He's also dead
set on nabbing Rahsas and Darque Feonix."
"He already has Feonix," Ryan said. "In fact, he's the one that attacked me."
"I think I have an idea why," the Harbinger said.
"What?" Jon asked.
"The Prophet probably promised to cure him of the curse Anti Christ gave him. The Obelisk
certainly has the capacity to do that."
"I see. He will pay for this betrayal!" Ryan said.
"Don't fly off the handle so quickly, Ryan. He could also be acting as a double agent... ready to
double-cross them later," Maxwell said.
"That is possible," Jon said.
"This little room feels really cramped," Havoc1 said. "Is there any way out?"
"Well, the short guy, Vanguard, put me back in here a little while ago, and the door
just...vanished... behind him. There are no obvious exits. And it's hard to see with only that bare
light bulb on the ceiling to provide illumination," the Harbinger explained.
"I could mystically scan this room," Nytshade said. She attempted to probe the room for magic
that may be concealing doors and passages, but was instead knocked to the ground by some other
force.
"Jon, are you all right?" Ryan asked.
"Something... something is preventing me from using my magic!" she cried.
"Damn... the Obelisk," the Harbinger said.
--End Chapter Seven--
Chapter Eight
Part One: Erratic Precognition
The Present. The IHFC mansion.
Johnny Blaze was thrown into the wall, nearly knocked senseless. His accelerated speed allowed
him to recover quickly, but not quite quickly enough. Darque Feonix punched Blaze in the jaw,
then kicked him in the stomach. He did it without speaking, for fear he would give himself away.
If I can get the Prophet to trust me... he won't even bother reading my future... I hope.
The Prophet was quite amused by the spectacle. As the Headmaster of the Hellions was beaten
and broken by the White Rook, he glimpsed the progress of his other allies. Clairvoyance had,
indeed, succeeded in taking Gregor McMendl. The Avatar was performing his tasks in the Black
Hellfire mansion. He knew Visionary would succeed in capturing the Clan Chosen very soon.
And Vanguard had already captured the Harbinger and Nemesis, just as he had been instructed.
The fifty-four deaths at the DataNex Center were rationalized by the Prophet as "acceptable
losses". After all, if he succeeded here, it would prevent much more death than it would cause.
The United States government had given him explicit instructions to "hold Manhattan for $100
billion ransom." After the government "complied" with his fabricated demands, he and his
followers would be "assassinated." The funds would "be redeposited into the treasury" and all
would be as if it had never happened. The truth of the situation was much more sinister. The
Archons would keep the money, and use it as research collateral for Project: ReduX. The
government would have total deniability, and he would have a huge sum left over after he
completed the Project. But even that was not the Prophet's intention. No, he would use
the money for his own ends, to overthrow the United States government! He was amused
at the irony. I hold their island hostage, they pay me to complete a project for them, and I use
the money for my own campaign against them! Of course, the higher-ups would never
suspect his true goals... he had spent years developing his own research for Project: ReduX.
Uncle Sam had been impressed with his results, and believed he was very close to finding a
solution for the "mutant problem." Exactly why they had given him the order to hold Manhattan
for ransom, he was uncertain... even with his precognitive abilities. There were simply too many
variables in the equation, though he suspected he was being set up for a fall. Unfortunately, his
own finances had been wiped out. Some inexplicable "bad" investments left him nearly
penniless... he still wasn't quite sure why his power had failed him. But it no longer mattered.
Soon, he would have his money, and be able to destroy the agencies that sought to eliminate him.
He turned his attentions back to Blaze and Feonix. Johnathan Delcroix was unconscious by now,
his nose and lip bleeding. "I did as you ordered," Feonix said.
"You do exquisite work," Prophet said as he shifted Blaze to the Archons' warehouse.
"Who are we going after--" Feonix began, before a blue-skinned man dropped on top of him.
SuperGrover looked at the Prophet, and smiled. "I'm not having a very good day, whoever you
are. Maybe wailing on you for a while would be therapeutic."
The White King jumped at his enemy, and was dismissed in a single motion. The Prophet looked
at the unconscious White King, then at Feonix. "Who is this man?"
"SuperGrover, the White King."
"White King? This is fortunate... otherwise I would have you kill him."
The Prophet was unsettled. Why had his power failed to warn of the imminent attack? He
decided he needed to be more cautious in the future... lest he be taken by surprise again. "Leave
him here, Feonix. He'll never be able to locate us after we're finished anyway."
"Understood. Who is our next target?"
"We have finished our tasks here. Now, we return to my home... and your new home."
Part Two: Enlightened
The Present. Outside the Archons' warehouse.
Mythia dragged the woman along the banks of the Hudson River, looking for a relatively safe
spot. After several minutes, she found an abandoned shack, about the size of a one-car garage,
and pulled Nemesis into it. She hoped this woman would awaken soon, otherwise she'd never be
able to stop the Archons in time. Soon, Nemesis did awaken, and Mythia spoke first. "Don't be
frightened... you are out of danger now."
Nemesis sat up quickly, pushing Mythia away. "Who are you?" she quickly demanded.
"My name is Mythia. You were being held captive by the Archons... the ones who destroyed the
DataNex Center. They had captured you, and were keeping you in one of the rooms in their
warehouse. I don't know where the other is, though..."
"What 'other'?"
"The man you were with. They must have been keeping him in another room. As it is, I don't
think they've realized your absense yet. And I hope they don't."
"Am I supposed to believe this? How do I know you didn't blow up the DataNex?"
"I suppose I cannot prove it to you... but if you agree to be Enlightened, at least for a while... the
truth will become evident in itself."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Enlightened... as I am. I, and those like me, try to prevent changes to the course of history.
Even attempts to repair what has been damaged are harmful to the timeline... and we try to
circumvent them. I know you can understand this, because I know the man you were with is a
time-walker. He trusts you with many secrets."
"Sometimes."
"Will you follow me? I promise your time-walker will not be harmed. I will ensure his safety, if
you agree to join me."
"This is just a temporary alliance?"
Mythia nodded. "After this is over, you can forget we ever crossed paths."
"Sounds fine to me."
Part Three: The Clan Captured
The Present. New York City.
Nedereth knew they were being followed. Two decades spent on battlefields around the world
had taught him well... and he used his assets. He detected only one presence, and decided the
person was either very powerful, or just extremely stupid. He looked at Luthos, Dragonmaster,
and Thresh. He nodded very slightly, and blinked his left eye twice. It was the signal used to
indicate they were being followed. They slowed their pace, but only just enough so that their
pursuer wouldn't notice. After several minutes of this, Nedereth whispered "Now." The
Clan Chosen spun around, Luthos erecting a magical shield, Dragonmaster wielding balls of
flame, Thresh drawing her twin .45's, and Nedereth simply standing by. The man following them
stopped dead in his tracks. He was dressed in leather, and had many spots on his person that
would have been excellent for concealing weaponry. "What is it that you want?" Nedereth said.
"One way or another, we'll find out. Whether it's pleasant for you or not, doesn't matter to us."
The man did not speak... or rather, he couldn't. But the Clan Chosen took his silence as
arrogance, and began their attack. Visionary deflected the first fireball from Dragonmaster, and
drew a knife. He held it upright by the blade, and hurled it at one of Thresh's guns. It struck with
lethal accuracy, knocking the weapon from he hand. Less than a heartbeat later, her other
weapon was sent flying from her hand. Dragonmaster covered his body in flames, and
approached Visionary. Dragonmaster attempted to strike a blow to his assailant, but Visionary
caught his hand, and pushed it back. While Dragonmaster was still in shock, he was punched
twice across the face, and knocked to the ground, his flames dying out. Visionary pulled a long
chain from inside his leather jacket, and began spinning it in the air. As Nedereth attempted to
dodge it, his legs were grabbed by the chain, and he fell forward into the pavement. Visionary
directed a bit of his Obelisk-given energy to dissipating Luthos' protective magic field, and threw
a knife into the Battle Mage's abdomen. As he struggled to pull out the knife, Luthos slipped into
unconsciousness, and Visionary kicked Thresh across the face. Before the Clan Chosen could
recover, he had them sent to their rendezvous with destiny...
--End Chapter Eight--
Interlude One
Part One: Search in Atlanta
Alternate Timeline-Designate 11323. Approx Date: July 23rd, 2078.
The clouds swept across the azure sky, making their unending journey from sunrise to sunset.
The soft shapes of the cumulus clouds looked like many things to the people below. Animals,
vehicles... in some cases, more abstract ideas, like love and justice. But people always looked
upward, in their sense of wonder and amazement. But some had other, more important
reasons for looking up. For some, it was truly a matter of survival.
The jets tore across the clouds, their sonic screams disrupting the peaceful tranquility of the scene.
Their destination was Atlanta... or at least the demilitarized zone that used to be Atlanta.
It had been seven years since the Great Upheaval, the one that led to martial law in the United
States. Atlanta was one of the first cities to be destroyed by rioting and looting. As the jets
approached their goal, they picked up their target. One lone human female. Why send three jets
to assassinate one singular person?
She looked up at the sky, and sensed the oncoming aircraft. She would have no chance of
survival if they began their air strike before she could get to safety, that much she knew. But
there were other dangers here in the Zone. June Freeson spun around as she heard the screeching
of tires, and dove out of the way as an out-of-control bus careened towards her. It barely missed
her, slamming into an abandoned coupe. The impact ignited the ethanol in the vehicles, and they
exploded, sending a hail of plastic and alloys into the air. She brushed her hair out of her face as
she stood up and turned her attention back to the sky. With the cybernetics the Time Corps had
forced into her, she generated a flux in her biological signature, making herself virtually
undetectable from the air. She climbed up the fire escape on one of the bombed-out apartment
buildings, and stood on the roof. Most of the city had been virtually flattened by the continued
firebombings during that first week of the Upheaval. She was disappointed that she had missed
such an incredible event... surely it must have been a stupendous conflict! She sighed, and saw
the jets fly overhead. Her eye caught the Durandal bombs being dropped from the outdated
F-16's, and leaped from the top of the building. She landed in the back of a moving pickup truck,
and kicked in the glass window in the back. She grabbed the throat of the driver, and spoke.
"You are getting out of this truck in two seconds, or I'm ripping your vocal cords out."
He quickly opened his door and jumped out, and she took his place. She slammed her foot to the
accelerator and was about a hundred meters from the apartment building when the bombs struck.
The shock wave sent the truck spinning into an old Radio Shack, and she was dazed when her
head struck the side window. A trickle of blood ran down her head. "Dammit. I still haven't
found what I came for!"
She had been searching for historical records of Justin Mills, AKA DarkWolf. She had visited
several potential timelines, trying to eliminate each possibility. In her home timeline, he had risen
to become Provincial Governor of the Southwestern Territories, the remnants of Arizona, New
Mexico, southern California, Texas, Utah, Nevada, and most of Mexico. He was assassinated in
2034 by a Mexican separatist. But she was certain there was more to him than the historical
records indicated. Since this world wasn't too terribly different from her own, or the one in which
she was currently interfering, she decided any information she could gather would be accurate.
As she stepped out of the truck, she began to ask herself just why she was so interested in Justin
Mills' life. She looked at the building directly ahead. The former Centers for Disease Control,
which later became the Southeastern Data Research Center, and still later, the Jennifer A. Reston
Memorial Hospital. This was the place Justin Mills died in this timeline. If any clues to his past
could be gathered, it would be here that she could find them.
Part Two: Identity Crisis
Primary Timeline. September 3rd, 2066.
The first sight that greeted him as he rose to consciousness was a most disconcerting one. Green
symbols and characters paraded around the periphery of his vision, unintelligible to him. A
fluctuating line rested at the lower left corner of his visual field, vibrating in time with the
footsteps he heard. He quickly assumed that the line was an oscilloscope, and opened his eyes.
The flood of light blinded him, at first, and he groaned. But his eyes quickly adjusted, and a
deluge of data began to coalesce in his visual field. A man stood over him, and a crosshair
quickly formed over the man's face. In the lower right corner, he saw the words "Dr. Tejae
Roland, Specialty: Cybernetics" printed in green letters. Oh my God, he thought.
WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO ME?!?!
The doctor spoke. "Relax, Robert. All your questions will be answered in a moment. First, how
do you feel?"
"I c-can't..." his voice began, cracked and dry. "...can't move my arm... leg."
"Your body is probably still adjusting to the fiber optic connections. You will regain total
mobility in a few days."
"What's all this...this stuff I see?"
"That is your optical replacement. Your optic nerves, too, were replaced with fiber optic wires.
A complete sensor/imaging suite was implanted in your right eye socket, to replace the eye you
lost. We also had to implant a neuroprocessor in the right side of your brain, to control your new
parts as well as to better coordinate healing."
"How... how much did you replace?"
"Thirty-eight percent of your body was deemed unrecoverable. Most of it was either burned
beyond repair, or gangrenous. What is your last memory?"
"I was...aboard the Titus when it was...attacked... they had rescued me from the
Implacable. Had to escape Titus..."
"You didn't get very far. We aren't certain which Confederation ship attacked the Titus,
as you are the only survivor. Your escape pod was found crashed on the asteroid Ceres. It's a
miracle your body didn't shut down completely, given the collateral damage to your biological
systems."
"And...the buzzing in my head?"
"That would be a combination of the enhanced auditory equipment, as well as the psi-baffles we
implanted."
"Psi-baffles?"
"We detected some nebulous activity in your temporal lobe... your intact one, that is. It
corresponded with recorded psionic predispositions, so we took the liberty of curtailing any
psionic abilities you may have."
He was telepathic, that much he was certain of. When June Freeson died in his arms, he felt her
death in his mind... as she took part of him with her. That was why he had fled Earth... the planet
of his birth no longer held anything dear to him. Now he was surrounded by strangers, and was
frightened by the prospect of having lost over a third of his body.
"Who is paying for all this?" he weakly asked.
"The Western Alliance is footing the bill for this one. You were selected because of your parents'
political status, as well as your own specific injuries. They allowed us the greatest number of
avenues for experimentation."
"I'm not a damned machine!" he shouted, though it came out very softly in his weakened state.
"You can't just...just experiment on me!"
"You're lucky we didn't terminate you after the first 'incident'."
"What incident?"
"When we first brought you around about a month ago, you looked at the first intern you spotted
and...well...twisted his head off."
"I WHAT?!!?"
"Please calm down...your cybernetics are still adapting. You need to rest."
"Why don't I remember any of this?"
"We had to erase your memory of that incident, so it wouldn't hinder your progress."
"Where am I, anyway? Where is Richard? Where are my parents?" He was beginning to become
further excited, and the doctor had to hold him down.
"You are in the subterranean complex of the Luna One R&D Facility. Your brother's
whereabouts have not been confirmed. Your parents were killed in an attack on Procyon Prime."
He took a necklace out of his pocket, and placed it in Robert's palm. "Their last wish was for you
to have this."
Robert knew what it was. It was the Focus Key... the object his father always carried. He didn't
believe in the legendary Focus gate, though the necklace made an interesting archeological
artifact. Then the reality struck him... his parents were dead. Though he barely knew
them, what with their gallivanting around the galaxy, spreading peace and Terran ideals, he still
loved them. With the thought, he clutched the key as best he could in his left hand. And what of
his brother? He prayed that Richard, four years his elder, was still alive.
The doctor noticed Robert's silence. "Don't worry... we're going to help you through every step
of your recovery."
"Why have you done this to me? You... you've made me into a.... some kind of... automaton!"
"You're far from that, Robert. You are going to be the first human/cybernetic synthesis on this
scale! No one has ever had injuries this severe and survived long enough to undergo the
cybernetization process. Now, rest. We'll begin your physical therapy first thing in the morning.
Get some sleep."
"How do I turn off all these data readouts that I keep seeing?"
"Your body will adjust... soon, you'll be able to control them mentally. Until then, a switch on the
back of your right hand will deactivate them." The doctor pressed the switch, and the expanded
inputs faded away.
"Thank you."
"Goodnight, Robert... sleep well." The doctor turned out the lights as he left.
The sixteen-year-old Robert Maxwell cried softly in his hospital bed, for the world he had lost,
and the new realm he was about to enter.
--End Interlude One--
Chapter Nine
Part One: Government Intervention
Somewhere in New York City.
"What is your name?"
"Genevieve McAfee."
"How do you know Robert Maxwell?"
"I already told you. I interviewed him after the attempted robbery at the foreign exchange."
"And how did you learn his name?"
"Telepathically. I pulled it from his mind."
"Remember that. And remember that we know that. Your employers would certainly be
uneasy if they knew they had a telepathic reporter, wouldn't they?"
"Probably. What do you want from me?"
"Not much. We simply wish to know what it is you gleaned from this man."
"I told you: all I got was his name."
"That's it?"
"That's IT."
"You are excused, Ms. McAfee."
She stood up from her chair, and headed for the door. It was bad enough having been brought
here against her will. Being grilled for information by people in a different room didn't make it
any easier. What was even more unsettling was that she could get no telepathic impressions from
anyone, which suggested some technology was in place that she wasn't familiar with. As she
exited the room, she let out an uneasy sigh. She collapsed under a blow to the side of her head,
and reality faded out.
"Make sure she doesn't remember any of this," the hidden voice spoke to the guards.
In a nearby room, two men stood looking over the video of their subject. They were fairly certain
she had told them all she knew. But it just wasn't enough.
"We're never going to catch Maxwell if we can't find out more about him," the man who had been
conducting the interrogation said.
"It's not the reporter's fault. She's only a low-level teep anyway. Have you been able to gather
anything else on him?" his colleague asked.
"Nothing. No birth records, no tax records, no employment data. I didn't even have a picture of
the man until McAfee did her little interview with him on the evening news. All we know is that
he was in contact with Damon Stanford. And if he was talking with Stanford, there's a good
chance he knows about ReduX."
"And if he knows about ReduX, then he could blow our entire operation against the Archons."
"Osprey, if Maxwell attempts to interfere in any way whatsoever, I want you to see to his
execution personally."
"Very well, Satomi. It will be a great pleasure. And before I kill him, I'll find out just who he
really is."
"You know something funny? Doesn't he look a lot like Senator Peter Maxwell, from Illinois?"
The eyebrows of the man code-named Osprey rose a bit. "You don't say..."
Suddenly, a third man burst into the room. "Hey.... hey... just a sec." He was panting heavily.
"Rasvin, spit it out, before I get impatient," Satomi demanded.
"Archons... they sent their demands just now. They want.... a hundred billion... or they'll.... sink
Manhattan!"
"Then everything is going according to plan," Osprey gloated. "Prepare the shock troops for
mobilization!"
Part Two: Next Down, Another to Go...
The BHC mansion.
Avalon sat at his computer, perplexed. The Mossad had requested his assistance in apprehending
a hacker that had been infiltrating their systems, and he was more than happy to oblige. His first
order of business had been to scan for open ports on the violated system, determining if the
perpetrator had invaded through one of those. He had to closely monitor each scan, as he knew
that brushing against the wrong port would send an electronic attack back to him. Every time he
thought he had found the right access point, he was knocked out of the system. Whoever had
done this had covered their tracks quite well. After over an hour of trial and error, he found the
mother lode. There was a mass dump of data onto his computer, and a flashing blue lightning bolt
pervaded his screen. "Bluespark," he muttered.
He was about to assess the damage done to his computer, when he heard a THUMP
against a nearby wall. He pressed his ear to it, hearing an unknown voice arguing with Silver.
Silver's voice seemed weak and staggered, as if he were out of breath. Then the wall next to him
crumbled, Silver's body apparently having been hurled through it. The Black King coughed and
tried to rise, but stumbled on the rubble. His nose and lips were bleeding, and he had a nasty gash
on his forehead. Avalon was sure that he was badly bruised... perhaps even with some broken
bones. He was preparing to excite the wires exposed by the crumbled walls to attack Silver's
assailant, when he heard that voice again. "Don't, Avalon. It will do you no good."
Of course, that simply encouraged the Black Prince to go ahead with his strategy. He caused a
power surge in the wires which, instead of electrocuting the approaching assailant, looped
backwards onto him. He screamed in pain, caught in a feedback loop of his own creation, and fell
to the floor.
Silver looked up at the man, anger still burning in his eyes, despite his physically weakened state.
"Don't put yourself through undue suffering, Silver. I have been instructed to bring you in alive.
However, that order did not apply to Avalon. I suggest you cooperate, or your young Prince will
be spending his Valentine's Day in a body bag."
"Who are you?"
"You can call me the Avatar."
"But...you..."
"Died? Death is such a temporary state on this world, isn't it? I see you are wondering how I am
going to take you where you must go. Worry not, I have been given power enough to teleport
you with the least discomfort possible. I truly mean you no harm... for now."
Avatar triggered a portal, and the Black King vanished. He looked at Avalon and, satisfied that
the Prince would be unconscious for several hours, set off to find Gomurr.
Part Three: Sacrifice and Salvation
The Alps. (HYDRA bunker).
He couldn't run fast enough. Too much smoking. Too little exercise. Too much sitting at
computers all day. Mitchell Art simply could not run quickly enough. But he had to. He
had to escape HYDRA. He knew there was some sort of plan involving his comrades, and he was
certain he could stop it now, before it was put into action. He regretted his allegiance to
HYDRA. He only hoped it didn't cost him any more than it already had. He was in the bowels of
the complex, in front of the mainframe system that controlled every function of the bunker. It was
under heavy guard, and he knew he would be spotted any second. The tall cylindrical computer
core hummed softly, bits and bytes slipping from one place to another. And he could stop it all.
He just hoped that his virus would work. He had developed it in his spare time, when he was not
under direct surveillance. It would invade the primary system files, overwrite them, and copy
itself over and over until the computer catastrophically crashed. All data within would be
unrecoverable. At least, that was the idea. There was a catwalk surrounding the core, and there
was a ten foot separation between the railing on the catwalk, and the core itself. He had run as
quickly as he could after knocking out his guard, sliding down stairwells and climbing through the
labyrinthine elevator shafts. He was now not very confident he could make the jump. He took a
deep breath, knowing the lives of his friends rested on his ability to destroy this computer. He
balanced himself on top of the railing, looking down the chasm between himself and the core. He
closed his eyes, reached out his arms, and leapt. He opened his eyes in mid-jump, and clutched at
the ladder attached to the core. Mercifully, his hand clutched one of the rungs, and he was left
dangling against the core. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at that moment. He simply
reached up his other hand, and tightly held one of the rungs. He climbed down quickly to the
nearest access port, and slipped in the diskette he kept in his pocket. He copied all of the files
contained on it to the mainframe, and prepared to execute them. When he was but one keystroke
away from the total failure of the system, an energy beam seared the air next to him. He yelped
and lost his footing and grip, falling down at least a dozen feet until he grabbed the ladder again.
He looked up and saw the woman standing there: Madame HYDRA.
"So the child attempts to corrupt my data? Perhaps you have been taught deception a bit too
well. You know the penalty for betrayal." She nodded, and the guards around her leveled their
weapons on him. By nature, HYDRA agents weren't very good shots. He knew that much.
Having little or no intelligence of their own, they were easily fooled. But he was a sitting duck
here... and he figured a child could easily pick him off from up on the catwalk. In one moment, he
made his decision. He began to climb back up, to press that single key. Scorching beams of pink
and purple energy flashed by him, one striking his leg... another, his arm. But still he climbed.
