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"Your move," said Loki after repositioning his rook.
Hermes nodded and considered the field. "You know, Loki, your game's really improved lately. Have you been practicing?"
Loki knew bait when he saw it, but this was a friendly match - a rare thing which he cherished, these days - and so he didn't bother avoiding it. "I have, actually. Been going to parks in large cities where people play a lot. In addition to being instructive, it's turned out to be a wonderful way to pass time."
Hermes nodded. "Always good to have something to do. Lucky for me, I'm going to be very busy starting here pretty soon. I may not even be able to finish this game, now that I think about it." He made a move, smirking. "Might have to concede this one to you, friend."
Loki laughed. "That'd be a first. So what's going to be keeping you busy? Is this anything to do with the turmoil I've heard about in your family?"
"Oh, absolutely. I should be getting a message... ah, here it is," he said as a bronze owl flew into the window of the room, which was not anywhere in particular and had a beautiful view of a sky without end.
The owl dropped a sealed scroll into Hermes hand and perched, evidently waiting for a response. Hermes opened the scroll and read, although he already knew what was in it. He did so carefully, so he could get a better bead on what the sender was thinking - his sister was the only member of his pantheon who didn't wear their heart on one sleeve and their addled mind on the other, save maybe Hephaestus, who didn't have a good enough life to get as full of himself as the other deities. Hermes had some time ago decided to become Hephaestus' friend, partly out of pity, but also because the god was one of the more intelligent Olympians. It would probably start paying dividends, now that Hephaestus was learning to craft the new mortal technologies.
As Hermes read, Loki looked over the board. He looked up briefly to notice the bronze owl glaring angrily at him. The owl lifted up one of its claws, pointing at its eyes with two talons before pointing them at Loki again: 'I'm watching you'. It was all Loki could do not to burst out with laughter, but that would've been rude. And the owl didn't deserve rudeness. Yet.
"Tell Athena that of course I'll be in attendance," said Hermes. "Or better yet, I'll go tell her myself. The meeting isn't long from now anyway."
The owl nodded and flew out the window. Loki said "I think it was upset at my impersonation. I'm surprised it knew."
"Athena's owls are surprising sometimes," said Hermes with a chuckle. "She distributed much of her far-reaching consciousness into them, because she couldn't handle the amount of vision she originally had. She saw too much, which kept her from noticing anything important."
Loki nodded. "I think Father did something similar with his ravens. Probably for a similar reason. So, you're headed out?" He positioned his bishop in a seemingly innocuous place midway across the board.
"Yes indeed," said Hermes. "I wouldn't miss this for all the... oh, that's nice," he said, noticing what Loki had done with his move. "Yes, and I'm definitely conceding the match. Well played, friend."
Loki smiled. "Thank you. Now, go enjoy your meeting."
Hermes grinned. "I will."
The Superheroic Adventures of
Spellbinder, Mystic Defender
of the Earth Dimension!
#4: Hit Me With Your Best Shot
Cover: A circle of fists belonging to heroes from other titles arrayed in a circle against Tank, who stands in the center with guns akimbo.
I hate waking up confused. I really, really do.
I'm not sure if this is something that's ever happened to anyone else, but waking up with a confusing question in your head is an annoying, obnoxious thing. Especially when the question is 'Why is there someone in my head?'
Fortunately, I had an answer, although I knew I wasn't going to like it; I'd given out cards for the last several days that enabled people to get into my head if they needed my help, even if I was asleep, and if they did so it would wake me up.
Crap.
"What is it?" I thought at the person in annoyance. After realizing how rude this was, I thought "Sorry, it's just that you woke me up, and I'm a bit of a slow riser."
"So I've noticed," said the person on the other end - I recognized the psychic 'voice' immediately, the mental equivalent of someone speaking to you over a football stadium's loudspeakers.
"Oh, Hello, Knight." I rubbed my face. Well, I guess he'd understand. Or maybe he wouldn't - he's not human. Did he even need to sleep?
"Two hours a night," he responded to my wondering. Well, that answered that.
"Lucky," I said. "I'll bet you don't have nightmares, either."
"About that..." he thought at me, then stopped. "No, never mind. To business. There is a problem that has developed and we would like your assistance with it."
I nodded mentally. "Okay, great. This is exactly what I handed the cards out for." Pause. "Who's 'we'?"
"The superhuman community."
That made me pause. "Like... all of you?"
"Everyone I've been able to get in contact with, at least. If your cards are two-way, that would make contacting more of us simpler. The more of us we can assemble the better."
"I... okay. Wow. That's... what's this problem?"
"There's a superhuman on a rampage in New Jersey. Since the first thing he did in the open was kill a gangster, the media is treating him as a rogue hero rather than a villain. This is a problem for all of us superheroes in America."
"I'm going to need that one explained I think," I thought to him. "Okay. Where would you like to meet?"
Suddenly I knew about a large loft apartment in New Jersey that was owned by someone or other. "Here. If you can bring anyone with you, do so."
