Month: September 2021

The Dark World

Varina lounged on her throne. To any outside observer, had there been any such in that vast, cold room, it would have seemed an unlikely thing to do. The throne was massive, made of skulls, human and otherwise, piled high and gilded in gold; it’s seat and back, of dark leather (best not to ask of what creature) dyed the color of arterial blood, was ringed with twisted, spiked bands of black iron. To sit upon it at all seemed likely to be uncomfortable, and to lounge… but the throne, like almost everything in this miserable, corrupted world, bent to the will of the witch-queen who ruled it. If she wished to lounge comfortably, then she did so, and the world made it so.

As she lounged, the dark-haired and darker-eyed woman gazed into a massive crystal sphere that hung in the air before her. Within that sphere figures moved, and the faint sounds of speech came to her eager ears… the sounds of a funeral oration. As she gazed, she smiled in deep satisfaction. Roland Reid was dead, at last. Hardly soon enough for her and her rage, to be sure, but much sooner than she had expected. And the fool had died, not in battle against an enemy, but in his sleep. Of old age! 

She laughed out loud at the very thought.

As the Magus Prime of his reality he could have called upon any number of arcane forces to extend his life; for centuries, if he had so wished. Certainly she had availed herself such methods, else her 660-odd years would weigh even more heavily on her than they did. She still reveled at times in the pleasures of a body perpetually 25 years old, lithe and strong. But Roland had eschewed such things. Part of his tedious “morality,” she supposed, although for the life of her, the logic escaped her.

Still, for whatever unfathomable reason, he was dead. And with his death all of his agreements, contracts, and bargains on behalf of and in defense of his reality were null and void. Including the one that had kept her from interfering, in any way, with Earth, much less conquering it, for so long. Now she was free at last to set in motion the plan she had spent a century perfecting, and which that doddering old fool had stymied 27 years ago.

Now she could finally begin her ascent to true godhood!

Varina watch attentively as her old enemy was laid to rest by his nearest and dearest friends. Her smile now was cold and avaricious…

New Atlantis, NJ – Earth

Cooper sighed as he turned away from the grave, the steady patter of rain on his umbrella a morose counterpoint to his dark thoughts. He hadn’t known Arkanos, Roland Reid, all that well, truth be told, and yet his death had hit him hard. It was only during the eulogy, as he let the words wash over him mostly unheard, that understanding had suddenly dawned. Roland had been an elder to him, a mentor and a guide, however briefly. His loss now was a reflection of Cooper’s other losses — of the tribal elders, of his family, of all of the people of his vanished island home. And he had never been able to say goodbye to them, even ceremonially. 

Strangely, that sudden epiphany lightened his mood somewhat. He understood loss, and had plenty of experience coping with it… he would deal with this loss too. But he thought he understood the idea of “closure” a little better now. Perhaps it was time to seek some closure for Sgang Gwaay Llanagaay…

He did wish that Meg had been able to join him, but Devaj had made it clear that this was to be a small, private service for his departed master, confined only to those who had known of Roland’s role as the mystical protector of Earth, the Magus Prime. As much as the Indian manservant appeared to like Meg, she was an up-and-coming reporter with a national reputation. Best not to put temptation in her way, Devaj had said apologetically, but firmly.

In fact, there had been fewer than a dozen others at the graveside this morning, almost all of them heroes. Everyone had been in their civilian identities, for decorum’s sake he supposed. Of course some, such as the Sampson family, were as famous out of costume as in, had any press been present to notice. But they weren’t, and now everyone was hurrying to their cars, heads down and umbrellas up against the steady rain.

Cooper caught up with his two companions as they reached their own vehicle, a vintage limousine of impressive length. Somehow Devaj was there before them, despite having been the last to speak at the graveside. He held the rear door open for them, taking their umbrellas as each slid into the capacious passenger area. 

“How do you do that?” Cooper said with a faint smile as he handed the slender Indian his own umbrella and ducked inside after the others. Atara had already taken the rear-facing seat, so he settled down next to Grant, facing forward.

“Magic sir, of course,” Devaj replied in his lilting accent, still there after so long in the US. Cooper thought his smile looked sad as he shut the door. “Magic” might well be the truth, he thought. The man had spent the last 50 years or so as aide d’camp and constant companion to the worlds’s most powerful mage. It would be a surprise if he hadn’t picked up a trick or two along the way.

As the car made its way through the winding lanes of North Hill Cemetery the silence inside the car grew heavy. Atara gazed out the window, but if she saw the stark gray majesty of nearby St. Giles Church or appreciated the misty New Jersey countryside visible here from high atop the Palisades she gave no sign. Her deep brown eyes seemed turned inward, and she chewed absently on a strand of her thick, black hair.

Grant also seemed distracted, Cooper thought, the man’s dark blue eyes studying their companion. He absently turned a thick silver chain on his left wrist for a few minutes, let out a sigh, and ran a hand through his tangled blond hair.

“This must have been so hard on Devaj,” he broke the silence  finally, with a quiet aside to Cooper. “I tired to get him to let me take on some of the logistical details of today’s dog-and-pony show, but he was adamant. Said he would “continue to do for Roland as I have always done, in death as in life.” But to have to keep up the pretense, today of all days…”

“Pretense?” Cooper asked, feeling he’d missed a beat somewhere. “What pretense?”

Grant looked surprised. “About their relationship… I’d think it would be difficult enough to lose your life-long lover without also having to keep up the charade that you were just the butler.”

Coopers usual stoic façade cracked slightly and his eyes widened. Grant’s own distracted expression vanished as he took in his friend’s reaction, and he grinned. “You mean you really didn’t know? I thought, after the trials… I mean, wasn’t he mentoring you too, this past year?”

“Well, yes,” Cooper acknowledged. “But it wasn’t like we discussed the man’s love life – we were studying magic! He was a very private man, and Devaj was… always there.” And they were both so old, he managed not to say.

The day’s second epiphany struck him then, as a dozen previously unregarded memories of the last couple of years suddenly shifted themselves about in his mind and dropped into new slots — creating an entirely different picture than the one he thought he knew. “Oh.”

Grant obviously sensed the mental wheels turning, and knew when the coin dropped. His grin widened. Cooper flushed, grateful his coppery skin made it difficult for his companion to see in the dim car interior. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised,” Grant allowed, giving him a friendly punch to the shoulder. “I did have the advantage of Gaydar™, after all, and… Cooper, your native culture was, is, pretty hierarchical, right? Devaj does a superb job at playing the faithful manservant, and if that’s a role you expect and accept, there’s no reason you’d ever look beyond the obvious. 

“But I was never really comfortable with whole servant/master dynamic, and one day… I don’t even remember exactly what it was, but some small gesture, a look between the two, and the light bulb went off. They could both tell I knew, too, almost as soon as I’d figured it out. We never spoke much about it, but they both seemed more relaxed around me after that.”

“Yes, it was much the same with me,” Atara said, startling both men, who had’t noticed her sudden focus on their quiet exchange. “Although my discovery was less intuitive than it was… unexpected. For all of us.” Her olive skin darkened in remembered embarrassment. 

Grant seemed to get it at once, but it took Cooper a second. Both men’s eyes widened. “You mean you.. what? You walked in on them en flagrant delicto?” Grant seemed torn between hilarity and sympathy. Atara shot him a glare and rolled her eyes.

“It wasn’t that dramatic, Grant, for god’s sake. I didn’t burst into Roland’s bedroom or anything. They were in the solarium, it was early, and I’d only moved into the mansion a week earlier… they were kissing under the forsythia.”

“That must have been… awkward,” Cooper allowed, keeping his own expression tightly under control. Still, some hint of his humor must have shown, because she stretched out a leg and kicked him in the shin.

“You’re just as bad as he is, Ravenwing. But yes, it was indeed awkward. For me at least. The two of them didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, of course. After a brief exchange, and I honestly don’t even remember what was said, Devaj slipped away to prepare breakfast, and Roland sat me down to tell me the whole story. 

“By the time Devaj rolled in the food trolley with his amazing eggs Benedict, cherry crepes, and mimosas, I was fully swept up in the romance of it all.”

“The whole story? That’s more than I ever got,” Grant admitted. “I know they met in India, not long after Roland had become the Magus Prime, and that they shared a couple of wild adventures together before they became a couple, but I never wanted to pry.”

“Well, you should have, I’m sure they would’ve told you… it wasn’t any great secret. But they are both men of an older time, more discrete, or maybe it’s better to say reserved, than most of our generation.”