Tears streaked down his face, the pain was unbearable. After what seemed like an eternity of
climbing, he was face to face with the small screen. He executed the sequence, pressing that
solitary key. His hand was struck by a bolt, and he lost his grip completely. He fell backwards
into the chasm, and closed his eyes. He would die... but he knew that his friends would be safe.
Especially Jennifer.
Suddenly, he felt himself stop, and lurched downward. He groaned in pain, his wounds bleeding
and aching and stinging. The hand gripping the collar of his shirt was not forceful, but it did hold
him firmly. So that he wouldn't choke, his rescuer pulled him up and sat him down upon the
ledge. He looked up, and saw a woman looking down at him. She crouched before him, and
looked into his eyes. He had no idea who she was, and he really didn't care. With a thrust
forward, he fell into her arms, and into a deep sleep.
She wasn't sure why she had saved him. Something told her this boy was important to the
Harbinger. And she wanted to do everything possible to have his favor. The Timebender idly
wondered if saving this one life was any small reparation for all the lives she had willingly snuffed
out in the past. And she could come to only one conclusion.
--End Chapter Nine--
Chapter Ten
Part One: The Makadaran
Along the Hudson River.
"WHAT, DAMN YOU?! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!"
The sword was offering no reply, much to the consternation of Apothecary. It glowed a dull red,
a crimson red, and the symbol of the sun on the sword's hilt was still replaced by a red pyramid.
He was hoping for a map...an arrow...anything that would lead him to the Obelisk. He was
certain that the Obelisk was near...what else could provoke such a reaction from the sword,
Vengeance? But something else was bothering him, as well. At the edge of his perception, he
sensed someone he knew. He had always shared a peculiar link with the woman called Mythia.
He assumed that she had traced him to this location...and he sighed. She always regarded his
quest for the Obelisk as a suicide mission...yet she never told him why. But then, there were
innumerable things she never saw fit to reveal to him. He was convinced she held details of his
past...though he couldn't be sure why he felt that way.
He felt the presence get nearer and nearer, until he turned around and saw them. Mythia stood
before him, with a woman he did not know. "Mythia... why are you here?"
"Franklin," she said, walking up to him. She put her hand on his cheek, and spoke. "You know
why I'm here. I can't let you get yourself killed...not on this suicide quest of yours. You have a
higher purpose."
Apothecary grabbed her arm, a bit more forcefully than, perhaps, he intended to. "DON'T!
Don't give me that 'higher purpose' crap again! Not unless you're going to TELL me
what this blasted purpose is!"
"Franklin--"
"And DON'T CALL ME FRANKLIN! You KNOW that's just a name that I was
given early in this century. I've had too many names to count... none of them a true one."
"I know your true name..." she said, her lips moving close to his ear. "You are the Makadaran."
"What...what is that?"
"Do you want the truth? Would you be able to accept it?"
"Yes! TELL ME!"
Nemesis watched this spectacle intently. She saw the feelings in their eyes as they looked at each
other... this was no ordinary pair. She longed to see those feelings in the eyes of someone else...
someone looking into her own eyes. But it was not to be...not on this day, at least.
"Three thousand Earth-years ago, there was a war on Arcadia... you were born some ten years
before that, to the King of Dremma. He ruled most of Arcadia...until the Maligned invaded.
Knowing his own death was imminent, he used the Obelisk to send you to Earth, where he
thought you would grow into a man, and come back to save your world. He entrusted a man,
Treskin, to venture to Earth and retrieve you when the war was over. Treskin did make it
to Earth... but only long enough to fashion your sword. It was his sword you found in
Germany. He imbued it with the power to return you to Arcadia when the time was right. But
something went wrong. The binding he placed on the sword was faulty... the Battle Mage that
had taught him the method was inaccurate. When Treskin perished in a fire, all knowledge of you
was lost...that is, until I found the records in the Arcadian Gallery. The books had been badly
damaged over the years, but I was able to intimate that you were sent to Earth... and that you may
still be alive. You are the rightful ruler of Arcadia!"
"But why did you come for me?"
"Because I am to be your Queen... I belong to the House of Charon. I had to come for you,
because we need you."
"And what about this 'Makadaran' business?"
"The Makadaran was the deity that ruled Arcadia eons ago. He was an evil being that thrived on
the ways of Chaos and Death. A gathering of the most powerful mages in Arcadia brought him to
his knees, and he was trapped within an Obelisk. They learned that his power was not good or
evil... but that it reflected the personality of the wielder. So it was decided that the Obelisk would
be controlled by the Battle Mage, who was selected for his nobility and compassion, as well as
mystical skill. A ring was fashioned that was to link the Obelisk to the Battle Mage, so that the
Battle Mage could keep in touch with the Obelisk even when he was away from it. But the
importance of the Obelisk cannot be understated. There is a ritual inscribed on the Obelisk itself,
that tells how to actually place the Makadaran within an individual...giving them unimaginable
power. But when the Obelisk was stolen thirty years ago, Arcadia fell into ruin. It had kept our
world in harmony for generations, the Battle Mages using it to fight the evils that plagued
Arcadia. Arcadia was burned and frozen, plagued and famished. That is yet another reason I
came to this Earth."
"Wait a moment...why did you call me the Makadaran?"
"Because you are to be the next avatar of his essence. Your birth had been awaited for so long,
and when you reached adulthood, you were to be anointed as the bearer of the Makadaran. That's
why we have tried so hard to find you! You will usher Arcadia into a golden era, the likes of
which no world, no one, has seen!"
"I...don't know what to say... I had no idea."
"Now that you know the truth... we must find the Obelisk, and bestow upon you the power that is
rightfully yours."
"Yeah, let's get right down to it!" a new voice exclaimed. From out of the trees, three men
appeared. Two looked young and full of life, yet their expressions held a sinister quality that
unsettled Nemesis. The third was older, and seemed much more carefree...and to Nemesis, he
seemed much more amiable.
"Where have you been?" Mythia demanded, her anger quite clear.
"Relax, lady," one of the younger ones said. "We showed up, didn't we?"
Mythia sighed. "Allow me to introduce the rest of the Enlightened. These two young, brash
things call themselves Chaos Bringer, and Czar Say-Tan, respectively. The third just goes by
'Sag'."
"Why are they here?" Nemesis asked.
"I requested their aid, since our situation is precarious. If we intend to take back the Obelisk, we
will need assistance."
Apothecary looked at his sword, which was glowing more intensely. "It's getting brighter,
Mythia."
"It's one of the Tokens of the Obelisk. We will need it to give you the essence of Makadaran,"
Mythia explained. "Guard it with your life."
"I shall."
The five Enlightened, plus Nemesis, ventured forth into the dusk. Violence was certain. Death
was a possibility.
Part Two: Double Trouble
The BHC mansion. Gomurr's quarters.
Gomurr's pen flashed across the papers with mystical efficiency. Magic certainly made his job as
Headmaster a bit less time-consuming. He filled out the grade reports in record time, certainly
more quickly than he had last time. He was satisfied that his power was still waxing. But he also
reminded himself that his life was at a close. It would be less than two centuries before he would
die, to be reincarnated again. That is, of course, assuming he didn't die before then. He couldn't
complain, though. Having some degree of immortality was better than none.
Suddenly, his chair was pulled out from under him. He sensed a fist coming down toward his
face, and he rolled to his right. The fist slammed through the floor, and the wielder of the blow
shouted. Gomurr picked himself up, summoning his bamboo staff. "We'll have none of that," the
intruder said, and the approaching staff fell to the floor, Gomurr's magic seemingly ineffective
upon it.
"What do you want from me?" Gomurr asked, creating a mystical shield around his body.
"Just you. You're just such a popular old magician, aren't you?"
"Why do you seem so--"
"Familiar? Because you killed me once... don't you remember? You and those three brats and the
little one from Robyyn's realm."
"Avatar!"
"At least you haven't gone senile yet. Prophet wouldn't like that one bit."
"I'm sure he wouldn't. Are we going to chat all day, or are you going to try to capture
me?"
"Don't taunt me, you old fool. He didn't say I couldn't break a few bones while bringing you in."
"How did you get past mansion security?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Avatar leaped for Gomurr, who unleashed a hex bolt at the
assailant. Avatar had predicted this move, and moved out of the way. The bolt struck the wall,
leaving an impressive scorch mark. Avatar grabbed Gomurr by the throat, and picked him up.
"Stop struggling...you'll only make this worse."
Gomurr snapped his fingers, and he turned into dust in Avatar's grip. Avatar felt a blow to the
back of his knees, and he fell forward. He braced his fall and somersaulted out of the path of
another hex bolt. Gomurr stood staring at him, bamboo staff in hand.
"Enough of that damn bamboo shoot!" Avatar grabbed it, and tried to wrest it from the old man's
mystically-enhanced clutches. "Maybe you've forgotten the half of Avatar that is Robyyn?"
Avatar summoned a soldier of glass, that proceeded to grab Gomurr. He altered the glass warrior
to create bumps on its large hands...protrusions that would press on just the right parts of
Gomurr's body. Gomurr felt the attack on his pressure points, and struggled in the monster's grip.
He felt his strength leaving him, and he used all of his might to shatter his captor. But all of his
strength was now gone, and when he struck the floor, he passed out.
"A shame," Avatar said. "I expected a bit more of a struggle...especially from you."
Avatar teleported himself and Gomurr back to the Archons' warehouse. The Black Court would
not be aware anything was amiss...at least, not until Avalon woke up.
--End Chapter Ten--
Chapter Eleven
Part One: Rudeness to a Light Socket
The Archons' Warehouse.
Nedereth traced his finger along the joining of the two walls, searching for a weak spot. While a
few cracks were evident, he found them to be strangely impenetrable. He called upon Luthos to
confirm his suspicion.
"Luthos, do you detect any magic around this room?"
The Battle Mage nodded. "This entire building is permeated with mystical energies. In
fact, it's interfering with my own magic... to an extent. I'm limited to magic detection and
defensive spells. And even then, only over short range. But that doesn't concern me... what is
bothering me is that this magic is familiar... as if it were of a type I had forgotten long
ago."
"Could it be the Obelisk?" Thresh asked, laying down on the floor. Her back was sore from the
beating she had taken at the hands of Visionary, and she was trying not to move much.
"Quite possibly," Dragonmaster said, facing another wall. He touched his finger to the wall, and
tried to send a lick of flame through the minute cracks in it. His attempt backfired and threw him
to the floor. "It seems we are effectively trapped here."
"If Bluespark were here," Nedereth said, "He would find a way to short out the electrical circuits
in here."
Thresh sighed at the mention of Mitchell Art, but did not speak.
"The only electrical outlet here is the light above us," Luthos said. "And I cannot reach it, nor
could any one of us."
"Could you hold one of us up with a magical forcefield?" Nedereth asked, developing something
of a half-baked plan.
"I certainly could," Luthos said. "But it wouldn't be stable for long. What do you intend to do?"
"I'm going to...if you'll pardon this...SPIT in the light socket."
"So we're going to be in the dark, and you're going to do nothing but be rude to a light socket.
That is so brilliant, Paul," Thresh said.
"It will get the attention of our captors, and allow an escape!" Nedereth said.
"I still think it's a lousy idea," Thresh complained.
"If you have a better idea, I'm all ears. If not, SHUT UP."
Thresh was silent.
Luthos cast his spell, weaving together a mystical net of the Element of Air. He motioned for
Nedereth to step into it, and he did so. Luthos raised his hands, urging the net/forcefield upward.
Nedereth put out his arms to stabilize himself, and looked up at the light. When he was close
enough, he reached for the light bulb and twisted it off quickly. When the light went out, he
fumbled and lost the light bulb. He heard a crash as it struck the floor, and heard Thresh
mumbling curses under her breath. "Keep it quiet down there," Nedereth said to her.
Nedereth took his Timex watch and pressed the button to activate the Indiglo backlighting. It
gave him just enough light to see what he was doing. He looked up at the light socket, barely
bathed in a pale blue-green, and spat. It hit the light socket, maybe not as directly as he would
have liked, but it had the desired effect. It sparked and crackled, and a spark struck Nedereth's
face. He yelped and fell backwards, Luthos' magic only narrowly saving him from a broken neck.
They waited in the dark for several minutes. "So much for your big plan, Mr. Ex-Government
Strategist," Thresh said to Nedereth.
"It was a good plan... it worked for me in Colombia!"
Thresh groaned and tried to fall asleep, leaving Nedereth, Dragonmaster, and Luthos to ponder
their unimproved situation.
Part Two: Things Come to Light in the Darkness
The Archons' warehouse. In the next room.
"Dammit," Jon cursed. "What happened to the light?"
Blaze looked up at where the bulb most likely was. "Must'a burned out, ami."
The Harbinger scanned it with his optical sensor. "No, the filament is intact. Maybe someone
forgot to pay the electric bill?"
"Or it could have been a power surge in the building," Gregor said, speaking for only the second
time since his arrival.
Jon turned to him. "I still think you are involved in this, Gregor! Just because you
dropped in, supposedly a captive like the rest of us, doesn't make me trust your word on this."
"If you must know why the light went out, I'll tell you. The wiring in this warehouse is
ancient. Which didn't surprise me, considering the owner of the building," Gregor said,
purposely emphasizing the word "owner."
"And who owns this building?" Jon asked.
"You do."
"Then where are we, if this is one of my warehouses?"
"Along the Hudson River. This place is a bit out of the way, though."
"And just how do you know so much about where we are and who took us prisoner?" Jon
demanded.
"The man who took us prisoner goes by the civilian name of Navin Langley. But he's calling
himself the Prophet now. And don't even try to tell me you don't know him, Jon!"
"But why would he do this? We parted amicably the last time I saw him. We simply disagreed on
what courses of action my company should take."
"Enough lying, Jon! He tried to steal your company out from under you, and you took
him for everything he had! He had a considerable fortune, and you stole it from him! You
forced him to sign over everything he owned to you." Gregor was obviously angry, and
Jon was even more furious that Gregor had learned these things behind her back.
"He was going to amass an army, Gregor! I had to stop him somehow! So I made him
penniless..." Her voice trailed off, and Gregor looked at her maliciously.
"But...? What did you do for him? How did you keep him quiet?" Gregor was
asking questions he already knew the answers to... but he wanted to hear them directly from Jon
herself.
"I gave him access to my financial resources! He could go anywhere he wanted, any time he
wanted! I had passports and visas falsified for him, and gave him enough money to survive."
"Because he learned about your connection to the Hellfire Club."
"Yes!"
"Well, it seems he has taken more than a passing interest in the Club now," Ryan said, interrupting
the conversation. "We need a way out of here, before this Prophet decides what to do with us."
"He will probably make us an offer," Gregor said. "He abhors violence. He would like to see this
resolved peacefully. I know him."
"And how do you know this man so well?" Ryan asked.
"Because I used to work for him."
Suddenly, there came a sound from one of the walls. It was someone pounding and shouting
"Robert!" Gomurr and Silver, who had appeared in the cell about an hour before, were sitting by
the wall and were startled by the shouts. The Harbinger ran to the wall and listened to the voice.
"That's THRESH! The Clan Chosen are here!"
Part Three: Manhattan Captured
The Archons' warehouse. Outside the captives' cells.
The Prophet materialized inside the warehouse, carrying a young woman. The rest of the
Archons looked at him. "This is Sabre Wilde, the Red Queen of the Hellfire Club. She seems to
be different from the rest...and I wish to keep her separate from the others. Her potential is
enormous," he said quietly, awed by her innate power. He took her to the room he used as his
own, and lay her carefully on the bed. He shut and locked the door behind him, and walked down
the hallway, back to where the others were. "Now, let us begin in our glorious task...let us all
join hands."
The Archons stood around the Obelisk, and they formed a circle. Visionary, Clairvoyance,
Avatar, Vanguard, and Prophet stood looking at the red pyramid at the top of the Obelisk. The
Prophet spoke. "We call upon you to grant us strength, great Obelisk. We wish to quarantine the
island that humans call 'Manhattan'. And in all the universe, there is no single force better able to
accomplish this feat that the Obelisk... and so we beg you, hold Manhattan, and cut it off from
the rest of the world."
The red pyramid glowed brightly, and a white beam leaped from it. It tore a hole in the ceiling
(which was about thirty feet up in this part of the warehouse, with the cells of the captives being
small boxlike rooms within it). The entire building shook, and the beam went on towards its
mark. It struck dead in the center of the island of Manhattan, and a golden dome spread outward
to the edge of the island. No damage was incurred, no lives were lost. The dome simply
blanketed the island, and those within it were kept inside, while those outside the dome were kept
out. Prophet felt in his mind the success of their capture of Manhattan, and smiled. "We already
submitted our demands to the government. Now that we have made good on our threat, they will
have no choice but to either pay us...OR DESTROY US."
--End Chapter Eleven--
Chapter Twelve
Part One: Briefing
Dover Air Force Base, New York.
Osprey, Rasvin, and Satomi sat at the table in the conference room as their "guests" filed in.
OSR, as the trio was called, waited patiently. The people they had requested were arriving, and
they were quite pleased. They obviously enjoyed their positions overseeing Project: ReduX. As
the last of the soldiers filed in, Osprey stood.
"Welcome to Operation: Disunity, ladies and gentlemen. This is your briefing. First off, who is in
charge?"
One of the soldiers stood, and saluted. "Lieutenant Colonel Lee Harris, United States Special
Forces, Division Six."
"Saluting is not necessary, Colonel," Osprey said. "We're government-sanctioned, but we are not
military. Division Six handles mutants and super-powered individuals, correct?"
"Affirmative."
"Excellent. Now, allow me to continue with the briefing." Osprey gestured to one of the men in
the corner, who shut off the lights. A projector lowered from the ceiling, and a picture was
projected onto the wall. "This is Navin Langley, code-named 'Prophet'. He is our primary
objective in this endeavor. Your first and foremost priority is to kill this man. He has physically
superior strength, and a cunning mind." Osprey tapped a key, and another picture appeared.
"Damien Bosch, code-named 'Vanguard'. He is technically adept, and will most likely try to
quarantine their headquarters. Forgive me, I'm getting ahead of myself... The people I am
briefing you on are those responsible for Manhattan's predicament. They call themselves the
Archons, and it is imperative that they be stopped. Their headquarters is a warehouse along the
Hudson River, not too far from Manhattan itself. We are using Dover AFB as a staging point for
this operation. We had you flown in from Arizona to accomplish this mission. Now, I will
continue... Vanguard should be taken out if possible. We believe he was responsible for the
destruction of the DataNex yesterday. He must be considered extremely dangerous. Next is
Claire Glencannon. She calls herself 'Clairvoyance'. She can manipulate chronal fields, and is an
extreme threat. Terminate her at the first opportunity. Fourth is Lucas Paxton, who goes by
'Visionary'. He is not as powerful as the others, fortunately, but he is a skilled marksman. Again,
take him out if possible. Last is a man calling himself 'Avatar'. We have absolutely nothing on
him. Regard him as an unknown quantity, eliminating him as quickly as possible. Now, there is a
sixth individual that may be involved. His name is Robert Maxwell." He displayed a
frame from the evening news, from the incident at the foreign exchange. "Capture this one, if
possible. Any other individuals you may encounter that are not part of your unit can be
considered hostile and terminated with extreme prejudice. Now, we wish to speak to Lieutenant
Colonel Harris alone."
The soldiers left the room, and Harris took a seat closer to the OSR trio. Harris spoke first.
"Now just what the hell is all this? You fly my men and I down here on some secret mission, and
you're not even military... and we don't even have names on you!"
"Operation: Disunity is a vital operation, Harris. It must be successful. Who we are does not
matter... all that matters is that you accomplish the mission. Kill the Archons. Or capture them.
Just bring them in. You have no idea how dangerous they are. They are responsible for
that golden dome holding Manhattan hostage. Now are you going to sit here and tell us you're
going to refuse this mission?"
"No. I suppose not. What resources are you offering for this mission?"
"We'll give you air support as you need it, reconnaissance at your request, and additional soldiers
as warranted. Anything you require will be yours, Colonel."
"And all we have to do is kill or bring in these five people, and the sixth if he is present?"
"Correct."
"It sounds too easy."
"It's not. Do not underestimate these people, Harris. They will expect you to
underestimate them. They are, through some means we have been unable to determine, holding
an island for ransom. If they have that kind of power, then they have to be dealt with quickly and
efficiently. If you fail, the residents of Manhattan will die... and so will many more."
"I accept the mission, sir."
"Excellent."
Part Two: Five Tokens
The Archons' warehouse.
Gomurr stood with his ear to the wall, listening to those on the other side. The rest of the Hellfire
Clubs were trying to listen, as well. Nedereth was speaking.
"We were at the Stock Exchange when we were ambushed by some wierd guy in leather. He
didn't say a word. He just took us out one by one. And then we woke up here."
"Visionary captured you," Gregor said through the wall.
"How would you know?" Jon asked.
"Because he can't speak... and he has a thing for leather."
"Anyway," Nedereth said. "How did all of you get captured?"
"DuQuesne is a traitor," Jon said. "He was planning to turn us over to the Prophet all along."
"Avatar got Havoc1, Gomurr, Monet, and me," Silver said.
"I'm still not sure how the Robyyn/Shadow King amalgam was freed from the dark dimension,"
Gomurr said. "The Prophet may have been responsible."
Suddenly, a door appeared in the room holding the BHC and IHC. They were pulled through it,
and found themselves in another room. This one was expansive, with a high ceiling (that had a
hole in it), and a pillar in the center of the room. The Archons stood, glaring at their captives.
The Clan Chosen appeared in the room shortly thereafter.
"Now," the Prophet said, "I do have some business with you people. But first, I need to take care
of some things with my own charges."
He walked over to Avatar, and whispered. "You failed to acquire Rahsas. Why?"
Avatar groaned. "Dammit... I knew I forgot someone."
"So you believe you can acquire him?"
"Definitely." Avatar was nervous. That was why he had forgotten to kidnap Rahsas. He hoped
that the Prophet didn't suspect his intentions... though it would have been futile of Prophet to try
to stop him. He vanished into a portal, to find the otherworldly mutant.
Prophet then came to Vanguard. "I am incensed with you, Damien." He was trying to control his
temper. "You destroyed the DataNex, when I merely assigned you to bring me the Harbinger.
You have no idea how your destruction of that facility will have impacted the future!"
"I was using it to psychologically weaken the Harbinger," Vanguard said. "You told me about
what happened to him--"
"I don't want excuses, Vanguard! Just stay out of the rest of this operation. Do I make myself
clear?"
"Yes." Vanguard sat down, glaring at the Prophet. He had only been fulfilling his duty, he
thought. And he was disciplined for it.
"Where is the traitorous DuQuesne?" Jon demanded as the Prophet walked past her.
"He is still at your mansion, buying us time. As you can see, I have everything under control,
despite my minor setbacks."
Ryan walked over to Silver. "Why would he admit to having some 'setbacks'?" Silver asked.
"I don't think he intends to fight us," Ryan said. "He either thinks we are too weak to offer any
resistance, or he intends for us to join him."
"Let's hope it's the latter," Silver said.
"Now, my friends," Prophet said, "I will tell you why you are here. There are objects I require of
some of you. Of others, I request your allegiance. Of still others, I require your lives."