I thought about some people, but while I knew people who were powerful, none seemed to have the temperament for this. Well, maybe... but no. Play it safe. "Okay. I'll be there. Just let me get dressed and I'll teleport over."
"You can teleport? Impressive. There will be food here, and coffee." I noticed a certain warmth when he passed over the idea of 'coffee' - apparently he really liked the stuff. "I realize I am asking people to meet early in the day, and so I intend to accommodate everyone as much as possible."
"Hey, thanks. I love food. That's very considerate of you."
"I appreciate the compliment," he said, and then he ended contact.
I got dressed in my superduds, packing away some civilian clothes in case I needed them. I concentrated, and vanished from my home, appearing in someone else's, apparently. I looked around; there were two dozen people in colorful outfits standing around eating kolaches and drinking coffee. There were no fewer than a dozen pots of the stuff all percolating, and it seemed to be a blend featuring vanilla and some sort of fragrant nuts, so the loft smelled kind of amazing.
"Welcome, Spellbinder," said the Knight. It struck me that when he spoke vocally it sounded just a little awkward, like it was something he had had to get used to recently. "Please help yourself to coffee. You are still half asleep."
I paused. "Yeah, I kind of am." I picked up a pot and took a seat near several other supers I'd met recently. "So what's the story? This guy is dishing out 'x-treme justice' or whatever, is that really our mess to get involved in?"
The room was silent for a moment. I heard someone snoring briefly before the Knight said "Ah. You are new. Very well, we will explain."
Superheroes seem to have a strange talent for civics lectures. I'll spare you the whole thing because it was long, but be assured that it was very spirited, inspiring, moving and, well, convincing.
Short version: The superhuman community has an absolute need to police itself. Why, you ask? Simple. If the superhuman community doesn't police itself, someone else will. That is, if people aren't convinced superheroes can keep them safe from supervillains, they're going to get the government involved, and this will eventually end in an attempt to conscript and control the superhero population of a given country. There were even examples on hand; Russia and China had both already done this, which understandable made lots of people nervous.
So far most of the world had a favorable balance between superheroes and supervillains, but there was something that could throw that out the window. What literature refers to the Byronic or anti-hero, someone who used gruesome and unpleasant means to deal with crime, could easily make the public distrustful of superheroes, and at that point it didn't matter how safe superheroes were keeping people. If these anti-heroes made them FEEL unsafe, because there was some grim, dark jerk out there going around killing people seemingly at random, people would start saying 'someone has to do something about this'.
The thing about the phrase 'someone has to do something about this' is that unscrupulous people love it. They love having an excuse to be the one to do 'something', and to have excuses for that 'something' being whatever they like. So what it comes down to is this; imagine the most horrible, abusive leader you can. It can be real or fictitious, current or historical. Just take this person, this terrible, awful person, and picture them wielding authority over an army of superhuman beings with the sort of power it takes to level cities, as well as whatever terrible sort of power is needed to keep such beings obedient.
If this doesn't frighten you, keep thinking about it, then get back to me once you're at least unsettled by the prospect.
The sad fact is that such people will eventually get in control over any such power structure, because that's what they want. So the superhuman community resolved early on to do everything they can to keep such a thing from existing in the first place; they police themselves to that they can prove that nobody else has to.
Okay, civics lecture over. And yeah, that's the short version.
"Okay," I said. "Okay, I'm convinced, we've got to stop this guy. And we're getting a lot of people together because that makes the point that this isn't just some dust-up between two guys with a disagreement, right?"
"Exactly," said Bombshell, a pretty woman with red hair and a green outfit. The others - most of whom I'd met in my introduction tour - all nodded as well.
"Okay, I'm in. When do we start this?"
"Probably tonight," said a man in a cape and cowl, who I knew was the Nightstalker, a man with few powers but who had a genius for detective work. "I'm working on finding him sooner, but for such a huge dustup he didn't leave much evidence. The only real lead is all that hardware he's got. That can be tracked, but since it's black market, it's going to take enough time to track down that just waiting for him to come out again is probably faster. He's been out each night for the last three nights, now, and he's likely to continue this pattern."
"Excuse me," said Lord Go, a mighty bare-fisted monk from Japan, "Spellbinder, you have been drinking coffee straight out of the pot. And you have emptied it. It is still steaming; it must be quite hot. Not to mention what it will do to your kidneys." He seemed concerned, which was nice I guess.
"Huh?" I looked down at the pot in my hand. Yeah, it was still warm to the touch, even thought it was mostly empty. "Yeah, I guess. Sorry, I was distracted." Looking for a quick conversation switch, I said "If there's any bits of our guy at the scene of the fight blood, hair, skin, whatev I can use magic to find him." Which was true, but also a change of topic.
"I'd already looked in hopes of identifying him," said the Nightstalker. "There was nothing, which is strange. Especially considering that Cenotaph spent two hours punching our antihero with fists with the texture of cement, which would normally mean that there'd at least be some skin that rubbed off."
I frowned. "I don't like the sound of that. It reminds me of Achilles."
"You think this guy's power is to not get hurt?" asked Dryad, a lady with plant-control powers.
