Jonathan Moore looked at himself in the mirror in his private residence aboard the Celestial Keep, wondering what type of person would be looking back at him. A coward? A tool of the Elite? Or a man who had finally had his fill? He was hoping for the latter, but the doubts resurfaced. What if things went wrong? So much of his plan depended on outside variables, which bothered him a lot. How capable were the heroes? How clever were Autocrat's contingencies? Hopefully not clever enough, but there was a graveyard full of people who had made and failed that bet throughout history. And finally, how trustworthy was his ace in the hole? Not very, he judged, but it was the only one he had. He thought back to the last conversation with Nancy and the promise he had made.

"And how are they treating you?"

Nancy's expression turned reticent, like a child trying to hide a bad grade from a stern parent. "Um... it's okay, I guess. They aren't hurting me or anything."

"That's good," Jonathan nodded. "Is there anything I can get you? A book? Maybe a game or something."

"I'm okay, I guess. I'm just worried that... well...they're not making you do anything bad are they?"

Jonathan bit his lip and lied. "No, nothing like that. They just want me to...take care of some things for them. Don't you worry about that," he assured. "We are going to get through this together."

"Promise?"

Jonathan's hand came up to the thick transparent shield that separated brother and sister. "I promise."

It was the promise that decided matters. His sister's questions had bothered him more than he wanted to admit. What kind of brother was he turning out to be for her? Would she look at him and see the young boy that loved old movies and took care of her? Or the cruel metahuman conqueror who served with one of the most evil organizations to terrorize mankind? The more he served as the Elite's Harbinger, the further away he would drift from Nancy. And perhaps that was Autocrat's goal all along. If Nancy came to see him as a monster, then what was left for him to fight for?

No, he thought. The wait was over. With worldwide opposition finally organized as a unified whole and Brainchild away to find out what had happened to Maestro, the opportunity would never be better. And one way or another, he was tired of running. Tired of having to shield his thoughts and the constant reminders that he would never be "one of them". And most of all, he was sick of the endless threats against his sister. The eyes in the mirror hardened to firm resolve. It was time.

Harbinger walked down the main corridor with an outward calm that masked his inner concerns. The biggest gamble would be the first; for his plan to succeed he'd need an outside ally. Brainchild wouldn't be gone for long and once he returned, he would have to guard his thoughts carefully once again, which precluded any long-range mental communication. Someone else would have to guide the heroes to the Elite's doorstep. Someone powerful, intelligent, and most of all, trustworthy.

Unfortunately, the only person he had contacted outside the Elite only fit two of those three categories. She was only a few months younger than he was and had called herself Mindshadow. Powerful? Yes; her mental strength was awesome to behold on the mindscape. Intelligent? Certainly; the brief and secret conversations they've had the last couple of weeks convinced him of that. But trustworthy? Hell no; she wanted to take over the world and dictators were rarely the most trustworthy of people. But she was the best bet he had so he would just have to hope her power lust and desire for the Elite's removal would serve in place of her lack of morals.

"Halt," Constantine called as Harbinger approached the detention area. "State your business."

"I'm here to try and interrogate the prisoner again."

"Why bother? They're comatose, and Brainchild isn't here to probe them properly," Constantine said with more than a hint of an insult.

"Perhaps not. But I have orders from Autocrat himself that these snoopers have to be found out and quickly."

"He didn't inform me," Constantine replied suspiciously.

"Do you think Autocrat deigns to inform the likes of you of every tiny detail he plans?" Harbinger snarled. "You may be an Elite, but you're not his confidant."

Constantine stiffened with anger. How dare this insolent tool address him in such a manner! But he did invoke Autocrat's name and truth be told, his statement about Autocrat's methods was probably accurate. "Very well. Be quick about it!"

With that, he opened the door and Harbinger stepped into the prison area with a concealed smile. So far, so good. He walked up to the first prisoner, and looked him over. Comatose, just as Constantine had said. What Constantine didn't know was that the coma was induced by Mindshadow's command. A complete and thorough job; there wasn't a trace of memory or thought left in the man's head. But he was alive and by their silent agreement, the mind link was still active. The Byzantine arrangement was necessary; Mindshadow's mental defenses were incredibly strong, which made trying to reach her mind by conventional means exceedingly difficult. They were assets in a mental conflict, no doubt, but a pain in the ass when trying to contact her for other reasons. Fortunately, a voluntary Mind Link with this slave didn't have to overcome those defenses. It shouldn't take much energy to attract her attentions.

Mindshadow nodded with approval as the stylist applied her finishing touches to the man formerly known as The Dictator's new hair weave. Amazing what surgery and forgery could accomplish; there was now virtually no chance that he could be visually identified as the communist extremist who had escaped Purgatory Prime only a few days ago. Behind her, a documents expert she had placed under her spell stacked a set of papers on the table next to them. She leafed through them to make sure they looked okay -- birth certificate, social security card, driver's license, college and graduate diplomas and tax records all confirmed that one Dr. Richard Michaels, a reversal of his real name, was as real as the man in the barber's chair. The new suit helped to accentuate the corporate image she was striving for, along with knocking nearly ten years off his visual appearance. Clothes really did make the man.

Of course a DNA test could still cause some uncomfortable questions, but Mindshadow wasn't too worried about that. Along with rebuilding his personality into something more palatable to her, she had intermingled a concern over personal privacy and dignity into his mind, which was hardly a unique fear over the increasingly impersonal Internet society. It would also ensure that he would never voluntarily give a DNA sample.

Mindshadow...

Mindshadow's eyes lost focus of the real world as her mind felt a familiar presence. Jonathan, what a disagreeable surprise...

Stop playing with dolls! the voice replied exasperatedly. It's time!

Dolls are fun to play with. You should try it sometime.

Do you hear me? -- It's time...!

Oh, fine... She turned to her puppets and spoke verbally. "Finish up here and have him delivered to Peter when you're done. He should be finished with the incorporation papers by now."

They nodded obediently as she phased through the roof of the building and proceeded up a hundred miles above the city, covering the distance in only a few seconds. She was high enough up where the sky was dark with the edge of space and took comfort in the silence as she wrapped a comfortable cocoon of pressurized air around her. Once clear, she shifted her perceptions back to the mental plane. The blackness of space faded into the milky white of the mindscape.

Mindshadow waited as the familiar figure materialized in front of her before continuing. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Opposition to the Elite is mobilizing. There won't be a better time to cause their downfall."

"True," she admitted. "Autocrat's speech made all the TV networks."

"If he's to be stopped, it must be now."

"I've sifted through the minds of a few dozen people in the government I've enslaved. They're sending a group of heroes and military forces to fight him."

"And they'll fail unless you help me help them."

"So confident, are we?"

"It's fact, not confidence," Harbinger corrected. "They can't fight what they can't reach. The Celestial Keep uses a dimensional interface to protect it. If they don't penetrate the base, the Elite can resupply their forces at will."

"They know that. Right now, they have some experts studying some of Autocrat's technology. It seems Rook can't keep his hands on his equipment."

"That was a lucky break, I agree. But they need some more information to get inside the base and I need you to pass it on to them. Brainchild won't be gone for long and he'll detect it if I send it."

"Alright, I can do that."

Harbinger concentrated and the white mists swirled around his hands, forming themselves into a diskette. Not a real one, but a manifestation of a packet of information. He handed it to Mindshadow, who closed her eyes as the diskette ghosted in her palm and flowed up her arm and directly into her mind.

"Interesting tricks," she admitted. "I'll have to remember them when I build my base."

Harbinger grimaced. Sharing vital technology like interdimensional travel and sophisticated surveillance systems that were stored on Celestial Keep wasn't to his liking, and with her casual comment, he abruptly realized that he might be making the same deal to another set of heroes sometime in the future if they had to stop Mindshadow from conquering the world one day. But he'd cross that bridge when it came.

"See that they get it," he said.

Mindshadow nodded, then closed her eyes briefly. She didn't tell Harbinger, but she already knew who was holding onto Rook's staff and looking it over. And although she had plans on enslaving Musselman soon, now wasn't the time. So one of his subordinates, whom she had already enslaved as a spy for her purposes, would suffice. Unfortunately, the information here was too technical to be woven into a subliminal conversation, so a direct hypnotic command would have to do. She just hoped that Musselman wouldn't fire the man out of paranoia; having onsite intelligence was useful on planning her attack.

After a few seconds, she opened her eyes. "Done. The information will be relayed to the heroes the next time they meet. Now what?"

"I'll be making other arrangements."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Remember what we talked about the first time we met?"

Mindshadow had to think back a moment, but the dark aura that surrounded Harbinger's thoughts made the answer clear enough -- Abattoir.

Within an abandoned airport hangar in the English channel island of Jersey, the elite of Great Britain's armed forces and scientific community buzzed about like a swarm of drones. The entire facility had long since been gutted out, only to be refurbished into a place that seemed more fit in a James Bond movie. Teams of technicians sat before banks of computers while duty officers and commanders hovered over them, trying to orchestrate some sense of order in the chaos. Above, holographic displays pulsed on the ceiling, showing grid maps and highlighting current military activity.

"Armegeddon in Technicolor," a tall white man drawled, the crags of his face somehow shining with wry good nature.  Like many of the people moving about in the vast space, he was dressed in full military gear, marked with stylized insignia.  However, it was odd in this place, because the insignia belonged not to an official Armed Force but to an independent mercenary organization.

"I can't believe we're joining Old Glory and his pajama parade," added a young oriental man, blue hair sticking out from his Mercury Squad helmet.  "Maybe they'll give us action figures as a bonus." It was unclear from his voice whether he was kidding.

"Just keep in mind this is our ticket onto Celestial Keep," said the leader, a handsome man with silver frosting his hair. "So stop spouting sophomoric remarks and wait like good little boys."

"And girl," the Watchman added after a moment's pause.

The wiry redhead who was the sole female member of the team curtsied sarcastically, then returned to parade rest, eyes sweeping over the frenzied activity as if any detail might turn out to be vital later.

Watchman and Mercury Squad hunkered down by the bay door of the hangar.  They were the cream of the world's paramilitary crop -- every member could live off bugs for weeks in scorching climates, dismantle bombs blindfolded, do HALO jumps onto moving flatbed trucks, and incapacitate normal humans with a simple chop to any of several portions of their anatomies. They won wars, took out guerillas, and rescued cats from trees.

Or at least that's how they were portrayed in the advertisements for Quicksilver Munitions Company, a purveyor of fine custom weapons.  Meanwhile, this would be the first time any of them had engaged a concerted metahuman threat, a completely different order of thing from their usual direct action missions.  And with the speed of deployment, even quiet professionals needed to blow off a little steam.

Contrary to popular fiction, missions were seldom attempted this quickly after the contract was accepted.  The usual lag time would be months, rather than days, of preparations and planning, contingencies and outfitting.  The breathtaking speed of this action was a testament to the importance of the mission. They had been tasked by the international alliance to eliminate the weapons of mass destruction that were known to be on board Celestial Keep.  Autocrat was the type to use them, and any city on Earth could be the target once that maniac reached a certain level of pique.

In addition to that, they had been privately contracted to penetrate and steal a copy of Autocrat's compiled scientific knowledge.  For the latter mission, they had subcontracted a man named Hardware, a metahuman parolee who was said to be a computer and scientific expert.

Watchman had his misgivings about splitting his team up so thin, but there was too much at stake.  In fact, he knew that the second mission was funding the first, paying the rather exhorbitant fee that was required to get top people -- his people -- to risk their lives on a moment's notice. Every member of the team was a volunteer, and a sober professional.  He hoped that he could keep them alive.

At least the incursion into the Keep would be led by Old Glory, staffed by several metas, and covered by a number of diversions.  Now if the battle plan would only survive contact with the enemy...

Meanwhile, Team Gamma had some time ago gathered in an antechamber nearby. Only a thick transparent polymer separated the ornate, strangely runic artifact from the squad of powerful heroes.

Old Glory stood beside Omega, the angelic Jacob, members of the Canadian Shield, and a nondescript man in a lab coat named Hardware. Old Glory huffed. Despite the antiseptic atmosphere of the chamber enclosing the recently commandeered weapon, there was an uncertainty surrounding the artifact. Perhaps this was one of the reasons Mike Musselman appointed Hardware to study Rook's power-staff.

A relative unknown to many of the heroes, Hardware was an ingenious tinkerer, able to cobble together a working particle accelerator from an old vacuum and a hair dryer. He was an enterprising man also, selling his talents to those who can afford them, which in turn swayed him to take shady and criminal jobs. His most recent contract involved him helping with a break-in at Purgatory Prime. The news of this jailbreak was classified, but Old Glory had been briefed on its every detail.

Old Glory knew that during war desperate times called for desperate measures, but pardoning Hardware wasn't exactly an act of desperation. Mike Muscleman assured the super-soldier that the inventor was one of the best mechanical hands the world had to offer, and his inductive genius provided Team Gamma with the know-how to break down the scientific barriers around Rook's weapon and understand it. Old Glory considered the likelihood that Musselman was right. Hardware had never shown himself to be trustworthy during his tenure as a mercenary. Yet as far as he could tell, the engineer wouldn't be gaining any real strategic advantage by violating his deal with the authorities, especially with a biofeedback device attached to the base of his spine.

Hardware hunched over a module while he spoke. "The answer lies within it," he said.

"It's a fancy quarter staff," Catamount scowled. "What's it gotta do with us infiltrating Celestial Keep?"

Hardware looked at the stocky, scruffy Canadian and smiled. "It appears to be a genuine staff, yes, but it's more than just a bludgeon. Its relic appearance is a facade, as it encases a network of microscopic circuitry. It has traces of plasma on it as well. You see, it's not a staff. At least, it's not only a staff."

Cavalier nodded. "Yes, we've seen the satellite footage of Rook's recent exploits. And they concur with what you're saying. But I wouldn't exactly consider this weapon as some sort of scientific breakthrough. I mean, plasma generators are a dime a dozen in our line of business."

"Indeed, they are." Hardware chuckled. "But this weapon is not some run-of-the-mill plasma generator, I assure you."

"Okay, so it's the Rolls Royce of fucking plasma generators," Omega piped up. "Just what the hell is this stick? Is this what's been stuck up Autocrat's ass all these years?"

Hardware scratched his chin, as if he considering the possibility, but then he shook his head. "My hypothesis is that the staff is a interdimensional conduit. This so-called 'stick' is connected to a point that superimposes this plane of existence. I don't have the math in front of me, Omega. But it's a permutation of quantum theories that I can even barely understand."

"Huh?" was all that Sylph could say.

"Yeah," Blockade added, "huh?"

"You might want to tame down the science jargon," Old Glory suggested.