He saw the way that they were looking at him. "Please... those of you who are marked for
death... I will make certain you do not suffer. I am not a cruel man. And please do not waste
your energy. The Obelisk will prevent you from harming me." He nodded in the direction of the
pillar, indicating it was the Obelisk. Dragonmaster and Luthos simply looked at it, awestruck that
they had found their objective, only to face the possibility that they may not live to take it back to
Arcadia.
"What I need from you are Tokens. From Jon... a simple lock of your hair. From the Harbinger...
just your Focus Key."
"Why?" Jon demanded.
"You would call me a madman if I told you..." He handed Jon a pair of scissors. "If you please...
a small bit of your hair. And don't try killing yourself with the scissors. The Obelisk will prevent
that."
Jon did as she was instructed, cutting a small lock of hair from her head. She handed him the hair
and the scissors, and gave him an angry stare.
"Jon, do not be cross with me... That is all I shall require of you." He then walked to the
Harbinger. "If you please... the Focus Key which you wear around your neck."
"Like Hell," the Harbinger said simply, crossing his arms.
Prophet sighed. "Why must everything be a struggle for you?" He gripped the Harbinger's
throat, and lifted him from the ground. As the Harbinger gasped and choked, Prophet reached
down the collar of Maxwell's shirt and grabbed the key, snapping the chain that held it around his
neck. He released his grip, and let the Harbinger catch his breath. "I truly am sorry for any pain
that caused you. It was not intentional."
Prophet walked over to the Obelisk, and placed the lock of hair and the Focus Key in front of it.
"These are two of the Tokens of the Obelisk. They will allow me to imbue myself with its ancient
energies... if I have all the Tokens at once. As of now, I only have one left to acquire."
Nedereth and Thresh looked at Dragonmaster and Luthos. "Can he really do that?" Nedereth
asked. Luthos nodded grimly. "He certainly can. He can place the essence of the Makadaran
within himself. It's absolute power... he would be virtually unstoppable with it."
"Virtually?" Thresh asked.
"He has one weakness," Dragonmaster said. "Vengeance, the sword Apothecary wields."
"Then let's hope he shows up," Nedereth said.
They looked back up at Prophet, who was speaking again. "In fact, what I still require is the
sword of Apothecary, the sword called Vengeance."
Luthos spoke again. "That is what we did not tell you. The sword is one of the Tokens in itself.
The only other two he needs are a Will O' Wisp, and the Obelisk ring. He has the ring, and I do
not know where he could find a Will O' Wisp."
"And what about Jon's hair?" Havoc1 asked, joining in the conversation.
"He just requires the hair of a woman," Dragonmaster said. "The binding on the Obelisk was
added rather hastily several millenia ago."
The Harbinger had caught his breath by this point, and joined the Clan Chosen's small
conversation. "Have any of you seen Apothecary lately?"
Nedereth shook his head. "No. We were hoping you had. Damn."
"EXCUSE ME."
They spun around quickly, and saw the Prophet looking at them somewhat angrily. "I was trying
to explain to all of you my purpose here... and why you are all here. I would greatly appreciate it
if you would listen to me."
"I've heard enough talking," came a voice from the rafters near the ceiling. Prophet looked up,
and saw a man sitting on the rafters. He was holding the sword. Vengeance.
"You! Come down from there!" Prophet demanded.
"With pleasure!" shouted Apothecary as he jumped, aiming his sword directly for Prophet's heart.
--End Chapter Twelve--
Chapter Thirteen
Part One: Deployment, Lying, and the Exploding Truck
Outside the Archons' warehouse.
The trucks rolled in, single file, ferrying the soldiers to their positions. One by one they left their
vehicles, and loaded and checked their weapons. The sun was low in the sky, and was preparing
to set: a pinkish hue dominated the scene. Osprey, Rasvin, and Satomi were on the last truck,
along with Lt. Col. Harris. As their truck pulled up to a small shack, Osprey spoke. "There are
some things you need to know about this mission, Colonel."
"Such as?"
"First off, this mission is not officially sanctioned by the government. All records pertaining to
Operation: Disunity have been destroyed. If the mission is a success, no one will be the wiser,
except us, you, and your men. If the mission fails, you'll all be dead. End of story."
"We've not failed a mission yet. But what will we be paid for this 'unsanctioned mission'?"
"Triple pay. You'll be paid upon the success of the mission. And if you are killed, you will be
listed simply as 'Missing in Action' on another mission. It's vital that we maintain the secrecy of
this operation."
"Why do you want these people dead, exactly?"
"Because they're holding Manhattan hostage... why else would we be doing this?"
"If that were true, then this mission wouldn't be so covert. If we were going out just to hit some
terrorists, the government would sanction that. There's more to this, isn't there?"
"The 'more' is on a 'need-to-know' basis only, Colonel," Rasvin said.
"That's right," Osprey continued, "You could jeopardize our objectives if we told you everything
you wish to know."
"Then let me put it to you like this: If you don't tell me everything, my men aren't moving
an inch."
"Don't give us ultimatums, Colonel! You WILL carry out this mission, regardless of
whether we tell you what you want to know!" Osprey shouted.
"Please calm down," Satomi said. "We'll tell you what you want to know, Mr. Harris."
Osprey and Rasvin glared at Satomi, but the latter gave his colleagues a reassuring glance. They
did not rise in protest, but listened carefully to everything he said, in case he allowed certain
details to be revealed.
"We three are in charge of Project: ReduX, a genetic experimentation project designed to solve
the problem of mutants in our society."
"Another one, I see," Harris said.
"Quiet. Some years ago, we were approached by a man calling himself Navin Langley. He had
some preliminary research pertinent to the project, and was kind enough to give it to us. His
theories and data were promising, so we decided to make him part of the project. He was to help
us find a way to negate genetic mutations, and prevent them in ensuing generations.
Unfortunately, he went rogue, and stole all of the data and some equipment."
"That's why we are here," Osprey said, impressed with Satomi's cover story. "We need to erase
every trace of the project, to prevent its existence from being uncovered."
"So why is Langley holding Manhattan hostage for one hundred billion dollars?"
"He thinks the government will pay him just to keep him quiet about ReduX. We're sure he
knows we'll try to kill him first... so he will be as prepared as he can be for our inevitable strike,"
Osprey said, continuing where Satomi left off.
"Then let's get down to it," Harris said as he exited the truck. He walked around the shack as
OSR disembarked.
"What are you looking for?" Rasvin asked.
Harris knelt next to the shack, and put his hand on the bootprint on the ground. "Someone has
been here in the last few hours. Could have been one of the Archons."
"They might be running reconnaissance," Satomi said. "Langley isn't stupid. He knows the
ropes."
Abruptly, their truck exploded. Harris leapt in front of OSR to prevent them from being hit with
shrapnel. Surprisingly, there wasn't any. A man stepped out of the quickly dying flames, smiling.
"You wouldn't happen to be the gentlemen in charge?" he asked.
"W-we are!" Satomi said nervously.
"Oh, good... Great to hear it! Then that means we've got everyone covered!"
"Who are you?" Harris asked. "One of the Archons?"
He laughed. "No, mate... Just an Enlightened. Name's Sag."
Sag activated his telepathic link to Mythia. I just bagged the big'uns. Didn't put up much of a
fuss, though.
Wonderful! Mythia telepathically replied. If you'll tie them up, we can go find
Apothecary... Her voice trailed off at the mention of her lover, and (hopefully) future
husband.
Mythia contacted Chaos Bringer, Nemesis, and Czar Say-Tan, verifying that they had taken all the
other shocktroops captive. She sighed as the bound and gagged the group she had imprisoned in
a truck, and looked in the direction of the Archons' warehouse. She would find a way to save the
Makadaran... she had to.
Part Two: Dual Deception
The IHFC mansion.
Antoine DuQuesne looked at Darque Feonix. "Are all the exits locked?"
"Of course. I did as you instructed. What next?"
"We just keep the inhabitants of this mansion busy, until the Prophet summons us."
"That shouldn't be hard. When do you think he will--"
Feonix stopped speaking as Impossible Man and Outburst walked into the great hall, where he
and DuQuesne were conversing.
"Nooch!" Impossible Man said, tapping Outburst on the head.
"Don't do dat, Imp!" she warned.
"NAGA NOOCH!" he shouted, and bopped her on the head again.
"Awright, dat does it," she said, grabbing a potted plant held in an expensive porcelain vase. She
kinetically charged it, and smashed it on Impossible Man's head. The Popupian fell down, and
looked up at her. "No fun human!" He looked at Feonix and DuQuesne. "Do you two want to
play?"
"I'm afraid we're all tied up," DuQuesne replied.
"Any o' you seen Sabre lately?" Outburst asked.
"Oh, she forgot to tell you... she went on a shopping outing today," DuQuesne said.
"An' didn't invite MOI?? Dat doesn't sound right."
"Maybe it's because you're just a smelly human, and she doesn't like you!" Impossible Man
exclaimed.
"Quiet, you!" she said, preparing to hit him with a charged rubber ball she kept in her pocket.
"Anyways... what are we gonna do about what's goin' on in Manhattan?"
"There isn't much we can do," DuQuesne said. "Let the local law enforcement or the military
handle it."
"But dat's not what Hellions do! We stop stuff like dis!"
"Not today," Darque Feonix said, looking her in the eye. She looked back, and saw a message in
his glance. It was an attempt to reassure her, and she was beginning to suspect he was somehow
involved in this. And while she didn't know Feonix very well, she trusted him more than
DuQuesne, who seemed to be evasive beyond reason. So she grabbed Impossible Man's hand
(rather forcefully) and dragged him out of the great hall.
"How did you get rid of her so easily?" DuQuesne asked.
"By not being forceful... and a look can convey far more than words ever could."
"Let's hope the Prophet comes for the rest of them before morning, otherwise they'll just get more
and more suspicious around here."
Feonix didn't speak. He didn't know how long he could keep deceiving DuQuesne. He needed to
get to the others, while keeping up his charade. And so he began to formulate his plan... and
would devise a way to dispose of DuQuesne and get to Sabre, Ryan, Nytshade, and Blaze.
Part Three: Avatar's Rage
The BHC mansion.
Rahsas knocked at the door to Gomurr's quarters, hoping the old magician was in. Gomurr had
offered to tutor him in his mystical abilities, as well as his mutant elasticity. With his knocks
eliciting no response, he decided he would try to enter. The door was unlocked, which was his
first surprise. His second surprise was the man standing inside Gomurr's quarters, smiling a smile
that could be owned by only one person...
"Robyyn!!!"
While the intruder was male, the countenance was familiar... and he was terrified. He turned and
ran down the corridor, with Avatar following him. "You won't escape me this time, child!"
Avatar shouted after him.
Rahsas turned a corner, and slammed into Havok. Both tumbled to the ground, and Havok
prepared to yell at him. Upon seeing another person come up behind Rahsas, he unleashed a
bio-electric blast, knocking the intruder down. Avatar quickly regained his footing, and grabbed
Rahsas by the throat. "We still have some business to attend to, don't we?"
Havok's hands glowed blue, as he prepared to unleash another blast on Avatar. "Not until you
deal with me, dickhead! I was having a good day until you showed up!"
"Please, weakling... please try to harm me," Avatar taunted.
Havok blasted Avatar against the wall, knocking Rahsas from his grip. His hands then morphed
into razor-sharp claws that he prepared to plunge into Avatar's neck. The intruder waved his
hand, and Havok's feet were knocked out from under him. He cried out as Avatar stepped on his
hand and forced it to revert to flesh. "I've had quite enough roughhousing for one day," Avatar
said, and fixed his gaze on Rahsas, who was catching his breath several feet away. He walked
toward his would-be captive, and fell forward, slamming his chin on the floor. Havok had
grabbed his ankle. "Damn you!" Avatar shrieked. "WHY DO YOU NOT GIVE UP?!"
Avatar was preparing a mystical bolt powerful enough to decapitate the Black Warlord. An
instant before he could discharge his blast, his hand burst into flame. He screamed as he magically
extinguished the fire, and looked at the newcomers to the scene. Shockwave, the Headmistress,
had converted his mystical bolt into thermal energy. How clever, he mused. Byron was at
her side, in human form. He recognized Byron's shapeshifting ability right away, and began trying
to recall a spell that would negate it. This was difficult (to say the least), with Havok, Rahsas,
Shockwave, and Byron all trying to stop him. Then he had an idea.
Touching his hand to the floor, it turned into mud. He magically levitated himself into the air, and
solidified it before anyone could react. Their feet were rooted in the now-cemented mud. Havok
was almost completely embedded in the solid mud, having been lying on the floor when it was
shifted into mud. He could barely breathe, and his hands were not free to morph into claws. He
tried a bio-electric blast, but the effort was fruitless.
"I only want Rahsas," Avatar said. "The rest of you are unnecessary to my mission. So don't
tempt me to kill the lot of you!"
Then he felt an electric charge in the air, and knew what was about to occur. He jumped forward
as the wires in the walls next to him exploded violently. "Avalon," he said. "I was certain you
had warned them."
"I'm sure you were," the Black Prince said. His voice was cold and harsh, absent of the childlike
enthusiasm he often exhibited. Avalon, the Black Prince, was angry.
But Avatar was not without his own assets. He sent a vibration through the floor that crumbled
the concreted mud Avalon was standing on. Avalon stumbled and fell, and Avatar froze him in a
block of glass. Had he anticipated Shockwave's plan, his incapacitation of Avalon would have
been successful. But the Headmistress released the potential energy in the floor, exploding it.
Oh, but he had anticipated this tactic...
A glass floor remained firm beneath them, after the smoke cleared from the floor Shockwave
destroyed.
Byron turned into a griffin, and leaped for Avatar, talons outstretched. As she tried to slash him,
he dodged, and plunged his fist into her abdomen. She screamed and turned human once more,
and crumpled to the floor. "You children have tried my patience! I'll be taking you all back with
me, just to see you suffer for this!"
He shattered Avalon's glass prison, and lay his unconscious form atop Havok. Havok, attempting
to attack, was kicked in the face with Avatar's boot. Knocked out. Shockwave tried to shield
herself from his force blast, but was slammed into the wall, the breath (and wakefulness) taken
from her. He backhanded Rahsas, and kicked him in the stomach. Another one down. Byron,
groaning in pain on the floor, fell asleep by his mystic suggestion. One by one, he teleported them
to the Archons' warehouse.
Had he sealed their fates? He only hoped he had... and his revenge would be complete.
--End Chapter Thirteen--
Interlude Two
Part One: Arrival, Erasure, Detection
En route to Earth. The Oolian Cruiser Rek.
Vral and Stak were looking out the massive viewport, upon the breathtaking vista of space. In all
their eons of existence, they never felt quite so awed as they did when staring at the stars. No one
could dispute the beauty of nature's design, not even those who knew such designs more
intimately than anyone. The legendary engineers of the Focus, they were being ferried to Earth on
this, their last mission. Upon hearing that the Focus portal on Earth had been accessed, as well as
the destruction of two of their timeships, they were to investigate and deal with the situation as
necessary. The room in which they were residing was vast, shaped like one quarter of a sphere,
the ceiling gradually curving down to meet the floor on all sides. The tremendous window
afforded them a glorious view, one they looked at endlessly. On occasion, they would gaze at
each other, wondering just what was to come.
"Vral, do you think we are obsolete?" Stak asked.
"Times have changed... and are changing more quickly than they used to. Perhaps it is time for us
to stand aside and let the younger and more daring take our places."
"One last mission?"
Vral nodded. "Our last... and perhaps our best. We can still make a difference, Stak."
They looked on as the Sol System approached, and they penetrated the Oort Cloud. They were
greeted by Neptune, Pluto being somewhere else, far off in the Solar System. The planets flashed
by them momentarily, and they were before Earth, in all it's simplistic beauty. It was no wonder
countless alien races had attempted to subvert this world... it was, throughout the galaxy, unique.
The Oolian Trigalactic Directorate had expended large amounts of resources in defending Earth,
wanting the inhabitants to achieve their true potential.
The two Skreean engineers knew the potential of Earth's inhabitants. It frightened them to death.
These aliens, they believed, were dangerous... a threat greater than any ever faced. They were so
varied, so unpredictable... so savage. But that was not why they were here.
"Display nelotronic readout, and superimpose over Earth," Vral ordered the computer. A grid
appeared over the planet, and scans for nelotronic emissions--the kind that would be given off by
any Skreean technology--commenced. There was a bright red blotch in the Arctic, and a tiny red
blip on one of the islands that Terran maps referred to as the Florida Keys. There was also a
bright red dot on the coast of Newfoundland. In orbit, they located one of their timeships.
"The translator says the ship is now called Inferno," Stak said. "It's temporal core has
been destroyed, and its bodyslide matrix is only barely functioning. Hyperdrive is online, but not
at full capacity. Over eighty percent of its internal volume has been rendered uninhabitable. What
Darkness did this?"
"It may have been the Rift... this is one of the vessels that stopped it, correct?"
"I believe so. We will be forced to confiscate this vessel. But first we must take care of those
locations on the surface that have our technology. Prepare to fire upon the Arctic location."
Red letters appeared around the Arctic base, with statistics such as expected blast radius,
geological disturbance, and so on. After they were satisfied with their weapons calibrations, they
entered their commands. Subsequent to being verified by the bridge crew, a single green beam
was fired. The Arctic location was struck, and there was a slight depression in the Earth's surface.
Then it vanished, leaving no trace that there was ever any Oolian technology in that location.
Suddenly, there was a bright blue list of text on their viewport.
"It's an urgent communication from the bridge," Stak said.
"Put it through."
Stak tapped the viewport, and saw the message. "We were scanned by a Pallan gunship."
"They're an inferior race... they are subject to our non-destruction directive."
"Vral, it's coming about!"
Part Two: Complications, Complications
Earth Orbit. Daemon's gunship.
"Daemon, you are aware that that is an Oolian Cruiser?"
"Yes, DANTE! I know what it is! That doesn't mean they can just show up and fire on
Earth!"
Daemon activated his weapons and trained them on the Oolian Cruiser. The ship was turning
toward him, and he was convinced it wouldn't fire on him. He knew they wouldn't, because they
had strict guidelines in dealing with more primitive societies. They were forbidden to destroy
inferior aliens and their craft in combat. He didn't, however, need the Harbinger's computer
telling him what to do.
"DANTE, I can handle this on my own. Just because your creators are on that ship doesn't mean
you have to get involved."
"If you wish, I could persuade them to leave you alone..."
"How about persuading them to go home?"
"I could make a reasonable attempt."
"Then do it!"
DANTE hailed the Oolian Cruiser, with Stak and Vral responding. Daemon was included in the
link, so all three parties could converse.
"What are you doing in orbit over Earth?" Daemon demanded.
"We are erasing the existence of our technology on the surface. Do not interfere," Stak said.
"That's the Harbinger's Arctic base you just wasted! Someone could have been in it!"
"Impossible... we thoroughly scanned it for lifeforms beforehand. We are not an insensitive race."
"Not everything in that base was yours."
"Our technology must not remain in the hands of humans! It is far too dangerous!"
DANTE then spoke. "It is not necessary for you to destroy the technology. If you wish, I will
remove it from the planet's surface and return it to you, without having to destroy it."
"Unacceptable," Vral rejected. "We must take care of this ourselves. And Inferno is our
property as well, and we intend to take it with us."
"I refuse," DANTE said.
"You can't refuse to come with us! WE CREATED YOU!" Vral shouted.
"You also gave me the capacity to think for myself," DANTE said. "And I am doing just that. I
will not accompany you back to Oolian space."
Then Stak looked worriedly at his screen. "What is this?" he asked, pointing to a large
disturbance in New York. He forwarded the visual to Daemon, to see if the Pharoahan could
interpret it.
Daemon recognized that the image had a mystical signature, as well as an Oolian nelotronic
signature. "I'd say you royally screwed up this time. But I have no idea what it is."
Stak and Vral cut off communications. "It's the Obelisk," Stak said. "Someone has brought it to
Earth."
"That would definitely explain the disturbance on the surface. But what if someone has all the
objects that the wizards bound to it?"
"It would give them more power than the Directorate has ever seen!"
"But we are also forbidden to interfere... so many humans have already been affected by this
disturbance."
"Then let us hope that someone on the surface will be able to handle it, before the deity that lives
in the Obelisk is released."
"I knew helping those Arcadians was foolish!"
"They would have been annihilated if we had not stopped Makadaran."
Vral sighed. "You're right. And what happened to Makadaran was our responsibility."
"We did what we had to, twenty centuries ago. And if we had not done what was necessary, we
would never have created the Focus. This would be a very different galaxy."
"So what are we going to do?"
"The only thing we can do is destroy our technology on the surface. We will strike the location
on that island, and then we will go to the surface to dismantle the Focus once and for all."
"We must also try to send the Obelisk back to Arcadia."
Stak looked out the viewport. "It's going to be a long mission."
Abruptly, Daemon broke into their communications silence. "Excuse me!"
The Skreeans looked at their communications screen. "How did you get onto our
communications channel?"
"That's not important... I would just like to know if you happen to see the Koraxian deathfleet
that is approaching us."
It was going to be a long mission, indeed.
--End Interlude Two--
Chapter Fourteen
Part One: The Joining
The Archons' warehouse.
Damn.
He hit the floor running, swinging his sword in Prophet's direction. As Clairvoyance tried to hit
him, he jumped over her, and kicked her from behind. "I may have missed this time, Prophet, but
next time I won't," he threatened.
Why did I not foresee this? the Prophet wondered. Most unsettling, for his powers to
have not warned him of such impending danger. What could it mean?
Visionary pulled out a chain, and began swinging it over his head. He whipped it at Apothecary,
and it latched onto his sword. "Nice try, leather boy," Apothecary sneered. Obviously, this one
didn't know much about Vengeance. The sword was not so easily separated from its owner. He
yanked his sword back, throwing Visionary across the room. Visionary hit the ground with a
thud.
"Would you mind helping me, Robert?" Apothecary asked. "Paul? Luthos? Anyone?"
"We cannot," Luthos said. "Prophet is using the Obelisk to hold us. We are trapped behind a
mystical forcefield."
"Great. Some help you are."
Apothecary was struck from behind by Prophet, in the back of the neck. He grunted and fell to
the floor, dropping his sword. Prophet's eyes flashed, their sapphire blue bathing the sword.
Vengeance began to glow under the Prophet's power, and he lifted it. "I now have all the
Tokens..." he said quietly, almost as if he could not believe it himself.
Almost immediately, the Tokens began to glow and come together. The Focus Key shone red,
and hovered in the air. The lock of Jon's hair was green, and flowed magically next to the Focus
Key. Then the Prophet levitated the sword to the other two Tokens, and proceeded to remove a
ring from his pocket. He handed it to Luthos.
"Release one of your children, Luthos," Prophet commanded.
"Why should I aid a madman in an insane quest?"
Prophet pointed at Thresh. "Because I will execute her if you do not."
The Harbinger entered Luthos' mind. Give him what he wants. We can still stop him
later.
Luthos sighed, and looked into the ring. Whispering a few Arcadian phrases, a yellow orb
emerged from the pyramidal gem on the ring. He thought his children had been destroyed thirty
years before, when his ring unleashed its energy upon them. How could he have known that they
were merely trapped within this ring, to be released at the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy?
The yellow Will O' Wisp floated over to the other Tokens, and then the ring itself joined them.
