"Godly Devices" Part One
Written by Mike Exner III
The morning sun crept over the horizon in the distance, casting strange prismatic shafts of colorful light through the thickening mists. A plume of dirt spilled across the stilled features of a nameless priestess of Avalon, and Dane Whitman felt his muscles groan in protest beneath his quivering flesh as he spread more of the sacred earth over the grave.
“Here, Dane Whitman. Allow me to help thee,” the voice of Hercules intoned from behind him, and a massive hand clutched at the shovel Dane held.
“No, Herc,” Dane said, his voice a wheezing gasp. He feebly pushed the demigod away, clutching the shovel to his body. “This is the last one. I just want to finish what I started.”
“I hath buried scores of honorable men and women throughout the night, good knight. I would not wish to inter another.”
Dane closed his eyes, leaning on the shovel for support. “You won’t. And I know that I never would have been able to give these people a proper burial without you, Herc. But you have to understand that even if you weren’t here to help me, I still would have tried.”
“The sons and daughters of the Lady of the Lake were not slain because of you, Dane Whitman.”
“Hercules,” Dane said, turning to look at the demigod, his eyes burned like those of a demon, but Hercules would not drop his own, “can you honestly tell me you believe that? Whoever did this knew I’d come here looking for the weapons I’d lost. They even knew enough about me to use Sean as their tool to kill me. And in the end I killed him, just as sure as I got every one of these people killed.”*
[*A partially skewed perspective of the events from last issue – Mike]
“Nay,” Hercules said, his voice carrying out over the gentle slopes of the hillocks enshrouded in mist, mingling with the sound of the unwavering rise and fall of the shovel. “Dane Whitman, I say thee nay. Thou art one of the most honorable men I hath ever come to know. Thy heart is true, thy courage unmatched by any in this world or the next. Thy spirit hath been towed across the void, and thy resolve hath been shaken; but yon squire laid to rest within this sacred earth renounced his own soul. I would not have him claim thy own as well.”
Dane shook his head. “I’m not worried about my soul, Herc. My body has gone through more in the last few weeks than it has in my entire life, but I’m not worried about that giving out on me either.”
Hercules opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to protest, but Dane lifted a hand to silence him.
“It can’t give out on me, don’t you understand that? My body, my mind, my spirit or soul or whatever you want to call it. I’m holding them together because I need them.” Dane stooped down, cupped a handful of dirt from the grave he’d just dug. “I need them to be there for me.” He squeezed his hands into fists, the earth sifting between his fingers as he did. “I need them to be there so I can make the people responsible for this, all of this, regret the day they were ever born.”
Dane Whitman opened his hands, allowing the last remnants of the dirt to fall back onto the grave at his feet. He walked around the grave, and left the clearing surrounded by the withering trees. Hercules watched as he began to descend the mountain, and then, after casting his eyes one last time over the multitude of unmarked graves – and if the single grave that was marked with the roughly carved letters S.D. captured his sight for more than an instant, so be it – he followed his friend.
Simon Williams stretched, his muscles loosened, his joints cracked, and he sighed with relief. The steaming water of the whirlpool bubbled and sloshed around him. He’d been planning a visit to the king-size hot tub in the recreation area of the Citadel from the first moment he laid eyes on it, but before now he hadn’t had the chance. Herc and Dane were visiting Avalon, Bonita and Sam were checking in on the Helping Hands branch in East L.A., Horace was out doing some shopping, and Sundragon had gone God knew where to meditate on the recent loss of her telepathy.*
[*Happened last issue – Mike]
Simon had the place all to himself, the entire Citadel was his to do with as he pleased.
So, of course, the doorbell just had to ring.
Or, at least the equivalent of a doorbell, Simon thought as he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to the security panel installed in the wall at the far end of the sauna. This is just my luck.
The alert system had gone off again, and the discordant voice,
Breet! Breet! Breet! Intruder alert. Perimeter breach; ground level. All available personnel report to ground level. Breet! Breet! Breet!
was jangling its life away, completely smothering his good temper. Simon pressed another few buttons, and the monitor flared to life, displaying a panoramic view of the outer perimeter. The spacious lawn stretched out, split neatly in the middle by the generous fountain that had been donated by the city. The large gate – painted to look like it was made of iron, but in actuality composed of a titanium alloy – stood at the rim of the property, and the street stretched out further beyond, filled with the busy bustling of your standard Los Angeles morning. At first Simon didn’t note anything peculiar at all, and would have chalked the distress signal up as nothing more than a false alarm – the alert system had even silenced itself without him having to quiet it – but then the wind gusted, the titanium gate swung in on its hinges, and the alert sounded again.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Simon said, muttering angrily below his breath as he slipped into his clothes, left the rec room, and began pacing for the elevators. “Not a super-villain. Not Ultron dropping out of the sky with the Collector, Nefaria, the Zodiac, and my crotchety old Aunt Myrtle backing him up. Not a Jehovah’s witness, or vacuum salesman, or even a Girl Scout with a box of chocolate mint cookies for me to snack on. No, that’d be too simple for good ol’ Wonder Man. I get interrupted because some putz forgot to close the gate on their way out.”
The elevator doors opened smoothly, and Simon stepped inside. “Ah, quit your complaining, Williams,” he said. “Like you want to tangle with Ultron anyway.” He thumbed the button for the ground floor, and then stared up at the elevator light in the ceiling as he descended. A pleasant little tune droned from the speaker in the elevator, but he knew if the gate swung in again, it’d be replaced with the jarring tones of the alarm again. Eric went all out with the security features in this place, Simon thought, and no sooner than the words settled on his brain, he began thinking about the words Archangel had spoken the previous night.
The only threat you should be worried about is the snake coiled at your feet.
Those words had stayed with Simon throughout the night as he tossed and turned in his bed. He’d tried working out, drinking a beer on the balcony of his room as he struggled to look at the stars through the heavy smog. He’d even turned on the news and watched a story about the other super-team sharing space with the Champions out west. The Whackos had sponsored some sort of fundraiser in-between their battles with the Sons of the Serpent and some strange alien menace even Hawkeye was being tight-lipped about.* It seemed like the Champions weren’t the only ones getting their fair shake of the notoriety involved with being an L.A.-based superhero squad.
[*See M2K’s Avengers: West Coast issues #1-7 for the details – Mike]
Simon sometimes wished he’d taken Hawkeye up on his offer to join the Whackos. There was so much pressure involved with the Champions, and the team itself was raw. Dane and Herc were about as good as it got when it came to experience, but Firebird and Sundragon, especially Sundragon, were fairly new to the game. They’d done some good work, but Simon wasn’t totally confident they’d be able to produce on a consistent basis when it really counted.
“Aw, be honest, Williams,” he muttered to himself. “You’re as worried about yourself not cutting it as you are those two.” And it was the truth. He’d been thinking about it ever since he’d joined the Champions. It had been the real reason he hadn’t wanted to join the west coast branch. The way the Avengers had fallen apart after Vision died, it had taken him apart at the seams as much as, if not more than, any of the others. And it was hard bouncing back, even for a big bad superhero like Wonder Man. But Eric was involved here, and even though he was skeptical, Simon wanted to believe with all of his heart that Eric actually had changed for the better. Even if Dane – and truth be told, Dane had been even more convincing than Clint when he matter-of-factly stated his intentions to keep an eye on the “Grim Reaper” – couldn’t trust Eric as far as he’d undoubtedly like to throw him… probably off the nearest cliff.
But Wonder Man had already partially blown it, hadn’t he? He’d allowed his team to get in a free-for-all with Warren Worthington and the former Champions because he hadn’t been able to react in time to stop it. And then once the battle commenced, it had been Sam Wilson, the Falcon, who had taken the reins, barking orders and keeping an eye on the backside of everyone else. And where had Simon been while this was going down? Breaking the handgun of someone he considered a close friend, and then nearly drowning to death on the darkforce energy of another person he considered an ally.*
[*All that happened last issue too – Mike]
“Way to flex your authority as second-in-command,” Simon said, as the doors to the elevator rolled open. He let the ionic energy course through his body as he approached the revolving glass doors of the Citadel. Even if it was just the wind blowing the gate open and nothing more, he didn’t want to take any chances. He had no desire to let the team down again.
A barely perceptible humming sounded behind him, and Simon didn’t even bother to turn around. He knew one of the Eye in the Sky cameras was on him now, and it’d probably remain on him until he powered down again.
“Wasting film on this one,” Simon said with a grin. “I doubt Wonder Man vs. the gate is going to make Must See T.V.”
Simon took to the sky once he got outside, letting the warm breeze pass along his body. Sometimes when he was in his ionic form, the wind seemed to pass right through him, as if he weren’t all there. That gave him a cold shudder despite the heat of the day, but he shook it away. He zipped over to the gate, the Eye in the Sky hot on his heels, and came to a stop in front of it. The gate was swinging towards him, and he could already hear the alarm sounding off in the Citadel again. He rolled his eyes, and caught the gate with his hand before it could run into him.
“Wait a second,” Simon said to himself, Although I guess it’s the viewing public I’m talking too as well, and leaned closer to the half of the gate he was gripping. The sturdy electronic locking mechanism that had been built into the titanium facing was seared, the titanium melted around it in a congealed mess. Simon touched his fingers to the spot, and it was still warm.