I shrugged. "It could be. I can think of a few other reasons he wouldn't leave blood, hair or skin behind, but they're even less likely. The good news is that every power has a limit, and between all of us, it should be pretty easy to overwhelm him."
Famous last words.
"I hereby call this council of the Olympian Godhead to session," said Athena. "You will notice that Zeus is not here."
"It kind of caught my attention," said Hades dryly. "What's he been up to lately, anyway?" Hera snorted.
"Trust me, uncle, you don't want the details," said Athena. "However, Zeus has proven himself unfit to rule in a way that we cannot deny. We must discuss a replacement." There was murmuring around the table, particularly from those who did not usually spend their time on Olympus itself.
"All well and good," said Poseidon. "But Zeus, for all his faults, is powerful. Deposing him will be difficult, even with all of us united against him." Despite the misgivings in his voice, Poseidon couldn't hide that he was eager to dethrone his brother and take his place.
"Zeus," said Athena, "Will be attending a mortal competition on Earth soon. He will have to diminish and remove himself from Olympus to get there. Once he is there, it will be a simple matter to lock him out."
There was more incredulous talk around the table. Apollo, a shining, statuesque man, stood and said "I will not stop you from this, Athena, but I will have no part in it, either." He turned and immediately left.
"Well," said Poseidon. "Just as well; we would've needed his power in a fight, but if there's no fight then we don't need him. So how do we determine the new king or queen of Olympus? Competition?"
"I was thinking of putting it to a vote," said Athena.
The table was quiet for a while, and then Hermes said "Well, that sounds good to me!" All eyes turned to him, whereupon he said, "And I for one would like to nominate Athena. After all, there is clearly no better leader we could have than the goddess of wisdom, yes?"
There were some grumblings around the table Poseidon and Hades had always wanted their brother's seat but Hermes had already done what he needed, and went ahead and put his feet up on the table. Hephaestus would support his nominee, and Athena was one of the few Olympians that Hera didn't hate. While Hera had few friends, her power and position carried a lot of influence. Between the lot of them, they would have an easy time convincing the rest.
As the discussion grew louder and more animated, Hermes allowed himself a smile, unseen. His dear sister Athena was really ideal for the job. She was perceptive, aware of myriad realities, intelligent, rational, an overachiever and a definite perfectionist. She would look after everything and anything that came to her attention, which would eventually be everything and anything.
Hermes smiled a bit wider. He gave her maybe a month before she was so overwhelmed with self-imposed responsibilities that she quit (she would, of course, be wise enough to stop before growing insane - otherwise the prank would be no good). The only thing that could prevent this was if something came up that would pry her attention away from the majority of godly matters.
The messenger of the gods made a note to tell her about the current status of the Mystic Defender Program after, oh, about a week. He knew her reaction would be priceless.
I took care of my usual business through the afternoon. The Knight's gathering actually made it easier - I was able to talk to a lot of well respected supers while there. I made the rounds for a few hours before making my way to New Jersey. The day was pretty dull, all said and done, and nothing supernatural was happening. Which I knew was a warning sign of something, but I didn't know what at the time.
We superheroes, being fine and upstanding citizens and such, met in the middle of Blackgoat on a large rooftop. We were pretty formal about the whole thing. Rocket was there in addition to everyone else; turns out he was the one who got the ball rolling late last night, and he's the one who'd been asleep during the meeting, resting after a long night of crisis-mode hero-gathering.
If this part of my account sounds awkward or rushed, I wanna apologize; I spent almost twelve hours waiting, and I hate waiting, I'm no good at it, I can't stand it, and my frustration as I recall the events of the day are probably leaking over into my writing here.
Evening was just starting to fall when we got our first heads-up on the whereabouts of our problem. An abandoned building one among a veritable sea of them on the city's east side came apart in an explosion, and there was the sound of gunfire. We all knew without saying anything that it was go time. "Remember the plan, people," said somebody. I forget who, but it's not important.
It was a good plan, too. Too bad.
We saw Tank backing out of a building with a pair of automatic rifles blazing into the building. He was pretty big, definitely at least six and a half feet tall, and had the most atrocious mullet I've ever seen. Seriously, it was like a malevolent drain clog developed a will of its own and mounted an assault on a huge man's head. He was wearing some pretty odd clothing, too; the trench coat I could accept due to the weather, and the bandolier was useful because it held ammo he might need some day, and the pouches, uh, maybe held something useful too. I guess. But the shoulder pads? Those had to go.
'Well', I remember thinking to myself, 'I can give him fashion advice after we knock him out'.
There were six of us, besides myself, there for the opening. The others had been searching other parts of town and were still coming in, but this worked out well; for the most part, we were the real heavy hitters.
Rocket and the Knight you've met. Bombshell could direct concussive force from her hands; Lord Go was super-strong, ancient, and a karate master to boot; Johnny Swift was able to run at some crazy improbable speed that ignored the physical impossibility of the sort of ground contact needed for that (my favorite powers are the ones that defy explanation); and Captain Excellence (seriously) had a pretty good flying/superstrong/supertough mix.