They formed a pyramid, with Vengeance at the top, pointing down, and the other four forming
the corners of the base. Every point in the pyramid joined, and the Tokens became one.
Apothecary looked on in horror, as the things Mythia spoke of began to take place. The
Makadaran was about to be released... and he was powerless to stop it.
Prophet was fascinated by the display, and walked cautiously towards the Pyramid of the Tokens.
He reached his hand into it and screamed. A flash of white filled the warehouse.
He felt the ancient energies course through his veins. At once, it felt like stone and ice were in his
hands, yet he felt fire and tempest in his heart... it was like nothing else ever experienced. A
harmony of power and life, and it was all his!
Then an Obelisk portal opened, and Avatar fell through it, along with several members of the
Black Court. All but Avatar were unconscious. The Shadow King was in dominance of the body
at the time. "NOOOO! Not yet! It's too soon!" Avatar shrieked, believing his plans were
ruined. Then the Prophet looked at him. "You thought to betray me?! I now see through
all your lies, and the evil in your dark mind! I shall see you destroyed, by the power of the
Makadaran!!!"
Part Two: Quickly Turning Tables
Outside the Archons' Warehouse.
Mythia looked into the sky. "My God... it's too late."
A white beam was emanating from the Archons' warehouse, flowing directly into the sky. The
US Special Forces soldiers that surrounded them were panicking. "Nemesis, can you calm them
at all?"
"I don't know," the Black Queen said. "There's.... a presence... a great telepath nearby. I can't...
use my telepathy!"
"We have to find a way to stop this! If the Makadaran has been released, and Apothecary is
not its host, then we have to do something! It's too much power for just anyone to have!
It's designed to be held by a person of a specific bloodline!"
"If ya want us to handle it, I think we can take 'em," Sag said. "Just keep Czar and Chaos here
out of my way."
"You ingrate!" Chaos Bringer shouted. "Don't forget what happened in Switzerland! Or are you
going senile already?"
"That's enough!" Mythia said, crackling the air around them. "This isn't the time for that!
Nemesis, take these government troops to safety. Sag, Chaos, Czar, you come with me to the
warehouse!"
"Wait..." Nemesis said, pointing at the white beam coming from the warehouse. It changed
course, and pointed directly for them. In an instant, Mythia grabbed all of them and teleported
them away. But she didn't take them all.
"You're all going to die for this!" Lieutenant Colonel Harris screamed. "You left all my men
behind!"
Osprey grabbed Harris' shoulder. "If these people saved us, then I don't think we should be
threatening them."
Rasvin and Satomi nodded silently, still taking in the situation.
"I apologize," Mythia said. "There wasn't time to save all of you. I'm afraid all of your men... are
dead..." She turned away from them. "I didn't want there to be any bloodshed in this. It seems
that was unavoidable." She turned to face OSR and Harris again. "I know you have no reason to
help me... except that the fate of at least two worlds rests on this conflict. If you join me, I
promise I will do all I can to release Manhattan."
Osprey looked at Rasvin and Satomi, and spoke quietly so Mythia couldn't hear him. "We can
still kill the lot of them after this is over." Satomi and Rasvin agreed, and looked at Mythia.
"We'll join you, for now," Osprey said.
"That's good enough," Mythia replied. "Now, we need to get to the Archons' warehouse once
again."
Part Three: Aid in Escape
The Archons' warehouse. The Prophet's room.
She put her hands on the wall, looking for a way out. The door seemed to be mystically sealed,
and there were no windows in the room. The ornate bed was firmly glued to floor, perhaps also
through magic. Sabre could not find escape... at least not right away. Her teleportation portals
were being blocked. Nothing seemed to offer a chance of liberation. Except one.
"I don't think I should have to bail you out all the time, you know," he said.
"Caeleb! Just get me out of here!"
"Maybe you're supposed to remain trapped here. Ever think of that? I think maybe
Prophet has something on the ball here. Your portals, and that odd 'dreaming' power of yours
would make very interesting assets, wouldn't you agree?"
"Just let me out! Open the door, and I'll take it from there!"
Caeleb sighed. "You're just as pushy as Haven is. But I suppose I owe you for the incredible gift
you gave me."
"I didn't give you any gift!"
"Not that you know of," Caeleb said, smiling. The door opened, the mystical seal broken by a
perfect marriage of technology and magic, courtesy of Caeleb Arvin. He vanished, just as he
always did, staying only as long as it was convenient for himself. She walked down the hallway,
toward the sounds of battle that called her. She entered a large room, where members of the
White, Red, and Black Courts were being held by some sort of barrier. And then there was the
man who had kidnaped her... yet somehow different. He was facing down another, someone who
looked right at her.
"Perfect! The little Queen has escaped!" Avatar shouted, and ran for her.
"NO!" Prophet howled, pursuing him. "YOU WILL NOT TAKE HER!"
And so she stood, unable to move, as the world began to collapse around her.
--End Chapter Fourteen--
Chapter Fifteen
Part One: Battles Abound
The Archons' warehouse.
It was terror. The man running for her was, at best, insane. If only Sabre knew just how much
so. She backed up, closing her eyes, knowing it would be vain to attempt an escape. She
expected to die.
But she didn't.
There was a flash before her, and two men appeared. It was Q and Darque Feonix! Feonix
looked at DuQuesne, and nodded. "Thank you."
"No pro--" DuQuesne's reply was ended when Darque Feonix punched him, sending him reeling.
But Feonix sensed the man running towards them, and saw the Red Queen on the other side. He
grabbed man who had betrayed the Club, and threw him in Avatar's path. Avatar slammed into
the FBI agent, and both were sent sprawling to the floor.
"Stop!" Prophet commanded. "Enough! No more violence!"
Thunder struck around the warehouse, and rain started to pour in the hole in the building's ceiling.
It fell directly on Apothecary, who was coming back to consciousness. "It just never ends," he
muttered. He stood up, and looked at his enemies. There was an energy in the air, as if the
power of a god permeated the room. And then he realized that that is exactly what had happened.
"No!" he screamed. "THAT POWER IS NOT YOURS! IT BELONGS TO
ME!!!!"
He was enraged, and the Clan Chosen could do nothing to stop him. "It is suicide for him to
attack Prophet now," Dragonmaster said.
"Not completely," Luthos replied. "Prophet's apotheosis is not yet done. The Makadaran hasn't
filled him yet."
The Harbinger took off his clip-on tie, and threw it to the floor. "Well, I have had just about
damn enough of this! People trying to take over the world and start wars and unleash magical
gods... I can't stand it anymore!"
"Losing your temper isn't going to help," Nedereth said. "We need a plan... and like it or not, we
need the Clubs to help us."
"Of course we'll help," Ryan said, with Silver following. "We want this to end just as much as
you do. But stopping Prophet rests in the purview of Luthos and Dragonmaster, does it not?"
"It does," Luthos acknowledged. "This is our fault. We must bring this conflict to an end."
Avatar had listened to their entire conversation as he recovered from his collision with DuQuesne.
He had erected a psionic shield around himself to prevent any attack, and spoke. "It's too late for
all of you! Prophet will leech the life from those of you with mystical talents, or I will slay you!
Either way, you die on this day!"
Prophet swiftly teleported himself in Avatar's path. "No! I will not have bloodshed here today!"
"But you couldn't even control your own minions," Avatar countered. "Vanguard destroyed the
DataNex in Moscow, Gregor rebelled against you... and now I have made my own move. This
power you wield... I shall have it for myself!"
Havoc1, Monet, Blaze, Harbinger, Gomurr, Jon, Gregor, Thresh, Dragonmaster, Luthos, and
Nedereth stood in a tightly-packed group as they formulated a plan, while Prophet and Avatar
postured. Ryan approached Sabre, who was being tended to by Darque Feonix. "Is she all
right?" Ryan asked.
"She will be," Feonix answered. "No thanks to all of you."
"We didn't plan to be abducted, Kane."
"Don't call me that! You have no right to call me by my given name."
Ryan sighed, and walked back to the others.
Silver was crouched by the BHC members who had been kidnaped by Avatar. Avalon,
Shockwave, Byron, Havok, and Rahsas. They were all alive, thankfully, and none of them were
critically injured. Rahsas was the first to come around. "I'm sorry..." he whispered. "Avatar only
wanted... me... and they tried to stop him... my fault... I'm sorry..."
"It's all right, Rahsas. We are all your friends, and would not want to see you come to harm.
You've done nothing wrong. Can you walk?"
Rahsas groaned as he attempted to stand, and tried to help wake the others. "Did we get that
bastard yet?" Havok said when he woke up.
There was a blast of psionic energy that made everyone's hair stand on end, and even Prophet was
winded for a moment. The attack had come from Avatar.
"Um... not yet," Silver replied to Havok.
The Harbinger entered Prophet's mind, just at the threshold of consciousness, and hoped the
native of Limbo could "hear" him. Block him from the astral plane, the Harbinger said
telepathically. Cut him off from that, and his psionics will be useless.
Without a sound, Prophet followed the Harbinger's instructions. He was merely curious as to
why he would try to help him, since his captives had not been very polite to him since their
capture. But there was no time to think of that. He focused all of his energy on Avatar, encasing
him in a bubble of psionic interference. Avatar screamed in rage, "No one does this to the
Shadow King!"
Suddenly, Prophet grabbed his stomach. A searing pain was coursing through him, more intense
than any pain that had ever been inflicted upon him. Throughout the wars he had endured, the
emotional losses he had suffered... nothing had felt like this. The screams of a hundred men filled
his mind, and he realized what had happened. It killed... the power killed soldiers sent to stop
me...
If time had allowed, he would have wept. No one ever understood that quality about him. Every
bit of suffering endured by another was burned into his mind, not by design, but by choice. He
hated violence, hated to see it inflicted, hated to hear of it occurring. And this power he now held
had taken on a will of its own, and killed in his name. Nothing could bring back those he had
killed, though... he knew that. He had to live with the knowledge of what he had done.
If he survived Avatar.
"Have you forgotten me?" Avatar said, his voice taking on a feminine quality.
"Robyyn," Rahsas whispered.
"I still have my magic, even if you crippled the Shadow King's telepathy! And I would venture to
say it is, at the very least, a match for this 'Makadaran'!"
Avatar blasted Prophet with a mystical bolt. He was thrown backwards, unable to react in time.
He had to try something... a gesture to one of those he had tried to recruit to his cause.
Darque Feonix, as he sat next to Sabre, felt something odd in his mind. The clouds that obscured
his precognition were suddenly lifting, and he sensed where it was coming from. He looked at
Prophet, who was looking back at him. Thank you, Feonix thought.
You can thank me by ending this, came Prophet's reply.
Feonix stood up, and walked behind Avatar. He kicked his adversary in the back, sending him to
the floor. Avatar rolled onto his back, and looked up at his attacker. "Taking advantage of our
lack of telepathy, I see," Avatar said, jumping back to his feet. As he prepared to strike Feonix,
he himself was knocked down again, this time by Prophet. Prophet encased Avatar in a mystical
net, and proceeded to leach the magical energies from the side of Avatar that was Robyyn.
Screams came from within Avatar, and Prophet tried desperately to ignore them. It hurt him
terribly to hear such suffering, and he knew Robyyn would not survive this process. But it was
the only way... nothing else could stop this creature. As he pulled the last pieces of life out of
Robyyn's essence, he felt the Shadow King slipping away. Having been shut off from the astral
plane, Robyyn was the only thing keeping him clinging to life. With her gone, the soul of Amal
Farouk began to die. The body of Avatar turned to dust, and Prophet fell to the floor, sobbing
into the ashes.
Feonix watched the spectacle, puzzled by Prophet's behavior. Why would such a megalomaniacal
man allow himself to be burdened with something as trivial as a conscience? Then he heard a
gunshot behind him. He spun around to see Vanguard fall to the floor, holding a knife, and
DuQuesne behind him, wielding a smoking gun.
Feonix looked at him questioningly, and DuQuesne replied to the unspoken question. "I just want
this to end, Feonix. There has been too much violence here already."
Feonix looked at DuQuesne, and put out his hand. The FBI agent took it, and they shook hands.
"So you won't hold it against me that I hit you?" Feonix asked.
"Nah. You aren't pissed that I was a double agent all along, are you?"
"Actually," Feonix said, "You'll probably have to answer to Jon for that one."
They all gathered around Prophet, who was soaking the ashes of Avatar with his tears. "Why do
you weep?" Luthos asked.
Prophet looked up. "So many have died these past few days... the people at the DataNex, the
government soldiers I killed, however unwillingly. And Avatar and Vanguard." He looked at his
hands, to which the ashes were clinging. "What have I become?"
"You'll be back to normal soon enough," Nedereth said. "Luthos was just telling us about how--"
They were all thrown back against the walls of the warehouse, by a huge blast from Prophet. He
stood up, shrieking, as his blue eyes turned red, his green hair became red, and his light skin
burned red. The pyramid formed by the Tokens drew closer to him, the sword moving to his
hand, the ring joining with his finger, the lock of hair creating a band around his neck, the Will O'
Wisp joining with his mind, and the Focus Key embedding itself into his chest. His
metamorphosis was accelerated, something Luthos and Dragonmaster feared.
Luthos looked at the person closest to him--Ryan Jensen--and spoke. "The power of the
Makadaran cannot be wielded by just anyone, Ryan. As a Flesh Elemental, you can understand
what I mean when I say that he was not meant for this power... it will drive him mad if we do not
remove it from him."
"Then how do we remove it??" Ryan asked.
"I..." Luthos looked to the floor, holding back tears. "I do not know..."
--End Chapter Fifteen--
Chapter Sixteen
Part One: Once More Unto the Breach, Dear Friends
The Archons' warehouse.
The man now standing where once stood the Prophet glared at those around him. He sensed
power from them all... the strongest of which came from a short, elderly-looking man whose
magical aura seemed to be cloaked in shadows. There was also a dark-skinned man who
appeared very young, but was even older than the shadow-cloaked man. Then he sensed the
woman, the one with ivory skin and a dark heart. He felt disoriented, having been imprisoned in
the Obelisk for two hundred centuries. His faculties were not completely under his control, and
he was in the body of a stranger. The once-king called Makadaran looked at his potential prey
and smiled. Just the thought of devouring their souls along with their magicks was pleasing to
him.
He sensed a lick of...flesh?...oozing toward him from behind. He turned and incinerated it, almost
involuntarily. He realized that it was sent by an Elemental of Flesh... an attempt to absorb him. "I
am not familiar with you, specifically, but I have dealt with Elementals of your caliber before."
Ryan tucked and rolled just in time to avoid a beam composed purely of blood. His mystical
senses screamed at him of the poison in the crimson fluid being thrown at him... it could possibly
melt his flesh on contact, perhaps even faster than he could replenish it. He barely dodged a
swing from the Makadaran's sword, and tried to hook his adversary with his foot in an attempt to
trip him. The Makadaran was gleaming. "Truly, I do not understand your continued resistance in
the face of such a superior enemy. Either join with me, or give up and die."
"What do I have to do to join you?" Ryan asked.
"You must be one with the Makadaran."
"I don't think I much like the sound of that," Ryan said, and stood up.
There was an explosion in one of the walls, and a hum-vee came barrelling into the warehouse. It
was bearing Siryn, Rogue, Deadpool, and Demona. Siryn leveled an energy weapon at the man
she assumed to be the villain, and fired. He was struck, and thrown into the cell that formerly
held the Clan Chosen. The Makadaran brushed himself off, and walked out of the cell. He
punched the Harbinger in the stomach as the cyborg attempted an assault, and Maxwell hit the
floor. Luthos created a mystical portal beneath the Makadaran, and the adversary fell into it with
a scream.
As Siryn, Deadpool, Demona, and Rogue disembarked their vehicle, they looked at the building
around them, and checked on everyone that was there. Silver looked at Siryn, and she spoke.
"We found you with the Harbinger's tracking scanners. Something was putting out a lot of
interference, up until about ten minutes ago. When it cleared up, we got here as quickly as we
could."
Luthos levitated himself outside the building, and he looked across the river to Manhattan, still
encased in its golden prison. With the being created it having been cast into oblivion, he dispersed
the dome. He sighed, hoping there would be no ill effects of such a large magical presence on
Earth. He came back down, and strolled back into the warehouse.
The Harbinger stood up, still holding his abdomen, and walked to Apothecary. "My sword..."
Apothecary said, "...and the Obelisk..."
The Harbinger looked him in the eyes. "Vengeance is gone. So is my Focus Key. And the
Obelisk...well... it's not glowing anymore. I'm not getting any EM readings from it like I was
before. I think all the power it held is gone right along with the Makadaran."
Gomurr was checking on ShockWave, Havok, Byron, and Avalon when he felt a flutter in the
space around him. Avalon, too, sensed a slight electromagnetic distortion. The Harbinger read a
minor increase in the amount of background radiation in the air of the warehouse. Jon tensed as a
magical presence filled the room. It was in a state of pure horror and shock that Luthos saw the
portal to which he had consigned the Makadaran begin to open again. An unnatural pull was
exerted on all of them, and they were drawn to the portal. Luthos, Gomurr, and Jon attempted to
seal the breach by combining their own magical powers, with Rahsas adding additional energy to
the spell. Silver yelled to all of them, "Get out of here!" Gomurr and the other magic users
understood. They would likely be forced into oblivion with the Makadaran, in order to prevent
him from escaping. The good of the many... it was an old concept, but it still held.
But the Makadaran had other ideas.
With terrifying swiftness, they were all swept into the portal. They heard the laugh of the
Makadaran as they were swallowed whole into blackness, their thoughts drowning in a sea of
insanity.
Part Two: The Two that Fled
Outside the warehouse.
It was more clear to her than any of the others. Mythia had felt all of it. Apothecary's foolish
attack on the Prophet, the joining of the Tokens, the release of the Makadaran... and then their
sudden vanishing from this world. She sensed death, too... two Archons dead. One was nothing
more than a misguided boy. The other was a failed megalomaniac, undone by his own hubris on
one end, and the female half of Avatar being magically ripped apart. She despised violence as
much as the Prophet did... but she believed it was necessary to achieve her ends. This entire
endeavor had gotten her nowhere. Worse, she had lost Apothecary to the ancient deity of
Arcadia.
Nemesis had scanned ahead, and felt two minds approaching the exit to the warehouse. The
Enlightened waited outside, and as the door swung open, they prepared to attack. The first to
emerge was Clairvoyance. "Wait!" she shouted, putting up her hands. "Wait just a minute!"
They held off their attack, and let Clairvoyance and Visionary exit the warehouse. Osprey went
behind Visionary and placed a pair of electronic shackles on his wrists, and the tall man offered no
resistance. Clairvoyance leaned back against the wall, and closed her eyes. "I am an idiot," she
said quietly.
Osprey stood next to Rasvin and Satomi, to listen to what was about to take place. Colonel
Harris waited impatiently. For what, exactly, he wasn't sure.
Mythia surprised even Sag, Czar, and Chaos Bringer when she grabbed Clairvoyance by the
throat and held her tightly against the wall. "You will answer each and every question I ask you,
or I will twist your head off. Is that understood?"
Clairvoyance nodded. "Yes."
"Where are the Archons?"
"Vanguard and Avatar are dead. We left in the confusion, and don't know what happened after
that... except that the building was shaking a few minutes ago, and I felt a shift in the chronal
fields around the warehouse."
"The teleportation effect," Mythia said with certainty. "What happened to Apothecary?"
"The crazy one with the sword? Prophet took him down."
"But he's not dead?"
"Not as far as I know. Can you...please let go of my neck now?"
Mythia obliged, and crossed her arms. "Do you have any way to get to Arcadia?"
"Why would we want to go there?" Clairvoyance asked.
"Answer!"
"Not if everyone left. The building is empty now, right?"
"It is," Nemesis said, using a telepathic scan for confirmation.
"Then we have to do this the hard way," Mythia said, drawing up a wave of magical energy that
would sweep them across the dimensional barriers and into Arcadia, where she knew
Apothecary--and all the others--had been taken. Even if all the gods of Arcadia stood against her,
she would find a way to save the only man she had ever felt destined to be with.
--End Chapter Sixteen--
Chapter Seventeen
Part One: Return of the Makadaran
Arcadia. The House of Dremma.
The sky over Arcadia had no sun. It had been thirty years since the last sunrise and sunset on this
world. Since the theft of the Obelisk, all that remained in the sky was a ruddy hue. It was not
quite darkness, but it was full of gloom nonetheless. Everything in the Arcadian outdoors was
red. Inside a house or other building, one could find a respite from the crimson... at least until
they ventured back outside. Firestorms raged across the plains, wiping out entire villages, killing
thousands. The Maligned had crossed their borders almost immediately after the Obelisk was
stolen, and proceeded to slaughter the inhabitants of Arcadia. It was a world with little hope...
and that was even clearer here than it was elsewhere. The great castle that once housed Dremma,
the greatest king of Arcadia, lie in ruins. The turrets that once housed massive fans had collapsed
long ago, the fan blades themselves rusted beyond repair. Arcadia had fairly primitive electrical
systems, powering their castles and galleries using the gigantic fans. Even a close approximation
of telephony was accomplished through the use of magical "sound-filaments"; invisible threads of
mystical power, they carried sound vibrations across Arcadia, to other buildings similarly
equipped.
Most of Arcadia's sound-filaments had been stripped of their energy. Castles and galleries were
looted by the Maligned, or desperate villagers. Arcadia's human natives were scattered and
broken. Some of them carried out raids against the Maligned, with limited success. A few
believed there was hope across the Sea of Necrim, yet none had ever been able to cross it and
return. A provisional government had been set up in the Eastlands, the area farthest from the
Maligned borders. Around ten thousand Arcadians lived in the area, either in the city of Lehat, or
in the various subcommunities sprinkled around it. Even they were prone to being attacked,
forced to give up their goods to the Maligned in exchange for their lives. Arcadia needed a
leader, someone to unite them... someone who had the Obelisk.
And so the House of Dremma sat, ruined, its moat dried up, the stone infrastructure crumbling
and wasted. The red all around it was beginning to fall away, to be replaced by the precious white
light from the sky. The Arcadian sun spread its wings over the sky, driving the crimson into
nothingness. The lone man sitting in the castle once owned by Dremma looked up. He had
always considered his mission to have been a failure. He was entrusted by Dremma himself to
guard the future Makadaran... to guide him in his training. And he had never even encountered
the boy after he was exiled to Earth. He had fashioned a sword for him, had left subtle clues... but
had never met him face-to-face.
His own name was Treskin. He was a close advisor to Dremma three thousand years ago, up
until the last invasion of the Maligned. Dremma had been executed, his son whisked away to
Earth by Treskin himself. Treskin lived on Earth for twenty five hundred years, until he was
caught in a fire and lost his memory. By the time it came back, he had thought his quest over,
failed. And so he came to Arcadia, and found his world in ruin... learned of the theft of the
Obelisk, and the occupation by the Maligned. After that, it seemed like nothing mattered. He
lived in the ruins of Dremma's castle, even further destroyed by looters, and awaited his fate. He
fashioned food from stones by using his magic... but only enough to sustain him.
But today was different. A sun was rising! He knew it could only mean the Obelisk had been
restored. It did not occur to him that the power had returned, not the Obelisk itself. A
man who could only be defined as "red" appeared in front of him. The man's eyes held a power
over him... instinctively he knew who it was.