“Even warmer than metal would be sitting out in the sun,” he said, and then paused. He cocked his head, listening intently. The wind was blowing again, and it whipped around him, making plenty of its own noise, but there was something else. It sounded like a shrill whistling, and it was coming from directly behind him.
Simon turned around, but there was nothing there. The sound was still there though, and as Simon’s brow creased, the sound grew clearer, and Simon fixed on it. It wasn’t just behind him, it was above him too, so he looked up, and his eyes widened.
“Look to the sky! Is it a bird? …No!” the voice of the figure descending from the sky said. “Is it a plane? …No!” the figure was closer now, literally streaking through the air, the whistle from his passing gradually becoming a shriek. “Is it Superman? …No!” the figure said, his voice ringing clear in the morning air, and Wonder Man was so flabbergasted by what was happening that he didn’t even think of moving. He caught a glimpse of colors – blues and reds and greens and yellows and oranges all intermingled together – dark goggles with blazing eyes behind them, a billowing blue cape, and a smile the purest white he’d ever seen; then the figure collided with Wonder Man’s chest, and everything was replaced by the loss of breath, and the euphoria of being hurled away at what had to be nearly the speed of sound. Later, when he had the time to think about it, Wonder Man decided he would have preferred facing Ultron and his buddies after all.
“How’s that shoulder?” Sam Wilson asked.
Bonita shrugged, hoping Sam hadn’t caught her brief grimace. “Not too bad.” The two of them had just finished their visit – though inspection would probably be a more adequate term for what Sam had put those poor employees and volunteers through, Bonita thought – to the Helping Hands facility and were now stepping out into the mid-morning light. Redwing was perched on Sam’s shoulder, and had been there throughout the examination. He’d stalked back and forth through the complex, scrutinizing every minor detail, demanding detailed progress reports on the work that had been done with the aid of Eric Williams’ funding. Even the bird had gotten into the act, stretching its wingspan, squawking at the nervous employees, and regarding them with its sharp, golden eyes.
At first Bonita had thought it amusing, but after the first hour had gradually became the second, the second the third; it was then that she’d decided she’d had enough. She’d pulled Sam into the break room – the employees inside had immediately vacated once they saw him – and demanded they leave. Things were fine here, even better than fine. He was being ridiculous.
Sam reluctantly agreed, and only gave one final self-righteous speech to the staff – that still ran a little long to Bonita’s ears – before finally making their way to the door. And now here they were, and Bonita could feel those sharp eyes on her now… both pairs of them.
“If there is something you wish to speak about, Sam,” Bonita said, turning to face him, “then please, do.”
Sam nodded. “I want to talk about what happened yesterday. I know there isn’t exactly a chain-of-command with this team, but I like to think that I’ve a little more experience in situations like that. You were injured, and if I’m right you’re still injured. You shouldn’t have been in the field.”
“This is ridiculous, Sam,” Bonita said. “I understand your concern, but I’ve been doing this for a while now, and I’m fully aware of my capabilities. My shoulder is… ginger, I admit, but I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself. Unless I’m mistaken, I was the one who defused the situation with Sundragon when things got out of hand.”
“The whole thing was out of hand from the beginning,” Sam said, running a sleeve across his brow. The morning was quickly becoming afternoon, the sun was hot, and his own temperature was rising to boot. “But that’s hardly the point. I do appreciate your role on the team. You’re the one who got me involved in the first place, but I need to know that when the time comes you’ll be able to follow orders, whether they’re coming from myself or the Black Knight or anybody with more experie--”
“There you go again,” Bonita said, and her eyes had narrowed. “I am not a child any longer, Sam. Perhaps when you first put me in charge of the Helping Hands branch in New Mexico I could have used your sagely advice without asking for it, but that is no longer the case. If I need your aid, I promise you, I will ask for it. But until I do, I demand that you treat me with the same respect you would any of the others.”
“I’m not trying to disrespect you, Bonita. If anything, it’s the exact opposite. It’s just that--” Sam stopped talking, and he turned slightly away from Bonita. “Do you hear that?”
“Nothing but your sizeable voice,” Bonita said, muttering below her breath. But she did hear something. A whistling sound, as though something was being dropped from very high in the air. One of the cartoons that had been a favorite of the children back in Gallop was Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner, and every time the Roadrunner tricked Wiley into falling off a mesa he made a sound just like that until he hit the--
A tremendous boom sounded from far off, and the ground shook from the force of it. Bonita had the sickening feeling it was coming from the direction of the Citadel.
“Sam, what was that?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said, and as Bonita looked in his direction, she could see he was shedding his clothes, his familiar red and white outfit beneath. Bonita hadn’t brought her cape, but her costume was underneath her clothes as well. She burned the outer layer of clothing off with barely a second thought, the costume of unstable molecules beneath unaffected.
“But we’re about to find out.”
“Not a bird! Not a plane! Not Superman! Hey there, fella! My name’s Captain Ultra!”
Wonder Man lifted his chin off his chest. It took an effort. His head was ringing from the shot he’d taken from the man hovering over him. Wonder Man got up, and realized he’d dug a long groove in the street. Gravel spilled from his shoulders.
“That’s… great, pal,” Wonder Man breathed. “Forgive me if I don’t shake hands.”
Wonder Man shot upward towards the man called Captain Ultra, prepared to knock the loony toon into next week - and boy would it feel good - but in a rainbow-colored flash, the man was gone. Wonder Man felt a tap on his shoulder, he looked, a set of sparkling pearly whites flashed, and then a fist crashed into his face. Simon flipped head over heels, and crashed back into the pavement.
“I give you an ‘A’ for effort, mister,” Captain Ultra said around a laugh, “but that landing needs work!” He doubled over, hands clutching his knees as he guffawed hysterically.
“What the…?” Wonder Man started, then the breath was forced out of him as white-hot pain replaced his bewilderment. Twin beams of force crashed into his chest, burning so badly it was as if they were cutting right to the bone.
“Man, I crack myself up!” Captain Ultra said, wiping a tear from his cheek. “Let’s see here… Ultra-strength: check. Ultra-speed: check. Ultra-vision…” Wonder Man began to scream. “Double check! Man, you’ve got some pipes on you, don’t ya, Wondy? Maybe you should give up that career as an actor and try singing instead.”
Wonder Man clenched his teeth, struggling to ignore the pain ripping through him. He plunged his hands into the street and lifted, a slab of asphalt momentarily blocking the force-beams spilling from Captain Ultra’s eyes. The energy continued to slam downward however, and Wonder Man could see the piece of street he held beginning to glow white-hot in front of him.
“Damn,” Wonder Man said, and took flight, zipping out from behind the chunk of blacktop and racing for the Citadel. The building was blocks away, and Simon blinked in surprise. That first crushing blow Ultra delivered must have knocked him the length of a couple of football fields. How strong was this guy? And where in hell had he come from?
“I bet you’d be killer on ‘American Idol’, seriously,” a voice said at his ear. Simon flinched. It was Captain Ultra, the man matching Wonder Man’s speed effortlessly. Wonder Man veered off to the right--
--and ran straight into a gigantic black orb of metal. It smashed into his chin and upper chest, and Simon skipped off of it and dropped like a stone, his vision filled with exploding stars. He hit the ground hard, and he didn’t get up.
“Where did you think you were going?” a voice like gravel in a blender said, and Simon was only able to glance toward it before something struck him flush in the chest, pushing him deeper into the street. All the breath exploded from his lungs, and ionic energy fanned outward in all directions as he was embedded into the pavement.
“Nice shot!” Captain Ultra said, and he almost seemed to swim into Simon’s hazy view, fist outstretched in an ebullient, comical gesture. Despite the gravity of the situation, Simon nearly laughed. He was delirious, knew consciousness was slowly slipping away from him, and he almost welcomed it – anything to get him away from the ever-loving whomping he was taking – but he refocused his mind. He had to stay conscious, get away somehow, and warn the others. Captain Ultra smiled down at him, another flash of those ridiculously pearly whites. “I am so glad my girlfriend thought to let you guys tag along with me. We make one heck of a team!”
“Yeah, whatever you say,” the grumbling voice said, and as the large shadow belonging to it stepped forward, Simon’s vision cleared long enough for him to see exactly who it belonged to.
“Oh, no…” Simon said, and the man over him smiled.
“That’s right,” Dr. Eliot Franklin, also known as Thunderball, also known as a whole heap of trouble said, lifting and dropping the massive iron ball at the end of the chain clutched in his fist by simply flexing his bicep. “Now say goodnight, Gracie.”
Wonder Man could only tense his body as Thunderball snarled, and brought the wrecking ball over his shoulder in a high, swooping arc directly onto Simon’s head.
“Hey! What in the hell?”
The wrecking ball hovered an inch from Wonder Man’s squinting face. Thunderball yanked at it, grunting with all his might, but the thing wouldn’t budge. There was a golden halo surrounding it, and it was keeping Thunderball’s weapon completely immobile.
“I demand that you cease this cruelty at once,” a feminine voice rang out from above them. The four men looked up, and regarded the woman as she hovered overhead.
“Well, well, well. Look what we got here, boys,” the man with the shining silver helmet said. There was laughter in his voice. “This chick’s all painted up like Halloween come early.”