The rest of the half-hour drive from North Hill to Seacliff was taken up with Atara’s recounting of the first meeting beteeen Roland Reid and Devaj Acharya in Calcutta, in 1956, and the attempted demonic infiltration of the Earthly plane which they thwarted there; the old Brahmin Acharya family’s dismay when their 20-year-old son threw over his pre-ordained medical career to study “magic” with the 36-year-old American “wizard”; and how they stumbled into love even as it became obvious that Devaj would make an indifferent sorcerer at best.

“At that memorable breakfast,” Atara concluded just as they pulled up to the mansion, “Roland told me that Devaj means “from the gods” in Hindi, and that he was sure it was true, because without Devaj’s unconditional love and support he doubted he could have survived for so long as the Magus Prime.”

Roland Reid’s mansion stood on a large plot of land in the exclusive Seacliff neighborhood of New Atlantis. Located on Elder Island and perched atop a cliff overlooking the Atlantic’s pounding surf, the building was a large and sprawling Victorian pile of three floors, and a tower with a wide widow’s walk ringing the top, that added one more. It was screened from the prying eyes of its neighboring mansions by numerous old trees and a tall, thick holly hedge, red berries currently bright against the glossy dark green leaves.

Not only a home, it was also the Sanctum Primus, one of the great focii of Earth’s primordial mystical power. The Sanctum was a moveable feast, existing wherever the current Magus Prime willed it, and shaping its appearance and much of its function to their desire. As such, the mansion was considerably larger inside than it appeared to be from the outside.

Devaj ushered them through the massive front doors and into the grand foyer, where Atara excused herself with a distracted wave of her hand and vanished up the great staircase. After her burst of volubility in the car, she had lapsed once more into a morose silence. Cooper suspected their conversation had only served to remind her of the burden and responsibilities being the Magus Prime laid on whomever bore the title.

As Devaj took the two men’s coats Cooper thanked him, then murmured a quiet “I’m sorry for your loss, Devaj. I hadn’t realized before the true depth of it… but Atara explained it to me—“ 

“Thank you, young sir, I appreciate the thought. And yes, I know what the young miss told you. And not by any arcane means, either,” he added at Cooper’s expression. “The intercom was simply on the whole time.” His smile this time had a little more of his usual dry humor in it.

“Oh, well, I hope it was all right…”

“As she said, it was not a great secret, and the fact is Roland considered you three as part of his family… as do I.”

“Thank you Devaj, that means a lot to me. With my own family… well, at least Roland has a beautiful view from his final resting place, it is a stunning location. A family plot, yes?”

“Yes, for several generations of Reids. But Roland will not be enjoying the view I’m afraid, for he is not buried there.”

“What?” Cooper looked confused. “But we just — I mean we just came from—“

“It was an empty casket we buried today, Cooper,” Atara said with a sigh, descending the staircase, now dressed in her Sabra costume of white and blue body suit and blue cloak, the hood pulled back. She smiled sadly at Devaj and nodded. The more-than-a-manservant nodded in return, and crossed the tessellated stone floor of the foyer to open a set of sliding doors into the south parlor. Sabra motioned for Grant and Cooper to follow.

The furniture that Cooper had seen on previous visits was gone, replaced by a simple bier in the center of room. On it was set a casket of milky crystal framed in hammered bronze. Within, the shadowy form of Roland’s body could be dimly seen. Massive white candles on beaten bronze stands circled the bier at the edges of the room, casting their warm light over the tableau.

“I don’t understand,” Grant said, stepping up to peer down at his former mentor’s body through the hazy crystal. “Why the deception at the cemetery? Is he…” sudden hope flared in him, as it did at the same instant in Cooper. 

“Is he not really dead?” Cooper finished his friend’s question. “Is there some ritual… something we have to do…”

“No, he is truly dead, I am afraid,” Devaj shook his head sadly, laying a gentle hand on the casket. “But he was the Magus Prime of this reality, the greatest living sorcerer of his day, and as such his body will rest in honor and safety with those of so many of his predecessors, in the Tombs of Kleth-Kiln beneath the Halls of Shambhala. And as his students, friends and family, we four alone shall convey him to that well-deserved rest.”

“It would be most fitting if you were both in costume for this,” Sabra suggested. “May I?” At her friends’ nods, she gestured, and their dark suits rippled and faded, to be replaced with their “working” clothes.

At the Devaj’s direction, Totem and Gatekeeper took up positions at the foot of the casket, left and right, while Sabra stood to the left at the head. Roland’s beloved took the honored right. He gestured, and a disk of shimmering, arcane light appeared over his outstretched hand. It snaked out to touch the casket, and the others quickly followed suit. They lifted Roland Reid’s casket on strands of magic, and as they did a portal warped open before them. The four pall bearers stepped through, their burden held at shoulder height…

The Tombs of Kleth-Kiln lie deep beneath the mountains to the north of the hidden, mystical valley of Shambhala. Already old when Atlantis sank beneath the waves, awash in more than 20,000 years of accumulated mystic might from Eath’s most powerful mages, Shambhala is one of the great focii of power in our universe… and the home to the Powers That Be. This mystical force is what grants the mantle of Magus Prime to the mage, wizard, witch or warlock deemed worthy of the title… and capable of bearing the responsibility. 

The chamber where Cooper and his companions found themselves now was vast and dimly lit by a deep blue effulgence that seemed to come from nowhere in particular. It was circular, its ceiling lost in blue shadow, and seven wide arches led to seven long, dark corridors which radiated out from it. As they stood, Roland’s crystal casket floating in the air between them, the silence was deep and hieratic.

Without a single sound to break that silence, suddenly a score of dark figures glided from the shadows at the edges of the chamber to gather around the pall bearers. From descriptions in the tales Artemis had told him of this place, Cooper recognized them as monks and acolytes of Shambhala Temple, and the keepers of the Tombs.

No word was spoken, but one of the hooded figures bowed to Devaj, who nodded in return. The figure gestured toward one of the dark corridors, and turned to lead the way. As they followed, the temple denizens fell into procession around them, and as they did they began to chant. Cooper could understand no single word, and yet he understood that dirge in a place within himself beyond language or reason. He knew its song, of grief and sadness, of strength and joy, and ultimately of hope…he knew it in his soul as Truth.

As they progressed down the long corridor, wide enough for six to walk abreast, the deep blue light seemed to move with them. In its bubble he could see the walls were lined on either side with crystal caskets similar to the one he and his companions carried. Set almost upright, they rose in three tiers to the base of the vaulted ceiling. Within, shadowed forms could be discerned, the uncorrupted bodies of great magi who had come before, and who had passed on to… something else. To become a part of the Powers That Be, some said…

After a time and distance he could never afterward be sure of, they came to a place where the caskets ceased, and only dark cavities could be seen. It was toward one of these recesses, in the highest tier, that they raised Roland Reid’s casket, sliding it gently into its destined slot. As they did, there was a flash of blue-white light, and the chanting stopped.

No one spoke; words in this place seemed superfluous. For a time each person present contemplated their own thoughts. Cooper’s were of life, of death, of immortality, of the vagaries of Fate… and on the mysterious fate of his own lost people…

At some unspoken signal, everyone turned from their inward thoughts and began the trek back to the central chamber of the Tombs. The Shambhalans took up a new chant, this evoking images of rest and peace, of a life well-lived and tasks completed, and of comforting continuity…

When they reached the central chamber the chant came to a close once more, and the monks and acolytes faded back into the shadows as silently as they had come. The silence they left behind, however, was not the same. Now it was as if the world held its breath, waiting…

Minutes passed, and the anticipation mounted. Cooper was about to speak, to say something, anything to break that rising tension, when a new light drew everyone’s attention upward. From the deep blue shadows a brighter, bluer light was growing. As it grew, Cooper could see that it came from a great, multifaceted crystal set in the stone ceiling far above them – by far the largest kundalini crystal he’d ever seen. With the light came a low, vibrating thrum in the air, almost subliminal, as of tremendous power barely contained.

As the four watched, a shimmering curtain of light, like a cold blue aurora borealis, slowly coalesced into existence around the perimeter of the chamber. In that wavering, flickering haze it seemed to Cooper that the lights suggested shapes, as of ranks of men and women… but never more than a suggestion. No clear or certain image ever resolved, at least to his eye.

“The Powers That Be,” whispered Devaj, his eyes as wide as those of any of his younger companions. Cooper had never seen the unflappable Indian show anything but cool composure, even in the face of death; but now his hands shook as if with a palsy. He motioned Sabra forward. “The time has come, young miss.”