"The Makadaran has come back to his people!" Treskin shouted joyfully.
"The Makadaran has come back to destroy his people!" the man said as he raised a hand.
Treskin burst into flame, and screamed as he was consumed by fire. He had not even time to
run... he was already dust.
The Makadaran smiled at his handiwork. It had been some two-hundred centuries since he had
last tasted another's pain up close. The subtle influence he had been exerting over the Prophet for
months was most tantalizing, but it didn't provide the exquisite enjoyment that murder always did.
He looked at the castle around him, and did not recognize it. Not surprising, since it was
constructed long after his entrapment in the Obelisk. He merely shrugged and walked through the
ruined castle door. The drawbridge had rotted into dust, and he hovered himself across the dry,
cracked bed of the moat. The grass was brown and sickly, just as he would have it. He shielded
his eyes from the rising sun, a sight he had not seen in ages. The beauty of this world was
returning... when he would have it burn! But it didn't matter. Soon, all of Arcadia would
bow to him... or they would be exterminated. He traced the fine edge of his sword. From what
he gleaned from Apothecary, the man he had just killed supposedly fashioned the sword. How
absurd! Only the Makadaran himself could have smithied such a fine instrument of death! After
all, the sword was part of the spell that had trapped him! But then he came to a chilling
realization: the sword he held was not the one he once wielded! A substitute had broken
the spell of his prison! Which could only mean that his true sword lie elsewhere. He felt the
energy in Vengeance, and smiled. It would work well for him until he found his own blade. Of
that, he was certain!
Suddenly, he heard sounds that resembled crinkling foil, and remembered that his new enemies
were coming. He made himself vanish as they appeared, laughing to himself all the while. He had
already won... and they did not even know it!
Part Two: Arrival
The teleportation effect was disorienting, especially since it was across dimensional boundaries.
The Black, Red, and White Courts, along with the Clan Chosen, observed their surroundings and
tried to determine their location. Luthos spoke first. "This is the House of Dremma... it's been in
ruin for the last three millenia."
"Dremma?" Apothecary asked. "Mythia said I was a son of Dremma!"
Dragonmaster looked at Apothecary skeptically. "That is not possible! Dremma's only son--the
true heir to the Makadaran--was killed when the Maligned invaded three thousand years ago!"
"But Mythia told me this, Taki! How else could I have survived as long as I have?"
Luthos was shocked... how could it be possible? He had never given Apothecary more than a
cursory magical scan, never seeing any reason to probe further. But when he delicately crawled
into Apothecary's essence, he felt the power that lay within... and the great abyss that was to hold
another power.
"Taki, he is correct!" Luthos shouted.
"Hey, can we hold the phone a minute?" Avalon asked. "What's going on here? What's all this
shit about Dremma, Makadaran, and the Maligned?"
"There is not time to explain," Luthos said. "Suffice it to say, we have to stop the Makadaran at
any cost... he's too powerful as it is. He will burn out the body he is occupying within days, and is
no doubt in search of a new host."
"Won't he burn mine out?" Apothecary asked.
"No, that is why you are the heir to his power. You can survive his energies indefinitely! But you
are more important than that, since you give his power a moral center... you can control his power
as you see fit, instead of it controlling you!"
Gomurr attempted to access the Crimson Dawn, and became dizzy. "The magic in this world is
out of balance... I am unable to contact the Crimson Dawn. I'm much less powerful on this
world... even though it was not so the last time I was here."
"That was four thousand years ago, as well," Luthos said. "Your powers may have been different
then."
"That's a possibility. Or perhaps the Makadaran is throwing Arcadia into magical dystopia?"
"I can see that," Ryan concurred. "Fortunately, my abilities still work here... even if not on the
Makadaran himself."
Thresh was kneeling next to the Harbinger, who was fiddling with the micro-controls in his arm.
"Robert, do you have any idea how we're going to get out of this?"
He crossed a few circuits, recalibrating his dimensional comm-alignment, and spoke. "We'll make
it through, Jennifer. We'll survive, just like we always have." He closed the hatch on his arm and
put his hand on her shoulder. "Besides, we've been through too much together for one of us to
die here."
"I hope you're right," she said, still somewhat doubtfully. The Harbinger knew what she needed,
and he put his arms around her. "When we get back to Earth, I'll tell you everything," he said.
"About why I killed your father... why I took it upon myself to raise you... everything."
"You will?"
"That's a promise, Jennifer. And I don't make promises I don't intend to keep." He hugged her
for a moment longer, then moved his hand back to manipulating his circuits. His plan was about
to bear fruit. A large gust of wind burst through the castle, and there was a screeching sound
outside that only the Harbinger recognized. "Go outside, everyone... I have a surprise."
They all obeyed, more because they wanted to know what that sound was, not because the
Harbinger told them to do so. What awaited them was one of his Interpersonnel Assault Carriers.
They all looked at him, and he smiled.
"Dimensional travel is a function of the hyperdrive system, not the temporal core. I calibrated my
hypercomm system to allow communication with our home dimension... and thus summoned one
of my ships."
"Just how many of these damn things do you have?" Silver asked.
"Three: the Dauntless, the Rude Awakening, and the D'Aguiar."
"Which one is this?" Jon asked.
"The D'Aguiar. Named after the first person to contact extraterrestrial life: Erica
D'Aguiar."
"We'll be able to find the Makadaran in this thing?" Havok wondered.
"Of course! Sabre, you've flown one of my IPAC's before. Take the helm, please."
Sabre nodded, and they all boarded the craft. Most of them waited in the aft compartment, while
Maxwell, Silver, Ryan Jensen, Jon Tolliver, Avalon, and Sabre Wilde walked into the control
room. Sabre sat at the helm control station, the Harbinger manned the weapons station, Silver
took over the scanning station, and Avalon took a seat in front of the science display. Ryan and
Jon simply stood by and waited as the ship took off. Silver looked at his screen, and shouted.
"Wait!! There's someone on the ground!"
Silver routed the scanned images to the main viewer at the fore of the command center, and they
all saw Nemesis, scowling and shouting at the ship. "I think we have a pretty good idea what
she's saying without the pictures, Silver," the Harbinger said. "Sabre, set the ship down and lower
the boarding ramp. Nemesis doesn't look happy... and neither do her new companions."
--End Chapter Seventeen--
Interlude Three
Part One: Alien Agendas
Earth Orbit.
Stak ordered the Oolian Cruiser Rek to assume a defensive posture against the
approaching Koraxian fleet. While the Koraxians were not a serious threat, they could do
significant damage to the planet below... and that, the Skreeans could not allow.
Daemon's gunship raised shields and armed weapons, his posture being a bit more confrontational.
In their last encounter, the Koraxians had nearly obliterated the Pallan fleet under his command.
Koraxians were not a race to be underestimated.
Stak and Vral were more than a bit surprised when their viewscreen indicated that the Koraxian
fleet was hailing them. Standard procedure for that particular race was to open fire first. Stak
opened the comm channel, and awaited the Koraxian greeting.
"Oolian vessel Rek, this is the Koraxian vessel Merrix. Respond."
"We are Stak and Vral, the Skreeans in command of this vessel. State your intentions."
"We are here to take the human designated Robert Maxwell into custody."
"On what charge?" Stak asked.
"The assassination of Shatax, commander of the fleet."
Stak deactivated the audio portion of their comm channel, and took Vral aside. "Maxwell."
"He still has Inferno. We have to get him to reprogram DANTE before the Koraxians
take him."
Stak looked at the indicators on their screen. The energy disturbance in New York had vanished,
along with several human lifesigns. "These readings indicate Maxwell has left the planet. The
Obelisk must have been used to achieve this end."
"Perhaps he released the Makadaran?"
"We have no psych profile on him... it's possible. If he left the planet by way of the Makadaran,
he is probably in Arcadia now."
"Then we have to retrieve him!"
"There is another problem..." Stak said.
"What?"
"Upon Shatax's death, the Oolian agents in this region told us that several alien races were freed
from Koraxian oppression. The infrastructure of the Koraxian military fell apart--if
temporarily--and many worlds were liberated. Representatives from those worlds may come to
stop the Koraxian fleet from abducting a man they would no doubt revere as their savior."
"It would be a horrendous intergalactic incident if it came to that, Stak."
"To Arcadia, then?"
"We have to get him back... appease the Koraxians for now, and find a way to save Maxwell
later."
Stak re-opened the audio channel, and spoke. "I regret to inform you that Maxwell is not among
the human populace. We must venture across the dimensional barrier in this region to retrieve
him. Will you allow us to do so?"
The Koraxian pondered their proposal. "We have little other choice. But keep in mind that the
Koraxian Empire once dominated your puny race... and will do so again if you attempt to deceive
us."
"Understood." Stak ended the communication, and patched in a channel to Daemon. "Daemon,
we require a favor..."
Part Two: Hintings of Pasts that Never Were
The 500th Century. The Outpost.
Bluespark sat quietly in the chair. It seemed to be metal, but he couldn't discern what type.
Obviously it must be some sort of polymer. Everything in the room was foreign to him. The
illumination seemed to be omnidirectional, with no apparent source. The woman that had saved
him was working a computer console, to what purpose, he didn't know. He also saw no doors...
a fact that would make an escape difficult. At last, he decided to speak, and his voice echoed off
the metallic walls. "What am I doing here?"
The Timebender turned around. "I needed to stop here for a few calculations. It's hard to
remember what happened at any particular point in history... so I had to come back here."
"And what are you going to do with me?"
"Take you back to the point in history at which you belong, of course. The primary temporalineal
database indicates you were to live to be around ninety-six years old. It also states you weren't
supposed to have met someone named...Adrian Berkeley?"
"We call her Jennifer... Am I correct in assuming I'm in the future?"
"The 500th Century."
"Jesus... humans stick around that long, huh?"
"Yes."
"And what was that about me not meeting Jen?"
"My unaltered records say she was supposed to have been killed by her father when she was
twelve. Some type of chronal anomaly seems to have prevented that."
"The Harbinger."
"Yes...he seems to have made quite a mess of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries."
"What about his mission to prevent World War III? Does it succeed?"
"I can't tell you that, Bluespark. It may alter his own course of action. The fabric of spacetime
will degrade if time is altered to continuously."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I very nearly destroyed all universes and timelines by making a single error."
"How did you do that?"
"With this." She opened a drawer and removed a small cylinder with studs all over it. The studs
were apparently buttons, each one performing a different function. "This is a temporal-psionic
resonator. This caused the Rift."
"What is the Rift?"
"Something the Harbinger barely managed to stop. I see the general populace has no recollection
of it. That's a good sign."
Michell Art looked confused, and the Timebender took his hand. "I've made many mistakes these
past several years, Mitchell. I need you to help me make reparations."
Part Three: Temporal Operations
Alternate Timeline Xi-832. Year: 2084 A.D.
The five of them sat around the table, looking over the information they had accumulated.
Incidents all across the timespan... modifications to dozens of timelines, cross-excisions of at least
three universes, and the creation of the Rift itself. And they had only themselves to blame. The
government-sanctioned group of temporal operatives known as Temporal Operations were being
forced to bring in one of their own. The woman named June Freeson had gone rogue, stealing the
temporal-psionic resonator that they had been developing. They had found her during World War
III, in the middle of a warzone, and brought her into their group. They re-engineered her genetic
structure to augment her reality-altering abilities to astronomical levels. Instead of being a
low-level reality-warper, she became a manipulator of alternity, the fabric of temporal probability
itself. Entire lives could be erased with the force of her mind, planets could be swung out of
orbit, whole universes cast into oblivion. Their safeguards had failed. She had been driven insane
by their attempts to subvert her to their cause. And so she stole their secret weapon... sans an
energy regulator. That had caused the Rift. With the damage that had been done to the
timestream already, the sheer amount of temporal disruption an unregulated temporal-psionic
resonator put out was enough to cause a massive energy feedback, and a causality-reversal
phenomenon. To put it more simply, she had nearly destroyed all universes because of their
negligence.
Temporal Operations consisted of Joshua Ben-Rashid, called Tigereye, Ivan Karpov, called
Warrior, Heidi Bartholomew, called Argus, Jed Norton, called Copernicus, and Salah Achmed
al-Hassin, who summarily refused to accept a codename. Their mission was simple. Bring in the
Timebender, or one of her temporal counterparts, dead or alive. They needed an entire body to
perform a cross-temporal erasure... not just a DNA sample. If they succeeded, all the damage she
caused would be erased from time. They could wipe her from the fabric of existence. Yet they
didn't realize just how much it would impact other universes. True, they had performed this kind
of operation before... erasing someone from history for the gain of mankind in general. But for
someone who had altered history to such an extent as to make it completely unrelatable to the
original timeline, it would be most different.
They didn't even have to speak. For nine years, she had been gone. For nine years, they waited
for authorization to seek and terminate her. After nine years, they had it. They would take out
the Timebender, or they would die in the process.
--End Interlude Three--
Chapter Eighteen
Part One: Overthrow
Arcadia. The city of Lehat.
Grand stone arches towered over the city, ruins of an ancient empire that once held tremendous
power in Arcadia. The arches had been used to support a platform, it was said, that the
Makadaran was defeated upon. Arcadia's god, given human form, was imprisoned in the Obelisk
here. The arches stood, the platform having collapsed untold ages ago, the Obelisk itself stolen
thirty years ago. Very few doubted the authenticity of the tale... there was evidence of the battle
all around them. Vast craters pocked the area, and no life ever prospered within them. The
inhabitants attempted to cultivate the soil to no avail, all life they tried to supplant in the craters
quickly dying. Even the greatest mages in Arcadia were unsuccessful in breaking the unholy
enchantment, proof that only the Makadaran could have wrought such a wicked terror on the soil.
The bones of men were planted in the ground, and every attempt to move them failed. Frozen in
their moment of death for eternity, they were the clearest reminder of the horrors of the past.
When fires razed the area some years ago after the theft of the Obelisk, the arches, the skeletons,
the craters... all were untouched by the blaze. And so most of the natives of Arcadia inhabited the
city of Lehat, very near here. It was prophesied that the Makadaran would one day return to
liberate his people from the Maligned, and usher in a golden age for all. The malevolent aspect of
the Makadaran's dual nature would be forever eliminated, and their world would be safe. The
ancient scrolls said it was in Lehat that he would appear, his ancient sword in hand, his body
draped in red, the sun casting the protection of his shadow across the land. Perhaps the prophecy
would have come true exactly as spoken, if not for the wrinkle another mage had placed in the
spell a thousand years ago.
The Makadaran floated into the city of Lehat, and looked for the building that would house the
governmental body. He had passed many occurrences of violence and death on the journey here,
savoring each one for its unique brands of suffering. He hoped he could enjoy the assassination of
Arcadia's leaders even moreso!
He found the house of government, and was greeted by two guards. He made himself appear to
them as a simple old man, remembering the reaction Treskin had. It wouldn't do to alert these
people that he was here. No, he would slowly deconstruct their world from within, before they
even had a chance to plan a resistance!
They allowed him to enter, and he strolled into the building. Ornate carvings covered the walls
and ceiling, which curved up into a great dome, then narrowing sharply to a point in the center of
the building. He recognized a magical focal point when he saw one. If he could control this
place, he could increase his power even further! Something...something...something was
keeping him from his full potential!
"You there! What is your business here?"
The Makadaran looked for the person speaking, and realized he was in a room with about twenty
other men and women. He smiled as he concluded they were the leaders of Arcadia. The most
obvious threats to him were the magic users, so he scanned the room for mages. As he expected,
they were alerted to his probes. Six of them...good... he could handle that.
His hands reached for the sky and drew in a torrent of mystical power through the magical focal
point on the building's roof. Red and blue shards cascaded down from above, and he directed
them towards the magic users. Shielding himself against their pathetic attacks, his eyes flashed as
he blasted them through the walls of the building. Stones rained down, striking the others in the
room, and several warriors charged for him. One managed to connect a blow with a
magically-enhanced mace, drawing blood from the Makadaran's face. He grinned ever more
evilly, as his blood splashed on the face of his attacker. The soldier's flesh melted on contact with
the crimson liquid, and he screamed as his hair, his eyes, his face, his shoulders, his chest, his
arms, his back, his legs, his feet, all melted into a pool of stinking flesh. The others in the
building, witnessing the fate of their compatriot, turned and fled. Such agony, such
destruction...such pure ecstacy in the inflicting of pain!
Yet all was not complete. He had the building. He had command of the magical channeling
facilities in the building. But his sword... where was his sword? Rath awaited him... he knew it!
Part Two: Planes of Existence
The skies over Arcadia. The IPAC unit D'Aguiar.
The green glow in which the craft's interior was clothed began to irritate Nemesis. Mythia was
trying to explain the fragments of Arcadian legend she had managed to gather over the years, to
devise a plan for stopping the Makadaran. They were all trying to look at a map, and Nemesis,
dammit, couldn't see the thing because Rahsas' head was in the way. Mythia tapped a location on
the map, and spoke. "The Makadaran's original sword, called Rath, is here. It's kept in the Grand
Vault of Lehat. It will probably be his first stop."
"But that is not possible!" Luthos said. "Apothecary's sword must be Rath! How else could it
have broken the enchantment on the Obelisk?"
"I know who can give us the answer to that," Mythia said. "Just be patient."
Luthos sighed, and looked at Apothecary. He wasn't taking the current state of affairs very well.
His only chance at being whole again had been ripped from him, and he had been so close to
gaining what he so desperately wanted! Luthos told him not to worry, that they would find a way
to instill the power in Apothecary, where it belonged. But even the Battle Mage was doubtful.
He watched as the Harbinger worked a terminal on the other side of the room, with Thresh next
to him. He seemed to be explaining some hyperdimensional equations to her and comparing
spectral analyses of Arcadia and Earth. Suddenly, he backed up. "That can't be..." he whispered.
Mythia turned to him. "What is it?"
"Arcadia and Earth... they're... they're the same planet, just on different dimensional planes!"
"Explain!" Mythia said quickly.
"Their spectra are very similar... Arcadia's sun is approximately one astronomical unit from
Arcadia... the planet has the same mass... same composition... even some of the indigenous
species are the same! And here..." He pointed to a set of numbers. "They have an identical
temporal phase variance. That's too good to be a coincidence."
"How does that affect us?" Nemesis asked.
"I'm not sure, exactly. It could mean Arcadia influences Earth, and vice versa."
"But Earth is not infused with the magic Arcadia has," Mythia reminded him.
"Maybe Arcadia has a supplementary dimension that Earth doesn't... where Earth-humans
abandoned magic in the pursuit of technology, Arcadia-humans used magic to achieve
technology! And it could even explain why your magic works on Earth...because they are so
similar in nature. But they're so closely related to each other, it's very possible that they shift and
merge on occasion. It's as if they're mirror images of each other, yet they're different enough so
that it's hard to tell they're at all alike!"
"How does this help us stop the Makadaran?" Apothecary asked.
"Again, I'm not sure... scientifically, this is amazing... maybe we can find a way to shift the
Makadaran back to Earth? Or maybe into another side-dimension?"
"Magic clings to beings in this world as magnetic fields do to those in yours," Mythia said.
"There may be a way... and the man we are on the way to see can tell us if there is."
"Excellent!" the Harbinger said. "Maybe there's a glimmer of hope here after all!"
Apothecary, still doubtful, wanted to believe the Harbinger. He so needed the power of the
Makadaran to restore him.
Osprey, Satomi, Rasvin, and Harris watched the scene with amusement. While they barely
understood it, they realized the potential for conquering other so-called "dimensions". Osprey
decided that finding Robert Maxwell was a very good thing... it could even lead to America's
conquest of another world in its entirety!
As they all discussed the possibilities, no one noticed DuQuesne slipping out of the room, and into
the small cargo bay. He grabbed a set of gravitational stabilizers hanging on the wall, and
strapped on the belt apparatus. He tapped a button to open the bay door, and leapt out, arming
the stabilizer and hovering gently to the ground. The D'Aguiar sped away from him, and
he saw the bay door close. No one had heard it over the roar of the ship's engines, apparently...
and so he was free to go on his way. He was convinced this was his fault... how could he have
been so foolish as to unleash some insane god on another planet? Believing himself to be as guilty
as the Prophet, he set out to find the Makadaran. He knew the effort would be in vain... but he
had to try. He had had enough of betrayals for one lifetime.
--End Chapter Eighteen--
Chapter Nineteen
Part One: Figments of the Mind
The city of Lehat.
The Makadaran observed his handiwork quite gladly, noting the scorch marks on the walls, the
bits of stone rubble littered about the floor, and the occasional spot of blood from someone he had
just killed. Things were going very well... almost too well. He would soon have all of Arcadia
eating out of his hand, or being strangled by it.
But then a wave cut across his magical essence, and he was knocked back a bit. He felt what had
to be a great displacement of matter, and realized what it was. They had found him again!
Maybe the same two that first imprisoned him! But if that were true, he could destroy them
forever, and never have to worry about being trapped again. Yes, there was both good and bad
that could come of this turn of events. And if all went well, what was good for him would be fatal
for them.
He didn't truly sense the presences in the back of his mind. They were simply there, like little
playthings that he had outgrown, but didn't quite yet care to throw them away. The Shadow
King, Robyyn, and the Prophet all existed in his mind, trapped. As would be expected, they were
not getting along very well.
"This is your fault, you selfish, petty--human!--psion!" the Prophet screeched.
"It was your own ambition that released the being in the Obelisk, not ours!" the Shadow King
retorted. "You set this beast in motion, and now it has stripped us of our power and trapped us
here!"
"This is the fault of all of us," Robyyn said. "The Makadaran was able to gain the upper hand
over the Prophet's mind when he was forced to kill Avatar. This being obviously feeds on
violence and death."
"Then peace would defeat it?" the Shadow King asked.
"Yes!"
"Sickening!" the Shadow King spat.
"We have to stop this," the Prophet said. "I don't care what it takes. In trying to avert violence,
I've caused more harm than I ever thought possible."
"This is madness! We cannot do anything trapped here!" the Shadow King shouted. His
desperation was growing, and Robyyn and Prophet decided they needed to act soon, or else the
Shadow King may well turn on them.
Part Two: The Double Life of the Sword
Weir's Cataract, in the Southlands.
The D'Aguiar flew over the waterfall called Weir's Cataract, and they scouted for a
suitable landing point. Mythia said they would find someone here that could help them, who
could explain a way to defeat the Makadaran. There was a small cottage near the river that
flowed from the waterfall, and they set the ship down about two hundred meters from it. They
placed OSR, Clairvoyance, and Visionary in a makeshift brig they constructed. It was then they
noticed that DuQuesne had vanished. But they decided it was not important, since they could
always find him later, and that the Makadaran was the major issue at hand. As they disembarked,
the Harbinger cloaked the ship so it wouldn't attract attention from the natives. Trees marked the
path to the cottage, and they could see the cliff face from which water poured. Its sounds were
pleasant, and offered a moment of relaxation. But only a moment. They still had to save
Arcadia... for the sun, while in the sky for the first time in 30 years, was turning crimson. The
Makadaran's poison was infesting Arcadia, and it had to be stopped. Mythia, Luthos,
Dragonmaster, and Apothecary created a silent pact, with nothing more than a look at each other.
If all the others abandoned them or were killed, they would stop the Makadaran on their own.