Hardware frowned. "Take this ordinary-looking staff, somehow link it to another dimension. Trigger its quantum relay with a charge of ionized radiation, and presto! -- dimensional teleportation. The staff and its wielder go to the connected point."

"I knew that Rook's staff had special properties," Old Glory said. "I just never knew that Rook had the ability to generate plasma, which in turn means that he and his weapon complement one another."

"That would explain why you couldn't activate the staff's potential when you confiscated it from Rook," Hardware added.

"So," Omega said, "do you have any idea where this staff teleports to?"

Hardware smiled.

"I believe you all know the answer to that." He pushed  his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. "With some  serious tweaking, I'll be able to force the staff's teleportation effect to expand into a warp gate."

"Force?" Cavalier said, his brow creased. "That doesn't exactly sound safe."

Hardware shrugged. "Nobody ever said that life follows scientific method. And I never said that this procedure was going to be safe either."

"Okay, let's see what this warp gate looks like," Old Glory said.

"Very well." Hardware reached across his console and adjusted some switches. "Preparing to initiate plasma generation..." His fingers then brushed across a complex grid of keys. "Power to optimum. Quantum flux standing by... Channeling warp gate..."

A high-pitched whine came from Rook's power-staff as it lit up with a surge of nebulous energy. The whine got louder as the energy pulsed with a strobe effect. The team of heroes paused collectively, trying to ready themselves for some ill fate even though they were all protected from the radiation by the chamber that cocooned the staff. And then, as if on cue, the flickering display ended in a blinding explosion, a light so brilliant that it consumed the entire room like a miniature nova.

"Wow."

It was rare for Blockade to express deep, full-throated sighs of fascination. The Canadian hero nevertheless gazed at the newly formed portal in awe. Twelve feet in diameter, it hovered in the center of the chamber -- at least, where he stood was once a chamber. The walls, ceiling and floor seemingly vanished, the light that occupied the area was leeched by the strange anomaly before him.

The portal shimmered with sidereal quality. The towering wrestler couldn't peel his eyes from the magnificence of it. It was as if he beheld a whole blazing, wheeling cosmos. He felt like a suspended apparition floating through the gulf of space, rather than standing in a stainless steel chamber looking at what was, in essence, merely a doorway.

"I know, it's impressive," Hardware said.

"It's like a work of art," Nereid added.

Hardware nodded. "I might go as far as saying it is."

Catamount grunted. "But it ain't art, is it? And this ain't a class trip to the gallery either." He pointed at the portal. "Do you actually think this so-called gate will lead us right into Celestial Keep. I mean, this is Autocrat's headquarters we're talking about; it'll probably make Fort Knox look like a two-man tent."

Hardware manipulated some controls to shut down the glorious maelstrom of energy, then entered another command into his control panel. A large section of wall lit up, revealing itself as a flat display device showing schematics of a strangely polygonal structure. And judging by its scale, the structure was gigantic, an edifice of monumental proportions.

"This is a blueprint of Celestial Keep downloaded from the Protectorate's archives," Hardware said as he pointed at the screen. "The data is somewhat obsolete, being that it's been fifteen years since anyone has seen this vessel."

The image faded, then the wall-screen enlivened with a new schematic. This one was more impressive than the previous one, as the structure was more immense and with a wedge-like stature. If the first blueprint evoked awe within the team, this new blueprint raised a sensation suggestive of terror.

"This is the Celestial Keep of today," Hardware said. "Clearly modified, substantially larger, and without a doubt a force of nature."

Old Glory looked at the schematics with sudden intense interest, combined with a vague uneasiness. "How did you get this?"

Hardware grinned. "The staff also had a data store. The Keep is apparently large enough that Rook occasionally needs to ask it for directions."

The joke broke the tension, laughter rippling through the assembled heroes before they returned to somberly assessing the diagram before them.

"Seems a little convenient to me," Cavalier said suspiciously. "How do we even know this image is legitimate?"

"The ion signature on this structure is a match for the previous incarnation of the Keep," Hardware explained. "That signature would be imprinted on the staff each time it was used for transport."

Hardware clearly saw the perplexed looks on the collective faces of the team. He sighed.

"Even Autocrat can't change the laws of interdimensional physics," Hardware continued. "Action causes reaction; linking two dimensional planes will cause ionic feedback to bleed into the opposite plane. Since this staff was only used to go to and from the Keep, that image is what's going to show up on the energy signature. Given that, it shouldn't be hard to replicate the entrance procedure to recall back to the Keep. Of course, I'm sure the security isn't going to just accept the entrance of strangers."

Old Glory frowned and kept quiet during Hardware's lecture. Something didn't feel right here; it just felt too easy. Granted, Hardware was good, but when did he know anything about interdimensional physics? Unfortunately, no one else here had any kind of scientific authority to challenge him, so they really didn't have much choice but to accept it. But Old Glory couldn't shake the feeling that Hardware was quoting someone else's words.

Old Glory's concerns drifted for the time being, as his thoughts focused back on the schematics of Celestial Keep. "Precious few ways to attack that monster," said the super-soldier, venturing his initial assessment of the unearthly stronghold.

The tall, angelic figure known as Jacob stood with his arms crossed before his chest. A massive set of downy wings rested on his back, and wavered ever so slightly as he studied the diagram. "There's an old saying that no fortress is impregnable if a mule laden with gold can enter it."

Catamount laughed. "That's rich, Cupid. You're officially our resident jack-ass then."

"I don't necessarily agree with the man," Blaze said, "but he has a point, Cat."

"What's to disagree with?" Hardware joined in. "You've got a key for entry, so Q.E.D. it's not impregnable. The question is, can you get back out again?"

Old Glory looked at the massive structure, examining in minute detail certain sections. "I can't be sure... but I'm beginning to think so."

Autocrat ignored the full-colored Armageddon on his holo-screen and acknowledged the new information displayed on his throne's concole. His outward appearance remained impassive. In truth he was mildly surprised. It seems his would-be opponents had actually managed to find a way into his Celestial Keep. While not entirely unexpected, the appearance of the heroes required a shift in his plans.

Activating his cybernetic comm-link, the overlord spoke. "Autocrat to the Elite. We have uninvited guests. Prepare to receive them..."

Harbinger appeared out of thin air and took a moment to regain his balance. A moment of fear splashed his heart as the cliff floor crumbled beneath his feet. Below the precipice was a deep chasm that split the Ogilvie Mountain range. Crap, a little too close, he said inwardly -- he needed to exercise better care when teleporting blind. With all the risks he was taking, it'd be a horrible irony if he ended up dying from a fall off a cliff.

Once he regained his bearings, he took a moment to look around. So that was Tombstone Mountain, he saw in the distance with a pair of binoculars. He had been informed of Abattoir's fate from the Elite's intelligence contacts within the U.S. Government. Although he was sure that Abattoir was still alive, he still cursed Old Glory for his interference. Had it not been for the fight in those mines, Abattoir would have probably reached Ireland by now. As it was, Abattoir would probably take months, if not years to climb back to the surface.

Unless he got some help.

Above him, the winds rippled as Mindshadow came to a slow hover ten feet above him. Harbinger did his best to ignore her; he didn't ask for her to tag along and was annoyed that she did so.

"So that's where Abattoir met his end?'

"Don't kid yourself," Harbinger snorted. "He's a force of nature and almost impossible to kill; the main reason I picked him."

"Well, for your sake, I hope you're right."

Harbinger grunted, then vanished. Mindshadow took a moment to look around, first with her eyes, then with her mind. The latter sense spotted him a quarter mile north; a mind like Harbinger was tough to conceal under the best of circumstances; here in the wilderness, he might as well sent up a flare. She flew north and down into the canyon floor, where Harbinger stood at the base of what was left of a buried mineshaft.

"You'll have to teach me that trick one day."

"Help me win my sister's freedom and I'll consider it." Harbinger looked at the buried mineshaft and cursed. His telekinetic powers were formidable, but not enough to unearth an entire mountain. Even if Mindshadow help him, he doubted they would be able to excavate the entire shaft, which was reputed to run almost a mile down into the earth.

"What's the matter now?" His frustration was apparent, even if she wasn't a telepath.

"How on the world am I going to get him out?" Harbinger spat. "It'd take days even for us to excavate that shaft."

"Why bother? Just teleport him out. You can do that, can't you?"

"If I knew his exact location, sure. But he's sure to have dug to a different location by now."

Mindshadow touched her temple lightly and closed her eyes briefly. "He's about fifteen hundred feet down, and about three-quarters of a mile north-north-east of here. He's making his way east and up about ten feet per hour, and he's quite angry."

Harbinger looked at Mindshadow with some disbelief. "How can you tell that? You've never met Abattoir before."

"True, I can't home in on him specifically. But I can sense and lock in on random thoughts, and since we're all alone up in the mountains, the thoughts I'm picking up have to be him."

"Well, the report we intercepted says that Totem's body wasn't ever found either."

"Trust me, the mind I'm feeling is a lot uglier than a disgruntled Indian terrorist. Here, I'll feed you the exact location and direction," Mindshadow said as her eyes flickered in Harbinger's general direction. Harbinger stood in silence for a moment as the information filtered into his mind, then nodded.

"Neat trick," he admitted. "You'll have to teach me that one day." With that, he focused his concentration as Mindshadow ascended another fifty feet. Neither one actually feared Abattoir, but they weren't here to fight. Harbinger's mind blazed with energy as tendrils of psionic force reached into the earth. An instant later, a flash of light burst in the air and a hideous four-armed creature appeared.

"Free...!" Abattoir exclaimed and looked around. Seeing the two mentalists, he turned and charged Harbinger. "Abattoir thanksss you for freeing him! For that, I will make your deathsss quick and painlessss!"

"Sorry, but we have plans!" Harbinger declared as he lashed out with his telekinetic powers, slamming Abattoir back against the rock face. As expected, Abattoir bounced off with only the wind knocked out of him. Harbinger could have used his psionic strikes, which would have had a much greater effect, but he needed Abattoir healthy and at full strength.

"You powersss will only delay the inevitable...!" Abattoir declared. "I am of the shadowsss of perpetual darknesss!"

"Yes, you're the demon who broke Hrothgar's heart and ate his noble warriors as they slept in the Great Hall!" Harbinger announced. "But look carefully before you would sully your hands on those unworthy to serve the night!"

Abattoir paused as he circled Harbinger in a stalking pattern. As he did so, his eyes nodded in agreement. "Hm... perhapsss you ssspeak the truth! I can sssense my true nemesisss away from here!"

"That's right, Hrothgar's greatest warrior awaits you once again! Go and avenge your name from the fallacy of history!" Harbinger proclaimed as he focused his powers on a now-stationary Abattoir. In a second, he vanished with another burst of light.

"Who's Hrothgar?" Mindshadow asked after things had quieted down once again.

"Didn't you ever read mythology?"

Mindshadow shrugged. "Not really, I found it pretty boring."

"Well, let's just say, every epic story needs an ugly monster to slay and a hero who will fight it to the death."

"And Autocrat is your epic hero?" Mindshadow replied with amusement.

"He can die as hero as far as I'm concerned," Harbinger nodded with grim determination. "Just as long as he dies!"

Team Gamma moved down the lengthy radius of the super-fortress at a moderate speed. Old Glory, Catamout and Cavalier had positioned themselves in the front; Omega, Blockade and Blaze were the rear guards. Nereid and the squad of paramilitary commandos spread out in threesomes and took to the flanks, while Sylph and Jacob hovered overhead for the aerial viewpoint. In the middle, Hardware consulted a laptop computer and looked around to get his bearings.

"I can't believe the size of this place," said Nereid in awe. "It's like the size of a city."

"Yeah," Omega replied, "but our civic planners don't even compare to the engineers Autocrat has under his thumb."

The corridor the team followed stretched for miles, and closer scrutiny revealed that circuits, wiring, and strange electronic devices actually lined the neo-classical architecture. Catamount's hyper-keen hearing allowed him to pick up the ultrasonic hums and warbles emanating from the hidden technology. The Canadian pursed his lips.

"Explain to me again why we shouldn't worry about the security grid we're traipsing over," said Catamount.

"Because Autocrat suspected our arrival as soon as he discovered Rook lost his power-staff," answered Old Glory. "And I just want to remind that blue-blooded prick that he has a bunch of blundering oafs working for him."

"Keep alert, people," Cavalier ordered, looking at the map digitally displayed on his hand-console. "And stay clear of the pressure-sensitive floor plates along the center of the hall."

"I'm not reading any motion sensors or heat sensors," Hardware noted as he held a Doppler scanner.

Blaze made glances to his teammates, a doubtful look on his otherwise placid face. There was no sign of patrols. No sign of the Royal Elite, either. In fact, there was no sign of resistance of any kind, and this was concerning him. The longer the trek went on, the more uncertain he became about how this mission would transpire. After all, Old Glory was right, Autocrat was all too aware of Team Gamma's presence. Defenses should have been set to alleviate any potential danger they presented.

But what if Autocrat didn't consider them dangerous? What if he considered them nothing more than simple specimens for him to study?

Suddenly, Catamount stopped, as if he felt something. Then Omega steeled himself; he too sensed a disturbance of some kind. And caution progressed through the rest of Team Gamma, as they felt a slight rumbling about them.

"I truly hate being the bearer of pessimism," Blaze announced. "But I believe we're about to find out what it's like as mice in the proverbial maze..."

"Bloody murder," Cavalier muttered.

"Here, kitty, kitty...," Omega said with a smile.

As if alive, the very structure of the fortress began to heave. Servos moaned and hissed as massive steel walls folded in on themselves, while other walls sprouted out of the floor and ceiling. Pillars retracted, the straight, seemingly endless corridor bent into obtuse angles, and bulkheads dropped from vaulted enclosures. Before the team's very eyes, Celestial Keep contorted and shifted like some magnificent and horrifying origami.

"Stand fast!" Old Glory hollered, fighting for balance as his surroundings roiled and reeled. "It looks like Autocrat's giving us the shake down."

A thin whine echoed throughout Celestial Keep as engines powered down, the floors, walls, and the entire complex finally reaching a calm. A moment ago Team Gamma was marching down a stretch of corridor, but now it seemed the ground had been taken out from under part of the team. Old Glory stood on a platform before a catwalk that bridged a vast opening. Several soldiers passed him worried looks and picked themselves up. Hardware sat up and rotated his arms in their sockets, kneading his muscles. They all took in the new environment.

They appeared to be in the bowels of the fortress. The surrounding walls climbed and dropped for hundreds of feet on end and were marked with a maze of wires, tubes, and conduits. Above the catwalk hovered a long, glowing cylinder supported by shimmering coils. Through translucent ports set along the cylinder's sides, incandescent fluid pumped in and out like some eerie lifeblood. Across the mechanical chasm waited a closed-off doorway.