“Do not attempt to mock me, simpleton. Your wit is primitive at best,” Sundragon said, and on cue a tendril of the golden energy surrounding the wrecking ball lashed out and struck Bulldozer in the chest. The man was hurled away, crashing into an automobile parked along the street.
“Hold, child,” a voice said behind her, and Sundragon turned despite the alarms sounding off in her head warning her against it. Her eyes were drawn – dragged – downward, and she found herself looking upon the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen standing on a nearby building.
She looks like my cousin, like Heather, Sundragon thought, and then the beautiful voice filled her head.
Stay thy hand, young one. Your goddess commands thee.
“You… are not my…” Sundragon said, straining with all of her being to voice every word. She was losing the battle.
But I am, child. Thy mind protests what thy heart knows to be true. Do not defy me, for I am Amora the Enchantress, and now, as it shall be evermore, thou belong to me.
“No!” Sundragon said, as the world fell away around her. The street below, the surrounding buildings, and the innocent people gawking at the battle being waged on the ground and in the sky were carried away like nothing more than dust in the wind. Pamela Douglas was spirited away to a land of green valleys, clear, rushing rivers with waterfalls fueling their thunderous motion, orchards scattered through the fertile land with every sort of fruit imaginable clinging to the boughs. Sundragon turned in a circle, wondering at all she surveyed, and her eyes fell on a woman lying on the grass, her bare skin exposed to the sweet, succulent air. She opened her mouth to speak.
“My goddess,” Sundragon said, her eyes vacant, her body hovering over the landscape of the city known as Los Angeles, her mind completely unaware of it.
Amora smiled. “Thy forecasts were accurate, deceitful one.” A light rain began to fall as clouds began to gather over the city. The Enchantress tilted her head up, allowing the rain to pepper her face. She looked back to the girl hovering in front of her who would be unable to feel the rain, the telepathy of the Enchantress holding her in its sway.
The man who had been standing behind the Enchantress now stepped forward. The muttered incantations rising from his lips now fell away. Lightning flashed. “It is a rare thing indeed when my calculations are anything but, exquisite one.” The Enchantress turned to face him, drawing Sundragon down towards her as she did.
“Thy storm-making rivals that of thy honorable brother, trickster,” she said, smothering the ghost of a smile that rose to her lips when Loki’s face darkened at the mention of the God of Thunder.
Loki flicked his eyes downward. “Is the buffoon still yours?”
Amora followed his gaze.
“Shnookums! I love you, honey!” Captain Ultra cried up to her, waving frantically. He was staring at the Enchantress, absolute adoration etched on his features.
“As taken with me as a lovesick puppy,” the Enchantress said. “I hath complete control over him.”
“And the girl?”
“My puppet, so long as her telepathy remains dormant, as thou hath decreed.”
“Then pray tell, why does her power still hold the enchanted wrecking ball of our compatriot?” Loki said, and the Enchantress sneered. The golden telekinetic force was still surrounding Thunderball’s wrecking ball, and he still could not dislodge it.
“An inconsequential oversight, nothing more,” Amora said, and her mind sharpened, bearing down on the girl now hovering only a few feet from her. The halo of energy surrounding the wrecking ball fizzled, and it plunked to the ground heavily. Thunderball smiled.
“About damn time,” he said, growling at Wonder Man. Simon struggled to free himself, but Captain Ultra and Piledriver had him restrained easily, and whenever he managed to free so much as a finger, the former blasted him with a shot of blazing Ultra-vision. The rain continued to fall, lightning flared anew, and Thunderball hefted his weapon again. “Now. Where were we?”
Eric Williams pummeled the racket ball, watching it with his sharp eyes as it ricocheted off the wall and rebounded toward his opponent. He hadn’t yet lost his serve, and was certain that he would accumulate the desired fifteen points necessary to defeat his opponent before that ever happened. He’d only been introduced to the game a week prior, but already he had mastered some of the best players at the country club he now frequented.
He’d attempted golf, and although he believed the rumor that the sport relaxed the nerves and killer instincts of those who played it – and subsequently allowed the victor an incredible advantage in business negotiations as he systematically defeated an enemy hole by hole – he still found it a dull and dreary prospect.
Racquetball. That was the true sport of business. Eric annihilated his opponent, drained them physically and emotionally, and those that fled afterwards lost face amongst their peers. But it wasn’t as if those that remained had it any easier, for Eric would strip them down mentally, dissecting them in their exhausted state as easily as a child gutting a frog.
Eric smiled now just thinking about it as his opponent slipped on the floor, allowing the ball to sail harmlessly past. Eric was tempted to hit it anyway, even though he’d won, striking the foolish oaf who actually believed he would pose a challenge to the CEO of LL Incorporated, Eric Williams.
Instead he allowed his grin to grow wider. “Game point,” he said, and once the man was in position, prepared to serve again.
A tremor ran through the building, throwing off Eric’s stroke, the ball slipping from his grasp to bounce along the hardwood floor. The other man turned to him.
“Earthquake, you think?”
Eric cocked his head as another tremor rumbled, this one stronger than the last. His brow furrowed. “How would I know?”
“I think maybe another time, then,” the man said, sniveling his way towards the door. Eric let him pass, lost in thought, their game a distant memory. The man looked back once he’d gone, and the expression on Eric William’s face caused an awful shudder to slip through his body. It reminded him very much of a skull.
“We’ve got to think this through,” Sam Wilson said.
“Kraw!” Redwing cried, in what could only be agreement. They were perched on a building across the way from the gods and assorted super-villains torturing their teammates – their friends – without mercy. They’d flown in just as Sundragon had lost control to the Enchantress, and Sam had signaled Firebird down to the roof of the building. They were fairly concealed here, and the rain – which had sprouted from clouds that appeared as unexpectedly as this attack – would make it even more difficult to register them. But Firebird was fuming, and the sour weather wasn’t helping much.
“Are you crazy, Sam? We’ve got to get down there now!” Bonita said, her voice a fierce whisper. “They’ve got Sundragon, and look at what they’re doing to Simon! They’ll kill him if we don’t--”
“Whatever they’re doing to Simon, they’re not trying to kill him,” Sam said, keeping his voice calm and measured despite the adrenaline coursing through his blood. “At least not yet. Look.”
He pointed, and Firebird did look. The man Firebird knew from the Avenger files as Piledriver of the Wrecking Crew, and another man in a ridiculous costume were holding Simon down. The man in the strange garb was blasting Simon with energy that seemed to literally explode from his eyes, in-between the strikes the man known as Thunderball delivered with his massive ball and chain. Bonita frowned.
“I see nothing but two men torturing one of our own, Sam. How can you sit there and watch this and not do anything?” Firebird said. She let her aura flare brightly, and the raindrops striking it sizzled around them.
“Bonita, don’t!” Sam said, but it was too late. The gods lifted their heads as their sharp eyes registered the momentary spark of heat. “Damn! They’ve seen us. We’ve got to move. Now!”
They took to the air, Bonita swooping in the opposite direction without having to be told. Firebird angled downward immediately and fired a blast of pure fire at Thunderball, who was busy crunching Simon into the pavement with his wrecking ball. The flame-jet hit him in the chest, and Thunderball was taken aback. His weapon dropped to the ground as he swatted at the flames.
“Let my friend go!” Bonita cried, and as she focused her next blast on Piledriver and the guy in the rainbow-colored outfit, Sam noticed that Loki and the Enchantress weren’t even paying attention to him or Firebird. The Enchantress had her eyes fixed on nothing at all, as if her mind were elsewhere, and Loki was looking at Wonder Man as if…
Sam dropped to the ground, firing a gas pellet he kept housed in the wrist-blaster on his arm – a gift from Natasha – at Piledriver. The man swatted at the air, backing up a few paces. “Bonita! I know what Loki’s trying to do! You have to--”
Something ran into Sam from behind. He was hurled through the air and slammed chest first into a telephone pole. It didn’t give an inch. Sam toppled to the ground, rolling over onto his back, and a large shadow even darker than the ones cast by the black clouds in the sky settled over him.
“How’s it goin’, fella?” Bulldozer said, rainwater running off his metal helmet in rivulets. “Your little teammate gave me quite a shot, but since the boss-lady has a hold of her, I guess I’m gonna have ta take my frustration out on yoaaaaauuuuuggggghhhhh--”
Bulldozer staggered back as Redwing descended in front of his face. Through the blurred haze of pain – Sam thought he’d at least cracked a rib – and rain falling in his face, he could see Redwing scrabbling at the helm of Bulldozer with his pointed beak, and razor-sharp talons. The strange dance commenced for less than a minute, Bulldozer spitting vile curses the entire time, until finally he grasped the bird by a single wing.
“Oh, you dirty bird! You dirty, filthy, squawking rat with wings!” Bulldozer said, his voice a hoarse, horrible scream. He twisted his hand, and Redwing cried out, the sound escaping his open beak surprisingly human. Bulldozer flung the bird away, and it was only then that Sam got a clear look at what Redwing had done.
“You better pray to God that Loki can fix me up, bird-man,” Bulldozer said, clutching Sam around the neck with both of his massive hands, immediately cutting off his flow of air. Blood and water ran down onto the Falcon’s face, spilling leisurely from the fresh, messy hole where Bulldozer’s eye had once been. Redwing had plucked it like a grape from a vine.
