Paragon

“Get them in bags and send them off to the morgue,” the female detective said as she scanned the crime scene around her. Detective Lee had been called at six o’clock in the morning to look at yet another group of bodies found that would eventually be identified as Nullifier Officers. There were four here and each one as dead as Lincoln.

“Before you send them off, Detective,” a grungy voice interjected behind her, “might I take a look?” She spun around and saw a man wearing a black wool trench coat, wool beanie and sporting the tackiest looking mustache she’d ever seen in her life. The man looked like he should be starring in a 1970s porno about bad pool boys taking advantage of lonely housewives.

“And why should I do that?” Lee said and crossed her arms under her somewhat gifted chest and raised her black eyebrows at him. The man reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small leather wallet and flipped it open to reveal an FBI badge inside that read “Agent Berringer”

“I’m not interested in taking over the case, Detective, I simply want to examine the bodies for my own case. I promise not to tread on your feet. Five minutes will do.” The man said and smiled. Lee was uncomfortable. She couldn’t tell if it was that horrible growth of facial hair that put her off or if she just didn’t like feds.

“Why are the feds snooping around?” She asked.

“Detective this is now the… my, let’s see…” The man paused and started counting on his fingertips as his eyes wandered up and to his right; he was recalling memory. “Eighteenth? No, Nineteenth, yes, nineteenth attack in the past two weeks. I’m interested in seeing how they match up with the others.” Lee eyed him suspiciously but, technically, she couldn’t stop him if he wanted to simply go over her head; which, if she knew anything about how the feds operated, he’d probably already done and was simply being cordial.

“Five minutes, please be quick I have a lot of shit to do.” Lee finally said and uncrossed her arms. She left the area and motioned for her men to follow as well to give the agent some privacy.

“Thank you!” He called out and then stepped towards the bodies. Just like the others they lay buried beneath a thin layer of snow that had collected before the bodies had been found and, just like the others, had all died where they landed or stood. One man, Ruben was his name, had a large burn mark around his neck in the shape of a hand that had wrapped around his jugular. Another, Tristan, seemed to be fine on the outside but he had undoubtedly suffered a colossal amount of electricity and had died from his nervous system frying. The other two bodies were unidentifiable to the human eye due to the fact that their bodies were covered, from head to toe, in frostbite.

“Shit…” Jon swore and looked around to see if the Detective was within ear shot. These deaths were just like all the other attacks on Nullifier squads and the body count was starting to rise. Jon looked down at the name tags on the dead again and the names sprung out in his memory. Ruben and Tristan were on his files as two of the more corrupt nullifiers on the force and they were definitely responsible for the abductions of many Supers.

It had been two weeks since Jon had seen Zeke; two weeks since he’d seen his friend make that dreadful sound that still gave Jon nightmares when he slept; two whole weeks since he’d seen the massacre at the Blackwell household. Jon had tried to find his friend but Zeke seemed determined not to be found. The only trace he had of the man was the path of destruction Zeke had been carving for two weeks. Zeke had been systematically finding and destroying all of Draco Industries’ underground facilities, though Jon hadn’t the slightest idea how he’d managed to find them. Perhaps he was working with Phalanx still; either way Jon was clueless. Soon after a facility would be reduced to ruins the news would report the attack and make it sound like the place had been researching world hunger or breast cancer. “Eye witnesses” would account things they saw and it all made Jon sick to his stomach.

Then during the first week Jon saw something on the news that made his blood run cold. A Nullifier patrol had been found with the engine fried and the officers who had been manning it were dead. Their bodies were frost bitten from head to toe and the attacks just kept coming; each time the deaths were either from fatal electrical burn or had died from their entire body being frost-bitten. One thing that Jon noticed, that the news seemed to directly omit, was that it was only Nullifiers who had been out on a late patrol who were found dead. On top of that there didn’t seem to be many, sometimes if any, casualties from Zeke’s delve into one of Draco Industries’ secret facilities. Jon took comfort in the fact that it seemed like his friend was at least keeping his sanity.