From reports we'd gotten from witnesses of the last fight, this person's big thing was being hard to hurt, and he'd been able to take shots from Cenotaph, himself a pretty tough customer, without falling. So the plan was to hit him very, very hard, and that's what we started out with. Lord Go opened up the engagement by ducking in under the guy's defenses while he was busy shooting the burning building. Go spun a little and landed a beautifully executed kick square into the mullet-man's jaw, hard enough to send him airborne.
"Huh?" asked the guy in the trenchcoat. He didn't look hurt; I remember thinking this might be bad. I started pulling in electricity from the grid supplying power to the Eastern Seaboard of North America.
Captain Stupidname (excuse me, Excellence) was in his path, and slammed Mightymullet down into the earth, hitting him hard enough that I felt the shockwave in my teeth. The Knight was standing right next to the site of impact, and once our target was there, he produced a blade of shimmering red light and jammed it into the guy's head. I knew this was his psychic sword, a powerful weapon (or power, or whatever) that could completely incapacitate just about anyone.
"Whoever you are," he said, "This ends now. We cannot allow you to continue behaving as you have; you are under arrest." Even with all the talk, his attack with it was well-executed, and left no room to error.
Which is too bad, because it didn't work. Slowly, the Amazing Mullet-Man rose to his feet. "The name... is Tank," he said. "Remember it, 'cauze it means I can't be hurt!" He gave the Knight of Cydonia a rough shove, pushing him back. The Knight frowned; later he mentioned that he'd never encountered anything that could just ignore the sword's power before. Must've been confusing.
Tank (thank God I can use his name now) pulled out a rocket launcher and fired it at the Knight; Swift intercepted the rocket and tossed it skyward, where Captain Excellence kicked it into the upper atmosphere before it detonated harmlessly. Probably wouldn't have hurt the Knight anyway, but hey, teamwork!
Swift then went to work picking all the other weapons off of Tank while the Knight fired some sort of eye lasers into the guy's face. I made a mental note to see if I could work a spell that produced eye lasers, because it sure looked awesome. Tank didn't even stagger; he just held his arm out suddenly enough that he caught Swift with it, who was bowled over and went crashing into one of the abandoned tenements. Rocket began pouring on the stun blasts, which seemed to do about as much good as everything else, and by now more of the heroes we'd brought were showing up.
I continued gathering electricity while they dogpiled in on Tank, but I wasn't really paying attention to the spell it's a minor miracle that I didn't lose control of the charge while I was distracted. But I noticed something, an energy signature, each time someone landed a hit on him. The ones who were constantly pouring in attacks like Bombshell and the Knight produced the best signature, because it was constant, and I could get a look at it.
It was the same signature the priests had had the day before when they were calling on the god they thought was 'Santa Muerte'.
My first mistake was that I didn't do any of the teamwork stuff I was seeing done around me. That would've really helped. My second was thinking I could overwhelm the power I saw at work on my own when I really should've known better.
I shouted to the others to get clear, and they obliged, whereupon I flew in at just under the speed of sound and thrust my palm onto Tank's chest, directly hitting him with enough electricity to power the East coast of the States for about half a minute.
He might've been stunned for maybe half a second.
I'd like to puff myself up by saying I chose the moment I did because I saw what he was going to do and went in to sacrifice myself for the other heroes, and hey, maybe I did. Sometimes I surprise myself. But I kind of doubt it.
So I think my third mistake was not seeing the brick of C4 in his hand, wired to a push-button detonator and covered in nails, until he'd pressed it up against my mask.
Zeus stepped out of the dimensional portal and into the streets of Seattle. He wasn't very far from his location, and while he couldn't just wish himself there with a thought - he'd had to give up most of his power to come here, since Earth's local space-time was still reeling from the latest Reality Quake - it would be no great exertion to walk himself there.
He'd had Hephaestus craft him a carefully tailored phylactery, with the appearance of a dashingly handsome white-haired youth, and carrying as much power as he could reasonably get away with, just in case he needed to smite anyone for trolling. He walked to the Seattle Convention Center, where the event was being held (and where this year's PAX would be, as well he considered remaining in the mortal realm for that), and got in line.
Soon, he thought. Soon his plans would come to glorious fruition, and then he could have more of everything.
He began to laugh maniacally as he stood in line, but nobody was really bothered by it because it's a gaming convention and acting weird is par for the course.
I came to with half the world looking red because there was blood in my eye. Johnny Swift was looking me over; he looked like he was in pain. I was hurting a bit too, myself. And something was wrong. I tried asking him if he'd landed alright, but instead a brief dissertation on the metaphysical flavor-structure of blueness poured out of my mouth.
"Oh," said the speeder, "language center too, I guess. Hold on, I think that's right... here we go." I felt something sliding against my scalp, and then that part of my head began to itch. "You're healing really fast. I guess you've got a spell going for that, huh? I'm happy you survived, we haven't lost anyone yet it's really a miracle. Your mask broke in half, tho. You're gonna need something to cover your face once the skin's grown back."