“‘Cuz if he can’t, even if that bird ain’t dead, I’m still gonna have the both of you for dinner.”
“Oh. Oh, my God,” Horace Jasper said, the groceries dropping from his hands and scattering along the wet pavement. The storm had risen from out of nowhere, and it had annoyed Horace something fierce to be caught in the rain, his old bones creaking as the wet weather played havoc with his joints. But this was worse. This was worse by far.
The Champions were being attacked, although attacked wasn’t the right word for it. Massacred was the more appropriate term. Sundragon was dangling limply in the air in front of some woman with starlight in her eyes that reminded him of the redheaded devil-woman from the bar where he’d first met Mr. Hercules*, Falcon was being choked to death by a man near twice his size that looked like those pictures Horace had seen on the T.V. of the Juggernaut, Firebird was busy dodging a giant iron wrecking ball – and the ball was causing more damage to the surrounding buildings than anything else, so Ms. Bonita had to scramble to save innocent bystanders of the falling debris wherever it struck - hurled at her by a guy just as big as the one choking the life from Mr. Wilson, and Wonder Man had it worse than anyone, because a man with a colorful outfit was cutting him apart piece by piece, dissecting him, the energy escaping into the open air.
[*See M2K’s Champions #1 if you’re in the dark – Mike]
“No, Mr. Jasper. Not escaping,” said a voice at his shoulder. Horace jumped, nearly out of his skin, and wheeled around. A man was standing there, garbed in green and gold, with a golden helmet affixed to his head that sprouted curving horns that gleamed even in the dingy atmosphere. Horace gulped audibly, and the golden man smiled.
“You’re taking it from him, ain’t you?” Horace said, and for a brief instant the smile of the man faltered, as if Horace had spit in his face, even though the face of this man was bone-dry despite the rain falling in sheets around him.
“How… perceptive of you. I am indeed,” Loki said, and his smile gleamed anew. “But only because he is the most dangerous of your newfound allies, Mr. Jasper.”
“You mean to say you’re going to kill them all?”
Loki nodded, as if it were obvious what he intended to do, and in a way it was. “Kill them, slay them, drain them of their lifeforce. Whatever you prefer, Mr. Jasper. In the end it all means the same. I need their energies, and unfortunately for them, and your employment, it will leave them lifeless husks in the end.”
“But why?” Horace cried. “What are you doing this for? And why are you telling me?”
“I need the energy of your heroes to help me destroy my most hated of enemies, Mr. Jasper. Sibling rivalry at its finest, I assure you. I’ve tried brute force, powerful spells, seduction, temptation, and my latest foray employed a variety of, as the youth of America would say, ‘jacked up’ frost giants*. Nothing seems to work. But now I have a new plan, and I need your band of brethren to make it work. As for why I’m telling you?”
[*Read M2K’s Iceman for more details on Loki’s machinations – Mike]
He threw an arm around Horace. “Well, let’s just say I’m a trickster, and I could never resist an opportunity to twist the knife on a particularly good prank. Now come along. We’ve work to accomplish, and miles to go before we sleep.” Loki slapped Horace roughly on the back, and his laughter echoed through the rain as it continued to fall.
Champion Lovers
Sometimes I complain in the letters section about my lack of letters, and sometimes my complaints are valid. But this time I have NOTHING to complain about, and in fact, I ignored a certain letter that came to me after the fifth issue of this series. Shame on me. This one comes from the editor of M2K, Chris Munn, the mighty Munn-Thing!
Well, Mr. Mike, I finally had a chance to read Champs # 5 and... well... frankly, I've read better.
Bastard.
I also can't lie very well either, because this issue seriously ruled all.
Whoops! Heh heh, uh… forget I said that.
Dane's meeting with Thor's Avengers was handled perfectly (and it makes me even MORE excited for when the Champs finally meet up with the Wackos... you think Thor was pissy, wait 'til you see Iron Man's reaction).
I’m not sure how many of you reading out there are champing at the bit to see AWC and the Champions interact, but if you are… It’s coming.
I'm falling more in love with the concept every issue, and I'm jealous as all hell that I didn't come up with it first (you bastard!).
Hey, see? I’m not the only bastard. I take back my original retraction.
The only possible complaint I had with the issue was one that somebody else brought up in a review... Herc and the Griffin needed to throw down, man. I know you had to bring Sundragon in somehow, but Hercules is in dire need of a fight worthy of the PRINCE OF POWER! Keep pumping those issues out.
I will most certainly keep pumping those issue out, as you well know Mr. EiC (Chris is like a pressure-cooker people, NEVER let him edit you!). And don’t worry about Hercules. After the royal butt-kicking the rest of the Champions have taken, who do you think has to save the day? Okay, our next letter comes from Jason Trenner, or as he’s known in da hood, the Question Man!
Interesting issue. Interesting twist on the super hero team vs. super hero team.
Thank you, sir, and thank you again.
Now on to the questions:
Wouldn’t be a Jason Trenner letter without ‘em.
Is there any chance of the Champions fighting a new Lethal Legion?
There is not only a chance, there is an excellent chance.
2. Is there any chance of Dusk joining the team?
Observant readers will know that Dusk has a part in the series, but whether or not she’ll be joining the Champions remains to be seen.
3. Will there be an X-Corp, Force Works and Champions team up?
Well, with the ties the Champions have with both teams: Warren and the old Champs on the X-Corp side, and Speedball on the Force Works side, anything is possible. David Ingram and Brad Horton are both excellent writers. Make sure and read X-Men: Prime and Excalibur as well for more of their work.
4. Is there any chance of Fastforward joining the team?
I’m not sure who this is, Jase, so probably not. But I’ll look him up, and if he sounds interesting, perhaps you’ll see him sometime in the future.
5. Is there any chance of the Orphan being on the team?
I can only assume you mean Orphan from the X-Statix series, because the only other Orphan I know is a baddie, but I don’t think any of them would fit the team the way it’s built right now. Thanks for the comments and the questions, Jason. Final letter is from Cory Wiegel, who also collaborates on X-Men: Prime and writes Iceman all by his lonesome.
Mr. Frostee's a busy guy these days, but that doesn't mean I won't be able to drop a few thoughts here and there on some of my favorite M2K titles. Champs in particular is getting my love, mostly because it features the return of the old school Champions, a team which rocked uber-ass!
You’re damn RIGHT they do!
So onto the thoughts/questions spinning around in my mind... Only bitch about this issue was how it ended the old guard vs. the new guard arc too soon. How was Warren convinced that the new Champs crew be coo'? Or why did he decide to up and say 'forget it' if his approval wasn't the case? I understand this book is totally about the new guard, and they kickass and all, but I wanted mooooooorrreeee!
Completely understandable gripe, and part of the reason was the issue length. I couldn’t quite include everything I wanted because the story would have ended up being 10,000+ words. Warren ended up leaving more out of guilt over what Sundragon was put through and a general reluctance to beat on his peers more than anything else. But Warren certainly didn’t leave on good terms, and that can’t bode well for our heroes.
Will the Red Ghost be appearing in future issues? Dude's got some potential, especially with the team. Plus, super-apes!
After careful consideration I’ve decided that the Red Ghost will DEFINITELY be returning to the book. Although in what capacity remains to be seen.
Err... what the hell happened in Avalon?! I'm pretty sure this will be further explored, but I'm totally diggin' it. Black Knight and Herc's gonna bust some heads, right?
The massacre that took place in Avalon and the disappearance of the Lady of the Lake will be touched on in future issues, and you best believe Herc and Dane are going to bust some heads. Their whole team is getting savaged!
Heh, Williams is a bastard for framing Archangel. That was pretty badass, foo'. Will there be any repercussions from this, aside from Wonder Man's growing brother-love for Eric?
Eric is just a bastard in general, as should be readily apparent to the readers by now, but whether or not he’s an evil bastard, a greedy bastard, a selfish bastard, or what has yet to be seen. Wonder Man’s mentality was delved into a little more in this issue, but as for his relationship with his brother… stay tuned.
I noticed the "Bobby doesn't like hitting girls" line! Heh, does that have anything to do with the uber-grief he's feeling after knocking the crap out of Shadowcat in X-Men Forever, or being semi-responsible for Marrow's death? Or are you just taking a shot at me for my characterization, Mike? *narrows eyes!*
Never would I do such a thing! Never, I say! Bobby has certainly changed under the steady hand of that guy who writes him at M2K (the name slips my mind at the moment, but anyway), and I tried to establish some of that in the scenes I wrote with him. At the same time though, Bobby is a fun character, and I tried to establish that over everything else.
Eh, that's about all. As usual, Mike's got a flawless style, and aside from a few technical goofs (<i>'s showing up here and there), there's nothin' to pick on. Plus, the title's fun stuff all around, and has a lot of intriguing subplots and threads piling up. Again, totally diggin' Champs. Keep up the good work, Mike.
Thanks, Cory. I appreciate the vote of confidence and the kind words. The technical goofs were all on me because I was unaware of the way our EiC (the mighty Munn-Thing!) coded the issues, but I don’t think they’ll be a problem anymore. Until next time…
NEXT ISSUE: Loki’s plan is revealed, just in time for the return of the Black Knight and Hercules from Avalon! And boy, are they in a foul mood.