The Israeli woman’s wide brown eyes were fixed on the shimmering lights surrounding them, and for a moment she seemed frozen in place. Then, with a shuddering breath, she stepped forward, alone, into the center of the room and lifted her chin high.

For just a moment it seemed to Cooper as if the flickering lights paused… hesitated. But the impression was fleeting, gone almost as soon as he had registered it. A secondary thread of light began to form, a warm, golden band that wove itself amongst the cooler blue aurora, growing thicker and brighter as it circled the room. It soon pulled inward, spinning closer to the young woman at the center of the space, shrinking and growing denser as it did. 

When it reached Sabra, hanging for a moment in the air above her, it seemed almost to be a cloth of golden sunlight. Then it settled down over her, like a cloak or mantle, and as it did it faded away… faded into Atara Dayna, called Sabra. The mantle of Magus Prime had been passed to its new master.

•••••••

Cooper hung up the phone and smiled in satisfaction. He had secured reservations for himself and Meg at Temerity at the Top of the Tower, one of Astoria’s most iconic, and exclusive, restaurants, for Valentine’s Day. He’d had to wield his status as a member of the Vanguard like a club, true, but what was the point of celebrity if you didn’t take advantage of it occasionally? At least he hadn’t had to resort to mind control.

He was still somewhat bemused by these Outer World “holidays,” and people’s obsession with some of them, but not with others. Why was Christmas a big deal, yet Flag Day was all but ignored?  He understood that this one mattered, however, at least to Meg. Last year she had planned their Valentine’s Day, a very enjoyable outing which she had assured him was suitably “romantic.” 

Afterward, she had made it very clear that this year such plans would be his responsibility. At least that’s what he thought “OK, the ball’s in your court for next time, pal,” had meant. She was also a very practical woman, though, and she knew he still struggled with many Outer World customs; so her seemingly casual comment this morning about the holiday being just four days away had certainly been a gentle reminder. With just a hint of steel behind it.

He’d smiled and assured her that he was on it, and that it would be as romantic an evening as she could want. Not long after, claiming Vanguard business, he had rushed off to the Pyramid. His first inclination was to turn to his teammates for advice… but to whom? 

Of the obvious two first choices, JJ would likely be just as confounded by the question as he was, while Artemis would flash that enigmatic smile of hers and then offer him some oblique hint. Chuck had the experience, perhaps, but would almost certainly make a joke of it, and Jonny, while probably enthusiastic enough, lacked the experience, he suspected, to be of much help. Prometheus was even more out of touch with Outer World customs than Cooper was, and was lecturing at some university back East in any case; no one had heard from Gideon in six months. Which left Kyle. Who, on proper reflection, should have been his first choice… unfortunately, he was out today making the rounds of local hospitals in his secondary secret identity of Dr. Jason Cresswell, surreptitiously healing the afflicted with his quantum powers.

No, he’d have to figure this out himself, he’d realized, and as he had pondered what Meg might consider “romantic,” he was reminded of Kevin Lipton, the pilot of the plane that had triggered the Astoria Incident, and been its first victim. The man had been planning on taking his wife to Temerity at the Top of the Tower that night, to celebrate their anniversary, something his teammates had all found tragically romantic. As had Meg, he recalled. They could skip the tragic part, he hoped, but the romance part sounded perfect, and he’d made the call.

Now to think about the matter of flowers… another dubious custom that he didn’t really get. How was giving someone a bunch of dying vegetation a sign of love? Now, the first cut of the liver from a fresh kill, that said love… he winced at the memory of Meg’s reaction the first time he’d offered her the fresh liver of a deer he’d killed on a camping/hunting trip they’d taken in college. No, better to stick with the dead vegetation…

Suddenly the world began to spin around him, and he felt a strange tugging sensation, as if he were being pulled in a direction that didn’t exist in standard three-dimensional space… a teleportation spell he realized, an instant too late to do anything about it. There was a swirling sense of color and motion and then he was — elsewhere. 

And wearing his costume, he noted absently as he stared about himself. He realized he knew the place – he was in the public lobby of Alliance Hall, the Liberty Alliance’s embassy in New Atlantis. Hard on the heels of that realization came a tremendous “THOOM,” as much felt as heard, and the whole building shook. Which, given what he knew of its construction, was worrisome.

“Totem, Guardian, sorry for dragging you here so abruptly!”

Cooper turned to see Sabra, in her full costume, floating in mid-air near the massive main doors of the Hall, her face shadowed by her hood, blue cloak billowing out around her. Standing halfway between him and her was a confused-looking Guardian, the subtle rainbow hues of his own cloak shifting as he too turned to stare at their friend.

 “As you can see, the Hall is under attack, and I’m the only one here at the moment. I could really use your help!” As she spoke, Sabra gestured with both hands at the doors, which were beginning to bulge inward. A golden disk of arcane energy flared from her to press them back, but the strain showed on her face.

“Of course,” Totem said, stepping up beside the Guardian, who was making a small hand gesture of his own. “What exactly are we dealing with?”

“I’m not entirely sure, the monitors showed a big muscular red-head, who looks like he just raided a Celtic LARPer’s closet, and twenty or so hulking brutes in kilts and not much else – they’re at least eight feet tall and wielding claymore swords.”

“Take a look for yourself,” the Guardian said. He had opened one of his smaller portals and set its corresponding opening to a point behind and slightly above the attacker’s position outside. Sabra floated down to join them and the three heroes peered out at the enemy through this impromptu view-screen.

“He calls himself Tethra, and appears to be a fairly powerful sorcerer,” Sabra said. “He’s been bellowing about coming to reclaim what’s rightfully his, between assaults on the doors; something he calls the “Cliamh Solais,” although I’ve no idea what that might be.”

“It is mystical weapon from Irish Celtic mythology,” a cool, almost disinterested voice boomed from seemingly nowhere. Totem recognized it as belonging to Urbana, the synthetic gynoid member of the Alliance imbued with the Spirit of Cities. “A sword, in fact. In English the name means “Sword of Light.” It was taken from this Tartha person, who styles himself a Celtic demigod, four years ago when the Liberty Alliance defeated him and his giant warriors, known as the Fomorri, after they attempted to conquer Ireland. It is currently stored in one of the secure artifact vaults beneath the Hall.”

“OK, thanks for the info dump, Urbana,” the Guardian said, rolling his eyes. “How about some actual help with these guys? They look pretty physical, and that’s not really my forte, you know?”

“As Sabra is aware, I am not physically present at the Hall, being on monitor duty in the Overwatch. The rest of the Alliance is currently unavailable, and I cannot myself leave my station for anything less than a planetary threat. But I have located additional assets to assist in this situation, and they are incoming. Standby.”

“So, where’re the rest of your team?” the Guardian asked, eyeing the doors warily. “Are you really here alone?”

“Yes, most of the team is off-planet, and the Sampson’s too. Their all out in the Asteroid Belt… the UN is getting ready to open the Star Gate again, and they’re not taking any chances this time. The Golden Cheetah is dealing with a crisis in Africa, and as you heard, Urbana is on monitor duty upstairs.

“I volunteered to watch the Hall, because I thought it would be a good, quiet time, to renew the spells of protection guarding  the place. Since his death, Roland’s spells have been slowly fading, and the rate of decay seems to be —“

At that moment Tartha renewed his assault on the doors, and this time they blew inward in several flaming chunks. Totem threw up a shield barely in time to protect the three of them from the debris, but the shimmering green energy couldn’t stop the Celtic horde from crossing the threshold with a guttural cry of triumph. Sabra blasted the three in the lead with a mystic bolt, but their great swords seemed to absorb and deflect the energy. They were only briefly staggered.

Tartha himself seemed content to let his soldiers bear the brunt of their defense, remaining at the back of the pack of giant warriors as they poured through the breech he’d made. Laughing a deep, booming laugh, he urged them on in a lilting Irish brough. “Go on lads! Why ‘tis no more ‘n a wee slip o’ a lass these so-mighty heroes have left to guard their palace… and a pair o’ eunuchs, I do believe!”

The heroes were too busy with the rampaging giants to pay much attention to the so-called demigod’s taunts. Totem noticed that Sabra’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed at the “wee slip ‘o a lass” remark, however, and her bands of golden light lifted two giants up and slammed their heads together with particular vehemence a moment later.