"Status report," Old Glory ordered.

"It's quite amazing," Hardware said. "Celestial Keep has altered its structural configuration. Given its massive size and schematically complex design, I would have never guessed such engineering was capable."

Old Glory's eyes darkened. "We're not here to sightsee, Hardware. As I'm sure you're aware, Autocrat has put the kibosh on us resorting to our maps."

Hardware nodded. "True, but if I can patch into the fortress' computers I just might be able to download updated floor plans." He tapped the side of his satchel and added, "Logarithmic interface."

"Good. Make it so." Old Glory left Hardware to study and admire his surroundings. "Jacob, Cavalier and Omega," the super-soldier's voice punched through the team's headsets. "What's the word?"

"Glory," a calm voice replied. "It's Jacob. I've been closed off from the rest of Canadian Shield. So far I've uncovered nothing, save the fact that I'm losing my patience."

"Damn it," Old Glory muttered to himself offline, his jaw firmly set. "Keep alert, Jacob. We'll try to have someone pinpoint your whereabouts."

"This is Cavalier," a stern voice then spoke up. "We're right by Jacob. We'll converge with him as soon as we get past the wall that barricades him from us."

"Yo, fearless leader," Tommy Champion said. "I'm with the Canucks in what appears to be Autocrat's Theater of Pain. The entertainment will probably show up any second now. Aside from the 'kick their fucking asses' standing order, you got anything special you want done?"

"I want you to hold off and let the Shield take out any contingencies," answered Old Glory. "For the time being, you're an emergency recourse. Is that understood?"

But Tommy didn't reply right away, and Old Glory was left with only the sound of static in his radio receiver.

"Omega? Is that understood?" Even though Old Glory addressed Tommy Champion with a question, there was no mistaking the commanding tone in his gravelly voice.

"Emergency response, right," the powerful farmboy finally answered. "I've finally found my fucking career," he added sarcastically, not hiding his disappointment in being held back.

"Good," Old Glory said. "Everyone remit from radio comm, save for priority-one reports only."

As Old Glory, Hardware and twelve soldiers crossed the catwalk, Hardware suddenly reached into his utility pack and withdrew a strange, palm-sized computer. But before he could jack the device into a security panel at the wall they approached, Old Glory placed a hand on the scientist to hold him back.

"It's just a locked door, Hardware," the star-spangled soldier said. "Save the technical finesse when we need it." Old Glory then sank his hands into a seam along the doorway and peeled back a large section of metal.

The team charged through the opening and came to a room populated with oblong banks of various sizes. Some of them were freestanding, some mounted on bulkheads, all ribbed with circuitry.

"This will do just fine," Hardware said and leaned beside a boxy piece of sophisticated hardware. He tapped a stud on the console and a panel slid aside, revealing a space full of complex wiring. "I might need a bit of time here."

"You've got two minutes," Old Glory warned. "If you can't download what we need by then, we're doing this mission in the dark."

Hardware withdrew a dentist's headset and jeweler's tools from his pack. Two minutes? Granted, he had patched into Purgatory Prime's mainframe in less time than that, but such an operating system was still modeled from Earthly designs. He had nothing to base Celestial Keep's computer technology off of; he had never seen artificial intelligence devised to this magnitude. The entire system evoked power. Power, information, data -- all to the Nth degree.

But understanding machines and assimilating their components was Hardware's specialty. He felt an affinity with anything electronic or mechanical, hence his namesake. And all Team Gamma could do, as the clock ticked away, was stand closeby and watch the inventor perform a feat that was nothing less than magical.

"Cunning...," Hardware muttered. "Very cunning."

The tinkerer worked at the worm's nest of circuits. His deft hands moved with a certainty that only comes from blind faith. He parted wires from the switches he needed to flip. He connected the lead from the device in his satchel to a cable he extracted from a nearby module. He did it all without hesitation. And the longer he worked at the complex system, the faster he became.

"Hardware," Old Glory said, "time's up."

"One moment... Let me work this up... There!"

For a moment Team Gamma's hand-held computers went blank, but then the systems booted back up. Their screens came to life with new and improved charts and maps. Most importantly, the schematized information corresponded with the newly transformed Celestial Keep.

"Alright, everyone!" Old Glory hollered. "Light's green -- let's go."

The veteran war hero lead the squad to a near wall, only to have the wall iris open to reveal a passageway. They jogged down the passageway to an intersection and turned right. They continued down a series of halls, through doors, and finally up to the next level. Old Glory then halted, hand-signaling his squad to do the same. He heard a sound at the far end of the corridor.

Instantly, the area was flooded with monsters and robotic troopers. Harpies filled the air while Bushidos charged and opened fire.

"Resistance!" Old Glory warned, pressing himself against the corridor wall. "Take cover!"

The Watchman and Mercury Squad dodged and, before their malformed opponents could shoot another round, the team of military men fired their guns, dropping the first wave of Bushidos with a barrage of hot lead.

Old Glory lifted himself into the air. He swatted Harpies to the ground with his mighty hands, he tossed them to and fro, he gave himself an opening to move through. Lasers just missed the super-soldier and turned parts of the ceiling to slag. He moved past the fray now, giving himself room to coordinate an attack and to snipe the attackers with gravity beams. And with a wave after powerful wave, Old Glory dropped the mutants with gravitic force.

Yet, as Old Glory was about to return to Mercury Squad, a monstrous steel wall crashed down in front of him.

"Shit."

With the slamming of the wall, Old Glory was cut off from his team. And when he turned to find another way out, more steel walls clanged down and shut him off from other exits. He found himself in a newly formed anteroom.

"Watchman!" Old Glory cried into the radio built in his mask.

"Still here," came the reply, "but there's more muties than you can shake a stick at! We're holding our own for now, but don't miss any chances to finish things up or extraction could get messy!"

"Roger that! Hang tight," answered the super soldier.

Old Glory moved forward to explore the room he was in, and as he did, the section of floor he stood on started to rise. He rode the lifting platform, determined to face whatever Autocrat had planned for him. The platform took him to what appeared to be a cryonics chamber. The room was cold, deathly quiet, save for the steam hissing from the pipes that tangled about the walls. The steam formed great clouds, casting over the strange machinery and vats of chemicals, making the room an almost surreal setting.

Then, unaffected by the sibilant vapors, a man appeared and strode through the mist, stepping onto the narrow catwalk above the chamber. The man was tall, sinister looking, and marred by many battles. The man was a survivor.

"Rook," Old Glory said.

"You're here finally, patriot," Rook stated. "And ever since our last confrontation, I've felt the need for retribution."

"That's because I kicked you ass," Old Glory claimed.

Rook smiled. "I'm glad you're here."

"I don't really care." Old Glory mounted the steps, and slowly raised himself up onto the catwalk. "I'm gonna make this offer once, Rook. Surrender now and I'll see that the U.N. reduces your sentence."

Rook laughed. "Ah yes -- U.S. muscle-flexing. I see you're helping to promote the rumor that the United Nations is nothing but a league of bond servants working for the all-mighty Uncle Sam. You and your countrymen are nothing but hypocrites, standard bearer. And your swagger humors me."

Old Glory studied Rook for a moment. "I know fifteen ways to take you out from where I'm standing right now."

"Is that all, human?" Rook didn't appear impressed. "My cybernetic brain has downloaded the data of thirty of the world's best martial artists. I can calculate thousands of fight simulations before you take your first step, and my artificial nervous system allows me to execute the scenario with the outcome I like best. So it doesn't matter what you think you know. What you should know is that I've already beaten you."

Old Glory's eyes narrowed. "We're wasting time then..."

Black metal walls had sprung up, and isolated the Canadian Shield from the other members of Team Gamma. As Blockade turned to test one of the walls that barred them from the rest of their squad, Nereid's gaze shot towards the barrier that Jacob had disappeared behind. Her eyes betrayed her worry, as did the grip her teeth had on her lower lip, but her training held her firm.

"I'm sure he'll be all right, Nereid," Cavalier offered, sensing her anxiety. "But like Jacob, we've got a job to do, so let's do it."

Cavalier took in the scene with a quick glance, analyzing the potential battlefield. To the left was a wall that blocked the corridor Jacob had been sent down. To the front were two more corridors, one set in the left wall, the other sitting to front and left. Several paintings hung on the walls, while a mural, depicting a grim battlefield of death, bedecked the high vaulted ceiling. Six ornate columns, serving little purpose other than decoration, pretended to hold up the roof. Behind him was the large metal wall that had sealed them into this place.

"So what do you think, Blockade?" Cavalier asked, turning to the metal wall that trapped them. "How strong is it?"

Blockade cracked his knuckles, the reverberation of the sound actually causing a slight, momentary tremor. He then folded his monstrous arms across his equally gargantuan chest and studied the strange alloy before him. "Give me thirty seconds and you'll be asking 'what wall?'" The titan turned to Cavalier with a half-hearted smile.

Cavalier tensed, his sword flashing out at the ready, as his finely honed warrior senses sounded a clarion call of danger. A piece of the wall at the front slid open to allow seven new creatures to enter the room. As the opening closed, the seven newcomers stopped and positioned themselves in two lines. In the back were three vaguely humanoid giants, each standing well over twenty feet tall. In the front stood four individuals in medieval style armour -- two sported weapons, a third a shield, and the fourth nothing, but wearing a metal helm that covered his face.

Catamount tried to stifle a laugh for as long as he could, the laughter finally won out. "The Yeomen! You've got to be kidding. We're fighting the Yeomen?! Canada doesn't get any respect."

"Stay sharp, Shield," Cavalier cautioned. "They're still dangerous."

"Thou art indeed right, swordsman," the one called Pendragron replied. "Thy situation is not a matter of trifling importance. Lord Autocrat knows thy worth and bearing, and so thy defeat is already assured."

At a silent signal from Pendragon, Pelinore moved to open his helm. Instinctively, all but Blaze tensed and turned their eyes towards the movement. As Blaze shouted a word of warning, a wall of greenish flame erupted between the two parties blocking Pelinore's petrifying gaze.

Crouching low, a wicked, black, flaming scythe materialized in Blaze's hands. "Medusa's mine," he yelled over the roar of the fire as he sprung into action.

Somersaulting over the flames, Blaze rushed at Pelinore with incredible speed. Being careful to avoid the Yeoman's cursed stare, he quickly eliminated the distance between them. Startled, Constantine quickly swung his halberd at the onrushing Blaze. Rolling under the clumsy attack, Blaze twisted his scythe and chopped at Pelinore's legs with the wooden shaft. The armored Yeoman tumbled like a falling log, his helm slamming shut.

Jumping back towards one of the open corridors, Blaze goaded the suddenly prone Pelinore. "With a face like that, you must make Autocrat envious."

Pelinore started towards Blaze but stopped, waiting for Pendragon's word. Pendragon obliged, "You are released, Pelinore. Go and teach that uncouth demon a hard, stony lesson."

With permission being granted, Pelinore raced towards Blaze, following the hellraiser into a separate corridor. The air seemed to suddenly shimmer at the entrance of the corridor, the only evidence of the invisible force wall that now blocked the way back to the main area.

"Stay alert, corridors are trapped," Cavalier warned as the wall of flame died. "We take them one-to-one. Blaze has Pelinore. Sylph, Nereid -- Constantine. Catamount--" Cavalier was cut off as the two-bladed swordsman, Tamorak, launched at him. Cavalier barely blinked as his rugged, stocky compatriot intercepted Tamorak in the air, propelling the Yeoman out of the swordsman's way. "Fine, Catamount -- you have Tamorak."

Catamount and Tamorak rolled together, struggling for the upper hand. As they came to a stop Catamount was on top of Tamorak, his pupils narrowed to tiny slits. "Hey, Tam-o-runt," Catamount growled, holding onto the Yeomen's wrists; "welcome to a simple peasant's payback." Tamorak flipped his wrists, starting to bring his twin swords to bare, but Catamount was already off as the blades slashed at the air.

As the room started to hum with activity, three neo-Formori giants walked forward. The military had categorized these mutants as "Trolls," giving the neo-Formori's ungodly appearance and their resemblance to the mythic monsters. Every step the Trolls took caused the floor to quake.

"Blockade, you've got--" Cavalier began.

The Canadian Shield's resident strong man moved forward, cutting off Cavalier and flexing his massive muscles. "Let me guess -- I got Nasty, Gruesome and Ugly."

As Blockade turned his head toward Cavalier, one of the Trolls rushed forward with incredible speed. Catching Blockade off guard, the giant slammed into the strongman, carrying him backwards. The former wrestler's fists slammed into the giant's back as he tried to struggle out of the beast's grip. The two slammed into a large bulkhead, the impact causing the metal to buckle and then fall away.

The monster let go of its grip after connecting with the wall, as Blockade slid several more feet along the ground to stop by Omega's feet. A simple "shut up" was all Blockade offered before quickly getting back up.

"I love you too," Omega smirked. "Now kick his ass." While I sit on mine, he added to himself.

Rushing back into the fray, Blockade ducked under the swing of one massive fist, letting loose a ferocious blow to the giant's knee. As the neo-Formori began to topple, Blockade brought his hands together and baseball-swung his fists into the mutant's sternum. The giant was lobbed backwards through the air and into one of the six pillars in the amphitheater, splintering and utterly destroying the decorative column.

Blockade cringed at the damage he made and quipped, "Oops -- that looked expensive." He then marched towards the other two Trolls. He angled about the brutes, his arms at the ready, his fingers splayed and prepared to grab or curl into fists. They were like three bulls ready to wreak havoc in china shop.

Cavalier focused on the last remaining Yeoman, moving into a defensive stance. The Yeoman's shield seemed to flicker, the stars on the shield appearing to come together.

"That would leave you and me, swordsmen."

Jacob examined the large metal wall that had sprung up, separating him from the other members of his team.  Jacob pushed on it, trying to get a sense of its strength.  It felt considerably strong and solid.  Turning, he decided to ignore the wall for the moment.  He looked around at the long, wide corridor that stretched out before him.  It was featureless except for the grey, slick metal that surrounded him on all sides.  He looked up and judged the high, arched ceiling to be a good ten meters from the ground.  Hearing a sudden inrush of air far to the front, Jacob tensed, preparing himself.

A tall, blond Royal floated out of an aperture in the ceiling and towards Jacob.  His piercing eyes and chiseled features were evocative of any number of classical works of art.  His bearing was noble and proud, accentuated by the long crimson cape he wore and the gold trim over much of his clothes.  His smile was full of mocking contempt.  Jacob knew exactly who he was facing.  While a part of himself was glad he wasn't up against the likes of a Mastodon, Jacob knew that Proctor would be no push-over.  Remembering the dossiers he had been given, he remembered Proctor's capabilities: flight, resilience to harm, incredible strength, and the ability to generate psychokinetic constructs.