Mike Exner III
04/27/2004
Written by Mike Exner III
The morning sun crept over the horizon in the distance, casting strange prismatic shafts of colorful light through the thickening mists. A plume of dirt spilled across the stilled features of a nameless priestess of Avalon, and Dane Whitman felt his muscles groan in protest beneath his quivering flesh as he spread more of the sacred earth over the grave.
“Here, Dane Whitman. Allow me to help thee,” the voice of Hercules intoned from behind him, and a massive hand clutched at the shovel Dane held.
“No, Herc,” Dane said, his voice a wheezing gasp. He feebly pushed the demigod away, clutching the shovel to his body. “This is the last one. I just want to finish what I started.”
“I hath buried scores of honorable men and women throughout the night, good knight. I would not wish to inter another.”
Dane closed his eyes, leaning on the shovel for support. “You won’t. And I know that I never would have been able to give these people a proper burial without you, Herc. But you have to understand that even if you weren’t here to help me, I still would have tried.”
“The sons and daughters of the Lady of the Lake were not slain because of you, Dane Whitman.”
“Hercules,” Dane said, turning to look at the demigod, his eyes burned like those of a demon, but Hercules would not drop his own, “can you honestly tell me you believe that? Whoever did this knew I’d come here looking for the weapons I’d lost. They even knew enough about me to use Sean as their tool to kill me. And in the end I killed him, just as sure as I got every one of these people killed.”*
[*A partially skewed perspective of the events from last issue – Mike]
“Nay,” Hercules said, his voice carrying out over the gentle slopes of the hillocks enshrouded in mist, mingling with the sound of the unwavering rise and fall of the shovel. “Dane Whitman, I say thee nay. Thou art one of the most honorable men I hath ever come to know. Thy heart is true, thy courage unmatched by any in this world or the next. Thy spirit hath been towed across the void, and thy resolve hath been shaken; but yon squire laid to rest within this sacred earth renounced his own soul. I would not have him claim thy own as well.”
Dane shook his head. “I’m not worried about my soul, Herc. My body has gone through more in the last few weeks than it has in my entire life, but I’m not worried about that giving out on me either.”
Hercules opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to protest, but Dane lifted a hand to silence him.
“It can’t give out on me, don’t you understand that? My body, my mind, my spirit or soul or whatever you want to call it. I’m holding them together because I need them.” Dane stooped down, cupped a handful of dirt from the grave he’d just dug. “I need them to be there for me.” He squeezed his hands into fists, the earth sifting between his fingers as he did. “I need them to be there so I can make the people responsible for this, all of this, regret the day they were ever born.”
Dane Whitman opened his hands, allowing the last remnants of the dirt to fall back onto the grave at his feet. He walked around the grave, and left the clearing surrounded by the withering trees. Hercules watched as he began to descend the mountain, and then, after casting his eyes one last time over the multitude of unmarked graves – and if the single grave that was marked with the roughly carved letters S.D. captured his sight for more than an instant, so be it – he followed his friend.
Simon Williams stretched, his muscles loosened, his joints cracked, and he sighed with relief. The steaming water of the whirlpool bubbled and sloshed around him. He’d been planning a visit to the king-size hot tub in the recreation area of the Citadel from the first moment he laid eyes on it, but before now he hadn’t had the chance. Herc and Dane were visiting Avalon, Bonita and Sam were checking in on the Helping Hands branch in East L.A., Horace was out doing some shopping, and Sundragon had gone God knew where to meditate on the recent loss of her telepathy.*
[*Happened last issue – Mike]
Simon had the place all to himself, the entire Citadel was his to do with as he pleased.
So, of course, the doorbell just had to ring.
Or, at least the equivalent of a doorbell, Simon thought as he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to the security panel installed in the wall at the far end of the sauna. This is just my luck.
The alert system had gone off again, and the discordant voice,
Breet! Breet! Breet! Intruder alert. Perimeter breach; ground level. All available personnel report to ground level. Breet! Breet! Breet!
was jangling its life away, completely smothering his good temper. Simon pressed another few buttons, and the monitor flared to life, displaying a panoramic view of the outer perimeter. The spacious lawn stretched out, split neatly in the middle by the generous fountain that had been donated by the city. The large gate – painted to look like it was made of iron, but in actuality composed of a titanium alloy – stood at the rim of the property, and the street stretched out further beyond, filled with the busy bustling of your standard Los Angeles morning. At first Simon didn’t note anything peculiar at all, and would have chalked the distress signal up as nothing more than a false alarm – the alert system had even silenced itself without him having to quiet it – but then the wind gusted, the titanium gate swung in on its hinges, and the alert sounded again.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Simon said, muttering angrily below his breath as he slipped into his clothes, left the rec room, and began pacing for the elevators. “Not a super-villain. Not Ultron dropping out of the sky with the Collector, Nefaria, the Zodiac, and my crotchety old Aunt Myrtle backing him up. Not a Jehovah’s witness, or vacuum salesman, or even a Girl Scout with a box of chocolate mint cookies for me to snack on. No, that’d be too simple for good ol’ Wonder Man. I get interrupted because some putz forgot to close the gate on their way out.”
The elevator doors opened smoothly, and Simon stepped inside. “Ah, quit your complaining, Williams,” he said. “Like you want to tangle with Ultron anyway.” He thumbed the button for the ground floor, and then stared up at the elevator light in the ceiling as he descended. A pleasant little tune droned from the speaker in the elevator, but he knew if the gate swung in again, it’d be replaced with the jarring tones of the alarm again. Eric went all out with the security features in this place, Simon thought, and no sooner than the words settled on his brain, he began thinking about the words Archangel had spoken the previous night.
The only threat you should be worried about is the snake coiled at your feet.
Those words had stayed with Simon throughout the night as he tossed and turned in his bed. He’d tried working out, drinking a beer on the balcony of his room as he struggled to look at the stars through the heavy smog. He’d even turned on the news and watched a story about the other super-team sharing space with the Champions out west. The Whackos had sponsored some sort of fundraiser in-between their battles with the Sons of the Serpent and some strange alien menace even Hawkeye was being tight-lipped about.* It seemed like the Champions weren’t the only ones getting their fair shake of the notoriety involved with being an L.A.-based superhero squad.
[*See M2K’s Avengers: West Coast issues #1-7 for the details – Mike]
Simon sometimes wished he’d taken Hawkeye up on his offer to join the Whackos. There was so much pressure involved with the Champions, and the team itself was raw. Dane and Herc were about as good as it got when it came to experience, but Firebird and Sundragon, especially Sundragon, were fairly new to the game. They’d done some good work, but Simon wasn’t totally confident they’d be able to produce on a consistent basis when it really counted.
“Aw, be honest, Williams,” he muttered to himself. “You’re as worried about yourself not cutting it as you are those two.” And it was the truth. He’d been thinking about it ever since he’d joined the Champions. It had been the real reason he hadn’t wanted to join the west coast branch. The way the Avengers had fallen apart after Vision died, it had taken him apart at the seams as much as, if not more than, any of the others. And it was hard bouncing back, even for a big bad superhero like Wonder Man. But Eric was involved here, and even though he was skeptical, Simon wanted to believe with all of his heart that Eric actually had changed for the better. Even if Dane – and truth be told, Dane had been even more convincing than Clint when he matter-of-factly stated his intentions to keep an eye on the “Grim Reaper” – couldn’t trust Eric as far as he’d undoubtedly like to throw him… probably off the nearest cliff.
But Wonder Man had already partially blown it, hadn’t he? He’d allowed his team to get in a free-for-all with Warren Worthington and the former Champions because he hadn’t been able to react in time to stop it. And then once the battle commenced, it had been Sam Wilson, the Falcon, who had taken the reins, barking orders and keeping an eye on the backside of everyone else. And where had Simon been while this was going down? Breaking the handgun of someone he considered a close friend, and then nearly drowning to death on the darkforce energy of another person he considered an ally.*
[*All that happened last issue too – Mike]
“Way to flex your authority as second-in-command,” Simon said, as the doors to the elevator rolled open. He let the ionic energy course through his body as he approached the revolving glass doors of the Citadel. Even if it was just the wind blowing the gate open and nothing more, he didn’t want to take any chances. He had no desire to let the team down again.
A barely perceptible humming sounded behind him, and Simon didn’t even bother to turn around. He knew one of the Eye in the Sky cameras was on him now, and it’d probably remain on him until he powered down again.
“Wasting film on this one,” Simon said with a grin. “I doubt Wonder Man vs. the gate is going to make Must See T.V.”
Simon took to the sky once he got outside, letting the warm breeze pass along his body. Sometimes when he was in his ionic form, the wind seemed to pass right through him, as if he weren’t all there. That gave him a cold shudder despite the heat of the day, but he shook it away. He zipped over to the gate, the Eye in the Sky hot on his heels, and came to a stop in front of it. The gate was swinging towards him, and he could already hear the alarm sounding off in the Citadel again. He rolled his eyes, and caught the gate with his hand before it could run into him.
“Wait a second,” Simon said to himself, Although I guess it’s the viewing public I’m talking too as well, and leaned closer to the half of the gate he was gripping. The sturdy electronic locking mechanism that had been built into the titanium facing was seared, the titanium melted around it in a congealed mess. Simon touched his fingers to the spot, and it was still warm.