For two weeks the entire city sat beneath one large, never ending snow-storm that everyone in the city felt unnerved by. Winter storms in Alaska were a normalcy to say the least, but even natives recognized this as something wholly other. Every time Jon went outside he stared up at the black clouds that covered the city. Every roll of thunder reminded him of the sound that Zeke had made two weeks ago and every bright bolt of lightning that struck or cleaved the sky made him wince.

Above Jon thunder rolled and somewhere off in the city lightning crashed and struck. The sky was split by white-hot bolts of light that turned the clouds into spider webs of light. The snow didn’t make things easier, neither did the cold. Jon looked back and saw that the Detective was still looking away and wasn’t paying him any mind so he took his opportunity to leave. He walked steadily into a nearby alley and leapt straight up and started to scale the building until he was on the rooftop. He peeled the mustache off of his face and scanned the city for any signs of fog, a flying form, unusual lightning; anything that might lead him to his friend.

“You’re not going to find him,” a modulated voice said from behind. Jon turned and saw Phalanx staring down at him bearing the white and blue armor that made his visage so iconic. His red cape billowed in the wind and for a second Jon was intimidated solely by the sheer size of the being in front of him.

“Better than not trying,” Jon said and turned his back on the Paragon.

“You used to be CIA, you should know better than anyone how futile this is.”

“I can’t not look for him, damn you!” Jon said and turned around again. He stared up into the eyes of the Spartan helmet and glared. “He might get himself killed or captured.”

“There are far worse things that will happen if he isn’t shown reason soon,” the Paragon said and then strolled up to the edge of the building.

“You’re looking for him too then?” Jon inquired and then paused to scratch his chin and his brain. “What worse things?”

“The entire nation is at war with the idea that Supers are dangerous. Many call for putting us down in the interest of public safety; others are more level headed and believe that not all of us are bad – blah, blah, blah. Its gun rights versus gun safety only with people instead of inanimate objects. The prior want us under control and they Vladimir has played his tune to that focus group. Right now your friend, while he may be doing some good in crippling Vladimir’s resources, is doing his deeds very publically. The long and the short of it is that he’s pouring gasoline down Hell’s gullet and soon Supers are going to be openly lynched. Then it’ll be civil war, chaos and a death toll you, even with your military background, can’t even begin to comprehend.”

“But you can?”

“Several thousand years of life didn’t teach me ignorance, Wolfspider.” Phalanx said and Jon found himself staring dumbfounded. That had been his call sign, both in special forces and in black operations that didn’t technically exist or happen.

“How do you…” Jon stuttered and then shook his head, it didn’t matter how he knew that name. “Never mind, what do you propose we do then?”

“We need to find him at all costs.” Phalanx said, still looking out over the city.

“That’s helpful.” Jon rolled his eyes.

“You know the Paragon better than I, Wolfspider.”

“I have a name, you know.”

“You have an alias that you use to disguise your name, Wolfspider. Your real name is whatever holds the most identity over you; whatever title clings to your life.”

“And I suppose your real name is Phalanx then?”

“Precisely; I don’t even remember the name I was born with.” Phalanx paused and turned his head down to look at Jon. “I’ve had many names and each more true to me than the last. If you truly were no longer Wolfspider you would have settled down instead of chased things that go bump in the night.”

He wasn’t wrong. Jon missed the old days where he ran around the world, sneaking into hidden chambers, stealing classified documents, taking on disguises in order to foil plots. He missed his Ranger days as well.

Rangers lead the way, he thought and an unwilling smile crept over his face at the memory of his missions. The war didn’t haunt him; aspects of it did. There were pieces of nightmarish material that made him want to forget all of it at some points. Where is Zeke? He wondered, focusing his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Phalanx was right; every attack Zeke made the public more angry and the news more twisted with their stories. To make matters even worse Vladimir Dracovic had used all of this to his advantage and started a crusade against Supers. He made threats against the Super community and vowed that no more innocent blood would be spilled at the hands of Supers; the masses were eating out of his hand like starving sheep. Jon cursed and started pacing around in the snow.

“He’s attacking Vladimir where he thinks it’ll hurt him,” Jon finally said.

“His research facilities, yes.”

“I figured you were the one supplying him with the information but he must be beating it out of Vlad’s henchmen.”

“Much more likely, go on.” Phalanx seemed to like Jon’s train of thought and was keen on letting Jon do all the thinking.