Jacob waited silently as Proctor approached.  Stopping several meters away, Proctor's smirk grew as he bowed derisively. "An angel coming to the base that will serve as the capital and centre of the world.  Have you come to offer divine consent?  After all, kings and nobility ruled as God's representatives on earth.  Actually, I think I have that wrong -- the kings and nobles become gods after they realized 'God' did not exist."

Jacob merely stared forward, his face impassive.  After waiting for a response, Proctor continued, starting to float around the angelic figure.  "We already have the son of a god within our ranks, maybe you'd like to be our angel?  Since you defeated Vamp you might be worthy, but something tells me you just don't have the heart for it, or the birth."

"The undead have a nasty habit of rising from the dead,"  Jacob commented wryly.

"Perhaps, but maybe--" Proctor started but was cut off.

"Listen, I've never been big on chatting with elitist mass murderers and baby-killers.  Let's just get to the pounding-the-crap-out-of-each-other part, alright?"  Jacob said, not bothering to hide his growing disdain.  "Besides, from what I've read about you, you're still going to be vomiting up a bunch of words during all this anyway, so let's just get started."

"Of course," Proctor replied, his blue eyes widening.  "True victory lies in showing your foe the error of his ways before extinguishing his life.  Let me teach you yours."  Proctor lanced out with a translucent bolt of energy, the only true indication of its existence was the thundering impact ringing behind Jacob as he dove to the side.

Jacob rolled on the floor once, gaining his feet.  He looked up to see Proctor's hand move. A massive column of diaphanous force slammed down towards the ground.  Jacob again dove to his right, extending his wings and flying a few meters to put distance between himself and the Royal.  The ground where Jacob once stood shook violently.  Small eddies of air formed and died, caught between the ground and the dissolving column.

Proctor smirked. "Do you yield?  Will you submit to our right authority and pledge yourself to our cause, just as the Emissary has?  You must know you cannot win.  We are, after all, the future of this planet."

Jacob landed softly on the floor, instinctively folding his wings back into place.  He knew Proctor wanted an answer, something which he could twist and latch onto.  It was a petty mind game and Jacob knew it.  He would have no words with Proctor, until Jacob deemed it time.  Against one who liked to babble during battle, silence was an edge.

"What?  No witty, yet base and plebeian comeback?" Proctor finally spat, a noticeable vein pulsing on his neck and jaw.  "No matter, you've obviously accepted our rightness -- you just can't admit it.  That is a sign of weakness, and the weak must perish."

Jacob could see Proctor preparing another strike, and in the Royal's arrogance he was taking his time.  Jacob stared straight ahead and whispered to no one in particular, "I need you."

In the next moment, as Proctor let out a bolt of force intended to smash through Jacob's chest, a second source of energy, a lance of light, shot out.  The light and force met between the two combatants and exploded into each other, sending small shockwaves and flashes of light in all directions.  As Proctor turned back towards Jacob, after the shards of light had dissipated, he saw the angelic figure glowing brighter, his wings slightly unfurled.  Within the aura that encompassed Jacob, Proctor noticed bits of red, yellow and orange being born and streaking through the light.

Jacob felt his fists clench and unclench, his breathing coming heavily.  He was not tired but rather, like was written in an ancient text, his breathing raged like a bull elephant having caught sight of his compeer.  He could feel the surge of energy swirling within.  He could feel the light that surrounded and penetrated him, filling him with its energy.  But he could also feel something else.  He could feel the being within bursting forth to the surface, not as dominant or submissive, but rather as equal.  Something within his mind clicked.  It felt right.

Suddenly, centuries of experience were being brought to bear in Jacob's mind, techniques and tactics he never would have thought of.  At the same time, Jacob could feel himself pushing outwards with his mind.  He could feel the connection being made between himself and the angel within, and could begin to hear voices at the edge of his mind.  He locked his eyes onto Proctor, focusing his growing mental abilities.  Jacob didn't need to know exactly what the Royal Elite was thinking, and probably didn't want to, all he needed was the flashes of thought that sparked action.  That fraction of a second of foreknowledge might prove an advantage in the battle ahead.

Jacob raised himself into the air and rushed towards the cocky, young Elite.  As Jacob flashed forward he rolled to his right, an instant before Proctor brought a blast of force-generated power to bear.  However, Jacob wasn't able to dodge a second solid strike to his right wing.  Going with the punch, he twisted upwards, aiming low, and shot a beam of light at Proctor's leg.  Throwing himself to the horizontal, Proctor dodged the beam as it slightly seared one of his long, black boots.  He barely managed to deflect a second shot away from his head.

The two stared, measuring the other.  Finally, Proctor could hold his tongue no longer. "The fight is truly and well engaged.  I will enjoy teaching you what it means to fight a true Royal Elite."

The two men flew at each other, lashing out with all the weapons at their disposal: Proctor's strength and toughness matched by Jacob's speed and grace.  Jacob's light was countered by Proctor's force control.  Even as they swung and shot at each other they remained close, neither wanted to show any signs of weakness that attacks at range might suggest.  The battle raged.

Rook's bio-mechanical fist was a blur. It's impact across Old Glory's jaw, however, was as subtle as a wrecking ball. The patriot rolled with the punch as best he could, striking the far wall with a dull thud.

"Is that all you've got?" Old Glory goaded through a bruised face.

"Oh, there's much more where that came from," answered Rook with a feral grin.

Old Glory rushed forward -- and again Rook sent him flailing end over end. The metallic wall rattled from the impact.

Clearly Rook wasn't exaggerating his own capabilities. He had been upgraded, his cyborg components far faster and stronger than when Old Glory encountered him before. Even his fighting style seemed unorthodox. Old Glory expected to fight a brawler. Instead, he was face to face with a literal combat machine, a warrior able to adapt and change his fighting style with the speed of a mainframe.

This is taking too long, thought the patriot. A few more hits like the last one and we can score one for the Bad Guys. Not being able to get in a good shot is bad enough, but the bastard's gloating is...

A plan began to form, born out of equal parts of hope and desperation. He had noticed a large chamber with a very wide and  deep shaft at it's center. If I can maneuver the fight into that room, I might have a chance. Have to do it carefully though, especially if he really does have my past tactics stored in his database...

"C'mon, Rook," he said between ragged breaths. "My grandmother... hits harder than that."

Old Glory took a step in the direction of the chamber.

"Does she? Perhaps I should synthesize her combat skills as well," countered Rook. "She clearly didn't teach them to you."

Old Glory let fly with a combination of punches that would have flattened another opponent. Rook blocked each punch and countered with a rapid series of strikes, the last of which almost certainly cracked a rib.

"You disappoint me, patriot," sneered Rook. "No witty rejoinder? No attempt to anger me, hoping I'll make an error? Even your attempt to maneuver the fight into the next chamber is transparent. Perhaps you hope you'll be able to 'use the environment against me.' You no longer have the necessary skill to fool me, Faded Glory."

The scar covered cyborg attacked again with another combination, nearly every blow carrying with a bioelectric charge. Old Glory attempted to block one with a piece of equipment of indeterminate purpose. Despite his efforts, he was knocked far into the chamber, coming dangerously close to the shaft. The remains of the equipment skittered the remaining distance to the rim and went over the edge. Old Glory never heard it hit the bottom.

He stood slowly as Rook approached again, both hands glowing with bioelectric power. Have to time this right...

Rook charged suddenly and struck Old Glory hard, sparks flying from the point of impact. Old Glory flew back from the force of the blow, sailing across the impossibly deep shaft. He landed hard on the floor on the opposite side of the chamber, the glow of his force field fading as his battlesuit lost power.

Rook, looking at the groggy hero with cybernetic eyes, noted the absence of the power flow in Old Glory's battlesuit. He approached slowly, a look of triumph on his face.

"You have lost, Lowborn. Your cause was folly and you have once more proven how unworthy you and your kind are," said Rook, his voice dripping with contempt. "Your end is at hand..."

Old Glory looked up at the approaching villain, noting the confidence with which he walked, even swaggered. Through teeth clenched in pain, he said "You believe you're better than the rest of us? Your victory came from stolen skills. You could never have beaten me yourself -- you're too weak on your own..."

Rage welled behind Rook's eyes.

"It is unfortunate that you won't live long enough to fully regret your words," he said to the fallen patriot, as he prepared to strike a final time.

"As a recent acquaintance might say," Old Glory replied, "'Bite me, asshole.'"

The capacitors in Old Glory's battlesuit flared to life and he let loose a blast of gravitic energy that caught Rook full in the chest. Rook left the ground and sailed in a neat arc to fall into opening of the bottomless shaft. The ruse had worked -- faking damage and loss of power to the battlesuit had caused Rook to let his guard down.

Despite all of his enhancements, Rook had forgotten that no matter how good you are, there's always someone better.

"I'm very impressed, old man. Rook was amped up enough to take on three of you."

Old Glory whirled, prepared to attack the newcomer despite his physical depletion.

Harbinger held up his hands, palms outward in a gesture of non-aggression.

"Easy, there soldier. I'm not here to add to your injuries. In fact, I'm here to ask your help...

"...and that is the reason why the strongest, the Elite, are destined to rule," Proctor finished expounding, hurling his opponent across the room with a force-generated blast of power.

Jacob righted himself as he flew, turning to face the blond-haired Royal.  Jacob could feel the force still being exerted by Proctor, pushing him faster through the air.  Jacob relaxed, willing his muscles to untense for a few seconds.  A moment before impacting against a wall, Jacob threw himself forward in flight.  It didn't prevent him slamming against the wall, but it did cushion some of the bone-jarring impact.

The glowing, angelic figure slowly slid to the floor, shaking his head.  As his sight cleared, he saw the young Royal flying towards him, a look of maniacal glee etched on his face.  As Jacob dove to the side to avoid a powerful punch, launching a knee into the prancing fop's stomach, he couldn't help but think he was developing a rather strong, personal distaste for this particular Royal.

For Tommy Champion, the largest metahuman conflict in fifteen years had turned into something of an anti-climax. Old Glory had ordered him to hold back and serve as an emergency reserve: a sound tactical decision, but a heartbreaking way to use someone whose gut told him he was born to fight. So Omega watched the battles and waited.

Overhead, a set of huge monitors displayed scenes of battle like giant comic book panels. He watched as the Ensigns dueled against some of the more lethal members of the Elite. He chafed when Mastodon took a throne, lifted it high over his head and used it like a club on the White Ensign. He watched Pendragon and Cavalier engage in a duel that took them to every part of the battlefield and made Flynn and Rathbone look like poseurs, and all he did was watch. He watched as Blockade wrestled three Neo-Fomori (the Elite's genetically engineered hulking brutes) at once -- and still he did nothing. Occasionally, a mutant wandered to his corner and harassed him, and Omega responded by knocking it out with a single punch, then went back to sulking like a wide receiver who was waiting too long for his play to be called.

In the middle of his fight, Blockade noticed Omega standing in the back of the foyer, grinned at him, and kicked a Neo-Fomori like a soccer ball at his feet. Omega lowered his head, kicked the unconscious mutant back into the throne room and snapped: "This sucks!"

But there were still things he could do: Tommy monitored the battle, magically conjured an overview of the battle, and transmitted it into several heroes' HUD. Great work, he thought to himself, I get to be the black chick while Glory plays Captain Kirk. He scanned the area for any signs of Autocrat, but the Elite's leader was nowhere in sight.

After about three minutes of monitoring and listening to the shouts, to watching punches that impacted with the force of tank rounds and the discharge of energy bolts whose power was equivalent to a battlefield nuke, the restless Nebraskan had finally seen enough. "Glory, I'm getting an itchy punching finger here!" he shouted over the heroes' reserved frequency. There was nothing on Old Glory's frequency but static, as somewhere down two corridors and through several broken walls, the Rook's technological advantage was tearing apart Glory's suit. "Glory, answer me!"

So what do you do when the commander goes down? Omega debated whether he should go in and help against Constantine or Pelinore, but finally a radio transmission stopped him in his tracks -- Old Glory had just had finished a frantic conversation with Harbinger. "Omega, keep your damn voice down... ," Old Glory finally rasped.

"You sound like shit," Tommy said. Impatience gave way to concern -- he shouldn't have had that many problems with a second stringer like Rook, should he? "I'm coming in...," Omega promised.

"Negative." Old Glory suppressed an urge to cough. "Immediately proceed to detention level three. Look for a ten-year-old girl who answers to the name 'Nancy Moore.' Your job is to extract her from the Keep."

Tommy nodded -- inward, he told himself the rescue was a waste of time unless they expected the Keep to blow, but he also didn't want to see any more children suffer in this holocaust. Old Glory sensed his reticence. "This is important, Omega," the veteran added. "Succeed, and we'll be able to turn Avatar."

"All right!" Omega exclaimed. He didn't question how Glory came to this conclusion; he was just glad to have suddenly been given new life and new motivation. "I'm on the way!"

Harbinger held up his hand and briefed Old Glory about a potentially lethal obstacle. Old Glory then reported to Omega. "The cell's booby-trapped. It sets off... "

"Telekinetic ring constructs, the size of a lithium atom across," Harbinger explained.

"... atom thin force rings...," Old Glory relayed.

"Sounds like a standard slice and dice trap." Omega pondered the problem. "So what's the trigger?"

"Visual friend or foe confirmation, within a thirty foot range of the cell, but there's a kicker." Old Glory relayed Harbinger's data again. "Autocrat has a device that detects the use of any psionic powers within a 200-yard radius. If anyone starts getting fancy... "

"The Elite gets to dine on kid ragu," Omega spat. By his own admission, Omega wasn't the nicest guy on the planet, but he had trouble understanding the depths that someone less moral than himself would sink to. "I understand."

"Be careful. One wrong move, and... " Glory looked at Harbinger. "We lose our shot at Avatar."

"The pretty boy had better not forget that," Harbinger threatened.

"He won't," Old Glory promised, not entirely certain why his faith in Omega was as solid as it was.

"Thanks for the heads up," Omega told Glory. "Time to go to work," he added to himself. He didn't want to waste time fighting through unnecessary obstacles like the melee in the throne room, so the young hero transformed himself into a spirit and sank through the floor. The lower levels of the Celestial Keep were vast networks of corridors and chambers, impossible for the uninformed to navigate -- fortunately, Old Glory had Harbinger to provide him with a running commentary of the Keep's layout. "How do you know all this, Glory?" Omega finally asked.

"Not on an open channel, Omega," Old Glory replied, looking at Harbinger. "Just do it."

"I copy... old man." Omega affirmed the order with a smile, and followed the soldier's instructions into the bowels of Autocrat's "Heaven."