I reached into my chest and pulled out a roll of medical gauze. He blinked, laughed nervously and said "Sure, just a second" as he started wrapping my face. When the itching in my head stopped (good priorities, healing factor), I tried speaking again and this time it worked right. "Did you land alright? If you're hurt I can heal you, too."
"Pretty clean tib/fib fracture," he said. "Left leg. You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'll need my mask back so I can fix it, though. Hold still," I said, and grabbed his leg. It was a clean fracture I didn't need to set it and after about fifteen seconds of chanting and stuff he was standing up. "Wow," he said. "Okay, one sec."
There was a blur and then he was holding three pieces of porcelain in his hands the remains of my mask.
"Thanks," I said, accepting the offered bits. "I have a friend I'm going to bring in who can probably help, but she won't recognize me with the bandages." I held the pieces and repaired them with a handy spell, and then put the thing on over the bandages. "If anyone asks, I'll be back in a few minutes. Tell everyone to hold tight until then. I know what's powering his invulnerability, and I can take care of it, so everyone should just stay alive until then."
He nodded and took off to relay that to the others. I stood (it hurt a bit there was a nail in my leg too, which I pulled out), and I carefully worked a spell that would take me to what was probably the best chance for the plan that was percolating in my mind.
"Spellbinder's down!" shouted the Nightstalker, twisting in and kicking Tank in the back of the knee, causing him to stumble.
"I'm amazed she's not dead," said Go as he used the setup to deliver an axe kick to the back of Tank's head, knocking him into the air. "Aren't magicians supposed to be fragile?"
"Focus please," chided the Knight as he flew in under Tank and rammed him in the back with both fists, hauling him into the sky where Bombshell was waiting.
Her explosion lit up the evening sky. Later on people would report seeing it as far away as Maine. She normally had to hold back considerably in order to avoid exorbitant property damage, but at an altitude of about five hundred feet anything was fair game, and this fight was starting to run long. Much too long. Bombshell wasn't a hardened combat veteran like many of the supers gathered here, but even she knew that the longer a fight goes on, the more problems are going to crop up to make it go bad for you.
So when she saw Tank falling from where she'd blasted him with a truly spectacular display of power, she began to really worry. "Knight," she said, beginning to sink, "I can't keep myself airborne anymore." In a blur of motion he was beside her, descending with her back to the battlefield at a speed she could handle.
"I put everything into that," she said, and the Knight of Cydonia could hear panic creeping into her voice. "That was the equivalent of a million tons of dynamite, with him in a box so the blast couldn't spread too far. He should be ash now. Ash and vapor."
But he wasn't, of course. After slamming into the pavement and hauling himself out of the crater he left, Tank rolled his shoulders like he had no concerns in the world before lunging at Rocky, a young hero who was made of stone, and hadn't managed to come up with a better name yet. The Knight frowned when he saw Rocky recoil from the blow - Tank hadn't been that strong at the beginning of the fight. Nowhere near it.
He landed, setting Bombshell down. She needed a distraction from the problems of the fight. "Sarah, get to safety. If you see anyone around here, get them to safety as well. If your power begins to return"
"You'll know," she said. "Don't worry." She jogged off to find safety as the Knight returned his attention to the fight.
He looked around. Two more heroes were already down for the count, it seemed, in addition to... wait.
"Where is Spellbinder?" he asked.
Medusa sighed as she turned off the television. Lately, she didn't seem to have the passion she'd used to. As she'd begun to get over her old problems (slowly, but still) and started forming new habits that would keep them from being reinforced, she'd been growing more and more bored as the lack of what had once occupied so much of her life faded, leaving a big, empty... something. In her life.
She frowned. She would've been able to finish that sentence better if she were still watching movies on Lifetime. Oh well.
She was still reading, and it was a good past-time, but she was having trouble finding enough good books quickly enough to fill all the time she had these days. She'd heard some people took jobs regardless of their wealth, just to occupy their days doing something productive, but she had little knowledge that was useful to the modern world.
She supposed she could always teach history. In retrospect, it was hilarious how much people got wrong about what went on in the old days.
"Hey, Maddy," said Chelsea as she teleported in, wearing her Spellbinder uniform and surprising Medusa with the suddenness of her appearance. "Ever consider being a superhero? I could use your help; I need you to put on a ridiculous outfit, spout some awful one-liners, and use your magic eyes to defeat a very bad man."
Medusa smiled. Maybe today was salvageable after all.
I confess that the outfit I threw together for Maddy was awful-looking. I had some green clingy elven chainmail that I stuffed her into, and I dyed her hair to match (she wanted to do the hair-snakes thing but I suggested it might be a bad idea), and I grabbed a cape and tossed it around her. The only piece that really had any thought put into it was a green plastic visor I'd been tinkering with for a completely different purpose (I was still trying to set up a way to detect hostile intent at the time), and I enchanted it hastily while I explained what she was to do with that.
So when we teleported back to the battlefield (I was starting to get tired by then), she looked awful but was ready to go.