“A man like Vladimir is going to be smart, he won’t house any of his money in a local account so going after banks would be useless. The only thing I can think is that he’s going to continue to attack Vlad’s knees by obliterating his research.”

“And what happens when there are no more facilities to demolish? Nothing more to break?”

“Then he’d go after… Shit!” Jon swore.

“There it is.”

“He’s going to go after Vladimir…” Jon whispered with horror in his eyes.

“He will fail.” Phalanx said plainly.

“Maybe not… I don’t know if you saw the display at his aunt’s house, but I’ve never seen so much power… It was unreal, it was like myth almost. It looked like the kind of thing you exaggerate a story into to make it sound cooler and more intense but it was real.” Jon continued to stare out over the city. His eyes found Drake Tower and lingered there for a moment.

“The Moment of Power,” Phalanx whispered.

“You say that like it should mean something,” said Jon.

“Every Paragon has a moment in his life where his true power is triggered; it’s usually something traumatic but every now and then it occurs to tremendous excitement or happiness. Whatever triggered the storm-bringer’s Moment must have been traumatic enough to unlock everything he’s capable of doing and, since he’s never experienced that much power before, likely created a violent outburst.”

“His entire family was murdered by Vladimir. His fiancée included.” Jon spat.

“Ah… That would do it alright.”

“What was yours?” Jon asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“…I don’t remember mine. It was a very long time ago.” Phalanx said and at once Jon knew he was lying but decided not to press into it. If a man so old he forgot his birth-name didn’t want to talk about something it was likely awful enough that Jon didn’t want to know. He’d seen and heard of enough nightmares these past few weeks.

“Fair enough, what do we do? We should help him fight Vladimir.” Jon said and started walking away from the Paragon.

“No,” Phalanx barked.

“Excuse me, are you fucking mad?” Jon spat again after turning on his heel to storm towards Phalanx.

“The storm-bringer needs to see that this is an enemy he can’t fight alone. He needs to know that, Paragon or no, this goes beyond his ability.”

“He’s going to get killed.”

“That is possible.”

“And what do we gain then?”

“A bullet still hurts you, does it not Wolfspider?”

“What’re you getting at?”

“A bullet,” Phalanx explained, “will still hurt you, correct? You’re a Super, you have abilities that defy normalcy and yet a bullet to your head would still kill you and probably eighty percent of other Supers.”

“Naturally, what is your damn point?”

“Your friend sees himself as bullet proof. He’s dismantled Vladimir’s research which, while a formidable goal, will only anger the dragon and set him to begin his crusade early. This isn’t a plan the Dragon recently concocted, it’s the fruition of a plan a century in the making!” Phalanx’s voice rose with every word and he appeared quite frustrated at this point. “He’s being reckless and you can’t simply tell him so, he won’t get it and he’ll see himself as the exception to prove the rule. If he goes up against the Dragon he will lose and the situation might be salvaged. If we try to stop him he will alienate us.”

“So you’re saying that if we try to stop him he lives but he hates us and if he goes up against the Dragon he loses and might die, but the fucking plan goes on?! Is that what you’re fucking telling me?” Jon screamed, the veins in his head and neck popped out as he raged.

“Use your head, Wolfspider. The Dragon isn’t just some Paragon like the Rook or Tempest or a dozen of the others history actually knows about. He’s not even like the thousands throughout history that you’ll never know about.”

“Neither are you!” Jon yelled and Phalanx paused. Jon could hear Phalanx’s heavy breathing beneath the voice modulator.

“Neither am I,” the Paragon finally said, “and yet I have never bested Vladimir.”

“All the more reason we should help Zeke take him down!”

“And then what? A billionaire CEO who created a weapon to stop super-powered terrorists and gave the world a supposed cure for Supers AND gave millions to medical research, dead at the hands of three Supers who ganged up on him. Yes, that’ll work just fine. What do we tell them then? That I’m immortal? That said CEO was responsible for the murder of the storm-bringer’s family?” Phalanx’s words struck home. Jon fell silent, his argument defeated. The media being the way it was would spin that story a thousand times and then some, no matter what evidence they might be able to procure and then there would be an even more blood-lusted crusade out for Supers. The whole country, maybe even the whole world would be out for heads on platters.”