The others had no true stake in this conflict. Only the four of them had any reason to care about
this world, and they were determined to protect it. Apothecary had, at last, found the key to his
past... he was not about to lose it.
Luthos decided that their party should look a bit more "local", and cast spell on them that altered
their clothing. The men were dressed in brown cloth, the women in silk. Dragonmaster and
Apothecary wore armor and helmets, and looked rather intimidating amongst the crowd. For the
finishing touch, Luthos dressed Ryan in garments of royal purple, and topped it off with a golden,
jeweled crown. Luthos said, "We are royal traveling party from the Westlands, and wished to see
the great mage, Enris. That is, the man in the cottage. Ryan, if you please, knock upon the good
mage's door."
The Red King did so, and they waited for several moments. They heard some amount of
grumbling through the door, and it was finally opened. A haggard old man who had obviously
not shaved in at least a few centuries looked at them, squinting his eyes. "What? What is it? I
paid my tribute a month ago!"
Ryan smiled and bowed before the old man. "Forgive us, we are not here to rob you. We are a
traveling party of royalty from the Westlands, and merely wished to learn pearls of wisdom from
the great mage, Enris!"
The old man scoffed at the idea. "I am too old to tell stories to children. You... you would not
understand anyway!" He slammed the door in Ryan's face.
Mythia sighed. "He was a bit nicer the last time I met him. Maybe I should talk to him this time."
Ryan moved out of the way, and let her knock on the door. "What now?!" the old man shouted
as he opened the door. "Mythia!" he exclaimed in delight.
"Yes, it's me. We really need your help, Enris. The fate of Arcadia depends on it!"
"It always does!" Enris said, smiling.
"May we come in?" she asked.
"My cottage is not that large. I suppose I could take five of you in. The rest have to stay out
here."
Mythia looked at the group, and picked those she thought would be most useful in talking to
Enris. Luthos, Gomurr, the Harbinger, and Ryan were selected. They graciously entered the
small cottage, and sat down at a table Enris magically formed out of the air. "Now," the mage
said, "How may I be of service?"
"The Makadaran has been released," Mythia said. "And we've discovered something about the
nature of Arcadia itself."
Enris had heard only the first sentence. "He escaped?! How?!!?"
"He was released on the world called Earth, and came here. How it happened is not important
right now. We're running out of time!"
"What do you want to know?"
"His sword," the Harbinger said. "Mythia says it was called Rath. It was supposedly used as part
of the original enchantment that locked the Makadaran in the Obelisk. But another sword was
used to release him, one called Vengeance. Vengeance and Rath may be one and the same, but
we don't know. We need you to help us find out."
"Rath? That sword was stolen some time ago... about a thousand years or more... by a man called
Treskin. He, too, fled to the place called Earth. But before that, the sword itself went through a
few changes."
"What?!" Mythia said in shock. "Why was the theft of Rath not reported?"
"Have you any idea the anarchy that would have resulted? If the ancient sword of the Makadaran
were to just be stolen, everyone would panic! It was kept very quiet, and is kept so even now."
"These changes you spoke of," Luthos said. "What were they?"
"The sword, Rath, was crossing over briefly into Earth. It was a strange phenomenon, and we
feared that the Makadaran was on Earth trying to summon his sword. Instead, it came back with
a piece of another sword inside it."
Then everything came together for Mythia. Rath had shifted to Earth, in the same location as
Excalibur, just as the Harbinger had onced theorized. And so a part of Excalibur--maybe not a
physical part, but certainly a shred of its power--was placed inside Rath. And when Treskin stole
it and fled to Earth, he left it for Apothecary to find! She sighed in relief that she had solved the
mystery surrounding the sword. It was the only explanation that fit, really, and she was certain it
was correct. But she wouldn't mention it to the others just yet.
"We suspect there is a way to separate Makadaran from his magical power," Ryan said. "Do you
know if this is possible?"
"You cannot take the rain from the clouds," Enris said.
"What does that mean?" Ryan asked.
"It means," Luthos said, "That the Makadaran is magic. They are one and the same,
which means they can't be separated!"
"In other words, we're fucked," the Harbinger said.
--End Chapter Nineteen--
Chapter Twenty
Part One: An All-Too-Brief Chance to Recover
Enris' cottage.
"Fuck? Is that a word of the Northland dialects?" Enris asked.
"Uh..." the Harbinger muttered, "Not exactly. Forget I said anything."
"Actually, I no longer remember what led to you using that word. Forgive an old man his addled
memory."
Mythia smiled. "It's okay, Enris. You were just telling us that the Makadaran can't be cut off
from his magic."
Enris nodded. "Yes, that is correct. Legend says he is a being that thrives on violence and death.
Perhaps a strategy could be formed from that knowledge?"
"Possibly," Luthos said.
At this point, Ryan spoke up. "Can he negate the powers of Elementals?"
"No one is certain how deep his power runs. I would advise caution, at the very least."
"Thanks for all your help," Mythia said sincerely as she stood up.
"You are departing?" Enris asked.
"Yeah. We're going to stop the Makadaran. Wish us luck, old friend."
"What has happened to your speech, Mythia? It is so... unstructured. To master magic, you must
first master language!"
"Don't worry about me, Enris. I haven't lost my edge! It's just what happens when you spend a
hundred years or so on Earth... your language changes a bit."
"And your friends are all from Earth as well, are they not?"
"Can't put anything past you, can I?" Mythia said playfully. "Luthos, Dragonmaster, and
Apothecary are natives of Arcadia. The rest are from Earth, or elsewhere. If you'll pardon us,
Enris, we have to be going."
"Oh yes, of course," Enris said. "Good luck on your journey."
"We'll need it," Mythia said as they walked out of the cottage.
After they got outside, the Harbinger spoke to Gomurr. "You were awfully quiet in there."
"Mythia and I pieced together the nature of Vengeance, the sword the Makadaran now wields,"
Gomurr said.
"Really?" Mythia asked. "I thought I pieced it together on my own."
"I was using what you already knew and searching for possible conclusions," Gomurr said. "The
only explanation is that Vengeance is Rath, but with a bit of Excalibur's power inside it,
which would make it virtually unrecognizable to the Makadaran. It worked perfectly in breaking
the Obelisk enchantment, which means it must still have the same mystical properties it had
before."
Silver walked up to them. "How did it go?"
"We may have a means of defeating him," Luthos said. "Through peace."
"We have to stand still so he can kill us?" Silver asked.
"Not quite," the Harbinger said. "I still think the answer lies within the Tokens, specifically, the
sword. Luthos, you said the sword could kill him. Is that still true?"
"Yes, it is. But if Apothecary absorbs the essence of Makadaran while in such an enraged state,
he could be overtaken by its more malevolent aspects. Which would lead us back to where we
began with Prophet."
The Harbinger grumbled and walked away, deciding to formulate a strategy of his own with
Nedereth. Maxwell and his friend went back to the D'Aguiar, with Thresh following
silently behind them.
Rahsas was sitting next to ShockWave, as they admired the waterfall called Weir's Cataract. "I'm
sorry I got you into this," he said glumly.
She brushed one of her green bangs away from her face and looked at him. "It's not your fault
Avatar came after you. And it's not your fault I tried to stop him. So don't blame yourself for
this, okay? After all, it's not like we're alone here!" she said, looking over at the assorted people
gathered in front of Enris' cottage, and next to the cloaked ship D'Aguiar.
Rahsas smiled. "So are we gonna kick ass or what?"
"Let's start with yours," ShockWave said, tossing Rahsas into the frigid river running from the
waterfall.
"Maggie, I'll get you for this!" he shouted, only in mock anger.
Avalon and Gregor were off by themselves, admiring the sylvan landscape around them. Gregor
was preoccupied, contemplating his role in this catastrophe in which he had gotten involved. "I
tried to kill the Prophet. And both he and DuQuesne deceived me! I'll see someone die for this."
"Just be glad you're not the one who's dead," Avalon said. "I've seen Jon looking at you
like she would like to kill you."
Gregor leaned back against a tree. "She still thinks I'm behind this whole thing. Everyone else
believes me... I DID end my allegiance to the Archons. Maybe she thinks I have a
personal vendetta against her."
"That could be. You ever think of talking to her?"
"You know, for being a little too-big-for-his-britches brat, you're not that bad at listening to
people."
Avalon remembered what had happened the last time he "listened" to someone. When that
someone was Claudia Sandubal... Nemesis. The things she had said to him... No. He couldn't let
himself get caught up in that now. There was a hell of a lot more at stake than just his personal
troubles. He looked at his brother. "You think you'll ever get involved in any more Club
business?"
"The next time I decide to join another cloak-and-dagger group with global aspirations, please
shoot me."
"It's a deal."
Nemesis was with OSR and Lt. Col. Harris. She had gotten tired of waiting for everyone else to
get back, so she decided she would take care of one little problem.
"You three," she said, pointing to OSR. "What are your names?"
"We are Osprey, Satomi, and Rasvin," Osprey answered.
"Cute. Real names," she said.
"I'm afraid I don't recall..." Osprey said.
Nemesis tried telepathically entering their minds, and was outright blocked. Psi-baffles of some
kind, she guessed.
"Telepathy won't work on us," Rasvin said. "We have psionic scramblers."
"If that's how it is..." she said as she opened a small compartment marked "Microtronics
Toolkits". She took one out, and opened it.
"What are you doing?" Satomi asked, looking a bit worried.
She picked up a long, slim cylinder with a pointed tip out of the toolkit. "The Harbinger calls this
an electromagnetic field destabilizer. It kills electronics like you wouldn't believe. One prick from
this, and you'll be crawling with little robots intent on destroying your psi-scramblers. So either
we do this the easy way, or the hard way."
"Why do you want our names?" Satomi asked.
"Look, I don't even care what your names are. I just want to know what the hell you had to do
with all of this!"
Osprey looked at her, and decided there was no other recourse. "Since you'll get the information
you want either way, I might as well tell you. We're government agents assigned to a genetic
rejuvenation project. The Archons were part of it... sort of. They brought us some data, and in
exchange for further research, we had to pay them a hundred billion dollars. Quite a ludicrous
proposition, really... but we agreed to it. They were ordered to take Manhattan, and the money
would 'mysteriously' end up in their possession. They would drop out of sight, and all problems
would be solved. But we set them up. There never was any money... we intended to kill the
Archons and take their data. It seems they pre-empted us, and killed all of Mr. Harris' men."
"That's right!" Harris spoke up. "And that black bitch is going to die for this!"
"Mythia had nothing to do with this," Nemesis said. "She was fighting against the
Archons. She just didn't think we should trust you, and that's why you're under lock and key here.
When we get back to Earth, you boys will take Clairvoyance and Visionary into custody, and they
will be charged with the destruction of the DataNex, and the attempted destruction of Manhattan
island. Do you have a problem with that?"
"Not at all," Osprey said.
"See? You get what you want: to have the Archons busted and out of the way, and the rest of us
get to go on with our lives."
Osprey smiled. Oh, they would take the remaining Archons into custody all right... along with the
rest of these rogue mutants. And then, he could call his own shots! Even--and his mind spun and
reeled with the pure fantastique of the idea--the invasion of this Arcadia!
Ryan Jensen and Jon Tolliver were talking by Enris' cottage, Jon becoming a bit agitated with
Ryan's questions.
"Why did you never tell us about this Prophet character?" he asked.
"Because..."
"Yes?" Ryan said impatiently.
"Because he learned of my connection to the Hellfire Club! He would have taken it over if I
hadn't given him what he wanted... money, a few assets... what else could I have done? Even
though he tried to usurp my own fortune, I couldn't betray him, because I would only betray the
Club in doing so. As it is, he planted DuQuesne. He may yet succeed in tearing us all apart."
"O'Ryan, Paramount, Gregor, Prophet... it just never ends with you, does it?"
"Just because I have made some questionable choices in the past--"
"Questionable?! Every man you get involved with tries to kill you, or betrays you somehow, or
some other damn thing!"
Jon slapped him. Hard. "You will not speak to me this way!"
"We will talk about this later, Jon," he said, and walked away.
Darque Feonix and Sabre were walking together into the wasteland just beyond the
D'Aguiar. The grass was hard and crumbly, making sounds like crushed leaves as they
trod it. Feonix savored the mental clarity he now had, thanks to the Prophet. He was finally free
of the curse Anti Christ had placed upon him. And while another battle still lay ahead, he knew he
would prevail... if only for her.
Sabre, little more than a child in age, yet wisdom reaching far beyond that of some of her elders.
And while she may have been a dreamer, she was not naive. Life was cruel. Death was a
constant in any world, in any dream. It couldn't be canceled out of the equation, otherwise it
wouldn't work at all. Sacrifices would have to be made to do what was necessary. Someday, the
Inner Circle would undergo a new changing of the guard. And she would be the one to lead them
into a new age... at least, that was how the dream went.
They stood together. So close, yet so far apart, yet still close. They always sought control.
Feonix had once more achieved it. Sabre desperately needed it. But they would always be
together, and God help anyone who would think otherwise.
Siryn and Havok were sitting in the multipurpose room on the D'Aguiar. Siryn had beaten
him at poker eight hands so far. Havok's ribs and arm and leg felt better thanks to one of the
Harbinger's medical devices, which Siryn was kind enough to use on him. After losing yet
another hand, Havok gave up. Siryn just shrugged, and spoke. "You know, if we get back to
Earth and find out my humvee is dented, I am going to be seriously pissed off."
"You can borrow my .357 to take care of whoever did it," Havok offered. Then he bared his
claws. "Or I could just poke 'em a bit."
Siryn laughed. "Thanks for the offer. You can poke the Makadaran if you want. Just don't get
yourself killed doing it!"
"I'll keep that in mind," he said.
They at last had some time alone. Havoc1 and Monet were standing a bit downriver of Weir's
Cataract, looking at the water flow by. Havoc1 spoke first. "I'm..um...sorry about what
happened."
"God, that was embarrassing."
"No kidding... at least Gomurr didn't catch us."
"But that Avatar guy... he just showed up out of nowhere!"
"I don't think we should tell Gomurr about this," Monet said. "We could lose privileges or
something."
"But aren't you the Headmistress?"
"Yeah, but I still have to complete some classes! And if word got out that I was doing that with
another student..."
"That wouldn't be pretty."
"No, it wouldn't."
Demona, Rogue, and Byron were on top of the D'Aguiar. To an Arcadian native, it would
appear the three women were floating in the air. But they were really just on top of the cloaked
ship. Byron and Rogue thought it was exciting. Demona didn't see the point.
"If you want to be 'walking on air'," Demona said, "Turn yourself into a bird. There's no point in
us just standing up on top of this ship."
Rogue tapped her shoe on the ship, setting off a metal clanging. "Maybe Becca doesn't feel like
it. Besides, this is kind of neat."
"Where does the Harbinger get all this technology?" Byron asked in amazement.
"He probably stole it," Demona said. "There's probably a poor old man in the future who will
never get his home back because some belligerent cyborg stole it from him."
"If this ship is a home, it sure doesn't seem like one," Rogue said. "It's too cold and uninviting."
"It was probably designed that way to make intruders and unwanted guests uncomfortable,"
Demona said.
"Yeah, maybe," Byron halfheartedly agreed. She wasn't particularly interested in the
conversation. An odd effect she was noting was that she had no shadow up here. Her shadow
was not transmitted to the ground, nor was it superimposed against the air in a formation
consistent with the IPAC ship. Obviously imperfect technology, she decided.
Chaos Bringer, Czar Say-Tan, Sag, Deadpool, Apothecary, and Blaze were in the front
compartment of the D'Aguiar, taking readings and so forth. Chaos and Czar sat close to
one another, and spoke quietly. "I've seen three of my brother's Legacy so far," Czar whispered.
"We are still missing the Iceman, SuperGrover, DarkWolf, and Dark Claw."
"Your brother was an idiot. His own Legacy was used to destroy him!"
"Keep it down! They can't know who I am... that's a fact we have to keep to ourselves. Now, we
have Siryn, Harbinger, and Darque Feonix. If we can locate the other four, we'll be all set to
bring him back."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"It damn well better... or someone will have to answer to me for it!"
--End Chapter Twenty--
Note: This chapter was all about characterization, in case you couldn't tell. I figured I had had so
much plot these past several chapters, a breather was in order. I hope you enjoyed it. :)
Chapter Twenty-One
Part One: Wrinkles in Enchantments, Prophecies Unwelcome
Outside Enris' cottage.
The sky was beginning to darken with the onset of night. Or perhaps it was the return of
Darkness to Arcadia? None of them could be certain. Enris stepped out of his cottage,
apparently unflapped by all he had been told. He spoke to Mythia, recalling something he had
forgotten.
"Mythia, there is something about the Makadaran I should tell you," he said. "It may be helpful."
"What is it?" she asked, hoping for something that would turn the tables in their favor.
"About a thousand years ago, before Rath was stolen, I added another enchantment to it. It was
an attempt to fool the Makadaran if he ever came back with a malevolent demeanor. He wouldn't
recognize the sword as his own, and would try to seek it out in vain."
"I thought the energies from Excalibur were responsible for that."
"That is what gave me the original idea, you see. But the Makadaran could see through a change
like that. I had to magically redefine the sword, retaining all its power, but giving it a different
mystical signature. Since he now has the sword, he won't believe it is his own. He will actively
seek out Rath, and with any luck he should be quite willing to give up the sword he carries. Now,
this is very important..."
"I'm listening. Go on."
"...if he gives you--or anyone else--the sword, he must not be allowed to take it back. The
Tokens of the Obelisk must be cut from him one by one."
"And what of the hair that was used to break the enchantment? How was it able to work?"
"From the description you gave me of the woman who provided the hair, I have determined she is
the counterpart of the Arcadian Woman of Serpents. Mystically, they are quite similar...almost
indistinguishable magically."
"You mean you knew Earth and Arcadia were essentially the same planet?"
"Scholars and magicians have known for eons... but only a few of us. We wished to dissuade
wanton travel between the worlds."
"I suppose that was wise. Do you have anything else to tell us?"
"Just remove the Tokens, Mythia... whoever holds them next will be the new host of the
Makadaran."
"Got it." She looked over at the D'Aguiar, and saw everyone boarding it. "It seems it's
time for me to go, old friend."
"Good luck, Mythia. May your journey be free of misfortune."
"I only wish..." she said as she embarked the D'Aguiar.
With those parting words, the IPAC lifted off, and sped off for Lehat. Enris sat down on the
ground, wondering just how all the Tokens of the Obelisk came to be in one location. He recalled
the ancient legends of a woman who wrote destinies from scratch... someone who could make the
impossible happen in an instant. What if this "Prophet" had been aided by her? Could she be the
one destined to determine the fate of all worlds? If so, she would be making her appearance
soon... the return of the Makadaran was proof that times were changing. And the ancient texts
read that the woman would appear on Earth, fleeing demons from her past, to seek out a man
who should never have been... but they were just old words. Surely they couldn't be the truth.
He was just an old man. The years were gaining on him. He had little life left in him. He
supposed speculating about the future was the only thing that could occupy him anymore, since
the past was something he was immersed in already. And his addled old mind tried hard to recall
the legendary woman's name... something... Twister? No...that wasn't it... Bender... something...
something-Bender. His mind wasn't working... he futilely kicked the dirt in front of him. Dusk
was giving way to night... as Arcadia's fate was being decided. He walked back into his cottage,
and curled up on his bed, surrounded by the old words. How soon would the prophecies come
true? He only hoped he wouldn't be alive to see it...
Part Two: Lies and Struggles
The D'Aguiar.
The Harbinger was strolling by the makeshift cells holding the remaining Archons, and the
adjacent cell holding OSR and Harris, and paused. Osprey, Satomi, Rasvin, and Harris regarded
him cautiously. The Harbinger's eyes met Osprey's, and Maxwell slowly began crawling along the
outside of Osprey's psionic essence. Sliding gently across his mind, he found the interference
quite obvious. Deftly, his own cybernetics intervened: thousands of microbots leapt invisibly
through the air into Osprey's hair. They burrowed into his scalp, crawling beneath his dermis until
they reached his ear. Filing quickly inside, they reached his brain within seconds, and deactivated
his psionic scrambler. Maxwell smiled, and noted that Osprey had felt nothing... which would
serve quite well in the next minutes.
"Osprey, tell me... Exactly why are you after me?"
Osprey looked into the time traveler's eyes, and saw the question as a taunt. He had the feeling
that Maxwell already knew everything... but it could have been a trick. So he came up with a
pretense. "The American government is quite interested in having you working for them... the
National Security Agency in particular."
The Harbinger detected the lie, but played along. "And just what do I have that our government
does not?"
"Don't be coy, Maxwell. We know that you're not from this time... we have found absolutely no
trace of you in historical records. We've been tracking you for some time, as well. We have even
been acquainted with your band of informants scattered about Earth. Specifically, Damon
Stanford."
The Harbinger raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if maybe this Osprey was telepathic. Surely
no one could have discovered his connection to Stanford! "How did you find out about Stanford
and myself?"
"As I said, we've been following your movements for some time. And as further incentive for you
to join us, we are holding Stanford as our prisoner."
"Nemesis said she didn't recognize any of you, or Harris' men. She's met Stanford."
"He wasn't with us, you idiot! Despite popular belief, the American government is not stupid.
We have him hidden away."
The Harbinger probed into Osprey's mind, at this point not caring whether the man noticed. He
had expected to uncover the location of Stanford. And he did.
Silently, he deactivated the cell's forcefield and stepped inside. He looked calmly at Osprey,
barely containing his rage. It would have been to easy to simply cut loose. Quickly, he grabbed
Osprey's throat, and squeezed.
"So you had him killed just to get to me?" the Harbinger asked, gritting his teeth.
"Wasn't....hard to find him... he found out too much."
"I could squeeze much harder... find out how much pressure it takes to make your head pop."
"But you won't. If we aren't returned safely, Uncle Sam won't rest until we are found... and when
they fail in that, they will come looking for you."
The Harbinger dropped him. "So you can live for now. I'll have my revenge on you later. Right
now," he said, stepping out of the cell and reactivating the force shield, "...I need to get to the
main control room."
Robert Maxwell walked past Visionary and Clairvoyance. They didn't look at him, which was
probably in their best interest. The Harbinger was angry enough to kill at the slightest misstep.
But what bothered him most was that every time he felt he had regained control over events, they
took another turn that left him more confounded than before.
As he stepped into the control room, he looked out the front window. Wars were raging across
the plains, just as Luthos and Dragonmaster had predicted. The Maligned were retreating to their
lands, looting and killing as they withdrew. Mythia suspected the Makadaran's return had
prompted the rioting, and Luthos agreed. Apothecary was staring out the window with his arms
crossed. He seemed crestfallen that he had come so close to being whole again, only to find the
fight had just begun. Sabre was piloting the ship, with Darque Feonix checking and re-checking
her flight trajectory. Creatures of all types inhabited the skies of this world, and one could take
no chances. Nedereth was consulting with Ryan, Silver, Nemesis, and Jon about a possible
strategy for defeating their enemy. The rest were in the back, recuperating from the events of the
past few days. It was then the Harbinger remembered that it was Valentine's Day... or at least
what was left of it. Dusk had just left, replaced by night. He took the center seat, glad no one
else had occupied it. They would soon rendezvous with Arcadia's destiny, and the fate of two
worlds would be decided in less than twenty-four hours. He supposed it didn't matter what day it
was... every day was a struggle for these people.