"Everyone get clear!" I shouted, and after what had happened the last time I'd said that, everyone did. "Take it away, Medusa," I said. We'd agreed that would be a hilarious choice for a super hero identity.
As I prepared another teleport spell, I tried not to notice that nearly a dozen supers were on the ground now, with another limping away. I was going to solve this problem. Maddy would buy me the time needed to do it. I vanished, promising myself I'd sleep for a few days after this was over. I was starting to hurt all over from the effort required, the magic leaving my spine feeling like it was on fire, and the fight coming after this would only make it worse.
Especially since I was probably going to be disowned by the superhero community if my plan worked.
I stuck around just long enough, though, to hear Maddy give her line. Grinning wide, she shouted, "ONLY my EMERALD-QUARTZ VISOR can hold back my deadly PETRI-BEAMS!" in that way people who've never done acting before sometimes do, and she touched the side of the cheap plastic visor and turned on her gaze. Green rays shot out at Tank, and the rays and the 'pewpewpew' sound effect they produced both seemed taken right out of some cheesy '60s sci-fi show.
I grinned under my mask (and bandages) as I vanished. She was having fun, and she should be able to hold him there for a minute or three.
The Butler of Loud Sorrows looked up from his drink. "Two days," he said. "Damn, but I hate when people hurry things."
"Hi," I said. "I'm Spellbinder."
"Yes, you are, aren't you?" he said. "I'm very keenly aware of you, for some reason. Odd. I'll figure out why later. What's that you have with you, young lady?"
He gestured to my right hand, which was holding the iron spear I'd taken from the Huntsman a few weeks earlier, when I'd last been here. "Huntsman's spear," I said. "It's a special sort of magic. Within the confines of a Wild Hunt, it can slay anything, as long as it's the target of the Hunt."
"Even gods, right?" said the Butler before taking a sip of his drink. It was big and fancy and had one of those little umbrellas in it. "And so you want my permission to call a Wild Hunt so you can drive Tezcatlipoca's influence from your world."
I was silent for a moment. Why was I surrounded by so many damn mind-readers lately? "Well, yes," I managed awkwardly.
"I don't know why I can see what's in your mind. I really don't. I shouldn't be able to. There's barriers around there that are pretty amazing. The only reason would be... oh." He frowned. "Oh, I see. Dear me, but I feel sorry for you."
"Wait. You're fey."
"I'm a butler," he said. "We're a different breed here on Fairy."
"Fair enough," I said. "But, anyway. Can I--"
"No," he interrupted. "Even if I didn't fear what Tezcatlipoca would do to me in retaliation for assisting you in banishing him from the Earth Dimension, or fear what his pantheon would do to me if you actually managed to kill him, it is not the way for you to solve this problem."
"Then what is?" I asked. I was becoming angry, but trying not to let it show.
He was quiet for a while. He looked off to his side, where the sun was setting over a gorgeous ocean just past the sandy beach he occupied. "I'm going to tell you something," he said. "I'm sorry, but it is going to hurt you a great deal, and due to your current condition, you won't remember it after this is all over. Not at first. But you will understand it, at least long enough to do what you need to protect your world. If, after this, you do not hate me, come back to me as soon as you remember and I will explain the rest. I didn't want to join this game," he said with a resigned sigh, "But I can't stand... well. Nevermind."
He stood up, walked over to me, and put his hands on my shoulders, looking directly into my eyes. "Here is the truth, Chelsea." He said some things, and I began screaming as I vanished from the world of Faerie.
"He's fighting it harder, now!" shouted Medusa. Tank was beginning to gradually de-petrify, the stone flaking off to reveal his skin underneath once more. "I'm not sure how much longer I can hold him down!"
"Get ready," Rocket said over his suit's voice amplifier. "When he starts to move, everyone hit him at once!"
"Wait," asked Go, "what's that?"
The Nightstalker turned and looked, seeing Spellbinder there, shining red and radiating tendrils of black energy that seemed to reach into his soul. "Spellbinder's back. Get clear of Tank!" He didn't know what was happening, but knew it was going to be bad, and knew who it would be directed at.
Medusa stopped her assault for a second, and Tank fully reverted to his flesh self, staggering from the sudden reversion. He turned, saying "What the hell is that screaming coming fr--"
It was very sudden. She leapt at him, and she latched onto his face with both hands and stared into his eyes, and in everyone's vision there was a tangled mess of sharp points and edges, rusty with old bloodlettings, and then Spellbinder dropped off of Tank, staggered back, and then pitched forward onto her knees and was quiet, and it was Tank who was screaming now, staggering away from her.
An aura of darkness sprang up around him, and a shape began to take form as the others watched.
I was back to my senses again, but I wasn't out of the park. I was still working on, I dunno, instinct or something, or else sheer bloody-mindedness, to do something I'd decided to do before coming here. I tried to work a spell, but I couldn't focus enough to get it to work, I couldn't form the sigil needed in my mind's eye, so I pulled out a knife and carved it into my left forearm, and cast it using that as a ritual circle. Blood would help this spell anyway so I might as well.