On the surface, Harbinger shook his head and welled his fists in frustration. "Omega. Of all the heroes on earth, it just had to be him!" Harbinger finally muttered, remembering how unimpressive he found Omega during their first meeting.

"So let me get this straight, your special gift is looking ugly?" Blaze asked sardonically, as he continued further down the corridor they had entered and away from the main battle.

Pelinore kept pursuing the hellraiser, trying to get closer so there would be less opportunity for his opponent to escape his petrifying gaze. As Blaze spun, performing a backward pirouette, he stopped in front of the Yeomen. Moving his arm quickly, Pelinore reached for his visor. In a flash, Blaze's flaming scythe had knocked the hand away, sweeping down to scoop the Yeoman's feet from under him. Crashing to the ground, Pelinore began to rise, only to be smashed down again as Blaze planted the butt of the scythe into the Yeoman's chest and proceeded to pole vault over him. Sweeping the scythe up and back, Blaze looked down at his foe, a smirk growing across his face. Blaze knew he could easily fly over Pelinore's body, but this was so much more fun.

"On the other hand, you and Autocrat must be able to share a lot, what with you both embarrassed to show your whole face to the world and all." Blaze offered. Three quick motions of the scythe later and Pelinore was on stomach, Blaze using the Yeoman's back this time as a pole vault pit. "'Ooh, Pelinore, I just must know what kind of cream you use to keep your face so pale and supple.'"

As Pelinore struggled to his feet, he was suddenly met by a series of strokes and slashes as the expertly wielded scythe flew into motion. Blow after blow pushed the Yeoman back as the deadly scythe was swung again and again. He blocked the blows with his steel-plated armour or dodged when necessary, waiting for the opportunity to counter-attack. He had been well-trained in martial pursuits but knew most people only saw him for his ability to turn things into stone. Let the demon tire himself out, Pelinore thought, confident in his abilities despite the current frenzy of attacks.

The demon stopped, jumping back into a defensive crouch. Pelinore noticed that his foe seemed to be breathing hard. The Yeoman's face twisted into a mockery of a smile, unnoticed by anyone else due to his closed helm. Now was the time to counter-attack with his own strength before opening up his visor for the killing stroke. Something felt out of place as he brought his arms up; there seemed to be something wrong with his armour. As he shifted his shoulders, the steel plates that protected his arms fell off. Looking down, he noticed the steel arm guards cut cleanly in two.

Blaze's eyes seemed to literally burn with mischief, "Hmm, wonder how that happened?"

Pelinore's hands quickly shot to his visor, but not as quickly as Blaze's scythe. With one quick upward slash and a twirl in the air before bring down the scythe on the opposite side of Pelinore, the Yeoman's arms were forced away from opening his helm. With a backhand motion, the handle of the scythe clunked into Pelinore's helm, momentarily stunning him. An instant later something dropped from one of Blaze's hands to the feet of Pelinore.

Blaze jumped back from the dazed Yeoman, "Let's see how well tempered that armour of yours is, shall we?"

With that the small ball of hellfire at Pelinore's feet leaped into life. A column of yellow-orange flame encircled the Yeoman, finding its way through the cracks in his armour to lick at the skin underneath. At the same time the supernatural flame heated the armour itself, parts of the metal melting into flesh. His body wanted desperately to rip at the armour, flinging it off him, but he believed despite the pain it was causing, it still offered some protection from the flaming scythe. Noticing the hellspawn casually watching the flames lick at his body, Pelinore forced himself through the pain. He thrust back his visor quickly and jolted forward out of the flame.

As Pelinore stumbled out of the hellfire and into the open, he noted with satisfaction Blaze's stony expression: a smug smile, with a hint of growing surprise. Trying to put out the fires from his clothing, Pelinore made a mental note to chip off the demon's head and present as a gift to Lord Autocrat.

Tamorak savagely swung his twin swords, eager to cut into the flesh of the cat-like member of the Canadian Shield in front of him. Each time, they met nothing but empty air where moments before a limb or other part of flesh used to be. Clawed hands swept forward, eager themselves to find blood. For the moment, the speed and agility of both combatants prevented either from striking the other. But the long reach of Tamorak's swords were helping to slowly push Catamount backwards.

Catamount was not unaware of this fact. As a savage sword thrust swept towards him, he deftly leapt into the air, grabbing onto one of the ornamental pillars in the room. As Tamorak quickly leapt after Catamount, blades outstretched, the cat-man leapt, one step ahead. Somersaulting into the air, he landed and clutched higher onto another pillar. Tamorak once again followed suit.

This continued until both men were nearly at the ceiling. When Catamount couldn't go any higher, he turned and waited for a fraction of a second. In the next flashing moment of time several things happened: as Tamorak lunged, Catamount slipped down the pillar before leaping upwards. Hurtling underneath the rapidly descending swords, Catamount barrelled into Tamorak and twisted. With his feet suddenly under the Yeoman's stomach, Catamount pushed out propelling the Yeoman towards a wall. As the Yeoman turned to cushion the impact from the wall, Catamount followed, pushing out from a pillar.

The tide of the fight quickly began to turn.

Constantine swung his massive halberd at the nimble water sprite in front of him, his body working from fighting reflexes. As he moved a step closer to Nereid, he could sense a flightish pixie moving behind him. His right elbow flew back, grazing something. As he focused his concentration back to Nereid, he suddenly felt himself slipping, off-balance. In the fraction of a second of distraction, a puddle of water had formed beneath his feet. As he moved to regain his footing, a sudden blast of wind pushed him back, nearly toppling the hulking Yeoman.

Steadying himself with a hand against a wall, Constantine regripped his halberd and promptly resumed swinging his deadly weapon. He attacked them on the left, hoping to drive the two twins into a corner. He needed to reduce the twins mobility, a corner might be able to do just that. However, as Sylph flew back and away from Nereid, it didn't look like the two sisters would be corralled so easily.

The Yeoman's anger grew as he continued swinging at the two young women. "Your defiance is only increasing your future pain. Your defeat in this battle as well as this war is already assured."

A sudden flurry of attacks by the two sisters momentarily pushed the Yeoman back. All the combatants paused, preparing themselves for the next round.

Constantine continued, "In the future you will either be a subject of the High Lord Autocrat, or a slave." Running his eyes over the two, nubile, young women he added, "I'd prefer you being the latter."

"Oh please." Nereid rolled her eyes. "Like we haven't heard that one before. Why can't people like you come up with anything original? Considering we can hold our own against you physically, why do you think sexual threats would do anything at all?"

"Except make us want to beat you even more," Sylph piped up.

Constantine charged forward again, his halberd whipping through the air. Sylph and Nereid easily dodged out of the way and took up the fight once again.

"It's part of a whole sexual compensation reaction," Nereid continued, flipping away from a vicious downward slash.

Sylph looked confused for a moment. Adjusting the wind currents in the room, her eyes finally dawned in comprehension; "He's got a small thingy!"

"Exactly." Nereid replied as Constantine turned to swing at Sylph. As he did, a sudden gust of wind drove him nearly to the tips of his toes. A quick leg sweep by Nereid and the Yeoman almost fell to the ground, stumbling to slump momentarily against the wall instead. "Why else do you think he has to play with such a long stick?"

Jacob flew back a few meters, catching his breath and preparing himself.  He stretched out his hand and steadied himself against the wall that had come down, trapping him in this corridor to begin with.  Suddenly an image flashed into his mind: Nereid ducking as a halberd slashed inches above her head, a sudden look of fear scarring her delicate features.

"Nereid!" Jacob yelled instinctively, regardless of the wall that separated them.

Proctor's fist smashed into Jacob's stomach knocking the wind out of him and hurling him backwards.  Before he had time to think he was being thrown through the air, the angel's body jolted as he bounced off a nearby wall, leaving an impression of him marring its slick surface.  Then Jacob was up again, only to be smashed against another wall, then another.

Proctor smiled, baring his perfect teeth.  "Ah, you are concerned for Nereid's well-being. Constantine is showing her just what kind of cutthroat he is."  The Royal scooped up Jacob's limp form and casually hurled him across the room.  The angel landed with a sickening thud, sliding across the floor on Proctor's discarded cape.  "But fret not, both you and her will be fish food."

Jacob tried to gulp down air but felt nothing, just a choking sensation as his head swam.  He forced back the unconsciousness that threatened to envelope him, focusing instead on the pain he felt in every muscle, every bone, and every joint of his body.  It was excruciating, but at least it was real, something tangible which he could cling to.  Then he was airborne once again, picking up speed before smashing against the high ceiling.  He dropped to the floor below, not even able to break his fall.  Flight took a level of consciousness that he was still struggling towards.

Dimly, Jacob was aware that Proctor was walking towards him.  He could feel a sense of exultation mingled with weariness coming from the crimson and gold attired Royal.  Jacob stilled himself.  He didn't move, only struggled for breath on the floor.  The battle was not yet over, but possibly the arrogant renaissance man would think it was.  Jacob waited, gathering his strength.

"You see," Proctor began, wiping away a small measure of his own blood from his lips onto his tattered crimson sleeve.  "The weak must fall before the strong, and throughout the centuries the strong have always been the nobility, the aristocracy.  We are destined to rule not only by our own strength, but even by the decree of your heavenly protector above -- take a look at history and you will see I'm right.  You could have been one of our servants, possibly even a herald, but like those others who would fight against us, you cannot see the necessity of removing the chaff from the wheat.  Pity."

Proctor moved until he was nearly on top of his prone, unmoving foe.  Proctor wanted to savor this moment -- the moment of absolute victory.  He had done what Autocrat had commanded and taken out the angelic Jacob.  Soon he could turn his attention to other battles, and help to annihilate the other metahumans that had dared challenge the Royal Elite's right to rule.  But first he wanted to show the would-be angel his complete mastery.  He bent at the waist and grabbed Jacob's hair, forcing Jacob's head to face his own.  Proctor smiled at the dead, lackluster eyes that stared back at him.  Victory was indeed sweet.

"As for your Nereid, your dying word, Constantine is a reasonable man.  Both her and her twin sister are certainly worthy of further interest, perhaps even earning the honour of being a concubine if they are not slain outright.  If you beg for your life as my slave I might even allow you to watch as I release my manly urges upon her.  And if she does not prove submissive enough," Proctor said dismissively, his lip curling into a half snarl, "she can always be used as a simple whore."

Something snapped within Jacob.  The last straw had been broken and burned.  As Jacob's eyes flared to life, his hands flashed in movement.  A sickening cracking sound could be heard, followed by a scream that would have made every man within hearing distance wince in shared memory of pain.  Proctor would not be releasing any kind of manly urges anytime soon.  As Proctor was doubled over in pain, his mouth open in a scream, light lanced upwards burning his throat and mouth and hurling him backwards away from Jacob.

Jacob stirred from the ground and stood. "The only whore who has any bearing on this encounter is the one that gave birth to your great-great-grandfather."  The voice of Jacob and the angel spoke.  Two voices harmonized into one, as his aura crackled and flashed with energy.

Launching himself towards the still stunned Proctor, Jacob flew low to the ground.  As he flew forward, light lanced out of his hands and into Proctor's chest, lifting him slightly off the ground.  With a blinding move, the angel smashed into Proctor and accelerated, stopping scant feet from slamming into an opposing wall.  The blond Royal was not so lucky as he let out a garbled cry before his head whiplashed into solid metal.

Proctor concentrated through his pain, releasing a wave of force in front of him like a bulldozer.  He knew it wasn't his strongest effort, but he hoped it would carry Jacob momentarily away and buy himself some time to refocus.  Proctor realized he had unconsciously outstretched his right hand only when he started to feel its flesh being seared.  The next moment he was clutching at a stump where his elbow and forearm used to be, a shimmering blade having passed through it.  Suddenly, the Royal Elite was aware of how some of his victim's might have felt as he smelt his own burning flesh.  He rocked back, trying to stem his body's sense of shock.  As he rocked forward an intense light flared into his eyes, blinding him temporary to the outside world.

A voice crashed upon Proctor's ears somewhere above him; it was Jacob's.  "I have heard more than enough of your trite, nonsensical, dogmatic ideology."  A burning sensation ripped at Proctor's gut, as his eyes began to clear only to see himself surrounded in darkness.  The voice continued, "Now, it's my turn."

Proctor smiled within the globe of darkness.  Perfect, he thought, just keep the foolish pigeon talking and give myself a chance to regroup.  "A peasant should--" Proctor began then abruptly stopped.  The inky blackness rose as a blast of light rocked into Proctor, knocking him onto his hands and face.

"I was not finished," came Jacob's calm reply.  As he spoke, Jacob continued hammering on the prone form of Proctor with searing beams of light, not allowing the Royal a moments rest or a chance to rise.  "The basic idea of you and your Royal Elite seems to be that the nobility, representing the strongest and best of the world, are the world's only fitting rulers.  All others, all those peasants, will either bow to you or will be purged as weak.  The hard truth is, you have no power to ultimately rule -- that power lies with the people; those screaming, hungry masses."

"You don't believe me?"  Jacob asked, punctuating his question with a blast of light to one of Proctor's legs.  Jacob didn't wait for an answer.  "Let's look at history and I will be as selective as you are: the Roman Caesar's ruled only at the discretion of the soldier's beneath them.  Want proof, look at the Praetorian Guard, non-nobles who could dictate and command the policy of many a Caesar.  Take a look at the humble iron plow, wielded by the serfs in their fields, which caused the downfall and chronic weakness of the English Monarchy: it allowed more ground to be tilled, increasing the flow of goods, and the rise of the gentry and middle-classes.  The Magna Carta is born and in a few short centuries the roundheads, the peasants, easily crushed the nobility in battle after battle.  It was the peasants, the masses, that chose what government they would have rule them, not the Elite."

Jacob shook his head.  "I don't need to delve too deeply into the French Revolution except to say that when the people finally revolted, the crown of an 'absolute monarchy' came crashing down."  Jacob lowered himself to the ground.  He felt a strange need to make this fight personal.  "As for Italy, when the nationalist masses determined it was time for a change, the aristocratic bastions crumbled; not even the Pope was immune.  There are many more examples I could offer."

Jacob touched down nearly on top of the prone Proctor.  Taking a firm hold of Proctor's left arm, Jacob turned the Elite so that they could see each other eye-to-eye.  Proctor was waiting for that moment, releasing a pillar of force at the angel above him.  Unfortunately for Proctor, Jacob's grip on his arm held firm.  As Proctor's control of the force pillar broke, both men flew into the air.

Proctor struggled to gain control of his powers as Jacob twisted in the air.  With his mind distracted, Proctor had barely enough time to notice the ceiling before slamming into it.  A sudden force wall helped to cushion some of the blow but not all of it.  The Royal quickly changed his tactics.