The Guardian reached into one of his portals and pulled forth an Uzi – apparently a sleeper somewhere in the world was dreaming of mowing down his (or her) enemies with it, which allowed him to make it manifest in the real world… and with an apparently endless supply of ammo, Totem noted. Unfortunately, the bullets did little more than raise red welts on the giants’ hides. And further enrage them, of course…

Totem himself called forth the Mists of Sleep, which rained down gently over those invaders already inside the building. But the Celtic mage outside was instantly aware of the ploy and, at a gesture and a word, his own violet mist rose up to meet Totem’s descending green droplets. The two met and vanished together with a hiss like water dropped on a hot griddle. Then two of the giants were on him, and he was forced onto the defensive, raising his shields to deflect their sword-blows. He staggered backward several steps.

For the next few minutes the three heroes fought a slow retreating battle as the score of giant warriors pushed forward. Tartha countered the spells to which his men weren’t already immune, and occasionally sent his own blasts of violet mystical power at one or another of the defenders. The heroes could barely hold the invaders in check, keeping them in the huge lobby, with no breathing space to plan an effective counter-attack of their own.

Tartha had just entered the building himself, bringing up the rear with a deep, mirthful laugh, when he was flung forward into the back of one of his own giants by a blast of violet light, a deeper shade than the Celt’s own magic. He crumpled to the floor with a surprised grunt, momentarily dazed, as another giant strode through the doorway to survey the situation.

“Prometheus!” Totem called. “Good to see you my friend… and well timed!”

“Did you miss me too?” another voice asked from above, and Totem looked up to see the Phantom Ace descending like a wraith through the ceiling. He dropped down and through the nearest giant, who suddenly looked very surprised, then puzzled — and then keeled over unconscious, leaving a grinning Ace standing in his place.

The arrival of his erstwhile teammates gave Totem, the Guardian, and most especially Sabra, the breather they needed to regroup and plan a strategy. Tartha was back on his feet soon enough, but now he faced three skilled mages, one of whom was the Magus Prime, working in concert. While Prometheus and the Phantom Ace engaged the Fomorri, Sabra, the Guardian and Totem focused their combined powers on the Celtic demigod.

In less than five minutes Tartha was bound in the golden Unbreakable Bonds of Bhakarea, and the few Fomorri still on their feet were forced to stand down and surrender. The public lobby of the Hall was trashed, it’s stone floor cracked, displays shattered, and the main reception desk somehow embedded in the ceiling — but the Celts had made it no further into the building. Certainly not to the secure vaults in the deep sub-levels.

“Well done, Sabra, Guardian, members of the Vanguard,” Urbana’s dry tones echoed once again from nowhere in particular. “I had calculated an 89.7% chance that the specific combination of you five would defeat the intruders without undue damage to the Hall. I am gratified to see that I was correct.

“Sabra, I have alerted SHADE, and the proper authorities should be on site in about five minutes. Please be sure to have our guests fill out proper after-action reports to append to your own, once the miscreants have been removed from the premises. I am, of course, available to you from the Overlook should you have further need of me.”

“‘In about five minutes?’” the Guardian said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s rather vague for Urbana, isn’t it?”

“Yes, she’s been trying to be more “human” in her speech patterns recently,” Sabra sighed. “Without any great success, I’m afraid. Now, I want to interrogate our prisoners before SHADE gets here and hauls them off. Prometheus, would you and the Phantom Ace question the still-conscious Fomorri? Totem, Guardian, I could use your help with Tartha.”

The Celtic demigod seemed surprisingly resigned as he hung suspended several feet above the floor, tightly bound from mouth to ankles in golden light. Indeed, his eyes seemed more amused than angry as Sabra stood before him. She gestured and the seal across his mouth faded away.

“Why did you choose today to attack?” she asked. “And how did you manage to escape your prison to even do so?”

At Totems inquiring look she shrugged. “I had Urbana flash-beam me the relevant files a few minutes ago. When the Liberty Alliance defeated him and his Fomorri army, Arkanos banished them to a place called Magh Mell; a dimension they should not have been able to escape from without outside help.”

Tartha snorted, and shook his head. “Magh Mell — the Plain of Happiness, in your uncouth tongue — ha’ any place e’er been so misnamed, I ask you? The Plain of Tedium, more like, I assure you lass. And indeed, even I found it nigh impossible to escape from within, though it wounds my pride to admit as much to such a comely lass as yourself.

“As to why attack this palace now? Why not, m‘dear? ‘Twas the first thing I’d been a-plottin’ these four years past, should I e’er escape m’dreary cage. And I’ve only just done that thing, and so here we are. Now lass, I don’t suppose you’d be at all disposed to be returning m’sword to me, despite our little brouhaha just now?”

“Hardly,” Sabra said dryly, although she  had to resist a smile. The man was surely charming, and he had hutzpah enough for a dozen men. “But if you want to file a formal claim on the item and request a hearing to state your case to have it returned to you, I’ll see that SHADE provides you with the proper forms.”

Totem almost burst out laughing at the utterly blank look on the Celt’s face at this; and after a moment Tartha himself did break out into gales of hearty laughter.

“Oh lass, there’s more t’ you than a pretty face, I see! I’d wondered how t’ mantle of Magus Prime could’ve fallen to one so young and tender, but now I begin t’ see it.”

“Good. Then perhaps you’ll believe me when I tell you I’ll send you back to your Plain of Tedium, rather than an earthly prison, if you don’t tell me who helped you to escape it.”

“Aye, sure and I do believe ye both could and would, lass. So I’ll tell you ‘twas another wee lass, though one not so fiery as yourself, yourself. This one was beautiful, t’ be sure, but cold enough to freeze a man’s – er, that is a, quite cold. 

“Varina, she was  named, and she is the Witch-Queen of the Dark World. She came to us in the boredom of Magh Mell, and told us of the death of the old Magus Prime. She told me that the only guardian of this Palace of the Allies was the new Magus, a mere wee girl who might be easily defeated… and then the mantle might well fall to myself, it might.”

As Tartha finished speaking a series of harsh, discordant notes echoed throughout the great space of the damaged lobby, and the air in front of the heroes began to ripple and twist. A face gradually formed, vast and translucent, ten feet high and staring down at them all with disdain. It was the visage of woman with jet black hair, and Totem could see that Tartha had spoken the truth – she was beautiful indeed, but to him it seemed the sterile beauty of cold, sculpted stone. Her eyes, which at first he had thought to be black, he suddenly realized were actually a dark, dark red. When she spoke her voice was like ice water poured into his ears.

“So, it seems my vaunted champions were not the peerless warriors I had been led to believe them to be. Of course it is a matter of no real importance. The buffoonish fool Tartha and his dim witted Fomorri were little more than a bee, to prick you and warn you of my coming… I would have disposed of them myself, even had they done the job properly. Do as you will with them now, they are of no further interest to me.

“But we have not been formally introduced, child. I am Varina, Empress of 999 worlds, called by many the Witch-Queen of the Greater Targanu. Roland Reid may have temporarily forestalled my conquest of your pathetic world, with his cowardly manipulation of our Duel Magistiri… of course that was long before you were even born, wasn’t it? Well, the details are unimportant at this late date. He is dead at last, and with him gone, all of his agreements are now as null and void as he himself.

“So, even now, here in my own dark realm, far beyond your infant’s grasp, my armies are gathering. Soon they will march forth to trample your world beneath their iron boots in my name. Only a true Magus Prime could ever hope to stop me. Roland did so once, however dishonestly, when he held that title. Of course, I can hardly imagine his child apprentice could manage to rise to even his level of incompetence… and so, farewell for now. Soon you, and your entire world will bow down to me and know me for your goddess!!”

Varina’s image slowly faded away until, Cheshire cat-like, only her cold, smug smile remained. It hung in the air for a moment, a chilling promise, and then it too vanished.

“That… that… BITCH!” Sabra fumed, her fists clenched as she glared at the spot where their enemy’s face had been. “Roland told me about her, and how he defeated her the last time they met. He was certainly Magus enough to send her packing with her tail between her legs, whatever insults she comes up with now, now that he’s gone!”

“Is she really as powerful as she implied?” Totem asked. If she had truly conquered almost a thousand other worlds, then she must be a formidable opponent indeed, and her arrogance well deserved.

“Well, yes, she is,” Sabra was forced to admit, and the flush began to fade from her cheeks. The question forced her to calm down enough to seriously consider what they’d learned. 

“She’s over 600 years old, Roland once told me, and she really has conquered close to a thousand different worlds in that time… many alternate versions of Earth, some different dimensions, and a few conceptual planes. As she conquers them she merges each one into her own original dark dimension, melding the whole into a singular, twisted world of despair… a dark reflection of her own warped psyche, he said.”