I didn't feel the knife as I cut myself. I didn't feel any pain at all at the moment, which was strange. I'd felt like I was full of white-hot needles when I went to Faerie, so why didn't I hurt now?
Doesn't matter. Focus on what's happening. Make the sign. Say the words. Put your mind through the pattern, open your soul to let out the energy. Summon.
Whatever I'd hit Tank with, it triggered his power to such an extent that the power's source was practically manifest here already, which couldn't have been better. Only a little nudge, and it brought him fully over. There were other gains from this, too. For one thing, all the power to protect Tank from the assault had to come from somewhere, which meant the god powering Tank was coming into this fight tired.
For another thing, he'd be vulnerable, due to giving his godly protection from harm to a mortal agent.
Out of Tank rose the source of his power. A towering man with pitch-black skin, with a bestial face with two yellow stripes across it, and wearing the skins of leopards - Tezcatlipoca. Aztec god of awfulness, really, and if you believe his hype, creator of this world.
"He's the source of the trouble here," I said. "Get him, guys."
What followed was glorious.
I took a sit-down while the beating unfolded. I still can't explain how I felt, other than to say I was numb, everywhere, on a number of levels. The dogpile on Tezcatlipoca was very nice, though. I wish I'd gotten it on tape because my mind and body were still recovering from whatever had just happened, so I don't remember much of it. I just remember that it was really, really great.
Lord Go and Nightstalker later gave me a rundown of it, but mostly there was a lot of really amazing back-and-forth setups where one super would hammer Tez right into the fist of another. Maddy got into it, which was heartening. She was a powerhouse from the age of legends, and had enough strength to rival any of the others. Apparently she'd also learned pankration at some point, and was pretty brutal with it. Hearing Lord Go talk about her fighting was hilarious, with the dreamy look he got in his eyes.
I can't really give you a blow-by-blow, but I can fill in some of what happened. Eventually Tezcatlipoca decided he'd had enough.
"ENOUGH!" bellowed Tezcatlipoca, throwing off his assailants with a blast of black lightning. I don't remember much about the fight, but I remember the way his voice reverberated in my bones and the back of my mind, a linguistic noise more primal than sound. "I have had enough of this! You pitiful, pretentious mortals believe you can best me? I AM TEZCATLIPOCA! My hands have ruined worlds! You have no hope of winning against me, so long as I take back what is MINE!"
And he opened his mouth, and all the blackness around Tank flew away from him and into that gaping, glowing maw. Tank stumbled and collapsed to the ground, muttering to himself.
And then I was sad for some reason, and it took me a moment to figure out why. Then I realized: I was having such a good time sitting there resting while watching the spectacle of seeing a godly slave-driver get his, I really didn't want to cast another spell. It would hurt, and I'd probably fall unconscious afterwards. But it needed to happen, so I took some chalk out and began scribbling on the pavement. I was very glad there wasn't any blood needed for this one, because I was hungry again, which meant I was out of regeneration fuel. That had happened faster than I thought, I remember thinking disinterestedly as I finished scribbling a circle on the floor.
"Knight, your sword," I said, and a little magic carried my voice so that he'd hear it.
"Go! Medusa! Hold him!" And they did. Tezcatlipoca struggled against their grasp, but a bevy of other heroes came in to help, Rocky grabbing one leg and Rocket, even with his suit looking like it was starting to fail, taking another. The Knight of Cydonia summoned his shining blade again, and wrapping one arm around Tezcatlipoca's neck, drove it directly into his skull.
Tez's eyes widened and a crazed look came over his face. "This... won't... stop..." he said, and that's as far as he got before the Knight said "Then I will have to try harder."
Tezcatlipoca was severely weakened, immobilized, and his mind was scrambled he would probably never be this weak again. I put my hands on the circle I'd drawn and said some words in Latin. This was a spell of banishment I'd actually picked up from an old guide for medieval Catholic exorcists. I remembered being surprised at how much of the stuff in there was genuinely worth using, and this in particular was a massively high-end banishment. Which is exactly what I needed.
There was a thump as I finished, and the world wobbled, sinking in and flowing out like a wave. Tezcalipoca shone with a red light and bellowed in impotent, wordless fury as he vanished from Earth, forever.
And then I passed out.
The Knight of Cydonia carried Spellbinder's sleeping form in his arms as he flew to New York. Captain Excellence carried Medusa on his back (she refused to be carried in his arms, apparently) as they landed on the roof of her condominium complex.
"Hey, nice," said Captain Excellence. "This is a good part of town. I have family in the area actually, I think I'll visit if you guys're gonna be okay?" They nodded that they would, and he waved, said some cheerful goodbyes and flew off.
Medusa went to the access door and opened it with a key she kept for when she wanted to sit on the roof and read. They went inside and to her suite, which was on the top floor, and so it wasn't a great distance to get there. At the door she said, "This will be enough, thank you."
"No," said the Knight of Cydonia. "It really won't."