“Even warmer than metal would be sitting out in the sun,” he said, and then paused. He cocked his head, listening intently. The wind was blowing again, and it whipped around him, making plenty of its own noise, but there was something else. It sounded like a shrill whistling, and it was coming from directly behind him.
Simon turned around, but there was nothing there. The sound was still there though, and as Simon’s brow creased, the sound grew clearer, and Simon fixed on it. It wasn’t just behind him, it was above him too, so he looked up, and his eyes widened.
“Look to the sky! Is it a bird? …No!” the voice of the figure descending from the sky said. “Is it a plane? …No!” the figure was closer now, literally streaking through the air, the whistle from his passing gradually becoming a shriek. “Is it Superman? …No!” the figure said, his voice ringing clear in the morning air, and Wonder Man was so flabbergasted by what was happening that he didn’t even think of moving. He caught a glimpse of colors – blues and reds and greens and yellows and oranges all intermingled together – dark goggles with blazing eyes behind them, a billowing blue cape, and a smile the purest white he’d ever seen; then the figure collided with Wonder Man’s chest, and everything was replaced by the loss of breath, and the euphoria of being hurled away at what had to be nearly the speed of sound. Later, when he had the time to think about it, Wonder Man decided he would have preferred facing Ultron and his buddies after all.
“How’s that shoulder?” Sam Wilson asked.
Bonita shrugged, hoping Sam hadn’t caught her brief grimace. “Not too bad.” The two of them had just finished their visit – though inspection would probably be a more adequate term for what Sam had put those poor employees and volunteers through, Bonita thought – to the Helping Hands facility and were now stepping out into the mid-morning light. Redwing was perched on Sam’s shoulder, and had been there throughout the examination. He’d stalked back and forth through the complex, scrutinizing every minor detail, demanding detailed progress reports on the work that had been done with the aid of Eric Williams’ funding. Even the bird had gotten into the act, stretching its wingspan, squawking at the nervous employees, and regarding them with its sharp, golden eyes.
At first Bonita had thought it amusing, but after the first hour had gradually became the second, the second the third; it was then that she’d decided she’d had enough. She’d pulled Sam into the break room – the employees inside had immediately vacated once they saw him – and demanded they leave. Things were fine here, even better than fine. He was being ridiculous.
Sam reluctantly agreed, and only gave one final self-righteous speech to the staff – that still ran a little long to Bonita’s ears – before finally making their way to the door. And now here they were, and Bonita could feel those sharp eyes on her now… both pairs of them.
“If there is something you wish to speak about, Sam,” Bonita said, turning to face him, “then please, do.”
Sam nodded. “I want to talk about what happened yesterday. I know there isn’t exactly a chain-of-command with this team, but I like to think that I’ve a little more experience in situations like that. You were injured, and if I’m right you’re still injured. You shouldn’t have been in the field.”
“This is ridiculous, Sam,” Bonita said. “I understand your concern, but I’ve been doing this for a while now, and I’m fully aware of my capabilities. My shoulder is… ginger, I admit, but I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself. Unless I’m mistaken, I was the one who defused the situation with Sundragon when things got out of hand.”
“The whole thing was out of hand from the beginning,” Sam said, running a sleeve across his brow. The morning was quickly becoming afternoon, the sun was hot, and his own temperature was rising to boot. “But that’s hardly the point. I do appreciate your role on the team. You’re the one who got me involved in the first place, but I need to know that when the time comes you’ll be able to follow orders, whether they’re coming from myself or the Black Knight or anybody with more experie--”
“There you go again,” Bonita said, and her eyes had narrowed. “I am not a child any longer, Sam. Perhaps when you first put me in charge of the Helping Hands branch in New Mexico I could have used your sagely advice without asking for it, but that is no longer the case. If I need your aid, I promise you, I will ask for it. But until I do, I demand that you treat me with the same respect you would any of the others.”
“I’m not trying to disrespect you, Bonita. If anything, it’s the exact opposite. It’s just that--” Sam stopped talking, and he turned slightly away from Bonita. “Do you hear that?”
“Nothing but your sizeable voice,” Bonita said, muttering below her breath. But she did hear something. A whistling sound, as though something was being dropped from very high in the air. One of the cartoons that had been a favorite of the children back in Gallop was Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner, and every time the Roadrunner tricked Wiley into falling off a mesa he made a sound just like that until he hit the--
A tremendous boom sounded from far off, and the ground shook from the force of it. Bonita had the sickening feeling it was coming from the direction of the Citadel.
“Sam, what was that?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said, and as Bonita looked in his direction, she could see he was shedding his clothes, his familiar red and white outfit beneath. Bonita hadn’t brought her cape, but her costume was underneath her clothes as well. She burned the outer layer of clothing off with barely a second thought, the costume of unstable molecules beneath unaffected.
“But we’re about to find out.”
“Not a bird! Not a plane! Not Superman! Hey there, fella! My name’s Captain Ultra!”
Wonder Man lifted his chin off his chest. It took an effort. His head was ringing from the shot he’d taken from the man hovering over him. Wonder Man got up, and realized he’d dug a long groove in the street. Gravel spilled from his shoulders.
“That’s… great, pal,” Wonder Man breathed. “Forgive me if I don’t shake hands.”
Wonder Man shot upward towards the man called Captain Ultra, prepared to knock the loony toon into next week - and boy would it feel good - but in a rainbow-colored flash, the man was gone. Wonder Man felt a tap on his shoulder, he looked, a set of sparkling pearly whites flashed, and then a fist crashed into his face. Simon flipped head over heels, and crashed back into the pavement.
“I give you an ‘A’ for effort, mister,” Captain Ultra said around a laugh, “but that landing needs work!” He doubled over, hands clutching his knees as he guffawed hysterically.
“What the…?” Wonder Man started, then the breath was forced out of him as white-hot pain replaced his bewilderment. Twin beams of force crashed into his chest, burning so badly it was as if they were cutting right to the bone.
“Man, I crack myself up!” Captain Ultra said, wiping a tear from his cheek. “Let’s see here… Ultra-strength: check. Ultra-speed: check. Ultra-vision…” Wonder Man began to scream. “Double check! Man, you’ve got some pipes on you, don’t ya, Wondy? Maybe you should give up that career as an actor and try singing instead.”
Wonder Man clenched his teeth, struggling to ignore the pain ripping through him. He plunged his hands into the street and lifted, a slab of asphalt momentarily blocking the force-beams spilling from Captain Ultra’s eyes. The energy continued to slam downward however, and Wonder Man could see the piece of street he held beginning to glow white-hot in front of him.
“Damn,” Wonder Man said, and took flight, zipping out from behind the chunk of blacktop and racing for the Citadel. The building was blocks away, and Simon blinked in surprise. That first crushing blow Ultra delivered must have knocked him the length of a couple of football fields. How strong was this guy? And where in hell had he come from?
“I bet you’d be killer on ‘American Idol’, seriously,” a voice said at his ear. Simon flinched. It was Captain Ultra, the man matching Wonder Man’s speed effortlessly. Wonder Man veered off to the right--
--and ran straight into a gigantic black orb of metal. It smashed into his chin and upper chest, and Simon skipped off of it and dropped like a stone, his vision filled with exploding stars. He hit the ground hard, and he didn’t get up.
“Where did you think you were going?” a voice like gravel in a blender said, and Simon was only able to glance toward it before something struck him flush in the chest, pushing him deeper into the street. All the breath exploded from his lungs, and ionic energy fanned outward in all directions as he was embedded into the pavement.
“Nice shot!” Captain Ultra said, and he almost seemed to swim into Simon’s hazy view, fist outstretched in an ebullient, comical gesture. Despite the gravity of the situation, Simon nearly laughed. He was delirious, knew consciousness was slowly slipping away from him, and he almost welcomed it – anything to get him away from the ever-loving whomping he was taking – but he refocused his mind. He had to stay conscious, get away somehow, and warn the others. Captain Ultra smiled down at him, another flash of those ridiculously pearly whites. “I am so glad my girlfriend thought to let you guys tag along with me. We make one heck of a team!”
“Yeah, whatever you say,” the grumbling voice said, and as the large shadow belonging to it stepped forward, Simon’s vision cleared long enough for him to see exactly who it belonged to.
“Oh, no…” Simon said, and the man over him smiled.
“That’s right,” Dr. Eliot Franklin, also known as Thunderball, also known as a whole heap of trouble said, lifting and dropping the massive iron ball at the end of the chain clutched in his fist by simply flexing his bicep. “Now say goodnight, Gracie.”
Wonder Man could only tense his body as Thunderball snarled, and brought the wrecking ball over his shoulder in a high, swooping arc directly onto Simon’s head.
“Hey! What in the hell?”
The wrecking ball hovered an inch from Wonder Man’s squinting face. Thunderball yanked at it, grunting with all his might, but the thing wouldn’t budge. There was a golden halo surrounding it, and it was keeping Thunderball’s weapon completely immobile.
“I demand that you cease this cruelty at once,” a feminine voice rang out from above them. The four men looked up, and regarded the woman as she hovered overhead.
“Well, well, well. Look what we got here, boys,” the man with the shining silver helmet said. There was laughter in his voice. “This chick’s all painted up like Halloween come early.”