“She implied that she could be defeated in a Duel Magistiri,” the Guardian said. “And that Roland had done so once before. Do you think you could do the same? Do you know how he managed it?”

“I do,” Sabra acknowledged. “But I’d rather not discuss this in front of the prisoner.”

Tartha snorted, but shrugged his understanding as best he could, given his retraints. “Tis sensible, I’ll grant ye, lass. But you’ve naught to fear of my betraying yer plans to that cold-hearted witch… I see I was naught to her but a means to taunt you, and I’m not liking that “buffoonish” comment so much! Indeed, I might be willing to help you and your lads here… if not for my sword, then perhaps for my freedom, eh?”

His face flared crimson as the three heroes burst into simultaneous laughter.

•••••••

After agents of SHADE had arrived with appropriate gear to secure and remove Tartha and his Fomorri minions, and the security construction company with which the Alliance had a standing contract for clean-up and reconstruction had been called, Sabra had a lunch laid on for the five of them in one of the Hall’s conference rooms.

Over the meal, Sabra explained the way in which Roland had, 27 years earlier, beaten Varina in their formal Duel Magistiri. He had set in motion a series of rebellions in her core realm, which Devaj had then overseen and fanned into flames once the Duel itself had begun. It had been a hard fought battle, and the outcome uncertain, until Roland had revealed to her what was going on in Greater Targanu. With her power base in danger of splintering away beneath her, she had been forced to withdraw, forfeiting the match. Bound by unbreakable oaths, Earth and its dimension was thereafter safe from her direct interference.

“So, what you’re saying is, he cheated,” the Guardian said, laughing. 

Sabra smiled. “Varinia certainly felt that way. But it wasn’t cheating, or else she would not have been bound by the oaths and rules of the Duel Magistiri. No, it was just foresight, good planning, and impeccable timing.”

“Can you do the same sort of thing?” Phantom Ace asked. “Or would that be too predictable?”

“The very fact that trying the same ploy a second time would seem foolish – and surely she will have taken precautions – might actually give it a chance to succeed,” Sabra said. “And it doesn’t sound like she’s expecting me to demand a Duel, or at least not until she makes her move, here on Earth.

“I’m not planning on waiting for her and her damn army to invade. My idea is to strike now, while she believes I am off-balance, and to offer the Duel Magistri in her own realm. I don’t think she’ll be expecting that, and if you four are willing to help me, I might just be able to pull it off.

“The Duel must start with just the two of us, but each side is allowed champions, as long as they are agreed to by both parties. But your talents will be better deployed, I think, in recreating Roland’s tactic – sowing chaos and rebellion in her own empire. It is a two-pronged strategy: on the one hand, if we succeed in getting any significant portion of her people to throw off her yoke, her power will be correspondingly reduced, which should help me; if she is forced to withdraw to forestall that loss, as before, then even better.”

“A reasonable strategy,” Prometheus said, nodding thoughtfully. “I will lend you my aid in this.”

“Actually, disappearing from Earth for a while is just what the doctor order,” Phantom Ace offered with a grin. “I’m in!”

Totem and the Guardian signaled their assent as well, and everyone agreed that a fast strike gave them the best chance of success… although a few hours of preparation wouldn’t hurt, either.

“Yes, I don’t propose we dash off this second, and I certainly have some ideas we should discuss,” Sabra said. “And until I actually confront Varina, I will be spending most of my energies keeping our presence in her world shielded from her awareness, so I will be depending on you four for most of the tactical action, whatever it turns out to be…”

•••••••

The five heroes arrived in the heart of Varina’s realm on a bluff overlooking a sad river town. Targanu was a dark, dreary world, although it had supposedly once been very Earth-like. Now, no sun shone in a churning sky of sullen red and black clouds that seemed to glow with their own dismal radiance. Ashen plants grew listlessly in the rocky, barren soil on the slope below them and the flatlands spreading out behind. What few trees dotted the landscape were sickly and skeletal, with clumps of dead, dry leaves suserrating in the cold wind.

The town itself was dull and gray, perhaps a 100 buildings of featureless, dusty stone, brick and wood, none more than three stories tall. It looked like nothing so much as a cross between a fantasy medieval village and a 19^th century English industrial town. It was dwarfed by an immense mill or factory of black stone and iron, half again as large as the settlement over which it loomed. Dirty gray smoke billowed from a dozen blackened chimneys, each 30 meters tall, casting an entirely redundant pall over the town.

As they watched, hidden by a jumble of boulders at the top of the bluff, Totem and his companions quickly realized something was already afoot. A number of chalk-white skeletal figures appeared to be rounding up the townsfolk, forcing them ungently into a rough circle in the towns square. Two black-robed figures and another in red watched the crowd as it grew. When the last of the citizens had been pulled from their homes and shoved into place, the figure in red began to speak.

The Guardian opened one of his portals, no more than 10 mm across, in a spot under the eaves of the closest building to the town square, and Phantom Ace snaked through the almost invisible neck of a Scion-created optical/audio device. The others gathered around to watch and listen on the LCM screen Ace unfolded on a nearby rock. Sabra’s Spell of Understanding seemed to be working, as they had no trouble following the strange, guttural language of the red-robed woman…

“People of Braghva, I am Kürvasah, Necromancer Secondus to our Dark Empress, Varina the Just, and I am here, with my lieutenants and my army of the unliving, because her Serene Majesty is displeased. Most displeased indeed.

“It is well known that soon She will embark on the most important conquest in a generation, and yet… and yet, the production quotas for your town are down… again! On top of which, rumor has reached the Imperial ear that you hoard supplies, of food and medicine especially. Almost as if you doubted our benevolent Lady’s ability to provide for you in sufficiency. Is this true? Do you doubt the power and the love of our monarch?”

The crowed moaned in fearful denial of any such feeling, a few shouting out their undying loyalty to the Crown. Kürvasah smiled at that, a feral and unreassuring smile. 

“Well good, I am most glad to hear it. For aside from the hoarded supplies, which my soldiers have uncovered… did you really think they wouldn’t find them, just because they’re dead? Aside from confiscating those, I will also be taking one out of every four of you, to swell the ranks of the armies of Varina the Triumphant. If this were a loyal town, you would be allowed to select your volunteers, but since you have so little faith in your Empress, we will choose for you.”

At her signal the two black-robed figures began moving amongst the people, indicating various individuals as they went. Undead soldiers began pulling the selected away from their family or friends, dragging them off toward the towering factory. Women screamed as young men, hardly more than boys, were pulled away, fathers pleaded for daughters to be spared, but the silent, unliving creatures paid no attention. 

“Once I have converted your volunteers into a proper undead state, they will be sent to the capitol to join the Legions to prepare for the invasion of Her Majesty’s next world; you who remain will be expected to reach your established quotas for next period, and there will be no more leniency if you fail again… and do not whine to me of being short-handed! You have no one to blame but yoursel—“

Her words were cut off as a dark violet beam of energy hit her in the chest, blasting her back into the crowd behind. An instant later Prometheus landed in the middle of the square, before the two back-robed lieutenants, who staggered back in surprise. The crowd scattered like water drops on a hot skillet as the other Earth heroes stepped through one of the Guardian’s portals and began decimating the ranks of the skeletal army.

Less than an hour later, the undead force had had their “un” prefix removed, Kürvasah’s two chief minions were beaten, bound and unconscious, and Kürvasah herself stood bound before the gathered heroes and a selection of the townsfolk. The later were led by a middle-aged, haggard-looking woman named Yadal, the governor of Braghva. Totem had found her hog-tied and awaiting a no-doubt grim fate in the factory, along with several other town elders, after the rather one-sided fight.

While they all were relieved to be delivered from that dark fate, they were not noticeably grateful. “What have you done?” wailed Yadal, summing up the collective thought as she obsessively wrung her hands, staring around at the former undead soldiers scatter across the town square. “The Witch-Queen does not suffer such rebellions lightly! You have saved a few, for a time, but you have really only doomed us all to massacre, and perhaps much worse, when Varina learns of this!”

“If you truly believe your are doomed,” Sabra said, her voice pitched to carry, “then perhaps it’s time you stood up and fought back – you may still die, I can’t deny it, but at least you will die on your feet, defending your own lives and the lives of those you love.”