Maddy frowned suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Medusa," said the Knight, "You are Spellbinder's friend, yes? You care about her?"
Maddy frowned but nodded. "Yes, she's been... why are you asking me this?"
"We need to talk," said the Knight.
"You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?", said the butler to the dog.
The dog really, a coyote looked up and nodded. "Yes, I did. And before you ask, yes, it needed to. If I'd left that one alone it would have been a problem."
"I can't believe it," said the butler. "You're saying what happened to her is necessary?"
The dog scowled. "By the Great Spirit, no," it said, with a little bit of real anger in its voice. "Do not mistake me for some sort of malevolent being who enjoys suffering, or turns a blind eye to it. What happened to her was horrible, and if I'd known it was happening, I would have set her free much sooner." The butler sighed, sitting down on his beach chair.
"However, my response to what had happened was necessary, yes," said coyote. "What the Dark Lord has set in motion is inconceivable. To be willing to gamble with such a thing is beyond even my thinking."
They were both silent for a while. "I'm sorry," said the coyote. "But she has to wake up. And the sooner the better. If she stays blind to what she is, she will be manipulated forever, and everyone will suffer because then she will be just a weapon. This way she goes free."
"You're sure that's a good idea?" asked the butler. "She came to me asking for help in killing a god. She's killed people before, even her own father."
"I know," said Coyote. "And it's a gamble. But this is the best chance we have, and it's the right thing to do besides."
The butler was silent. The coyote knew the conversation was over and so he took his leave, going back to his home.
Stepping out of Faerie, Coyote took on the visage of a man in light armor, long wild hair and rogueish stubble. Moving with a purposeful stride quite out of character with his supposed trickster nature, he walked until he was in a room with a grand golden throne, a room full of people with gleaming armor and glowing eyes. He walked in among the virtuous, the High Holies of Arcadia, shining jewel of the Ninth Realm, the heroes of a universe, and who held back the darkness of a thousand worlds.
"Ah, you're back," said the wizened but still powerfully-built man who sat upon the throne. "What news does our finest agent bring, Coyote?"
Coyote bowed gracefully and said, "Father Moz, I believe the forces of the Dark Lord will soon begin to marshal."
The warrior-saints and priest-lords who filled the room murmured amongst themselves in response to this announcement. Father Moz Ez, shining god-king of Arcadia, held his hand up, calling for silence, and he received it.
"Why do you believe this?" he asked.
"Because," answered Coyote, "they believe their plan is going as they will it."
"Is it?"
"No, Father, it is not. This gives us hope, for their plan is truly terrible and must be defeated at all cost, but at the same time it makes things more dangerous for all."
Father Moz nodded. "May the Origin guide us, then."
"Sir, a moment," said a filthy underling as he bowed beside the seat of a tall man in dark robes. The man in the robes gestured for the underling to go ahead, and he said "We have found traces of the energy signature we were looking for. The Prodigal is on Earth, in Realm Three, and has begun awakening."
The man took the small black lump of metal offered to him and observed the screen it bore. His beady eyes darted across the lines of text as his long, three-jointed fingers stroked his chin. His facial features were severe almost to the point of having edges, which had the effect of having his look of surprise be almost unnoticeable. "This is ahead of the timetable," he said, "But that is good. Thank you, Zyk-Nineteen. That will be all."
The underling (who had his letter-number designation branded on his forehead) bowed and scampered away as the robed figure stood and strode from the room, happy to deliver news without receiving punishment. Down halls filled with screams and laughter he walked, past labs cluttered with the unknowable, and finally out into the world's day, lit by two glowering red suns and dotted with moons, debris fields, and a haze of smog.
Over a long bridge he walked, miles above the warrens below, where dwelt the wolves and other horrors. Into a throne room he strode, bowing as he entered, and waited to be acknowledged by the occupants within.
The Dark Lord was speaking with his lieutenants, Puzzle, Nanny Hope and Vyn DeKat, sitting upon his throne as was custom for such events. The room was lit only by a fire pit in the center, and so the Dark Lord himself could not be seen save for a pair of red eyes that menaced the room with their baleful glow.
Kyne looked over the others assembled; the privileged few who served the Dark Lord directly, without being part of this world's infernal bureaucracy. Puzzle, the head of his own bureau, a gnarled and twisted crone who delighted in nothing so much as 'study' that caused suffering to others, but was genuinely brilliant all the same. Nanny Hope, in her horrible pink dress, trainer of the elite soldiers and nearly unparalleled in the warrior's arts. Vyn DeKat, spy and manipulator extraordinaire, whose very existence was questioned by whole worlds even as he ran them from the shadows. All for the glory of the Dark Lord.
"Math-Priest Kyne," said a voice, low and terrible, snapping the robed man out of his reverie. "I hope you come bearing news that is pleasing."
"I do, my Lord," said Kyne, not rising from his bow. "She is awakening." He held up the datapad that the underling had brought to him, and it flew across the room, presumably into the Dark Lord's hand. After a pause, there came a molten smile.
"Excellent," said the Dark Lord. "Soon, all the realms will know suffering."