“Do not attempt to mock me, simpleton. Your wit is primitive at best,” Sundragon said, and on cue a tendril of the golden energy surrounding the wrecking ball lashed out and struck Bulldozer in the chest. The man was hurled away, crashing into an automobile parked along the street.
“Hold, child,” a voice said behind her, and Sundragon turned despite the alarms sounding off in her head warning her against it. Her eyes were drawn – dragged – downward, and she found herself looking upon the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen standing on a nearby building.
She looks like my cousin, like Heather, Sundragon thought, and then the beautiful voice filled her head.
Stay thy hand, young one. Your goddess commands thee.
“You… are not my…” Sundragon said, straining with all of her being to voice every word. She was losing the battle.
But I am, child. Thy mind protests what thy heart knows to be true. Do not defy me, for I am Amora the Enchantress, and now, as it shall be evermore, thou belong to me.
“No!” Sundragon said, as the world fell away around her. The street below, the surrounding buildings, and the innocent people gawking at the battle being waged on the ground and in the sky were carried away like nothing more than dust in the wind. Pamela Douglas was spirited away to a land of green valleys, clear, rushing rivers with waterfalls fueling their thunderous motion, orchards scattered through the fertile land with every sort of fruit imaginable clinging to the boughs. Sundragon turned in a circle, wondering at all she surveyed, and her eyes fell on a woman lying on the grass, her bare skin exposed to the sweet, succulent air. She opened her mouth to speak.
“My goddess,” Sundragon said, her eyes vacant, her body hovering over the landscape of the city known as Los Angeles, her mind completely unaware of it.
Amora smiled. “Thy forecasts were accurate, deceitful one.” A light rain began to fall as clouds began to gather over the city. The Enchantress tilted her head up, allowing the rain to pepper her face. She looked back to the girl hovering in front of her who would be unable to feel the rain, the telepathy of the Enchantress holding her in its sway.
The man who had been standing behind the Enchantress now stepped forward. The muttered incantations rising from his lips now fell away. Lightning flashed. “It is a rare thing indeed when my calculations are anything but, exquisite one.” The Enchantress turned to face him, drawing Sundragon down towards her as she did.
“Thy storm-making rivals that of thy honorable brother, trickster,” she said, smothering the ghost of a smile that rose to her lips when Loki’s face darkened at the mention of the God of Thunder.
Loki flicked his eyes downward. “Is the buffoon still yours?”
Amora followed his gaze.
“Shnookums! I love you, honey!” Captain Ultra cried up to her, waving frantically. He was staring at the Enchantress, absolute adoration etched on his features.
“As taken with me as a lovesick puppy,” the Enchantress said. “I hath complete control over him.”
“And the girl?”
“My puppet, so long as her telepathy remains dormant, as thou hath decreed.”
“Then pray tell, why does her power still hold the enchanted wrecking ball of our compatriot?” Loki said, and the Enchantress sneered. The golden telekinetic force was still surrounding Thunderball’s wrecking ball, and he still could not dislodge it.
“An inconsequential oversight, nothing more,” Amora said, and her mind sharpened, bearing down on the girl now hovering only a few feet from her. The halo of energy surrounding the wrecking ball fizzled, and it plunked to the ground heavily. Thunderball smiled.
“About damn time,” he said, growling at Wonder Man. Simon struggled to free himself, but Captain Ultra and Piledriver had him restrained easily, and whenever he managed to free so much as a finger, the former blasted him with a shot of blazing Ultra-vision. The rain continued to fall, lightning flared anew, and Thunderball hefted his weapon again. “Now. Where were we?”
Eric Williams pummeled the racket ball, watching it with his sharp eyes as it ricocheted off the wall and rebounded toward his opponent. He hadn’t yet lost his serve, and was certain that he would accumulate the desired fifteen points necessary to defeat his opponent before that ever happened. He’d only been introduced to the game a week prior, but already he had mastered some of the best players at the country club he now frequented.
He’d attempted golf, and although he believed the rumor that the sport relaxed the nerves and killer instincts of those who played it – and subsequently allowed the victor an incredible advantage in business negotiations as he systematically defeated an enemy hole by hole – he still found it a dull and dreary prospect.
Racquetball. That was the true sport of business. Eric annihilated his opponent, drained them physically and emotionally, and those that fled afterwards lost face amongst their peers. But it wasn’t as if those that remained had it any easier, for Eric would strip them down mentally, dissecting them in their exhausted state as easily as a child gutting a frog.
Eric smiled now just thinking about it as his opponent slipped on the floor, allowing the ball to sail harmlessly past. Eric was tempted to hit it anyway, even though he’d won, striking the foolish oaf who actually believed he would pose a challenge to the CEO of LL Incorporated, Eric Williams.
Instead he allowed his grin to grow wider. “Game point,” he said, and once the man was in position, prepared to serve again.
A tremor ran through the building, throwing off Eric’s stroke, the ball slipping from his grasp to bounce along the hardwood floor. The other man turned to him.
“Earthquake, you think?”
Eric cocked his head as another tremor rumbled, this one stronger than the last. His brow furrowed. “How would I know?”
“I think maybe another time, then,” the man said, sniveling his way towards the door. Eric let him pass, lost in thought, their game a distant memory. The man looked back once he’d gone, and the expression on Eric William’s face caused an awful shudder to slip through his body. It reminded him very much of a skull.
“We’ve got to think this through,” Sam Wilson said.
“Kraw!” Redwing cried, in what could only be agreement. They were perched on a building across the way from the gods and assorted super-villains torturing their teammates – their friends – without mercy. They’d flown in just as Sundragon had lost control to the Enchantress, and Sam had signaled Firebird down to the roof of the building. They were fairly concealed here, and the rain – which had sprouted from clouds that appeared as unexpectedly as this attack – would make it even more difficult to register them. But Firebird was fuming, and the sour weather wasn’t helping much.
“Are you crazy, Sam? We’ve got to get down there now!” Bonita said, her voice a fierce whisper. “They’ve got Sundragon, and look at what they’re doing to Simon! They’ll kill him if we don’t--”
“Whatever they’re doing to Simon, they’re not trying to kill him,” Sam said, keeping his voice calm and measured despite the adrenaline coursing through his blood. “At least not yet. Look.”
He pointed, and Firebird did look. The man Firebird knew from the Avenger files as Piledriver of the Wrecking Crew, and another man in a ridiculous costume were holding Simon down. The man in the strange garb was blasting Simon with energy that seemed to literally explode from his eyes, in-between the strikes the man known as Thunderball delivered with his massive ball and chain. Bonita frowned.
“I see nothing but two men torturing one of our own, Sam. How can you sit there and watch this and not do anything?” Firebird said. She let her aura flare brightly, and the raindrops striking it sizzled around them.
“Bonita, don’t!” Sam said, but it was too late. The gods lifted their heads as their sharp eyes registered the momentary spark of heat. “Damn! They’ve seen us. We’ve got to move. Now!”
They took to the air, Bonita swooping in the opposite direction without having to be told. Firebird angled downward immediately and fired a blast of pure fire at Thunderball, who was busy crunching Simon into the pavement with his wrecking ball. The flame-jet hit him in the chest, and Thunderball was taken aback. His weapon dropped to the ground as he swatted at the flames.
“Let my friend go!” Bonita cried, and as she focused her next blast on Piledriver and the guy in the rainbow-colored outfit, Sam noticed that Loki and the Enchantress weren’t even paying attention to him or Firebird. The Enchantress had her eyes fixed on nothing at all, as if her mind were elsewhere, and Loki was looking at Wonder Man as if…
Sam dropped to the ground, firing a gas pellet he kept housed in the wrist-blaster on his arm – a gift from Natasha – at Piledriver. The man swatted at the air, backing up a few paces. “Bonita! I know what Loki’s trying to do! You have to--”
Something ran into Sam from behind. He was hurled through the air and slammed chest first into a telephone pole. It didn’t give an inch. Sam toppled to the ground, rolling over onto his back, and a large shadow even darker than the ones cast by the black clouds in the sky settled over him.
“How’s it goin’, fella?” Bulldozer said, rainwater running off his metal helmet in rivulets. “Your little teammate gave me quite a shot, but since the boss-lady has a hold of her, I guess I’m gonna have ta take my frustration out on yoaaaaauuuuuggggghhhhh--”
Bulldozer staggered back as Redwing descended in front of his face. Through the blurred haze of pain – Sam thought he’d at least cracked a rib – and rain falling in his face, he could see Redwing scrabbling at the helm of Bulldozer with his pointed beak, and razor-sharp talons. The strange dance commenced for less than a minute, Bulldozer spitting vile curses the entire time, until finally he grasped the bird by a single wing.
“Oh, you dirty bird! You dirty, filthy, squawking rat with wings!” Bulldozer said, his voice a hoarse, horrible scream. He twisted his hand, and Redwing cried out, the sound escaping his open beak surprisingly human. Bulldozer flung the bird away, and it was only then that Sam got a clear look at what Redwing had done.
“You better pray to God that Loki can fix me up, bird-man,” Bulldozer said, clutching Sam around the neck with both of his massive hands, immediately cutting off his flow of air. Blood and water ran down onto the Falcon’s face, spilling leisurely from the fresh, messy hole where Bulldozer’s eye had once been. Redwing had plucked it like a grape from a vine.