Focusing on Jacob, and ignoring their plummet back to the ground, Proctor concentrated his powers on crushing the life out of the annoying angel.  Smashing back to the floor, Jacob could feel his body constricting, his head feeling like it was in a vise.  Jacob's anger grew; Proctor would not win this one, the blood of too many innocents called out for vengeance.  Despite the force being exerted on him, Jacob pulled himself towards Proctor.  Getting close enough, Jacob's fist exploded into Proctor's right kidney.  Proctor struggled to keep control of the pressure tearing at Jacob, as the angelic figure began to repeatedly smash his fist into the Elite's face.  Finally, Proctor's crushing force fell.  Jacob, too, released his hold and was promptly shoved several meters away.  Both men stayed motionless, gulping in air.

Slowly regaining his feet, Jacob turned as Proctor began to stir.  Jacob spoke, his breath ragged.  "And in regards to religion and your ideas: East to West -- China and Japan, the Mandate from Heaven.  An easy way of saying that those who lose the trust and support of the people deserve to be overthrown.  Hinduism: four castes, interesting thing is that there are no ksatriyas -- the warriors, the kings, the ruling caste.  Why?  They were all killed long ago.  As for the triad in the West -- the funny thing is that there is no divine sanction for kings.  The 'biblical' basis for kings and kingdoms was due to the frailty of human nature, not because of any divine desire."

The two men stared at each other, both somehow knowing what was to come.  "The conquerors, the strong, the Elite, they flash into existence and then fade away.  Only the masses, pulled by a conflicting sense of solidarity and their own desire for freedom, truly remain."  Jacob breathed in deeply, preparing himself.  As if by an unseen cue, both men initiated what would be their final contest.

Jacob's blinding beam of light bounced off the wall of force Proctor had erected.  Jacob continued to pump energy into the light beam, as Proctor continually reinforced his invisible wall.  Both men were throwing everything they had into this one deciding moment; the loser would be drained of everything, the victor able to determine the battle's outcome.

As Proctor, his body battered but his will still determined, continued to flex his wall he noticed, almost imperceptibly, that his wall was proving stronger than the angel's light.  He would win.  In the end, as was only right, Jacob was not as strong as a man of noble blood.  A smile crossed Proctor's face as he pushed out against the light, gaining an inch.  Jacob returned the smile as the lights in the room began to flicker.  The inch was lost.

Jacob moved forward, continuing the assault of light.  Proctor focused on the force wall in front of him, strengthening it, pushing his last reserves of energy into it.  It held, but barely.  The lights continued to flicker, and then, inextricably, the room went dark.  No, Proctor dimly noticed, it hadn't gone dark, rather it was as if the light in the room was draining into Jacob himself.  Proctor strained against the new energy, hoping to find a way around it, but his own strength was almost gone.  And then, the wall broke.

Light burned and seared into Proctor's face and still it continued.  He sought to block it with his hands, but to no effect.  Slowly, he began to move, propelled by the force of the light itself.  He could feel his skin peeling away, his flesh burning, as the sweetness of unconsciousness overwhelmed him.

Jacob finally stopped, falling to his hands and knees and trying to focus the four Proctors in his head into one image.  As he began to recover he could see and smell his own handiwork.  Most of Proctor's pretty blond hair had been burned away, his face charred and broken.  One eye looked deformed, unusable, while his nose was virtually non-existent.  His once immaculate clothing was torn, singed and stained with blood and other material.  Slowly, very slowly, Jacob got to his feet.

A deep voice sounded in Jacob mind -- there is still a debt to be paid.  Jacob nodded.  He slowly started to make his way over to Proctor's still form.  A slight moan and a buzzing in Jacob's head told him that his foe was returning to consciousness.

"To sum up: the strong, the Elite, can only truly rule by an explicit or implicit mandate of the masses.  And the masses hate you."  Jacob's eyes flashed as he stopped beside Proctor, the Royal Elite's body twitching and groaning.

Proctor painfully opened one eye, trying to locate the voice above him.  He couldn't make out anything distinctly, only basic shapes and images.  He noticed a shadow fall across him and tried to focus on it.  He tried to summon some of his powers, but they were gone, exhausted.  He looked back up, searching for Jacob's face.

Jacob voice rose again in a strange dual harmony, "There is one ancient law that must still be satisfied."  Jacob's right arm moved to the side, as he breathed in.  "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth... "  He moved his left hand over top of his right.  Drawing his left hand back, a shimmering, multi-coloured blade seemed to form from his palm.  "...a life, for how many lives?"

Proctor noticed an increase in light as something seemed to come into existence.  As a long, thin multi-hued light was raised above his head, he noticed that it was oddly beautiful.  Reaching its zenith, the light stroked down.  Proctor's thoughts ceased.

Pelinore rested against one of the walls in the corridor, his breathing heavy and his body crying out in pain. He had tried to remove his breastplate but soon realized far too much flesh was sticking to the metal. Though certainly not ideal, the metal at least sealed the burns for the moment. His red and charred arms and legs, too, were testament to the horrific force of the hellfire. He gathered his strength to return to the battle in the main room.

He stared at the column of hellfire in front of him with a wary eye. It had not dissipated with the defeat of its master. Instead, it appeared almost undecided as to what to do next. It didn't move, but the orange-green flames continued to hiss and crackle in a controlled column. Pelinore shifted his back further up the wall he was leaning against. Orange-green flames? He watched intently as the flames seemed to turn colour from yellow-orange to various shades of green. Suddenly the column of hellfire shot away, forming around the stony statue of Blaze.

As the green flames licked at the granite, chunks of stone began to drop off. Pelinore watched in horror as a strange, nightmarish creature broke free from the rocky prison. The green flames died.

The creature in front of Pelinore looked every bit the devil the Yeoman had been taught couldn't possibly exist. It stood close to ten-feet-tall with red scales covering its upper body, a pair of vicious black horns on top of its head. The lower body was built like a powerfully muscled goat, two cloven hooves tapping the ground as it shook the remaining grey dust off its body. A red, forked tail swished from side to side. As Pelinore struggled to get up off the ground, determined to meet his foe standing, he noticed the creature's eyes: red irises glared back at him, as the flames of hell danced in the demon's pupils.

"Not a smart move Medusian freak, but expected nonetheless." the newly-transformed Blaze hissed. "You can't see them, can't hear them can you? The blood of so many dripping around you screaming for revenge. Their cries are being answered. And you? Well, welcome to hell - myself, I call it home."

Hellfire began to dance over each clawed fist as Blaze moved forward. Screams ripped through the corridor followed soon after by icy silence.

Cavalier quickly ducked as the flying body of a neo-Formori giant whizzed overhead. Pendragon's shield shot up as he quickly moved into a crouch, deflecting the giant's body further into the room and away from the two combatants. As the body passed, Cavalier quickly followed and swung at Pendragon, the Yeomen's shield managing to barely meet the mystical sword. Pendragon returned the favour, expertly slicing the shield towards Cavalier. Cavalier met the attack.

"You fight well, swordsmen," Pendragon conceded. "But be assured, it will not be well enough."

Blocking, parrying and thrusting, Cavalier responded as the two combatants moved around the room, "The name is Cavalier, though I'm sure you are aware of that."

Pendragon blocked an overhead strike, following up with a downward slice of the shield's sharp rim. "Your title is not deserving -- a real cavalier is a noble knight and a true supporter of Royal rights! You are neither."

Swaying away from the shield strike and continuing the deadly dance with the Yeoman, Cavalier offered his own verbal riposte. "And Pendragon was the name of Uther and Arthur, a name hardly befitting someone who's actions support mutilation, torture and imprisonment."

"The name is noble--" Pendragon countered, moving over the unconscious body of one of the neo-Formori. "As is my cause."

Cavalier sneered, "I doubt the world court will be so convinced of your righteous ways, with the death of so many Irish on your hands."

Pendragon braced himself as black steel careened off his shield. "Platitudes, swordsman. You speak boring platitudes. Autocrat abides to no human laws -- he is ordained by a natural order!"

Cavalier parried and sliced. "Autocrat's on a revenge trip. Nothing more."

Both men lapsed into silence as the battle continued. The sword swung time and again, as did the shield, Cavalier not allowing Pendragon the time to bring the energy blast function of the shield to bare. The skill of the two combatants seemed equally matched, but the small nicks of blood seeping out of Pendragon's armour said otherwise.

The two men moved around the room with ease, using every space available to continue their fight. Cavalier risked a glance behind Pendragon. Moving slightly away, Cavalier inexplicably dropped his guard. Pendragon studied Cavalier's eyes with suspicion.

"I would suggest you look behind you, or else move," Cavalier offered simply.

"What base and knavish trickery is this?" Pendragon spat. "I had thought you different, but thou dost -- Ahrhg!" Pendragon was cut off quickly as a flying Tamorak, courtesy of Catamount, barrelled into Pendragon's back. Both Yeomen lay sprawled on the floor, unable or unwilling to move.

Nereid leaped back for a moment, aware of the passage of the long-bladed weapon inches from her chest. As the knightly armoured Yeoman turned towards her sister, Nereid quickly moved forward and launched a kick at the metal-plated man's arm, causing his blow to falter before it started. The next second she was dodging out of the way of a flying fist, thrust towards her face courtesy of Constantine. Anticipating the blow and rolling with it, she flipped in the air and landed on her feet, slightly dazed but unharmed. While Constantine might have liked to pursue this advantage, Sylph was quick to start landing blows of her own, forcing the Yeoman's attention away until her sister could get to her feet.

Quickly returning to the fight, Nereid was aware that the battle was a classic struggle of strength and toughness versus speed and agility. While it was doubtful Constantine would ever be able to truly connect with any of his blows, it was equally doubtful that the repeated blows from herself and Sylph were doing much damage. At least, that was, with the physical blows they were now throwing. Though she somewhat feared the result, the ante needed to be upped.

Despite the nature of the fight, Nereid had fought with the idea of not causing excessive harm to Constantine. She knew Catamount or Blaze would lecture her about it later, but she didn't care -- it was part of her nature, and she had no intention of changing. Still, the situation appeared to call for more powerful use of both her and Sylph's powers. But the question remained: how to take down Constantine with a minimum amount of trauma? Considering her powers stretched into the ability to control the very water within human cells, and her sister could control the very air people breathed, the level of trauma was a concern for Nereid.

Dodging out of the way of another blow, Nereid hit upon an idea. "Sylph, remember Quebec City -- the old fortress?" Nereid saw the glimmer of recognition in her sister's eyes. "Let's do it!"

Sylph and Nereid quickly moved away from Constantine, positioning themselves carefully on either side. Constantine waited, gulping in air, silently happy for the moment's rest. He carefully prepared himself for anything that might happen next. What happened next was a double attack by Nereid and Sylph, as both of them launched themselves forward.

Constantine noticed a slight difference in the movement of each: Nereid had moved a few fractions of a second earlier than her sister. Letting Nereid hit him square with a kick to the jaw, he used her momentum, as well as his own, to launch a double fisted strike at the surprised Sylph. Sylph flew into a wall and let out a yelp of pain before crumpling to the floor. Constantine turned to focus his attention on Nereid, completely forgetting the gust of wind that had suddenly been raised before he had stuck the butterfly sprite.

"Sorry about your sister," Constantine sneered. "Don't worry though, you'll be joining her soon."

Constantine strode forward, his attacks coming hard and fast. Nereid's face had blanched with the blow to her sister and was now focused on dodging the Yeoman's fierce blows. Time and again Constantine swung, getting closer with each pass. Nereid started to doubt her plan, wondering if she had misjudged the Yeoman's fighting spirit and strength. She leapt back as a powerful blow caused Constantine's halberd to sink into the floor below. He quickly wrenched it free, sending it to nearly skewer the dancing Nereid.

With a quick movement the Yeoman moved along with the thrust, bulldozing into Nereid and sending her flying backwards against a wall. She shook her head and ducked a moment before the halberd slammed into the wall, inches above her head.

"Sylph! I could use some help here!" Nereid yelled as she scampered away from Constantine.

Constantine sneered, shaking off a strange feeling of light-headedness. "I'm the only one who can help you. Just beg--" He stopped, his eyes slightly bulging. Following Nereid's gaze, he turned to see Sylph hovering several feet away, an intense look of concentration on her face. He tried to speak again but nothing came out.

Suddenly the air flowed again as he took in a deep breath. Of course, with his lungs screaming for air he didn't ask where the sudden rush of wind was coming from. On his chest and face a whirlwind of air smashed into him with the strength of a freight train. While from behind water gushed at his knees like a spring river in flood. Losing his grip on his halberd he toppled to the ground.

He lay there for a while, unable to move. Slowly, he began to struggle to his feet. As he got to his hands and knees, he noticed a pair of huge feet beside him. Curious, he turned his face upward only to see the enormous figure of Blockade standing above him.

Blockade's face broke out into a huge grin, as he curled his hand into a fist. "Nightly, night," the strongman said as his fist made contact with the Yeoman. The Yeoman's body stayed still on the ground.

Tommy's descent to the cell block level took longer than he imagined, even traveling as the crow flies (if a crow could fly through solid rock). The black marble architecture of the upper areas gave way to jutting columns and frames of black steel and eerily colored force fields, and the walls were lined with cameras and weapons; all of which were powered down, as the Elite diverted its energy reserves for more important purposes. Tommy had to remind himself that he wasn't here to play tourist, but he sent his squad a visual transmission of what he saw, complete with a blinking "Tommy Cam" faux message and subliminal flashing overlays that said things like "Omega rocks" and "Autocrat sucks". More than a few of the heroes groaned.

Omega began to wander the cell area, only to find that it was more like a mausoleum than a prison. He worried about what he'd do if he needed to transport a lot of prisoners out of the Keep, but that proved to be a needless worry that bordered on the neurotic. The first level was completely empty. Autocrat was the most frighteningly efficient penologist imaginable -- why incarcerate when you can indoctrinate, and use genetic engineering to transform an enemy into a weapon?

The second detention level had only one occupant an imprisoned alien, one of the Da'aglanaari (or as Tommy called them in one of his less obscene moods, "the Dagnabbits"). They had invaded the planet back in '86; the Elite had captured the creature during the invasion, and had slowly extracted its secrets and its dignity over the course of years. Its body was scarred from numerous acts of torture and dissection (which were followed by regenerative therapy that restored it to a "torturable" state).

"Live long and Gandhi, dude." Omega told the alien. But he didn't try to release it from its cell. The creature, for its part, huddled in a corner at the sight of anything remotely human. Somehow Omega couldn't bring himself to care -- even though he had only been four years old at the time, Tommy Champion still remembered the destruction caused by the alien invasion a little too vividly. Either that, or his favorite G.I. Joe episodes had been interrupted once too many times.