“And after all,” added Totem, “if the penalty for a small infraction is the same as for a large one, what do you have to lose if you take the risk and try to win it all? If you fail, you’ll be no deader than if you tried; and if you win…”

Over the next twelve hours, until what passed for night on this world fell (a dimming of the glowing clouds to an ember-like hue), the humans helped the citizens of Braghva prepare. Even Kürvasah was brought around to help… it seemed she was as terrified of her queen as anyone else, and worried about the price of her failure here. If there was a chance of hiding it, and of these off-worlders at least giving Varina something more to worry about than a straying underling, than she’d take the chance.

While the others helped, repairing the town, building a better hiding cache for the pilfered supplies, and replenishing the fields, making friends in the process, Sabra, Yadal, and Kürvasah formulated a plan. In return, the natives provided what intelligence they could on Varina and her Citadel.

“Varina is preparing for the greatest invasion she has undertaken in a generation,” Kürvasah said at last. “It has always been her habit, in such times, to prepare herself by retiring to her Sanctum of Solitude to meditate and gather her powers. It will be your best shot at attacking her with none of her guards around her.

“The Sanctum is a pocket dimension she created for herself alone. It is accessible only through a magic mirror in her Throne Room… and while others may enter it, none who have done so have ever been known to return. I’m afraid I can tell you no more than that concerning it, though.”

That night, Totem learned another vital bit of intelligence while playing a game, very much like Parcheesi, with a little girl. Her family had offered him a place for the night, and the game was a relic, a family heirloom kept hidden for generations… a faded but beloved reminder of the times before Varina’s corruption of their world. The girl’s grandmother turned out to have been a servant in the Citadel of Suffering, until she became too old to fulfill her duties to Varina’s unyielding standards and had been cast out. She knew all of the hidden corridors within the edifice, used by the servants to perform their duties without ever disturbing the High Folks by their offensive lowly presence.

“With what she told me,” Totem said as they set out the next morning, “we may be able to bypass almost all of the Citadel’s guards up until the Throne Room itself, if we’re lucky.”

The Citadel of Suffering lay about 160 kilometers from Bragvah, as close as Sabra had dared to bring them when entering Varina’s realm. The eerie and depressing landscape of this dying world made for a very somber trip, as they were forced to travel on foot – both to minimize any chance of revealing their powers to dangerous observers, and to take the opportunity to lay more groundwork for rebellion. There were a surprising number of opportunities for that along the way.

Kürvasah and both her loyal lieutenants accompanied the heroes on the early stages of the four day journey, pointing them toward likely opportunities to find the rebel-minded, and not just amongst the cowed peasants. A shocking number of middle managers were ready to be convinced that their own self-interest might best be served by Varina’s absence.

Totem felt a little guilty about that, as it was unlikely they, or rather Sabra, would actually kill the evil monarch, even should the opportunity arise. Atara just wasn’t the bloodthirsty type, and their primary goal was the safety of Earth… if that could be secured without Varina’s death, she would be satisfied. But then he reflected that the Witch-Queen’s mid-tier lackeys weren’t really concerned about any freedom beyond their own freedom to try and take her place in the chaos, and he didn’t feel so bad. Besides, if the people did manage to free themselves, he suspected known collaborators might not fare too well afterward. He smiled briefly, until the sere landscape reasserted its depressing hold…

Their goal was a vast towering edifice of dark stone and black iron spires, which dominated a cacophonous, smoking, stinking metropolis that spread around it for 20 kilometers in every direction, except to the “east.” There a dead sea lapped sluggishly against the tower’s foundations. The city made 19^th Century London, on its worst killer-fog day, seem like a sun-lit paradise in comparison. Representatives of the 998 other worlds Varina has conquered could be seen in the city’s narrow, twisting streets – mutated humans, elves, dwarves, lizard-folk, demons, clockwork beings… even a dragon. The heroes, even Prometheus, had no trouble blending in.

The five heroes rented rooms in a cheap dive not far from the Citadel (but not one of the ones Kürvasah had recommended – while both Sabra and Totem were convinced of her conversion to the rebellion, at least for as long as it looked like it had a chance of success, they saw no reason to trust blindly), and from there they scouted out the looming tower. It took another full day, during which at least one more spark was flicked amongst the straw by an escapade involving the Phantom Ace, the Guardian, a stable of unicorns, and a cuckolded husband; but they succeeded in penetrating the outer defenses and entering the Citadel of Suffering.

Picking mystical locks as they went, defeating powerful wards, and evading massive, demonic-looking guards, they eventually arrived at Varina’s Seat of Power, her Throne Room at the heart of the great fortress. There, at last, they were forced to fight, for the room was not unguarded and no servant’s corridor connected to its isolated splendor. It was a short, sharp fight, but they knew they were on borrowed time as the last of the demon-guards fell.

“Guardian, sent the message to the rebels,” Sabra instructed.  “Time to send up the balloon and roll the dice, all the cards on the table… OK, I’m babbling. Let’s go!” With a deep breath and a determined raising of her chin, the Magus Prime of Earth shoved open the immense and massive, but perfectly balanced, doors of gilded ironwood and they stepped into Varina’s throne room.

It was an immense, empty open space, a circle of mirror-like, unadorned black marble walls, lined with a score of basalt pillars, each one the girth of an aged redwood tree and carved with writhing glyphs in some unknown tongue. Between each pillar stood black stands of twisted black iron, holding black candles two meters tall on which burned an ebony flame. That black light somehow managed to illuminate the obsidian floor, inset with arcane symbols in red marble, but the domed ceiling was lost in a shadowy vagueness far above.

Directly ahead of them and beyond the center point of the chamber was an oval dais of seven steps, alternating red marble and black basalt, atop which sat the throne. It was a massive thing, a pile of skulls — human, demonic, alien and animal — artfully arranged and gilded in gold. The seat was of a dark red leather, framed in twists and spikes of black iron, and very uncomfortable looking, Totem thought.

Behind the empty throne, set between two pillars in place of a black candle, was a large mirror, at least three meters tall and two wide. The dark glass was framed in twisting strands of silver and iron, and reflected the throne room in every detail, from flickering black candles to the gleaming golden throne… every detail except the five heroes.

“Well, that’s disconcerting,” the Guardian said as they rounded the dias and approached the mirror.

“It’s fucking spooky, is what it is,” the Phantom Ace said, looking spooked.

“OK, be prepared for anything,” Sabra said quietly. “As far as I can tell, she remains unaware of our presence, but I doubt any advantage the element of surprise might give us will last long. Is everyone ready?”

Her allies nodded and they followed her, two-by-two, as she stepped through the looking glass –

– and into a chamber the reverse of the throne room. This chamber was just as large, laid out in much the same way, but with a white marble floor, inset with green malachite, pillars of white sandstone carved to look like great tree trunks, and rich, golden flames flickering on tall white candles. The distant ceiling remained untouched by the light, but instead of shadowy darkness, it appeared to be a star-lit sky just after dusk. The encircling wall of white marble was lined with bookcases 3 meters tall, all crammed with countless books, scrolls, folios, almanacs, and codices – the pillaged learning of almost a thousand worlds. No throne was present, however – in the center of the room stood a large, ornate table with a dozen books and scrolls scattered across its surface and a single comfortable-looking chair next to it. A gilded cage with several small song birds flitting about within it stood next to the table.

Nor was there any exit to be seen. The Sanctum contained no analog of the mirror, and where the great double doors of the entrance should have been reflected, there was instead an alcove. It was set up as a sleeping or lounging area, filled with dozens of large cushions and pillows and draped in luxurious silks in rainbow hues. Asleep within it, or perhaps deep in mediation, was Varina herself.

Could it really be this easy? Totem felt uneasy. If she truly was unaware of them, a simple thrust of a knife could put an end to her threat permanently. But there was no chance at all that Sabra would strike down even her worst enemy in her sleep; and even if she did… the figure on the cushions moved, eyes flying open, head turning to smirk at the intruders.

“So, the great Magus Prime of Earth skulks into my bedchamber to slay me in my repose, like a thief in the night! How very heroic of you my dear!” Varina’s lips moved, but her voice echoed from everywhere in the room at once. As the heroes watched, her face began to twist, then melt, as if made of wax. Then, even as the booming, malicious voice continued, the simulacrum began to slowly crumble and collapse in on itself.

“You are too late, witless child. While you played in my garden, I strolled into yours. Without its Magus Prime to focus and define its mystical energies, Earth was mine from the moment I set foot there. You have failed, Atara Dayna. Everything Roland spent his lifetime protecting, you have betrayed in… how many days?