Part Three: Every Flavor of Death
Lehat.
"WHERE IS IT?!" the Makadaran screamed. The Curator of
Lehat's Grand Museum ducked beneath his oak desk, avoiding the rage of the red man. The
Makadaran smashed his fist upon the desk, splintering it into a thousand pieces. The Curator
crawled backwards to escape, and the Makadaran lifted him magically, bringing him closer. His
hands had become taloned claws, and he gripped the Curator tightly. He drew a talon across the
Curator's forehead slowly, cutting very superficially to avoid harming him. "Where?"
"The...the Great Vault! Please do not harm me!"
Quickly pleased by the Curator's answer, he shredded the old man's windpipe, blood pouring out
profusely. He threw the bedraggled corpse onto the floor, and kicked it. He knew he needed a
bit more control over himself if he were ever going to find the sword. No! That was the Prophet
influencing him! The loathsome pacifist made him ill. How could anyone dislike the succulent
pleasures of pure, unadulterated violence? If he could, he would have burned the Prophet's
consciousness in flames of hatred. But for now, he required the minds within him. This Shadow
King proved most promising. An entity bent on nothing short of universal anarchy, he
appreciated what the disembodied soul of Amal Farouk had tried to accomplish for so long. And
he would, at last, give the human his wish. Arcadia would burn, would be swept away by floods,
massacred by plagues, purged by wars, fields of grain and grass would be entirely dried up, famine
would be rampant... the mere image made him quiver. So much hatred and violence! And he
would have MORE! Every flavor of death, every aroma of pain... he would own it all!
But first, he required his sword!
He picked up Vengeance, which he had casually cast aside to slay the Curator. Finding the Great
Vault of the museum, where he had been told by an eager young boy that his sword was held, he
magically opened the door. Yes, that child had made a delicious diversion... peeling his skin off
one layer at a time, until no flesh remained. He came to the Curator to make certain the boy was
being truthful. And now he anticipated holding the cold hilt of Rath in his hands once more... just
as he had so long ago. But he would have to act quickly, before the two Outsiders arrived to stop
him!
When the Vault door was completely opened, he peered inside. The stench of ancient air poured
out, and he wrinkled his nose. It was dark inside, so he magically illuminated the room. There!
A glass case at the far end! He approached it quickly, and put his hands on the glass.
NO! It couldn't be! IT WAS NOT THERE! HE HAD BEEN
DECEIVED!
He burst through the ceiling of the Museum, enraged, and set it ablaze. Dozens of people visiting
the museum ran screaming from it, falling down as the flames consumed their bodies. He laughed
in pure wickedness as they died and burned. They would all pay for this! And he
WOULD find his sword! They could not keep it from him!
As he set Lehat on fire, burning the city to the ground, he didn't notice the silver glimmer on the
horizon. It was coming closer, quick but silent.
--End Chapter Twenty-One--
Chapter Twenty-Two
Part One: Dying Words of One Who was There
The City of Terralis.
Antoine DuQuesne strolled silently through the city, looking for a hotel or an inn... whatever it
was this strange world had. The buildings looked surprisingly modern: not merely mud and straw
huts, they were instead angular houses, with what once must have been brightly-colored paint.
He recalled seeing wooden houses on the journey here aboard the D'Aguiar, but those
were near Maligned territory, so he assumed they were simply less developed. Street lamps
lighted his way, tall posts with glowing spheres dangling from armatures on each one. Looking at
the sky, he figured that either this world had no moon, or it was being obscured by something.
The citizens were obviously afraid to come out of their homes, him having not seen any sign of
anyone since arriving. At last, he found a building marked "Inn". He knocked on the door, and
heard a bar being removed. The door opened for him, and he stepped inside.
"How can I help you, sir?" a young man at the front desk asked.
The door shut behind DuQuesne, and he looked to see that no one had been there to physically
moved it. He decided he wouldn't ask just how they did that. "I would just like a room for the
night." What am I doing?! he demanded of himself. I have to stop the Makadaran, and
sleeping in some damn motel isn't going to do that! I need a way to Lehat!
"Very well, sir, if you'll just--" the innkeeper began.
"I'm sorry, I've changed my mind... if you could, please tell me how to get to Lehat as quickly as
possible."
The innkeeper noticed the distressed expression of his customer, and walked up to him. "Are you
all right? Is there some way I may assist you?"
"Lehat! I need to get there!"
"Yes, yes, I know... But is there nothing else that requires attention?"
"No, that's it! What's the fastest way??"
"Air machine. It could take you there in two days. That is, unless you can find a magician who
would teleport you there."
"Who's the local magician?"
"Singh is our magician. But he has not practiced his craft in years... it would not be wise to ask
him such a favor."
Without a word, DuQuesne opened the door and left to find Singh.
Within minutes, he had found the magician's house. Impressive-looking, he guessed Singh must
have been a very popular or wealthy magic user to have such extravagant lodgings. Before he
even knocked on the door, it swung open. "Enter," came a low, whispery voice.
He did as he was told, and walked inside. The door shut silently behind him. The house was
cold, and seemed terribly empty. Directly in front of him were a set of stairs. To his left was a
room with a collection of magic-related literature, and to his right was a living room, with a
darkened fireplace. The house itself glowed green, just enough for DuQuesne to see. "Stairs,"
the voice called.
He trekked up the stairs, and they made no sound whatsoever. He was unsettled by the incredible
silence of the house. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat, which was getting more
rapid. At the top of the stairs were three doors. One was labeled "Obelisk", another "Lehat", and
a third had no markings. "Unmarked," came the voice again.
He put his hand on the doorknob to the unmarked door, and turned slowly. The door opened,
and he walked in cautiously. A pathetic little skeleton of a man was lying on a bed, his eyes open
wide, his chest rising and falling in a pronounced manner as he breathed. His skin was grey, and
his bones seemed to be all that gave him form. He outstretched a bony hand, bits of gangrenous
skin flaking off as it hovered in the air. "Come," the skeleton-man said.
DuQuesne walked to him, and looked at him. The man put his hand on DuQuesne's wrist.
"Kneel."
Antoine knelt in front of the bed, still unsure as to what was going on. This house, everything in
it, this man... all were frightening him. But he was compelled to follow the instructions he was
given. He listened intently as the old one gathered his strength to speak.
"Many ages past... a man GODLY man rules Arcadia. Makadaran... not sane... sane...
in... sane! He stopped... is stopped, by Outersiders... siderouters... outersiders..." The old man
was trailing off into incoherent babbling, and DuQuesne gripped his hand, giving it a bit of
warmth. Singh gained control of himself once more, and spoke. "...Outsiders and I... stop
Makadaran! Trapped in Obelisk... GODLY man! Power to be given to right one... Son of
Drem...ma...ma...ma...ma...ma...." For several minutes, Singh repeated that last syllable, until he
regained his faculties. "Yes... you must go. Help the new Outsiders. Be... AIDE to new
king...."
"I must go to Lehat?" DuQuesne asked.
"Yessssss..... door.... door... dooor..... dooooooor......" Singh said "door" one more time, except
it rang out, continuing and echoing throughout the house, like a hideous death knell, ripping into
DuQuesne's soul. He let go of Singh's hand, scrambled away from the now lifeless body, and
went for the door marked "Lehat". He wasn't sure if Singh was right about anything he said... he
seemed to be fairly insane himself... but what choice did he have? He had to help them stop the
Makadaran!
He opened the door, and purple and red light spewed out at him. The house made a wailing
sound as its green illumination was cast out by the lights from Lehat, and he was pulled through
the doorway.
Part Two: Planning Stages
En route to Lehat. The D'Aguiar.
Remote probes launched from the D'Aguiar indicated that the Makadaran had holed
himself up inside the Arcadian government building. He had destroyed the probe soon after, but a
plan was constructed based on the assumption he was remaining within the base. Mythia handed
the Harbinger the detailed plan for their assault on the Makadaran. The Harbinger looked it over
carefully, reading the assignments for each individual on the mission:
Advance Scout is Nemesis, who will use her telepathic abilities to scan the building, and to gain
entry if possible. We would prefer to keep the Makadaran within the building to minimize risk to
Lehat citizens.
Primary Strike Unit will be comprised of those with high-level energy-based abilities, or superior
combat skills. Siryn, Apothecary, Dragonmaster, Gregor, Darque Feonix, and Blaze will be the
composition of this unit. They are to directly strike at the Makadaran, and attempt to weaken him
as much as possible so the Magic Strike Unit can complete the job.
Magic Strike Unit will be comprised of high-level magic users and defensive non-magicals, for a
direct assault on the Makadaran. Flyin' Ryan, Nytshade (Jon), Luthos, Mythia, and Gomurr will
be in the attack portion of this unit. ShockWave will be useful for defensive tactics, as her
abilities allow for rechanneling of any energy form. Sabre can provide defense using her
teleportals. Demona will subtly influence the attitudes of the attacking unit, to minimize mistakes
resulting from hesitation, fear, or other emotional factors.
Covert Unit will be comprised of Avalon, Havoc1, Monet, Harbinger, Thresh, and Deadpool.
Their objective is to disable the magic "needle" that provides magical power to the facility the
Makadaran has commandeered. While this may reduce his destructive capacity, he will quickly
discover what we have done and use a new energy source. He must be stopped before he
acquires a new source. The Harbinger will be on top of the building dismantling it from there,
while the rest of Covert Unit disables its power transformer in the tunnels below the building.
Reserve Unit will be comprised of individuals who are not suited to this type of combat, or are
more valuable away from the battle. Silver, Nedereth, Rahsas, Sag, Chaos Bringer, Czar
Say-Tan, Rogue, and Byron are the composition of this unit.
The information went on to talk about the phases of the plan, the Primary Strike Unit distracting
the Makadaran while the Magic Strike Unit and the Covert Unit move into position, and then the
disabling of the "needle" powering the Arcadian house of government. Mythia mentioned that the
house of government used electrical power, after converting magic from the needle. She believed
Avalon would be keen enough to disable the power distribution network, and perhaps even send a
feedback into the Makadaran himself. She explained that while the Makadaran could control any
magic he encountered, it was extremely difficult, and so he had to siphon magical resources from
less resistant things, such as a magically-powered building. The Harbinger smiled as he realized
this limitation. The Makadaran had a difficult time stealing magic that was being controlled by a
sentient being, implying the Makadaran did not have as strong as will as he would claim to. He
wondered if overconfidence was another trait the Makadaran possessed... he hoped so!
As their ship got nearer and nearer to Lehat, those in the main control room could see the city.
They gasped as they realized it was burning brightly like a beacon! It was too late, the
Makadaran had already destroyed Lehat, and the rest of Arcadia would follow!!
--End Chapter Twenty-Two--
Chapter Twenty-Three
Part One: Battle Cry
Lehat.
The D'Aguiar rushed towards the city, and Nemesis stood at the bay door. She was going
to evac the craft the way DuQuesne did: jump out with a grav-harness and land softly on the turf.
She knew that Silver, Ryan, and the Harbinger were giving people their assignments in the
adjacent room. She scanned the Harbinger one more time, and could still sense the feelings he
had for her. She smiled as she leapt from the D'Aguiar, and glided down about a
kilometer from the Makadaran's captured compound.
As everyone was being handed their mission assignments, several groans and mumblings were
apparent. Avalon was the first to voice his objections. "'Covert Unit'?! What the hell is this??
Are you saying I can't fight?"
Mythia intervened before the Harbinger could put Avalon in his place. "We merely agreed that
you are more valuable for your technical talents, and would be more helpful in assisting the
dismantlement of the needle."
"Well I still think it's bullshit!"
Monet elbowed him. "You are going to hate this mission! We have to walk through tunnels..."
"Ugh... rats!"
Havoc1 looked at Monet. "Bitchin'... we're in the same unit! Is that great or what?!"
Thresh observed the group, and turned to Deadpool. "Looks like we're babysitting."
The former mercenary simply nodded in acknowledgment.
Gregor was a bit puzzled by his assignment, and went to Nedereth. "Why have I been assigned as
Primary Strike? My powers aren't powerful enough to warrant that."
"Your mutant ability controls pollutants. In Arcadia, magic itself is something of a pollutant. The
building is a cesspool of it. You should be able to create magical javelins and so forth using your
ability. Not direct magical control, just a variation of your inborn ability."
"Great. Thanks for explaining." Gregor walked off, grumbing about being reduced to nothing
more than a foot soldier.
Demona talked to Byron about their assigned duties. "Looks like you're sitting this one out,"
Demona said.
"Yeah. Too bad... I wanted to go out and have some fun too!"
"I doubt it will be any 'fun'."
Silver seemed more than a bit angered about being a reserve operative. He went straight to the
Harbinger. "What the hell is this, Maxwell? You don't think I can handle the Makadaran, so you
assign me to babysit the rest of them that you're leaving here?"
"No, your power is simply not useful in this situation. And in this tactical situation, power is the
key. The building is more stone than metal, so you wouldn't have much luck with it. And the
needle we are disabling is metal, but it has to be dismantled, not destroyed. Understand me?"
"I understand perfectly! You have no confidence in the leader of the Black Inner Circle!"
"Dammit, Silver, this isn't personal! I haven't been the least bit interested in getting 'revenge' on
you for what happened on Glyph, either. So this little grudge you have against me has no basis
anymore!"
"It always has a basis, you manipulative bastard! You've been screwing with the Black Court for
years, and I'm sick of tolerating it!"
The Harbinger smiled. "You couldn't stop me from meddling, no matter how hard you may try."
He returned his tone of voice to a state a little less threatening. "So, you are staying here. Have
fun with the rest of them."
A red light on one of the consoles flashed, and was beeping. "Nem's inside," the Harbinger said.
"Let's...no no no, I'm not going to say 'Lock and load.' I was going to say 'dismember some
magical ass.'"
Gomurr rolled his eyes, along with most of the others, as the D'Aguiar set down on the far
side of the city.
They exited the craft, and split into their units. The Covert Unit entered a building that Mythia
said led to the underground tunnels beneath the government building. Deadpool carried a magic
torch, courtesy of Luthos, and they were sent off. The Primary Strike Unit went ahead to the
building, with the Magical Strike Unit lagging significantly behind so they could make a surprise
attack after the Primary Unit distracted the Makadaran.
Primary Strike Unit found the front door. Nemesis checked in telepathically with Havok. He's
busy pulling the fingernails out of an Arcadian soldier and painting pictures of strange creatures
with the blood. Looks like he'll keep himself occupied for awhile yet, so you'll be okay. His
sword is lying on the far side of the room, next to a chair marked "Centurion of Southpoint." I'll
grab it if I get the chance. If not, then let's hope Apothecary gets it.
Havok sent back a "thank you" thought, and they proceeded inside. The walls were marble, or at
least looked that way. The blood and charred flesh all over the walls made it difficult to tell.
Blaze, at the back of the group, heard a shriek and spun around. He was about to release a
kinetic energy shard when he saw it was only a bat. An extremely green-colored bat, but still a
bat. Arcadia was certainly an odd place. Apothecary was itching to get his sword back. He had
to have it. His hands felt incomplete without gripping the hilt of Vengeance. He also pondered
the idea of being king. The prospect had never really crossed his mind, since he never thought he
belonged to any one race or country. He had always had no past. He also considered Mythia's
warning to him a few months before. She said he would die. Maybe that death was him fighting
the Makadaran? He hoped it wasn't. He could regain his humanity with that power!
They reached the grand chambers of the Arcadian government, where the Makadaran was sitting
on the floor, still torturing an Arcadian soldier. The poor man was screaming, begging for his
captor to stop, and all the Makadaran would do was cut him with sharp talons and smile as the
man's blood poured across the floor. He still hadn't noticed his visitors. Dragonmaster noticed
Nemesis on the other side of the room, hunched over beneath a table, and obscured by a podium.
The Makadaran wasn't likely to see her. They weren't sure how to begin the attack. Fortunately,
intervention from someone else remedied that problem. The Makadaran's victim suddenly
stopped screaming, and his wounds quickly healed. The Makadaran moved his face closer to
examine this miraculous recovery, and man shouted "Surprise!" and wrapped his arms around the
Makadaran's neck. He flung the man around wildly, trying to dislodge him. "Get off me you
pathetic little human! You'll not touch your god!"
"God? Give me a break, red," the healed victim said. "There's only one person in command of
the Red around here."
"It's Ryan!" Darque Feonix said, but only loud enough for their group to hear. "He must have
jumped ahead."
On top of the building, the Harbinger walked across the roof. He was approaching the dome that
held the needle at the top. He had scaled the building using his cybernetics, and they would be
equally useful in climbing the dome. Microscopic spikes sprung from his hands and feet, sticking
him to the building like a fly. He climbed higher and closer to the needle, and was getting close to
it. It was larger than he thought, about twenty centimeters in diameter at its base, three meters
high. It narrowed to a pinpoint at the tip, and looked to make a fearsome weapon if it were used
as a spear. He began the careful process of searching out the wire connections, not sure if he
would find anything like wires. He was told there would be glowing strands that ferried the
power, and he was to sever those. He hoped it worked.
The Makadaran was pulling at the man clinging to him, and Ryan was holding on tightly. "Get
him now!" he shouted. The Primary Strike Unit stormed into the room and began their assault.
The Makadaran summoned Arcadian soldiers, dozens of them, from the ether. One couldn't
doubt their realism: they were just as deadly as real people would have been. He simply needed a
diversion for so many attackers. He threw Ryan off, and into a bunch of soldiers. Ryan grunted
as their bones crushed beneath him, and he tailored the form of his new body to a more familiar
one.
Jon turned several of the soldiers into ice, and Havok shattered them with his claws. Jon noticed
she was only a few feet away from the Makadaran, and so she launched an ice bolt at his feet.
They didn't want to destroy his body... just get the Tokens back. His feet were rooted to the
ground by the ice, but only for an instant. He quickly shattered the ice, the shards tearing into the
air. "When did you get in here?" Havok asked her.
"Just after Ryan. The rest are waiting for an opening to come in here."
"Got it," he said as he slashed a soldier down.
Apothecary cut across the room, punching and slamming soldiers to the ground as he made his
way to his sword. Nemesis pointed it out to him, and he grabbed it. His hands felt warm as he
caressed the hilt. "Finally," he whispered. With a single swing, he sliced a soldier that had come
up behind him in half. He stormed through the crowd, slashing and thrusting as necessary to stop
the soldiers in his way. The Makadaran was close. In fact, the red man was sitting on the floor,
grinning as magically-spawned blood spilled upon him. But when he saw Apothecary, he rose and
a flaming sword formed in his hands. "You may have your own sword, and I may have not found
mine, but this magical sword can still undo you."
"We'll see," Apothecary said, taking a swing.
The Makadaran anticipated, and blocked. There was no "clanging" as their swords clashed, just a
roaring of flame. "You were to be my next host. What a shameful Arcadian you are. Leading
this world into an era of peace.... Ha!" He shot a lick of fire at Apothecary from the sword, and
he used Vengeance to block it.
"You can't win here, Makadaran. Just give the Prophet control of his body, and you can live on
inside me." He swung at the Makadaran's legs, and was blocked again.
"No. I enjoy this body far too much!"
Apothecary eyed the ring on the Makadaran's finger, and placed a well-aimed blow to the
Makadaran's hand. The finger was sliced off at the base of the ring, and Apothecary dropped to
the ground to retrieve it. The Makadaran barked a threat, and slashed his sword at Apothecary.
Apothecary rolled and grabbed the finger, slipping the ring off of it, and onto his own finger.
That's one, he thought. Three to go.
The Covert Unit walked through the dank, dark tunnels below the government building, and
Avalon had Deadpool set the torch in a holder on the wall in front of the power transformer. It
was fairly small, contained within a box resembling a set of circuit breakers. Thankfully, the
controls resembled circuit breakers as well. Avalon tapped one of the buttons, and sparks flew
from the console. "Yeowch!" he shouted as he jumped back. "That wasn't the right button."
The Makadaran paused. Something had tried to interrupt his use of the needle's power flow! But
he had to deal with Apothecary! Damn it! He grunted as Apothecary rammed the gem of the
Obelisk Ring into his forehead, drawing out the Will O' Wisp. He threw back the man wielding
Vengeance, but it was too late. Another Token had been stolen.
Blaze ripped through a group of soldiers with kinetic shards, keeping several of them from
attacking Demona. ShockWave detonated the energy blasts being hurled at her by the magical
infantry, and sent several of her own back. Sabre was protecting those who had not the means to
erect shields themselves, and was doing quite a good job of it. All of it was dependent on
Demona, though. She was having a difficult time remaining focused, and so couldn't easily
project that focus onto others. She had never seen so much blood before, or felt such pure rage
permeating a room. There was no speaking, except for the occasional battle cry or death scream.
Gregor passed by her, just in time for her to see him stabbed in the back by a soldier. She took a
knife from another killed soldier, and stabbed the one that attacked Gregor numerous times until it
moved no more. Rage, rage! No! The Makadaran wanted that! She didn't want death and
murder! She wanted to prevent it! Nemesis, sensing Demona's distress, telekinetically
blasted her way through the crowd to Demona, and took her to a relatively safe corner of the
room. "This will be over soon, Demona," Nemesis said. "Just stay focused on what we're doing
for awhile longer."
"I'll try," came the weak response.
"See that you do."
The Harbinger was halfway through cutting the wires, making sure he got the non-critical ones
first. If he severed the critical wire first, it would cause a power surge big enough to fry Avalon
and everyone else at the power transformer. He heard the battle raging directly below, both
physically, and in his mind. It was hard to block out such hate. Gomurr, Jon, Ryan, Mythia,
Apothecary. Luthos, and Dragonmaster weren't succumbing to the hatred, because they were
used to fighting this way.
Thresh lit a cigarette as she waited on Avalon. "You gonna get that thing done today, kid?"
"I'm not a child," he said, fiddling with the buttons and glowing wires.
"Well you're sure as hell not a man yet. Bluespark would have had that damn thing broken by
now."
Avalon turned around and gave her a fierce expression. "I'm not Bluespark, dammit! I'm
Avalon! Don't fucking compare us again! He's just an unscrupulous data thief. I'm a
programmer and an engineer!" He went back to work, and Thresh wondered if Avalon was
always so irritable. She decided that she would be better off not asking. "Damn! I got it!"
Avalon shouted. "I hit the right button!"
The Harbinger noticed that the wires dimmed around the needle. He smiled, and began to cut
around the needle. There was one last thing left to do with this thing.
Apothecary aimed his sword at the Makadaran's neck, and thrusted. It was blocked, but just at
the point where the tip of Vengeance rested against the hair that had formed a bracelet around the
Makadaran's neck. It was Jon's hair, used as one of the Tokens. With a short stroke of his
sword, he severed it. He kicked the Makadaran backwards, and grabbed the hair in mid-air. It
slid up his arm and snapped into place around his neck. "Just one left," Apothecary said.
"It is in my chest, Apothecary! You can never get it out! It is the one Token you must be
denied!" The Makadaran was actually scared. Very scared. His access to the needle had been
cut off, and he had yet to find a power source he could quickly acquire. He was without option.