“‘Cuz if he can’t, even if that bird ain’t dead, I’m still gonna have the both of you for dinner.”
“Oh. Oh, my God,” Horace Jasper said, the groceries dropping from his hands and scattering along the wet pavement. The storm had risen from out of nowhere, and it had annoyed Horace something fierce to be caught in the rain, his old bones creaking as the wet weather played havoc with his joints. But this was worse. This was worse by far.
The Champions were being attacked, although attacked wasn’t the right word for it. Massacred was the more appropriate term. Sundragon was dangling limply in the air in front of some woman with starlight in her eyes that reminded him of the redheaded devil-woman from the bar where he’d first met Mr. Hercules*, Falcon was being choked to death by a man near twice his size that looked like those pictures Horace had seen on the T.V. of the Juggernaut, Firebird was busy dodging a giant iron wrecking ball – and the ball was causing more damage to the surrounding buildings than anything else, so Ms. Bonita had to scramble to save innocent bystanders of the falling debris wherever it struck - hurled at her by a guy just as big as the one choking the life from Mr. Wilson, and Wonder Man had it worse than anyone, because a man with a colorful outfit was cutting him apart piece by piece, dissecting him, the energy escaping into the open air.
[*See M2K’s Champions #1 if you’re in the dark – Mike]
“No, Mr. Jasper. Not escaping,” said a voice at his shoulder. Horace jumped, nearly out of his skin, and wheeled around. A man was standing there, garbed in green and gold, with a golden helmet affixed to his head that sprouted curving horns that gleamed even in the dingy atmosphere. Horace gulped audibly, and the golden man smiled.
“You’re taking it from him, ain’t you?” Horace said, and for a brief instant the smile of the man faltered, as if Horace had spit in his face, even though the face of this man was bone-dry despite the rain falling in sheets around him.
“How… perceptive of you. I am indeed,” Loki said, and his smile gleamed anew. “But only because he is the most dangerous of your newfound allies, Mr. Jasper.”
“You mean to say you’re going to kill them all?”
Loki nodded, as if it were obvious what he intended to do, and in a way it was. “Kill them, slay them, drain them of their lifeforce. Whatever you prefer, Mr. Jasper. In the end it all means the same. I need their energies, and unfortunately for them, and your employment, it will leave them lifeless husks in the end.”
“But why?” Horace cried. “What are you doing this for? And why are you telling me?”
“I need the energy of your heroes to help me destroy my most hated of enemies, Mr. Jasper. Sibling rivalry at its finest, I assure you. I’ve tried brute force, powerful spells, seduction, temptation, and my latest foray employed a variety of, as the youth of America would say, ‘jacked up’ frost giants*. Nothing seems to work. But now I have a new plan, and I need your band of brethren to make it work. As for why I’m telling you?”
[*Read M2K’s Iceman for more details on Loki’s machinations – Mike]
He threw an arm around Horace. “Well, let’s just say I’m a trickster, and I could never resist an opportunity to twist the knife on a particularly good prank. Now come along. We’ve work to accomplish, and miles to go before we sleep.” Loki slapped Horace roughly on the back, and his laughter echoed through the rain as it continued to fall.
Champion Lovers
Sometimes I complain in the letters section about my lack of letters, and sometimes my complaints are valid. But this time I have NOTHING to complain about, and in fact, I ignored a certain letter that came to me after the fifth issue of this series. Shame on me. This one comes from the editor of M2K, Chris Munn, the mighty Munn-Thing!
Well, Mr. Mike, I finally had a chance to read Champs # 5 and... well... frankly, I've read better.
Bastard.
I also can't lie very well either, because this issue seriously ruled all.
Whoops! Heh heh, uh… forget I said that.
Dane's meeting with Thor's Avengers was handled perfectly (and it makes me even MORE excited for when the Champs finally meet up with the Wackos... you think Thor was pissy, wait 'til you see Iron Man's reaction).
I’m not sure how many of you reading out there are champing at the bit to see AWC and the Champions interact, but if you are… It’s coming.
I'm falling more in love with the concept every issue, and I'm jealous as all hell that I didn't come up with it first (you bastard!).
Hey, see? I’m not the only bastard. I take back my original retraction.
The only possible complaint I had with the issue was one that somebody else brought up in a review... Herc and the Griffin needed to throw down, man. I know you had to bring Sundragon in somehow, but Hercules is in dire need of a fight worthy of the PRINCE OF POWER! Keep pumping those issues out.
I will most certainly keep pumping those issue out, as you well know Mr. EiC (Chris is like a pressure-cooker people, NEVER let him edit you!). And don’t worry about Hercules. After the royal butt-kicking the rest of the Champions have taken, who do you think has to save the day? Okay, our next letter comes from Jason Trenner, or as he’s known in da hood, the Question Man!
Interesting issue. Interesting twist on the super hero team vs. super hero team.
Thank you, sir, and thank you again.
Now on to the questions:
Wouldn’t be a Jason Trenner letter without ‘em.
Is there any chance of the Champions fighting a new Lethal Legion?
There is not only a chance, there is an excellent chance.
2. Is there any chance of Dusk joining the team?
Observant readers will know that Dusk has a part in the series, but whether or not she’ll be joining the Champions remains to be seen.
3. Will there be an X-Corp, Force Works and Champions team up?
Well, with the ties the Champions have with both teams: Warren and the old Champs on the X-Corp side, and Speedball on the Force Works side, anything is possible. David Ingram and Brad Horton are both excellent writers. Make sure and read X-Men: Prime and Excalibur as well for more of their work.
4. Is there any chance of Fastforward joining the team?
I’m not sure who this is, Jase, so probably not. But I’ll look him up, and if he sounds interesting, perhaps you’ll see him sometime in the future.
5. Is there any chance of the Orphan being on the team?
I can only assume you mean Orphan from the X-Statix series, because the only other Orphan I know is a baddie, but I don’t think any of them would fit the team the way it’s built right now. Thanks for the comments and the questions, Jason. Final letter is from Cory Wiegel, who also collaborates on X-Men: Prime and writes Iceman all by his lonesome.
Mr. Frostee's a busy guy these days, but that doesn't mean I won't be able to drop a few thoughts here and there on some of my favorite M2K titles. Champs in particular is getting my love, mostly because it features the return of the old school Champions, a team which rocked uber-ass!
You’re damn RIGHT they do!
So onto the thoughts/questions spinning around in my mind... Only bitch about this issue was how it ended the old guard vs. the new guard arc too soon. How was Warren convinced that the new Champs crew be coo'? Or why did he decide to up and say 'forget it' if his approval wasn't the case? I understand this book is totally about the new guard, and they kickass and all, but I wanted mooooooorrreeee!
Completely understandable gripe, and part of the reason was the issue length. I couldn’t quite include everything I wanted because the story would have ended up being 10,000+ words. Warren ended up leaving more out of guilt over what Sundragon was put through and a general reluctance to beat on his peers more than anything else. But Warren certainly didn’t leave on good terms, and that can’t bode well for our heroes.
Will the Red Ghost be appearing in future issues? Dude's got some potential, especially with the team. Plus, super-apes!
After careful consideration I’ve decided that the Red Ghost will DEFINITELY be returning to the book. Although in what capacity remains to be seen.
Err... what the hell happened in Avalon?! I'm pretty sure this will be further explored, but I'm totally diggin' it. Black Knight and Herc's gonna bust some heads, right?
The massacre that took place in Avalon and the disappearance of the Lady of the Lake will be touched on in future issues, and you best believe Herc and Dane are going to bust some heads. Their whole team is getting savaged!
Heh, Williams is a bastard for framing Archangel. That was pretty badass, foo'. Will there be any repercussions from this, aside from Wonder Man's growing brother-love for Eric?
Eric is just a bastard in general, as should be readily apparent to the readers by now, but whether or not he’s an evil bastard, a greedy bastard, a selfish bastard, or what has yet to be seen. Wonder Man’s mentality was delved into a little more in this issue, but as for his relationship with his brother… stay tuned.
I noticed the "Bobby doesn't like hitting girls" line! Heh, does that have anything to do with the uber-grief he's feeling after knocking the crap out of Shadowcat in X-Men Forever, or being semi-responsible for Marrow's death? Or are you just taking a shot at me for my characterization, Mike? *narrows eyes!*
Never would I do such a thing! Never, I say! Bobby has certainly changed under the steady hand of that guy who writes him at M2K (the name slips my mind at the moment, but anyway), and I tried to establish some of that in the scenes I wrote with him. At the same time though, Bobby is a fun character, and I tried to establish that over everything else.
Eh, that's about all. As usual, Mike's got a flawless style, and aside from a few technical goofs (<i>'s showing up here and there), there's nothin' to pick on. Plus, the title's fun stuff all around, and has a lot of intriguing subplots and threads piling up. Again, totally diggin' Champs. Keep up the good work, Mike.
Thanks, Cory. I appreciate the vote of confidence and the kind words. The technical goofs were all on me because I was unaware of the way our EiC (the mighty Munn-Thing!) coded the issues, but I don’t think they’ll be a problem anymore. Until next time…
NEXT ISSUE: Loki’s plan is revealed, just in time for the return of the Black Knight and Hercules from Avalon! And boy, are they in a foul mood.
Mike Exner III
04/27/2004