“Such a thoughtful gift you’ve given me, child, this beautiful world of yours, how remiss it would be of me not to give you something in exchange. My Sanctum of Solitude, my sacred place of rest and replenishment, only respects courage and power. I’m afraid the only way to escape it is through a sacrifice, dear child. So if you wish to come and contest with me, to try to take back your precious world… well, I’m afraid not all of your friends can make the trip.” 

With a final diabolical laugh the simulacrum crumbled entirely to dust, which blew away to reveal a wicked looking dagger of simple iron. 

After several hours of trying to find some way out of the trap they had so willingly stepped into, the heroes were forced to admit they were stuck. None of the books they searched offered a solution, at least none beyond the one Varina had already implied. None of their powers worked… all of Sabra’s spells seemed muted in the Sanctum, as were Totem’s, nor was he able to summon any of his Avatars; the Guardian could access neither his portals nor the dream dimension itself; Prometheus’ chest prism could barely emit a glow, much less a force blast, and his strength proved useless – he ripped out one bookcase, looking for a passage, and when they had turned back a few minutes later, it was as if it had never happened; and the Phantom Ace found both his teleportation powers and his ability to phase through matter were suppressed.

Sabra was pale and clearly shaken at how she had been played by the ancient sorceress. As the others had ransacked the library, looking for a clue, she had slumped in the chair in front of the table and closed her eyes. Deep in thought, or deep in despair? Totem wasn’t sure, and it worried him.

“I’m starting to think we might have to actually consider that bitch’s… dagger solution,” the Phantom Ace said at last, his voice raspy and curt. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he spoke, frowning as he rapped a scroll case unrythmically on the edge of the table.

“And how exactly are we going to do that,” the Guardian asked, his chin jerking up as he glared at the younger man. “Are you volunteering to be a sacrifice?”

“If it comes down to it, I think it is obvious that I should be the one in that role,” Prometheus said before Ace could retort. “I am a synthetic life form, with many fewer years of experience than any of you, it is only logical that—“

“Well, by that logic you have many more years ahead of you than the rest of us,” Totem interrupted. “So logically you would be the worst choice for a sacrifice. But in any case, we aren’t going to be killing anyone!”

“No, we are not,” agreed Sabra. She stood up and placed her fists on the table, leaning inward as she smiled thinly at her friends. “I’ve been considering our predicament, and what I know of Varina. She is a schemer, and a planner, and she likes to cover her bases. I doubt very much that she built this place without an escape clause, should she ever find herself trapped in here, and powerless. The way out must be, in a sense, “mechanical.” That is, a rote ritual that can be performed without magical skills.

“A sacrifice is a perfect example, but it would hardly make much sense as a failsafe, if she was the only person in here when she needed it. We’ve been assuming the sacrifice has to be meaningful, and therefore one of us. I suspect it really only has to be a life, any life.” She turned to look at the gilded bird cage and its half-dozen twittering captives.

“Does Varina strike any of you as the kind of person to keep pets?”

Sabra insisted that she be the one to make the “sacrifice,” although it was clear to her allies that even killing a bird was distasteful to her. “No,” she said when Totem assured her he was willing to do the job. “It was my rashness and overconfidence that got us into this mess, it’s my responsibility to get us out.”

She reached into the cage and a golden finch-like bird lit on her outstretched hand. Its obvious tameness dismayed her, but she closed her hand around the small body and withdrew it. She refused to use the dagger Varina had provided, however, and with a quick twist of her wrist she snapped the small creature’s neck.

Instantly there was a thrumming pulse of sound, and they all felt as if they were being pushed in every direction at the same time… then they were standing once again in Varina’s throne room, it’s eerie black light flickering around them.

“Guardian, can you open portals to the various places we planted our seeds of rebellion?” Sabra asked, after a puzzled glance at her now empty hands. “What’s going on out there?”

With a nod her ally gestured and several small portals opened in front of the group. Through them they could see the various places they’d visited in the past five days, from Bragvah to the Metropolis of Sorrow itself, and all were in turmoil as the flames of rebellion swept the realm.

“I wish we could stay to help them,” Sabra sighed as she took it all in. “But every hour Varina is on Earth without me there to oppose her, the odds of dislodging her grow slimmer. We have to return home now, and hope what’s happening here will be enough to force the Witch-Queen’s withdrawal… or weaken her enough for me to eject her from our reality.”

No longer needing to conceal their presence, Sabra unleashed her full power, opening a gateway between dimensions that led directly back to the Sanctum Primus and Earth… 

As soon as the five heroes stepped through into the grand foyer of the mansion, Devaj was there to greet them, bearing a tray with five silver cups on it. His face was grim as he offered them to each person. “An Elixir of Fortitude, to revive you all after your ordeal. You have only been gone a little more than a day from my point of view, but if I remember my own time in that hell-world rightly, I suspect it has been rather longer for you all. Drink, you are going to need all your strength, I very much fear.”

Stepping outside the mansion’s doors, they stepped into a world gone mad. Looking west across Elder Island from the bluff on which the Sanctum stood to the city proper, they could see that the winter-gray clouds above New Atlantis had been replaced by the sullen, churning red and black clouds of Vaina’s dark realm. Their eerie light seemed to distort distance and perspective, and an overwhelming sense of dread seemed to envelope everything. To the east, far out over the Atlantic, a thin line of normal sunlight could just be made out… and vanished as they watched.

“It started over the Tesla Towers,” Devaj said, “about five hours ago, and it has been spreading at an accelerating pace ever since, according to the radio reports. At this rate it will cover the globe in less than 48 hours.”

“Not if I can help it,” Sabra said, rising into the air, her cape whipping about her. But the strained lines around her mouth, and her pale face, somewhat undercut the bold words. Nonetheless, with a gesture she magically lifted her four allies into the air around her. “Guardian, open a gate to Tesla Plaza, please. Devaj, guard the Sanctum – you’re our only back up!”

The old Indian nodded, and if there was any doubt in him, it never showed in his face. He raised a hand, whether in farewell or benediction it was hard to say, as the five heroes passed through the shimmering portal –

–to appear on top of the eastern tower of the two tallest buildings in New Atlantis, the twin Tesla Towers. Varina hovered in the air atop the western tower, and she laughed in delight as she spotted them.

“So, you managed to escape my little trap,” her voice boomed out, loudly enough that totem imagined the entire city could hear her. “Very good my little poppet, for all that it will avail you now. Already my claws are sunk deep into the fabric of this world’s magic, and soon enough it will be mine entire!”

“Damn, it’s true,” Sabra muttered to Totem. “I can feel her presence in the very essence of the planet’s magical field, pushing against my own control of it. She is effectively the Magus Prime of almost a thousand other worlds, and that may be enough to offset my advantage of being the legitimate Primus of this world.”

Totem could feel the tension in the aether himself, and he was sure the Guardian could too. Both were skilled sorcerers in their own right, and one-time candidates for the title of Magus Prime, and the clash of forces beneath the mundane surface of the world was tremendous.

“You will never wrest control of this world’s magic from me,” Sabra called across to her opponent. “Not unless you can best me in the Duel Magistiri, and I assure you, that will never happen. I am not the inexperienced child you seem to think me, you withered old hag!”

Varina’s eyes narrowed momentarily at that last remark, but she quickly laughed it off. “Oh, by my standards even that dotard Roland was a mere toddler… you, my dear, are barely out of swaddling clothes. But you are right about one thing – my absorption of this world will be ever so much quicker if I first defeat you under the ancient laws. With your death, at my hands, all this worlds power will become mine on the instant! So I accept your challenge to the Duel Magistiri, child!”

A blast of red light flashed out from her hands, and Sabra’s golden shield deflected it with ease. The Duel was formally begun.

“Varina, have you checked in with your Home Guard recently?” Sabra called out, unleashing her own blast of golden mystical energy, equally deftly blocked by the older sorceress. “You may find things not quite as you left them, grandmother!”

“Oh dear, you mean you’ve followed in your old mentor’s footsteps and sought to foment unrest in the center of my power?” Varina gave a positively vaudevillian gasp of horror and distress, before bursting once more into full-throated laughter. “Did you really think that ploy would work a second time? Please! Since Roland’s devious little stratagem I have distributed my power into a series of decentralized nodes across my domains. I rather doubt you’ve had enough time to infect more than one such, and I’ll throttle any rebellion quick enough on my return – which this time won’t be until after I’m finally master of this world!