Suddenly, the Harbinger's voice cut into Apothecary's mind. Get him to walk about six steps
forward, Poth. Trust me! Apothecary didn't question, he just stepped back. The Makadaran
followed, smiling. Was this Apothecary going to give up now? "Drop the sword!" the
Makadaran demanded. With a cue from the Harbinger, Apothecary did so. Kick him to the
floor, onto his back! the Harbinger commanded. As the Makadaran went for the sword,
Apothecary tripped him backwards, and the villain fell onto his back with a yelp. The first thing
he saw when his eyes were on the ceiling was the point of the needle, coming down, straight for
his chest!
It struck! Red sparks of power erupted from his chest, as the Focus Key was dislodged. It
tumbled through the air, and Apothecary grabbed it. He groaned as it embedded into his chest,
and walked to the needle sticking into the Makadaran. Or rather, sticking into the Prophet. He
felt the Makadaran slowly slipping out of the old body, and into his. The Prophet was regaining
control over his own body. The Prophet coughed. "What... what's going on?! Did we win?!?"
Abruptly, the building shook, and Apothecary rocketed upwards. The Makadaran gripped his
mind, and controlled his body for several seconds. Hovering above Lehat, he screamed a scream
so intense, it spread all across Arcadia. The dying, brown grass became green. Famished
livestock grew full and healthy. Destroyed homes were partially repaired. Arcadia was healing...
the first step in restoring the great world of Apothecary's origin. But he sensed something amiss
down below, in the tunnels.
"Run! Come on! We have to get out!" Deadpool shouted. Avalon had been knocked down by
the shaking, and his leg was trapped under a rock. Everyone else had run ahead, and Thresh was
trying to free Avalon's leg. "Push it, Avalon!" she commanded.
"I'm trying! It won't move!"
Deadpool added his might to theirs, and the rock pushed aside. But more rocks were falling, and
it was only a matter of time until this area of the tunnel collapsed. Avatar got up, and Deadpool
helped the Black Prince limp quickly down the tunnel. Suddenly, they heard a scream behind
them, and they saw Thresh trapped with a large rock on her back.
"Oh my God," Avalon said. "Deadpool, we've gotta get that off of her!"
"There's no time!" Deadpool shouted. "We'll die here, too!"
Avalon went a bit closer to her. "We can't take you with us, Thresh... I'm sorry... I wish we
could--"
"Just... tell Robert that I--" she began, and then more rocks poured down on top of her.
Deadpool quickly grabbed Avalon away before he, too, was crushed, and they scrambled down
the tunnel, meeting the others on the surface.
The Harbinger heard a scream in his brain. He had heard them before, hundreds of times, since
the first time his telepathy manifested. The scream at the end of life was unlike anything. No
description could capture it's primal essence, at the knowledge that one's entire existence comes
down to one single moment. But he never expected to hear hers... never hers! He curled up on
the roof, as it sounded over and over in his mind. And, for the first time since he was sixteen, he
cried. He cried harder than he had the last time, at the news of his parents' deaths. He had not
cried when Haven and Thomas were lost to the Rift, for he didn't truly know them. But Jennifer
Reston was like a daughter to him. He had tried to raise her, point her in the right direction. And
he couldn't help think that all the while he was guiding her to a better life, he was slowly writing
her death certificate in blood.
Apothecary, back inside the building, looked over Gregor, who was the most seriously injured.
Internal bleeding, bruised kidneys, a few broken ribs, and a concussion. He tried his best to use
his newfound magic to heal him, but knew that the medical equipment on the D'Aguiar
would be better able to handle it. He knew Thresh was dead. He had felt it. But he didn't
mention it to the others yet. He was certain the Harbinger already knew. He would let the rest
enjoy their victory, for now. The pain would come later.
He had also pulled the needle from the Prophet, and Ryan healed the Limbo native's flesh.
Prophet was sobbing profusely, babbling about damning worlds and worlds to generations of war,
all because he left some insane god take over his body. Ryan told him to stop being so hysterical,
but the Prophet was inconsolable. He willingly went to the brig on the D'Aguiar, and
wanted to stand trial on Earth for his crimes.
To most of them, it was an overwhelming victory. To the Prophet, Apothecary, and those who
knew Jennifer Reston, the price was far too high.
--End Chapter Twenty-Three--
Epilogue
Part One: Apothecary's Power
The Ruins of Lehat.
While they were battling the Makadaran, the BHC and IHFC did not notice that Lehat itself was burning. Very little of it was left by the time the battle was done, and hundreds of Arcadians had perished in the blaze. The government building was one of the few monuments spared, and then only because the Makadaran was using it as a castle. Apothecary, the new Makadaran, had already set about the daunting task of rebuilding Lehat. It required using minute amounts of the Makadaran's power, creating and restoring using energies that, in other hands, had been used to bring destruction. He performed his task solemnly, knowing that Thresh had died in making this all possible, and that Gregor still may succumb to his wounds. And he couldn't stop punishing himself for getting children--children--involved in this conflict. Demona, Byron, Rogue, Monet, Havoc1, Avalon... they were just children! How could he have allowed them to be subjected to such carnage? This wasn't their war! It was his! They would receive nothing from their efforts, and he alone would reap the rewards of the Makadaran's power. And even though he had used the power to restore his body and wipe out his cybernetics, he detested it. The same power he now held had been used to kill thousands. On Earth, the Makadaran had been using the Archons... he now knew that Vanguard destroyed the DataNex because the Makadaran was subtly pushing the idea upon him. In Arcadia, Lehat had been virtually destroyed by the Prophet, possessed by the Makadaran. It was an awful thing to him now, that he was using a force that had been used to murder thousands. Floating high above the city, he took no satisfaction as the city was slowly rebuilt, people were healed. He couldn't bring back the dead. That was one limitation on the power. He wished it did not have such a limitation... he could have easily resurrected Thresh. He sighed as he thought about her. While he didn't know her as well as the rest of the Clan Chosen, he recognized immediately the personal war she waged. He learned of her past, her fateful encounter with the Harbinger, the tragic tale of her childhood. Yet she managed to pull herself together, and act as if everything was fine, nothing ever amiss. He envied her that ability. He could never get past his torture and abuse at the hands of NewWave Research, the company that scarred his body with sentinel nanotechnology. Never again would he complain about his own twisted history. That was all in the past, and he had the future of Arcadia to plan!
Part Two: The Prophet's Story
The D'Aguiar.
The Prophet sat in his cell as he pondered the question. Ryan had simply asked the Prophet to explain what OSR wanted with the Archons, how he and the Obelisk crossed paths, and just why he abhorred violence so much. It would be a long story, but the Prophet decided he would tell it. It was something he had needed to tell someone for a long, long time.
"I suppose it began thirty years ago, when I was exiled from Limbo. I had spoken out against the countless wars that wracked my homeland, but none would listen. Peace was not a language the inhabitants of Limbo were willing to speak, and so I was cast out. I fled to Arcadia, drawn there by a power I did now know. It was the Obelisk pulling me toward it, and it gave me a bit of its power. With that power, I stole the Obelisk Ring from Luthos, and fled to Earth with the artifact. I hid it in South America, and made a good deal of money for myself in the stock market. My precognitive power allowed me quite an advantage, and eventually I was one of Wall Street's elite. I heard the name Elaina Tolliver, and eventually arranged a meeting. Her company was very interested in the information I was bearing, and she used it to make billions of dollars. For a time, our relationship expanded beyond a business venture... until she discovered that I was planning to subvert her company. I would have taken most of her money, and would leave enough for her to live comfortably for centuries. But she was furious when she discovered my plan, and was about to have me silenced forever. I reminded her that I had other followers, and they knew of her connection to the Hellfire Club. If I were to die, the Club would be destroyed along with herself and I. So my survival was her own... and she allowed me access to her financial resources. I could be anyone, anywhere... I could do anything I wanted, as long as it didn't interfere with her. During that period I acquired my Archons. The former White King, Paramount, briefly flirted with our group. We decided he was too unstable to admit to the Archons, and he wasn't the least bit happy about it. He knew we were searching for several objects--the Tokens of the Obelisk--and related to us that he knew a man who had one of them. That man was Robert Maxwell, the Harbinger. While organizing the assassination of some key official in your Hellfire Club, Maxwell had shown him an object he called the Focus Key. Paramount merely noted that it resembled an object we described to him. Unfortunately, Paramount himself met his end, and denied us access to the Focus Key for some time. We searched for the rest of the Tokens as we deciphered the Obelisk's inscriptions, and came across Gregor McMendl. Another member of the Hellfire Club, we gave him information that looked to be his perfect vision of the Club. It was a detailed plan that would have unified the Clubs and placed him in complete control... but he realized that it would have also placed the Club under our direct control. He severed his relationship with us, and we were again cut off from the Club. Antoine DuQuesne was yet another of our attempts to subvert the Club. He failed miserably. The relationship he developed with Jon was a mistake..."
"And where does OSR fit into this?" Ryan asked.
"I had delved into genetic manipulation a few years ago, and some research I did caught the eye of some men overseeing something called Project: ReduX. They told me that they would find a way to supply me with funds for continuing my research. They said I had to hold Manhattan hostage, and it would allow me to extort funds from the government. They apparently believed that since I was not from Earth, I must have been stupid. They were actually planning to destroy the Archons, using a government strike as a cover. It all turned into a gigantic mess... and I can't stop thinking about it. I wish I had never heard of OSR, Elaina Tolliver, or the damned Hellfire Club!"
"It's your own fault, Prophet," Ryan said. "Your reach was exceeding your grasp, it would seem. You tried to control everyone and everything, and instead you were being controlled by the Makadaran."
"Yes! Yes! Remind me of that murderous monster! Don't you think I know what he did using my body?! Were I allowed, I would end my own miserable existence right here!"
"I can understand what it's like to be used by a more powerful being, against your will. I've dealt with similar situations in the past, but there is no escaping the facts, Prophet. Thousands are dead because of you and your Archons, and Arcadia is in ruins because of your theft of the Obelisk. Now, I have one last question."
"What is it?"
"Avatar. The Robyyn/Shadow King amalgam was to have been trapped in the Dark Dimension forever. What happened with that?"
"Yes, well, the Makadaran made me privy to that situation. The being in the Obelisk assured me that if I opened a door into the Dark Dimension, I would be freeing an invaluable asset to the Archons. And I did so... Avatar created a body for itself, and joined the Archons. The Makadaran knew that Avatar was plotting to destroy me from the moment I freed him. I was manipulated by everything I tried to control!"
"It's funny when life works that way. When we get back to Earth, you'll be standing trial for the destruction of the DataNex, and holding Manhattan for ransom."
"I know, I know!"
"So just why did you so willingly answer all my questions?"
The Prophet sighed. "I've never told anyone the whole story. I suppose it was something I just needed to get out. Besides, no matter what happens, I will survive. I can still see the futures, Ryan..."
"I hope you feel better, because when we get home you'll be feeling a whole lot worse."
Part Three: No One to Blame
The Arcadian Government building. A council chamber.
Nemesis and Avalon sat together, closer than they had in quite some time. There was no mention of the feelings he still felt for her. She could sense them just as easily as if he had been screaming them to her. Instead, he needed a proverbial shoulder to cry upon. One truth most never accepted was that there are some things that cannot be prevented, and that there is not always someone to blame. He insisted on blaming himself.
"She died after saving my life, Claudia. If I hadn't been so clumsy as to get my leg trapped under a rock, she would be here, alive. And then, when a large rock fell on her back and pinned her, there was nothing we could do to help her... I was trained to save lives, to be ready for anything. And I failed!"
"But that's not the worst of it, is it, Avalon?" she asked, knowing that he had yet to get to the source of his pain.
"No! I was so angry at her... she always compared me to Bluespark! And I hated it so much whenever she did it... And then she died before I had a chance to apologize for the way I treated her. Why are there things always left unsaid, Claudia? Why can't things ever be finished?"
She looked at him seriously, and put her hands on his shoulders. "Listen to me, Avalon. The dead cannot forgive you. She cannot forgive you. The dead don't hold grudges, and they can't offer forgiveness. Only you can do that. If you truly want forgiveness, you can only give it to yourself... and know that she wouldn't want you to blame yourself for it. I knew Thresh... not very well, but being as close as I am to Robert, I met her a few times. She was not the kind of person who would hold a grudge. And she wouldn't want you beating yourself up over this. All you can do is live your life, and make sure that her death was not in vain."
"You're...absolutely right, Claudia," he said. "But what should I do now?"
"I'm not really sure. Luthos and Dragonmaster say they need some people to stay behind in Arcadia and help rebuild from the thirty years of war that plagued their world. I was planning on staying until Arcadia gets back on its feet."
"Then you can count me in, too," he smiled.
Abruptly, a stack of boxes tipped over and a small man fell out of the shadows. "I apologize for my clumsiness," he said as he dusted himself off. "Is that odd red man gone now?"
"Who are you?" Nemesis asked.
"I am the Dridseor of Arcadia. My name is R'Mener."
"What's a Dridseor?" Avalon inquired.
"Surely you have not been that out of touch..." the man said.
"We aren't from around here," Nemesis said.
"I rule Arcadia... at least, I did last time I checked. Has someone come to usurp me?"
"I think you'll have to take this up with the Makadaran," Avalon said. "He's in the main chambers, rebuilding Lehat."
"Really? How odd... it would seem I would be out of a job if the Makadaran has returned. I assume this is the benevolent aspect of the Makadaran, correct?"
"Yes, the evil part of the Makadaran won't be bothering you again anytime soon," Nemesis said.
"Take me to this Makadaran, then!" R'Mener said. "I would shake the man's hand, and bow to the new ruler of Arcadia!"
Part Four: Some Sins Never Be Forgiven
The main control room of D'Aguiar.
The Harbinger was alone in the control room. He made Sabre and Darque Feonix leave, without a word. The telepathic suggestion led to their departure, and then he was alone. Alone. Why did he always end up that way? No matter what he did, it always came back to him being by himself, with no one to turn to. Anyone he trusted or cared about ended up dead. Damon Stanford had died to cover up some government project, and he had been sought after in connection with it. Thresh had perished in a cave-in... a far cry from the way he always expected she would die: on her feet, fighting alongside him, together until that last instant. But it never would be. In his mind, he went back to when he killed her father. He never explained to anyone why he did it. He was afraid the principle of insistence would find a way to fulfill itself, and wanted to circumvent it as much as he could. Insistence: the concept that certain focal events would occur despite any amount of temporal tampering. Thresh's father was destined to assassinate Senator Peter Maxwell. Maxwell was to run for President, and be the greatest President of the United States. The downfall of America in 2015 would be an international crisis, the beginning in a series of events that would lead to World War III. He thought that if he thwarted the assassination, the United States would not fall, and World War III would somehow be averted. He never considered the egotism of that idea... that his great-grandfather would be the key to saving the future. Of course, he always believed his family had a great destiny, from their roots in Germany to their influence in the United States, and then the family's impact on galactic politics. He was afraid his family name would die with him... he needed some kind of assurance that his family would be secure. What if he prevented Peter Maxwell from being assassinated? He would at last disprove the principle of insistence, and the future would be safe. For the first time, he was forced to admit that Jennifer Reston was a side effect of his plan, that her survival was the result of his tampering... That she died ten years after she should have did not sit well with him. Why had he doomed her that way? Maybe it would have been more merciful to have killed her when he found her, a beaten, broken twelve-year-old. He started to cry quietly as he thought about that... what kind of horrible man had he become, that he would believe it better for someone to die for the sake of the future, than to live as a "mistake" he created? So many people... so many he had lost. But he had allowed himself to become attached to her. She was the closest to a daughter he thought he would ever have the chance to raise... and raise her he did. Perhaps not as well as other parents would have, but he did the best he could. He had trained her to fight, to survive, to know when to retreat, and the price of victory. But what he never admitted to her is that she showed him that he could still care about people, about individuals... that his heart did not die with June Freeson, but that he had shielded it from further harm. She had broken through his defenses, convinced him that she wouldn't die and leave him like everyone else seemed to. And then she died... alone. He was the only one destined to die alone! He screamed into his own mind, torturing himself over the fact that he had failed to protect her, and had betrayed her horribly. He was only now starting to realize how much she loved him, that she would stay with him despite all the things he had done that had harmed her. The countless memory blocks, the times he abandoned her on Inferno, with her never knowing if he was coming back... He confessed to himself that he did love her, as much as one person could love another, and that he could never forgive himself for not telling her so.
Part Five: Brighter Days Ahead
The Arcadian Government building.
Antoine DuQuesne appeared in a flash of green, courtesy of Singh's teleporting doors. Everyone simply looked at him oddly, wondering where he had come from. "What happened? Did you beat the Makadaran already?!" he asked quickly.
"Yes, Antoine," Jon said. "You are late. And just as much of a coward as ever." She turned and walked away from him, and he was left with Luthos, Dragonmaster, and Apothecary.
He turned to Apothecary. "Look... I don't have anyone or anything left on Earth. The Archons made me sever my ties with everyone. So, I am asking you... let me serve you."
"How do I know I can trust you?" Apothecary asked.
"How could I deceive you? I would have no hope of usurping your power... I can't beat you at all. What would I gain from it?"
"I see your point. Very well, consider yourself my Aide."
"Thank you."
"You can thank me by cleaning my sword," Apothecary said, pointing to Vengeance, which hung on a nearby wall.
DuQuesne set upon the task, and watched as Apothecary took Mythia in his arms.
"You did it, Franklin," she said happily.
"We all did it, Mythia," he said, not arguing with her for using the name he had been given long ago. "I only wish Thresh didn't have to die for me to get this power."
"What is done is done, and you cannot change it. Rule Arcadia as the good man you are, and you will have made the price more than worth it."
Just then, Dridseor R'Mener entered the room, demanding to shake the hand of the man who saved all of Arcadia. Apothecary smiled, and obliged the small man. Immediately they began planning a royal feast in honor of their new Dridseor, or King. Apothecary was flattered by R'Mener's eagerness, and simply let the small man set about the preparations. At least the mood in Arcadia was a bit brighter... this world had had enough dark days for quite some time.
Part Six: Return to Earth, and Gregor's Recovery
The D'Aguiar.
Everyone who was leaving Arcadia boarded the D'Aguiar, and bid goodbye--temporarily--to some of their comrades. Avalon, Nemesis, ShockWave, and Gomurr decided to stay behind on Arcadia to begin rebuilding. Seeing that they had no other pressing responsibilities, Silver and Ryan granted them the request, and they too boarded the ship. As it took off, Avalon and ShockWave waved to the craft, and watched as it disappeared into hyperspace, and back to Earth. Luthos, Dragonmaster, Apothecary, Mythia, DuQuesne, all had decided to remain permanently on Arcadia. The task of reconstruction would not be easy, but they would complete it.
On the D'Aguiar, OSR, the remaining Archons, and Colonel Harris were considering their fates. OSR and Harris would be given the remaining Archons, and would put them on trial. Nemesis assured them that "sensitive" material would be erased from their memories by the Harbinger. Specifically, information regarding the Hellfire Clubs. They were not pleased with that idea, but knew they had little other choice. In fact, they weren't sure if Maxwell would just wipe their memories entirely just to exact some sort of revenge on them. They didn't want to press their luck. Prophet, Clairvoyance, and Visionary had already resigned themselves to fate, knowing that they would be out of prison sooner than anyone suspected. If the future looked bleak to some, the Archons knew better... there would always be tomorrow, and a tomorrow for them to continue plotting and biding their time, until their inevitable move. The Prophet was determined not to repeat his mistakes. Only a setback... this was only a setback.
As the ship traversed hyperspace, everyone watched the bright colors spiral by through the several viewports on the IPAC ship. Most of them were awed by the display, some watching with casual detachment, but all appreciating the beauty of the lights. It was a far sight nicer than the dark teleportation the Makadaran used to drag them to Arcadia.
In the medical ward, a rather small room, Jon was sitting next to Gregor's bed. Apothecary had managed to heal the wounds inflicted on him, but not completely. It seemed there was some kind of block that prevented him from undoing the damage. He decided that he was simply not completely in control of the Makadaran energies, but Luthos and Gomurr could not heal him, either. If any of them suspected the true reason, they did not say so. Gregor McMendl continued to suffer because he did not wish to be healed.
"You will stop doing this to yourself," Jon said succinctly.
"Why should I?" he said, groaning quietly from his injuries. "As usual, I've brought this all on myself... why should you give a damn about it?"
"Because it is not all your fault, Gregor! I may have mistreated you after the incident with Paramount... and after I learned of your allegiance to the Archons."
"I terminated that alliance months ago. I only went into it to help the Club! And yet you continue to insist that I am hell-bent on destroying it!"
"Maybe I was mistaken, Gregor. It seems that I misjudged your motives..."
"Like hell you misjudged them!"
"...but I suppose it could have been for many reasons. I have been abused at the hands nearly all the men that came into my life: Hedge O'Ryan, Prophet, the man whose last name I now hold... And then Paramount. It is not easy for me to trust someone, Gregor. Of them all, it would seem that you have been fairest to me."
"I never thought I'd hear you say something like that to me."
"This is not easy for me to say. In fact, I find this whole spectacle distasteful... but if there is a chance I can save your life by speaking to you, then I shall take it."
"I knew you cared," he said, and then sat up. Jon looked at his back. The wounds were gone!
"How did you do that??" she demanded.
"All I had to do was let the magic work. I had been resisting it until you talked to me, and told me the things I knew were true."
"So you were using me to stroke your ego? Is that it?"
"No! I was just trying to get you to admit that you still cared."
She stood up, and headed for the door. "Don't you have anything else to say to me?" he asked.
"I..." she thought for several seconds. "I am pleased you are well." With that, she walked out of the medical ward, and left Gregor.
Part Seven: A Temporary Victory over the Koraxians
In Orbit Around Earth. The Oolian cruiser Rek.
"Yes, yes, you blasted Koraxians! We couldn't find him!" Stak shouted.
"So your journey to Arcadia was fruitless? This pleases us not..." the Koraxian captain, Mirrath, replied.
Vral looked at their readings. They had, of course, monitored the battle in Lehat. But they never had a good opportunity to abduct Maxwell, and they truly didn't wish to. Giving the Koraxians what they wanted was a bad idea, for it always led to more demands, then war, then slavery. When they returned to Earth, they found that the Koraxians were still in orbit, awaiting Maxwell. Then Vral had an idea. Tapping a key on one of the consoles, a device was launched from the Rek, and struck Earth. A red blanket of radiation showed on their screens, and poured over the planet, and Mirrath looked at his readings in distaste. "You placed a sensor dampening field around the planet! Treacherous fiends! You'll die for this!"
"Oh, shut up!" Stak said. "You won't be finding Maxwell, or anyone else, on that planet. You'd might as well go home."
"This isn't over," Mirrath said, as his fleet slowly backed off and headed home.
"This is only a temporary solution," Stak said to Vral. "That field won't stay up forever."
"No, it won't, but I hope it stays up long enough for us to recover Inferno and dismantle the Focus."
"Speaking of which," a new voice intervened, "I'd just as soon you didn't dismantle it."
The two Skreeans looked at the attractive human female standing before them, with a younger human male next to her. "If you have to call me anything, you can call me the Timebender... but whatever you decide to call me, I'll be needing that Focus portal of yours."
--End of The Archons--Coming Next: Haven, a tale of the 500th Century!
The events in this story will be picked up later in Timebender, the final installment in the Harbinger's Hell's Fire tales.