Finally, Omega came to an open elevator access tube, the last remaining barrier between him and the final detention level. The reinforced titanium door would have daunted most intruders, but Omega walked through it as if it didn't exist, and floated down the shaft to his destination. As soon as he phased through the door, his senses were awoken to the hum of working electrical systems: lights, cell doors and cameras. It was a signal to become invisible, so Omega became transparent and floated like a ghost over the corridor. In the meantime, the "Omega Cam" continued to broadcast what he saw to his comrades.

"So far, so good," Old Glory said. The battle had reached a lull on the surface, and the soldier turned his attention to the events below. Several soldiers watched with him, but the majority of the non-metahuman troops were wandering the Keep and attempting to secure the areas where battle wasn't raging. The results weren't encouraging, but the soldiers fought with an will that amazed even Glory. Perhaps it was because America had not engaged such a clearly evil antagonist since the days of Hitler.

But the weight of public opinion couldn't help Omega. He was alone, in territory more hostile than anywhere he'd ever been before (except, perhaps, his first press conference). Still invisible, he slowly approached the one cell that was protected by a buzzing electric blue light. Inside it, an auburn haired ten-year-old girl huddled, her large eyes alarmed. "Who's there?" she asked.

Omega was about to answer the question, but something else - a sudden intuitive flash - nearly overwhelmed. Tommy Champion gave a start and immediately surrounded the girl in a block of solid energy. Then there was a clicking sound, like the unlocking of a huge latch, and then a wave of force rings shot everywhere inside the cell. But Omega's barrier held tight, and the lethal rings reflected harmlessly off Omega's cube. Omega took a deep breath, became visible, and blanketed the cell with a wave of magnetic energy that destroyed the force ring projectors. Taking another deep breath, the teenage superhuman dug his fingers into the steel frame around the cell door and tore the doorframe off the cell, ignoring a cascade of sparks. "Let's get you out of this nightmare," Omega said, reaching for the girl. "Though I still wish I knew how I triggered that defense mechanism. It shouldn't have responded to me when I was invisible."

"It didn't... ," a voice behind him said in a perfect tone. "It responded to me."

"Old Glory?" a technician reported. The soldier ignored his injuries and focused on the message. "We're receiving a transmission from deep inside the complex. They're broadcasting a signal directly from the cell block where Miss Moore's being held."

"Omega's switched frequencies?" Glory wondered.

"Negative. It's a second signal, and it's using feed from the security cameras," the technician replied.

"From the cell block?" Old Glory said, still fighting the concussion that Rook had given him. "They'd only be broadcasting for propaganda purposes, to make an example of Omega -- oh... no..."

"Autocrat is taking a personal interest in the boy's destruction," Harbinger remarked. "If my sister's life wasn't on the line, this might be? " Old Glory shut him down with a stare. The young psionic still resented the flak that he had taken when Avatar had failed to kill Omega during their earlier clash.

"We have to get down there, now... ," Old Glory said, ignoring the fact that he wasn't in any shape to face even a third string villain, let alone the leader of the Royal Elite. Swallowing hard, he turned to Harbinger. "We don't have much intelligence on Autocrat's current combat capabilities, but fifteen years ago... "

Harbinger laughed. "Fifteen years ago alien technology had given Autocrat the power of a god. And trust me, he's spent a lot of time during the last decade and a half refining his toys." Harbinger reported. "In a one-on-one against him, I wouldn't bet on Avatar, let alone Omega." Harbinger smiled slightly. "It takes a monster to beat a monster."

"Omega... ," Nancy said, hovering over the shattered hero as Autocrat drifted slowly toward them, a predator's cautious but ominous stance. The young Nebraskan was on his face after taking a blast of electricity whose power was the equivalent of a Midwest thunderstorm in a single bolt. "Get up... "

"Kid, back in the cell!" Omega shouted, pushing her back through the doorway and setting a force field across the breach. Autocrat blasted him again, sending him flying into a wall, hard. Autocrat looked in the cell and smiled.

"You can thank your brother for what's about to happen to you," Autocrat told her.

There was something in Autocrat's posture that told Omega it wasn't an idle threat. "So you like to abuse children," Omega said, getting back to his feet. "Just when I thought you couldn't stoop any fucking lower... "

"One cannot abuse one's own property," Autocrat stated. "And she is property."

"She's a kid!" Omega protested through a snarl. He had heard many stories about megalomaniac villains, and about decadent villains, but like most superheroes, Omega wanted to keep those "packages" as separate as possible. He hadn't expected to encounter someone who combined the worst of both worlds. Maybe Jacob and the Outsider had the right idea about him.

"Omega, please!" Autocrat's smile was visible through the faceplate. "We both know your adolescent appetites delight in deflowering virgins. Why would you deny me such pleasures?"

Those words struck a place deep inside Omega that physical attacks had never penetrated, a place of white-hot anger. Tommy Champion screamed, and accelerated with a single leg thrust to lethal speed. Most people would have been terrified by the sight of the charging Omega, but Autocrat had spent decades burying such emotions. He raised his gauntlet, and a torus of magnetic energy surrounded his fist. The air became prickly, and the magnetic field of the earth warped and lanced Omega with a shell of exploding force, striking the young hero hard in the chest before he could close the gap. The bolt knocked Omega like a pinball around a corner, hurtling him down thirty meters of corridor into a large secure room just outside the level's security center, where he landed on his back. Feeling a hunting instinct come over him, Autocrat moved away from Nancy's cell to pursue his prey. Omega winced at the sight of the approaching villain, whose feet did not deign to touch the ground.

"Boy... ," Autocrat said as Omega slowly struggled back to a fighting stance. He watched as the young superhero's right knee buckled for a moment when the Nebraskan tried to regain his footing -- Autocrat's blast had cracked one of his ribs. "Not long ago, we'd have made a man out of you." Omega's eyes narrowed in sheer hatred. "Today, we will settle for a corpse."

Autocrat fired again on Omega, who suddenly formed a shield of raw energy and reflected the blast into the ground, making a large crater. "As true royalty once said: 'We will, we will, rock you." Omega spat, and bared his teeth. "Because I am a Champion, asshole."

Autocrat couldn't help but roll his eyes, and then he blasted again. His armor flared in an effect that was part phoenix, part St. Elmo's Fire, then a lightning storm erupted that partially penetrated the young Nike spokeshero's shield. Omega grimaced and reinforced his defenses. To Autocrat's annoyance, they held. The villain took a step back to rethink his tactics -- and also to initiate some of the heavier systems in his armor. So it will actually take an effort to make Omega suffer, he thought. Fate has been crueler to me than this.

"And you would rule us all, weakling?" Omega mocked, doing his best to imitate Autocrat's accent (but which came out sounding more like the Emperor from Return of the Jedi). It was a childish statement, but a wave of cold fury suddenly came over his antagonist. Autocrat responded with another bolt of lightning, which Omega blocked with a shield of magical energy. "If that's your best shit, you should retire, and because when I'm finished with you, the only thing you'll be able to govern is your bowel movements." Autocrat's eyes blazed with hatred. He had studied Omega's mannerisms, but it's one thing to read about an opponent, another to endure their habits first hand. "Got nothing to say, 'Lot o' rat'?" Omega taunted.

Autocrat let the power swell about his fist and sighed hard. "We will not accept criticism from one who was not even born when our plan was conceived."

"I ain't here to critique you, your Naziness," Omega spat back. "I'm here to kick your fucking ass... "

Against other heroes, Autocrat might have mounted a philosophical as well as a physical defense, but against such a callow opponent, he judged it to be a waste of breath. Instead, he interrupted Omega's diatribe with an ionize line of blinding, searing hot energy. Much to the Nebraskan's surprise, the magical shield that protected Omega burned and collapsed in less than three seconds.

"Shit!" Omega hissed, an obscenity heard round the world.

"Allow us to introduce you to the power of a startap, Omega," Autocrat said. "By warping time and space, we pull plasma directly out of the sun's heliosphere into our suit's containment field, and use heavy gravity particles to focus the plasma stream on you -- you now fight against the very force that inures mankind and meta alike... "

"Oh, we do love our exposition, don't we?" Omega snorted. Once the Nebraskan adjusted to the plasma stream, it wasn't nearly as painful -- though the light was still blinding. He advanced on Autocrat, taking one painful step at a time.

"So even in the face of death, you take pride in your ignorance?" Autocrat stated. "Is this the state of today's youth? We now realize just how badly humanity needs our guidance."

Omega shook his head, gritted his teeth, and felt the power surge against him, increasing in strength. He grunted, saw his skin blacken, and ignored it. He was in the zone; that place of pain where all his weaknesses ceased to be a problem, where closeness to death becomes a comfort. For his part, Autocrat may have thought that Omega was the least worthy adversary, but certainly not his least dangerous; reevaluating his enemy's threat level, he opened the aperture a little further, even though he knew he was tempting fate and a systems breakdown. Even for Autocrat, the sun was a harsh beast to tame.

Omega felt the pain escalate from a burning to a wild lacing razor-blade that quilted his entire body. He noticed his vision blur into a melted haze as his powers fought to keep his eyes from liquefying in their sockets. He couldn't even bring himself to scream, he just kept walking forward with a zombie's gait until he was an arm's length from Autocrat. Autocrat could not guess his next move.

It's better to give than to receive, asshole...he mouthed, though no words were spoken in the fire.

Omega spread his arms apart, formed a perfect magical mirror with his ebbing thoughts, and the pyre that Autocrat was attempting to ignite became twisted. Autocrat responded by intensifying the flow. Ungodly technology, predictable tactics, Omega thought. The mirror burned, grew bright as a solar flare, and then the energy was reflected directly back into the startap.

"No!" Autocrat shouted. It had been years since anyone had turned the laws of nature against him. The plasma stream careened back into Autocrat, overloading his armor, and it was quickly followed with an Omega strength punch that harmonized perfectly with the reflected energy. Now it was Autocrat's turn to feel unrivalled pain. The impact of the blow sent Autocrat hurtling backwards at high speed until he connected hard with the wall of the Keep. Omega took a hard breath, and promptly fell to one knee, instinctively using his powers to heal his burnt skin before it completely peeled off him.

"I call that 'plasma ju-jitsu,' Autobahn," Omega snarled, as nastily as he could while his lungs were drawing breath like a madman. "You know, use an enemy's strength against him. And that's my exposition, asshole!"

Autocrat groaned and rose to his feet, counting his blessings that his enemy too wobbly to follow through on his advantage. It had been many years since anyone had laid a hand on the Royal Elite leader, and that punch was a worthy rival for anything he had ever felt. "I'll destroy your entire state for that!" Autocrat promised through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, that figures," Omega said. "Nebraska was founded because we realized that slavery completely sucked. We knew from the start that only a fucking bully would want slavery. We died proud to get rid of it... " He smiled. "So go suck on that, your fucking goddamn majesty."

"Computer, alter targeting on warheads 22 and 23," Autocrat instructed. "Direct them toward Omaha and Lincoln Nebraska."

Omega was startled that Autocrat would take time out of the battle to be so petty. Shit! he thought. Not again!

"Directional controls unavailable, my liege." The computer responded. " Safety precautions are in place during the intruder alert."

"Override!" Autocrat snapped. He hadn't given it that instruction!

"Only manual override is available, majesty," the Font of Celestial Knowledge informed him. Manual override? Autocrat activated his armor's interlink with the Keep's main computer system, and discovered that his computer itself was under attack -- and if the diagnostics were correct, the attack programs were devised by Paragon. For a brief moment, the madman felt like cursing. How dare they! Only he had the ability to bolster the computer and stop the Monolith's attack, but he'd have to destroy Omega first.

Omega took advantage of Autocrat's momentary distraction to advance on the Royal Elite leader, covering the distance with startling speed. He connected with a club-like right hook that turned Autocrat's head, following it with a second punch to the gut. For a moment, the Royal Elite leader felt far less than kingly. Targeting circles appeared over Autocrat's eyes, and an exploding wave of kinetic force slammed into Omega, knocking him spread-eagled against a wall. The young hero hit hard enough to dent even the hardened steel walls of the Lower Keep.

"You... pugilist." Autocrat sneered, doing his best not to show how badly Omega's punches had hurt him. The medical systems in his armor were already reinforcing his cracked ribs and feeding a local anesthetic into the most heavily damaged areas.

"You... asshole." Omega replied, prying himself off the wall. For a moment, the scene had a comical, almost cartoon appearance, but only for a moment. Omega leapt at Autocrat and grappled him, locking alien steel gauntlet with a titan's grip. Autocrat drew upon a well of almost limitless kinetic energy, but his armor was incapable of harnessing their full measure. After a few seconds of struggle, Omega forced the villain down to one knee, then exploded with a burst of strength that hurled Autocrat like a shot put against a wall. Around the globe, a hundred nations broke out into cheers. "Do you think no one can fucking defy you, Autocrat?" Omega shouted. "Who fell to his knees that time, pal? It wasn't a god, or a general, or prince who put you there; it was a farmboy, a mere peasant."

Autocrat rolled to his feet and gave an involuntary growl... no, he would say nothing -- Omega's corpse would be his rebuttal. Omega advanced, hoping that he could finish Autocrat if he could just land a few punches. The master villain responded by firing a spray of green and white particles at his approaching enemy. Again, senses that worked well beyond human ken warned Omega of the danger. Instinctively, he froze. Inward, he cursed. One good punch, he thought, lamenting the lost opportunity. "So what's this light show, Autoerotic?" he hissed.

"Graviton source emissions, boy," Autocrat explained again. "Consider it a minefield of uneven gravity particles.Each square inch surrounding you has a different gravitational constant. One move, and the sudden change in inertia will tear even your body to pieces." He smiled. "I have better things to do than to listen to childish tantrums."

Omega noticed that Autocrat had lost the royal "we" on the last sentence, but said nothing. Instead he concentrated, disassembled his molecules, used his 'mojo' to intuitively find a safe course through the graviton field, then reassembled himself directly in front of Autocrat, catching him in the chin with a two handed uppercut that bounced him off the ceiling. "Newsflash, asshole. You need more than a blue ribbon in the science fair to beat me."

By now, Autocrat realized that only the full force of his arsenal would be able to ensure his victory against Omega, especially with his computer under assault. A blue beam shot out of Autocrat's forehead, catching Omega squarely in the face. Suddenly, the young hero's entire body was engulfed in agony. "Everyone has pain centers, Omega. During our brief physical contact, our suit scanned your mind and your genetic code. I've calculated the optimum psionic frequency to stimulate these centers and bring you to your knees." Autocrat was finally beginning to enjoy the battle. He had forgotten how intense these visceral pleasures could be.