“But I see you’ve brought champions to stand with you… very wise, I’m sure, and I’ll allow it. But then, of course, it’s only fair that I bring in some champions of my own.” Red light flared in two points behind and above the Witch-Queen, and through them snaked two immense dragons, one a red so dark as to be almost black, the other an equally dark green. Their roars shook the two towers, shattering half the windows on the top thirty floors, as they dove toward the humans.

Sabra ignored the beasts and shot forward at blinding speed toward Varina, sending out golden tendrils of power to wrap around the older woman, pinning her arms. The older woman shrugged and a burst of scarlet light tore the ropes apart. After that, Totem was too busy fighting for his life to notice much about the duel on the other roof.

His own spells seemed to have only minimal effect on the great creatures, but the weapons the Guardian summoned, from rocket launchers to rail guns, and Prometheus’ prodigious strength, seemed to impact them physically to good effect. Totem considered summoning Bear, but in this desperate fight he decided to take a risk, and summon the long-banished Eagle back. It proved a good gamble. The chastened Avatar was thrilled to be in the Outer World once more, and when he saw the enemies he was offered, he grew positively jovial.

In the ensuing battle of violet force beams, fire breath, rapid burst depleted uranium ammo, poison gas breath, and sonic claps, Eagle/Totem had little time to wonder where the Phantom Ace was in all the chaos. Only later would he learn that the kid had first teleported atop one of the dragons, hoping to phase within it and disrupt its brain or heart, only to find that both creatures were entirely resistant to his power. 

Frustrated, and seeing that Sabra seemed to be taking a beating in the main event, he had teleported over to the other roof, and air-walked up behind Varina. So distracted by what she foresaw as her impending victory, the Witch-Queen apparently never saw him coming, and was blindside when he ghosted her into insubstantiality with him. Her spells faltered, for just an instant. In that instant a desperate Sabra had poured all of her mystical might into a single concentrated blade of power and lunged upward to pierce Varina’s shields… but the shields were suddenly gone, and the golden blade pierced the Witch-Queen’s body just below the ribs and slid upward into her heart.

Varina’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth forming an O of surprised disbelieve as she stared down at Sabra’s hand. Only a slight gurgling escaped her lips however, with a trickle of blood, before her eyes rolled back and her body began to age at a horrifying rate. Before either Sabra or Ace could fully grasp what was happening, Varina’s body had crumbled away to dust, drifting away on the winds.

With the death of their master, the two bloodied and dazed dragons disengaged from the fight with alacrity, and headed westward at tremendous speed. A problem for another day, Totem thought wearily… none of them were in any shape to pursue and renew the battle. And Sabra was in need of all their support, he saw.

The Magus Prime was standing on the far edge of the western tower, Phantom Ace a respectful distance behind, watching her in concern. She was staring out over the city as Varina’s dark influence rapidly vanished – overhead, the roiling clouds were evaporating to reveal a late winter afternoon, and the feeling of oppressive dread that had permeated the city had vanished the instant the evil sorceress had died.

“Sabra… Atara. Are you alright?” Totem asked gently, putting a hand on her shoulder as he stood beside her. She glanced over at him, and pulled her hood down. Her eyes were sad, but held no tears. She smiled ruefully at him and nodded her head.

“Yes, my friend, I’m fine. Surprising, really, but the truth is I’m OK with this. I didn’t intend to kill her, but let’s be honest – her death was the best possible outcome, for Earth certainly, and I suspect for all the poor worlds she’s ground under her heel for so long. Maybe that spark we started on Targanu will have a chance now to become a flame. If so, I’m willing to bear the price of being a killer.”

She sighed, then offered him a more genuine smile. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the mansion and see what Devaj—”

She was interrupted as a shimmering portal appeared in the center of the roof, and two of the hulking demon-guards they had seen in her Citadel stepped through. They were flanking a third, even larger and more baroque-looking demon in elaborate robes, who bore a large rosewood box. Everyone tensed, but none of the demons made a move to attack, and in fact stepped forward to kneel and bow their heads before Sabra. The Magus Prime looked… surprised.

“Lady Sabra, I am Verkin, formerly Regent to Varina, now envoy to you. In the Citadel we have seen your defeat of our former Dark Lady, the Witch-Queen, in the course of a true and binding Duel Magistiri. We come now to give you that which is yours, by right of magical law and ancient custom.” He opened the lid of the box he carried, revealing a simple silver tiara with a single white gem set on the brow. “You are now the rightful master of all that Varina once ruled, 999 worlds are yours to command… 1000, I suppose, if you already command this world. We hail you, Empress Sabra of Greater Targanu!”

Sabra looked as stunned as any of her companions, and she took an involuntary step backward from the envoy, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “But I don’t want her crown, nor her empire! I refuse these things. You are all free now, free to govern yourselves… you can decide to stay together, or each world can return to its own rule… you are free to decide!”

The envoy looked shocked, and his two guards glanced in dismay at one another, as Verkin bowed lower, touching his forehead to the ground in supplication. “My Lady, do you hate us so much? Do you blame the slaves for the crimes of the master? How have we so offended you, that you would condemn us to dissolution?”

“What? No, of course I don’t blame any of you… I mean, not in general… and I certainly don’t hate you! Quite the opposite, that’s why I, we, worked to set you free – so you could throw off the yoke of servitude and chart your own destinies again.”

“But it does not work that way, Lady Sabra,” Verkin said, a glint of hope in his coal-red eyes as he realized her misapprehension. “Varina bound all our worlds to herself, into one great Dark World with her at its heart, and now all are truly one. And such a Dark World, created in the way she created it, is dependent on a strong will to keep it bound. Without such a will, the worlds will not simply separate back into their component realities; no, they will instead begin to crumble and fade into nothingness. Already, before we left, reports had begun to come in that some of the outer lands had begun to fade…”

“How is that possible?” Phantom Ace said, looking confused. “She’s only been dead for ten minutes.”

“Time can run very differently in other dimensional realms, and not always at the same rate,” Sabra answered absently. “Verkin, are you saying that if I don’t take up Varina’s mantle of rulership, that 999 worlds will vanish, disintegrating into the Void? But the people…”

“It is possible that a few of the more recently integrated worlds might not suffer completed destruction,” the demon replied, after a moments contemplation. “Although they would certainly suffer some level of… disruption. But most of our worlds have been too long bound into Greater Targanu… my own world was the 17^th Varina conquered. Without your will, and yours alone as the victor of the Duel Magistiri, trillions of beings will die, and soon.

“You say you wish us all to be free… if that is true, then consider this: a Dark World need not be dark. Such a construction takes on the emotional and moral tone of its Master, and in time a good ruler could return our corrupted realms to light and life. I do not know if they could ever be separated again, but your light could make them worth living in again…”

“Assuming such power doesn’t corrupt me, instead,” Sabra muttered. Verkin bowed his head in acknowledgment of the point, but said nothing.

“But, if you do this, if you take up rulership of the Dark World, how will you mange to also carry out your responsibilities as the Magus Prime of this world?” Totem asked.

“I couldn’t,” Sabra replied simply. “I would have to give up the mantle of Magus Prime.”

•••••••

“Which is what she ended up doing,” Totem said, concluding his verbal report to his teammates several days later. The entire current Vanguard roster, including associate members Prometheus, Dr. Froth and Paragon, were gathered in the main meeting room. Even Phantom Ace had made a rare appearance to add his take on the recent events to the official report.

“It took two days for her to make all the arrangements, to say her goodbyes, and to formally relinquish her title. But she’s gone now, removed with Verkin to the Dark World to begin the long struggle to bring it back into the light.”

“Then who is the new Magus Prime?” Artemis asked.

“No one, at the moment,” Totem replied. “The role has remained vacant before, of course, sometimes for years at a time. Not an ideal situation, the mystical energies of the planet tend to grow unfocused, and various… entities… can start to assert their will in sometimes unpleasant ways. 

“But Roland was a powerful Magus, and he wielded the power for almost 80 years… it will take some time for his influence to fade. Devaj feels certain the Powers That Be will bestow the mantle on some deserving candidate before then.”

“What about you? Weren’t you once in the running for the job?” Scion asked.

“Yes, as was the Guardian. But both of us had impediments, and those impediments remain – Grant already possesses an important function in the arcane world as the Guardian of the Gates of Horn and Ivory —“ Totem ignored Quanta’s derisive snort from across the table “— and I am possessed of several Avatars of the Great Beasts. The Magus Prime must be undivided in mind and soul, and I’m not that!”

“Well, let us hope that someone appropriate takes up the mantle, then,” Artemis concluded the meeting. “And sooner rather than later. We have enough on our plate without worrying about escalating mystical problems…”