Omega felt like his head was about to explode, but he steeled himself, and advanced, albeit an inch at a time. Harbinger, who knew what Omega was experiencing, could almost bring himself to admire him. Omega still refused to take a backward step. "Optimum ain't good enough, you Nazi fuck," he said.

"Let that be your epitaph to the world, Omega," Autocrat said, gesturing at a camera. But Tommy Champion smiled. Even if he couldn't see the Elite's signal in his head, he figured that "Autoclot" wouldn't go directly into battle without making a visual record. In his mind, he couldn't just beat Autocrat -- he wanted to show the world that the best way to handle a tyrant was by sticking out your middle finger and letting them know how worthless they really were.

"Nah, that epitaph sucks," Omega quipped. "How about -- this asskicking is brought to you by Nike? maker of footware for Champions -- iiieeeeuh!"

A new energy source, a baleful green light, emanated from Autocrat's armor, giving the chamber a ghostly appearance. It encompassed Omega, and suddenly every muscle in his body began to cramp. "I told you that I scanned your genetic structure." Autocrat seemed to enjoy explaining his genius. "The radiation is customized to inflict the maximum damage to your cell structure."

"It ain't going to be fast enough to keep me from... from... "

The pain was finally getting to Omega. He buckled, and even through gritted teeth, it was too hard for him to speak. "Brains always defeats brawn, Omega," Autocrat wagered -- an obvious remark, but the situation hardly warranted a deeper analysis. "And I have both," the megalomaniac smiled.

Omega stopped short in the corridor and, falling to his knees; his brain felt like it was exploding while sandpaper rubbed itself all over Omega's skin. The young hero writhed in pain, and screams, not taunts, came out of his mouth.

"But wait," Autocrat smiled. "There's more... " Checking the diagnostics, Autocrat confirmed that the earlier damage to his suit had been repaired. He opened the startap again, and Omega became a human bonfire.

"Oh, flame of our glory," Autocrat said in a song-like voice, praying to the only god he knew. "Illuminate the vulgar masses. Light the world, or burn it."

The Oval Office.

"I don't think he's going to make it," General Powell said. The Chief Executive nodded in agreement. At the moment, politics was the last thing on their minds. The signal was coming over MNN, showing the world a slow agonizing death in living (or dying) color. "Where's Old Glory? Where's the Protectorate? Can't anybody stop this?"

"I dunno," the President said, clipping his Texas drawl. "Poor kid. Reminds me of a dog I once had, never knew when to quit? "

"I wouldn't let him date my daughter." Powell shook his head. "But he doesn't deserve this."

"Let's hope he's worn down Autocrat enough for the others to take him out." The President squinted at the screen. "That suit of his has to be using more power than California during a heat wave. And have we heard from the Nighthawks yet?"

Malibu, California.

"I swear, farmboy, in every fight you just keep getting dumber and dumber!"

Alone in his apartment, Mike Carleton had seen enough. He turned off the television set, and then made a decision. He took off his clothes, drew a magic circle, sat in the center and ritually cut himself with a hallowed knife seven times: once on the forehead, once on the palm of each hand, once on the sole of each foot, once over the heart, and once on his sexual member. Even if Michael didn't bleed to death, there would be consequences to this ritual, this linking of life forces, major consequences. As his blood flowed, the sorcerer channeled the magic that was produced and projected it across the sea, into Omega's body.

"C'mon farmboy. Let's try to keep you alive through this goddamn thing... ," he whispered, unaware of success or failure.

Elsewhere in the Celestial Keep.

Mindshadow smiled as she watched the battle from the minds of the combatants' point of view. Hovering two levels above the detention area, she had just finished placing Blue Ensign under hypnotic sleep and altering Brainchild's mind to better suit her purposes, and had spent the last few minutes admiring the Celestial Keep's technology and taking mental notes on what to duplicate for her own base one day.

But the sheer magnitude of the power being wielded below was impossible to ignore. On one side, she could feel an incredibly sophisticated mind; cold, calculating and incredibly well-shielded. That must be Autocrat, she thought. Well-shielded to protect himself from Brainchild, if it had ever come to that. Well, he wouldn't have to worry about Brainchild anymore, she thought smugly. The other mind was far simpler; only mediocre intelligence and a puny mental shield, but thrashing with wild emotions of determination and pain. Omega, she thought and smiled.

It was all coming together, she thought. Omega, obedient tool that he was, would soon eliminate her most powerful rival for mastery of the Earth. Her smile slipped a little as she watched the battle ebb and flow. Omega was a tough little nut, but Autocrat was clearly winning. She may have to intervene to ensure Autocrat's defeat, since it didn't look like Omega was going to even last long enough for Harbinger to make his move.

So, just a touch, she thought and concentrated. She couldn't do much to Autocrat's mind; at least, not without tipping her hand. But Omega was another story; his mind's pain centers were screaming too much to worry about mental shielding right now. A subtle subliminal whisper would dampen those pain sensations ever so slightly and a second command would increase his mental endorphins. Just enough to keep him conscious for Jonathan's final gambit.

Los Angeles.

"I suppose we're overjoyed that he mentioned Nike," Michelle Jude muttered, staring at the marketing department as they watched the footage from the Celestial Keep. She had a sick lump in her throat.

"If he dies, we'll give him the best memorial campaign we've ever had." Shales, the local Vice-President and sales manager, responded. "Do we have one ready?"

"Of course we do," Jude sneered. "Ass-covering is what corporate America does best." They continued to watch as the flayed and burnt Omega writhed in agony as mind and body struggled to endure an assault from three inhumanly powerful weapons of destruction. He now bore a greater resemblance to a blackened, bloody skeleton than to a human being.

"Can we turn this off?" One of the managers asked, gesturing at the television, displaying a close-up of Omega's charred, blackened form.. "This is getting really, really sick..."

Milford, Nebraska.

"C'mon Tommy!" Buck shouted at bloody image on the television. "Get up!! Kick his fucking ass!!"

Ten people were gathered around the Champion's television set, a big-screen set bought as a Christmas gift by their son, watching in horror as Tommy's body became unrecognizable. What had began as a hopeful vigil over the Ireland situation -- and pride in their town's favorite son -- had turned into a very personal horror.

"Do you want me to turn it off, Brad?" Hugh Wiseman asked, reaching for the remote control. But Bradley Champion wanted to see his son, alive or dead, so he lifted his hand and stopped him from switching it off.

"Anyone who wants to leave, I'll understand," he said, leaning forward slightly. "Right now I want to be with my boy."

Hugh Wiseman put the TV remote back on the table and sat down again. No one else moved an inch.

And as the world watched MNN and its affiliates, the camera was focused on the sick and sadistic image of the burning Omega. Burning, in mind and body, only his soul was intact. And that soul was ready to collapse under pain and inhuman punishment.

Omega. A voice suddenly resonated in the Nebraskan's head. Earlier, Omega thought he had detected someone trying to mill around in his skull -- it must have been him.

"Come to gloat, boy toy?" Omega replied in a whisper that played like a shout in his mind. Harbinger was astonished that he could recognize his telepathic voice. "Do you get off on being in people's skulls when they die, Harbinger?"

Shut up, you idiot, Harbinger responded. You're the only hope I've got, and my plan is the only hope you've got. Unless you feel like dying.

I must be delirious, Omega thought, but he agreed to listen to his enemy's plan. There weren't many alternatives, and they both knew it. It was difficult to hear anything over the sound of his heartbeat, a labored thunder against his eardrums. Tommy knew that at any second, it might beat for the last time. But he listened to Harbinger's plan, and agreed to it. Omega took a deep, sharp breath, and began a last stand. Ignoring the blackness of his flesh, Omega crawled from the prone position up to one knee. "You... thought it'd be easy... didn't you?" he told Autocrat.

"This is easy," Autocrat said. "You're a peasant from a nation of pampered, spoilt yeomen who lack the inner fortitude to win. I am a king, a conqueror."

"You're in the ruling class, and I ain't got no class, right?" Omega croaked through a strained throat. But the words were Harbinger's.

"Only in death, do you understand, Omega." Autocrat enjoyed turning Omega's own words against him. It would be a better propaganda victory than he hoped. "Our royal blood is invincible. We shall fall upon the world, and everything that is not noble shall be transformed."

"Not noble... But what... what about... the monsters out there?" Omega asked.

"I am a slayer of monsters, and a greater monster than those I've slain... " Autocrat boasted. Omega laughed weakly. "What's so funny?"

"Oh Autocrat...," Omega said, although his voice reflected only a fraction of Harbinger's joy. "Look out behind you."

Autocrat had made the one great mistake of all villains in pulp fiction -- when the desperate hero gets cocky, always watch your back. Abbatoir stepped from behind Omega, an animal snarl on its bestial face. He grabbed Autocrat with long, looping arms and began to rip at him.

"Here there be dragons...," Omega said in a sing-song voice not his own.

Autocrat realized his folly a second too late, as well as the identity of his attacker. The bestial hands, claws attached to inhumanly long arms, tore at Autocrat's battlesuit, which had already been put through its paces by the fight.

Somewhere in the complex, Harbinger and Mindshadow, their minds working in an odd, chilling synchronicity, burst into fits of wild, chilling laughter.

"Uh..." Omega tried to stand, and involve himself in the fight, but his legs refused to function -- he was a corpse and he knew it. But the focus of the battle had moved past him. Autocrat couldn't summon the energy to fry Abattoir, and his point defense systems had been drained by the battle. Abattoir ripped open Autocrat's chest plate, baring what passed for a heart to the world, to be ripped from its chest with Abattoir's next swift stroke. Tendrils of force suddenly swarmed over Autocrat's armor -- his emergency systems, the ones he thought he'd never have to test, protecting him from the monster's seemingly unstoppable efforts to kill him.

Then there was a shimmer of black behind Autocrat, and the two creatures, Beast and Beast, did a marionette tumble into it. The shimmer whirled, opening a portal, and locked in a hold that was both an embrace and a curse, and they were both suddenly gone. Two great forces of darkness were no longer in Celestial Keep.

Almost on cue, Old Glory and Harbinger arrived, spotting the fallen Omega. Glory could barely recognize the charred, smoking form on the ground beneath him. He lowered his head. Most of the world did the same.

"Could you put a cape over it or something?" Harbinger asked. "I don't want my sister seeing this... "

"I don't believe it." Old Glory smiled, seeing Omega's chest heave, and his hand struggle. "The son of a bitch is still breathing." He bent over Omega's body, a little gingerly, still mindful of the concussion Rook had given him. "Don't move, son. We'll get you out."

"Fuck... this hurts... " Omega moaned. "But that's good, right?"

Harbinger emerged with his sister in tow, holding her head away from the burnt and bloodied form of Tommy Champion. It was difficult for him to concentrate on anything but the joy he was feeling. Old Glory's attention focused between the two scenes - but then he figured he probably get a report from the others. He pulled the radio from his belt, only to find that others had the same idea.

"Old Glory, come in..." Hardware reported over the radio. "Old Glory, this is urgent!"

"Glory here," the soldier kept an eye on Harbinger.

"Glory," Hardware said. "I think Celestial Keep is going to blow. Five minutes, maybe less. I recommend we begin to evacuate."

"Affirmative." Old Glory said, and then moved to an open frequency. "Old Glory to all units. Disengage at once and begin immediate evac. I will join you." He waited for the confirmation, hoisting Omega over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. To his astonishment, the third degree burns over the young Nebraskan's body had already begun to heal. Not coincidentally, Omega had lost consciousness.

Blockade thundered his fists against the wall still separating Jacob from the Canadian Shield, as a tremor shook Celestial Keep.  Finally, the metal wall buckled and broke.  From the opposite side of the wall a battered and bloody Jacob appeared.  Stumbling forward, the angel's form was caught by Catamount and Nereid as the Keep continued to tremble around them.

Blockade's body moved to fill the hole from which Jacob had stumbled.  "Whoa!  What happened in here?"

Jacob straightened himself, his answer already prepared.  "Accident.  I didn't mean to, but... he came too quickly."

Jacob risked a glance around.  While Blockade covered up most of the view, he could still see some of the traces of the battle beyond, and its bloody outcome, and he knew others could too.  Catamount and Cavalier's expressions were difficult to read, while Nereid's face showed a heart-felt sympathy tinged with uncertainty as she looked at Jacob.  Blaze merely smiled, a horrible all-knowing smile.

"What happened?  What happened?" Sylph questioned as she flew around, trying to assess the situation firsthand.  Another shock trembled through Celestial Keep.

"No time, Sylph.  Let's move Shield, we've got to find a way out of here and to the Keep's emergency shuttles," Cavalier ordered.  Glancing down at a small hand-held device, he looked back up and pointed down the corridor Blaze had led Pelinore.  "This way!"

"What about the others?"  Nereid asked.

"They'll find a way out," Cavalier quickly replied, running into the side corridor as another explosion rocked the intradimensional fortress.  "Now let's find ours."  The other members of the Canadian Shield moved to follow Cavalier, with Blaze and Jacob bringing up the rear.  Jacob slowed as he moved up the passageway, Nereid and Blockade already staring uneasily at the sight of Blaze's handiwork.

Slumped against the wall, stripped down to nothing but his underwear was the unconscious form of Pelinore.  His body was red and blistered, with the helm still on his head.  A second look proved a suspicion: the visor of the helm appeared to be somehow welded shut.  Jacob glanced back towards Blaze.

Blaze shrugged, his expression locked in a silly, childish simper.  "Accident."

Most of the members of Team Gamma had converged in a large chamber whose purpose was unknown and, now, unimportant. Old Glory appeared nearly one minute later carrying Omega over his shoulder. Harbinger and his sister had teleported out rather than follow Old Glory out - something that he'd likely regret allowing at some point in the future.

"Autocrat?" asked Jacob, as he entered the chamber.

"Gone. What's our status people?" he barked, weariness creeping into his voice.

"Not well, I'm afraid," replied Cavalier, raising his voice to carry over the rising noise level.

"What do you mean?"

Cavalier glanced at Hardware. Before the scientist could answer, there was a series of intense jolts, as though something very large were striking the room. The floor seemed to buckle slightly and everyone had difficulty standing.

"It would seem that there nothing resembling an 'escape pod' anywhere near our location," shouted Hardware, consulting his map. "It was probably deemed unnecessary."

"Damn! Anyone have any ideas?" shouted Old Glory.

"Why don't we just stick out our thumbs?!" yelled Blaze. "There's a chance we might be able to hitch a lift!"

"That's not helping, Blaze!" hollered Cavalier. "Maybe we can fi--"

The shuddering and the noise suddenly stopped.

"Okay, now what's going on?" asked Neried.

Before anyone could answer the question, everyone was enveloped in a violet glow, only to vanished from sight. Somehow the Monolith transported them from the Celestial Keep.
 

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