“Then what the fuck are we supposed to do?!” Jon bellowed; the wind carried his voice several blocks, then silence. Neither said anything for a moment, they simply stared one another down. “You’re awfully damn good at saying why we ought not to do anything but you’ve yet to give me a single shred of evidence as to what I am supposed to do. Damnit he’s my friend, you must’ve had one of those at some point of your God-forsaken life!” Phalanx’s hand whipped out so fast Jon barely had time to register the fact he was flying through the air with a stinging pain across his face. The Paragon had backhanded him with little more than a flick of his massive wrist and it had sent Jon to the other side of the rooftop. Jon gathered himself and leapt to his feet and drew his side-arm. Phalanx was stalking towards Jon with his shoulders hunched forward.

“It is never wise to speak ill of matters you are ignorant of. I’ve lost more friends than you could even meet in your lifetime.” Phalanx growled which, accompanied by the voice modulator in his helmet, gave his voice an even more intimidating tone. Jon’s hands were not as steady as he’d hoped they would be. Truth be told he was terrified; his friend was lost on a rampage and now he was staring down a Paragon with centuries of experience. The only reason he’d pulled the gun out in the first place was out of instinct and reflex. It also made him feel slightly better.

“Then give me some damned answers!” Jon shouted, still looking down the sights of his Glock at the Paragon. “My best friend is on a path to self-destruction and you’re telling me he’s walking to his death. What do we do?” Phalanx stopped moving towards Jon when the barrel was pressed against the steel breastplate that armored his chest. The massive Paragon looked down at Jon with a tilted head and then, surprisingly, turned around and walked away with his back to the gun and to Jon.

“We make sure he survives. Vladimir has one flaw and it’s that he loves to be dramatic; he’s like a Bond villain in that sense. He likes the attention.”

“Sounds like he has a god-complex,” Jon said, holstering his Glock and strolling back to the edge of the roof next to Phalanx.

“As far as he’s concerned, he is god.”

“Fantastic.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Phalanx said and turned towards Jon and rested his right hand on Jon’s left shoulder. “Not a god complex. An actual god, a deity.”

“That’s… I don’t follow you.”

“Vladimir believes himself to truly be a deity worth worshipping. Paragons have always had a natural leadership quality that Supers are drawn to simply by being around them.” Phalanx’s voice became somber as he looked away, “But Vladimir has taken it a step further and insisted they pray to him. There’s a reason movies use the cliché virgin-sacrifice offered to a dragon or some other horrible creature, where do you think that came from?”

“You’re telling me he actually used to demand sacrifice from people because he thinks he’s an actual god? Now why would he think that?”

“You underestimate how old he and I are, Wolfspider.”

“You talk about him like you know him. Like you know him far more than just being each other’s nemesis; please tell me he’s not your brother or something.” Jon quipped and shook his head and almost prayed that they were brothers; that might give them insight into Vladimir’s head.

“No, Wolfspider; he is not my brother.” Phalanx said and turned his eyes back to the city.

“Good cause that would be one helluva twist and I don’t much like that cliché.”

“He’s my son.”

***

Vladimir frowned at the fat man who quivered in front of him holding a stack of papers that involved damage reports, financial losses and what little shreds of information that were retrieved from the facilities the Paragon had annihilated. Michael had come in and rambled on with ideas on how to turn these attacks into good things; to use the press to further public hatred of Supers.

What a good little bitch, Vladimir thought as he squinted at the sweaty fat man, helping to manipulate his own kind just to save his incredibly flabby skin. How disgusting. Myra sat next to Michael with her eyes closed; she was reaching out somewhere with her mind. The fat man was still talking but it all sounded like garbled noise to Vladimir when he saw a man in a black robe enter his office. He perked up and stood while at the same time motioning for Michael to be quiet. The fat man fell silent immediately.

“My lord,” the robed figure greeted and bowed respectfully when Vladimir approached him. “We were able to finish before the storm-bringer came.”

“You have it then?” Vladimir said eagerly.

“Yes, my lord. We are already prepared for you in the basement.” The robed man said and bowed again, turned on his heel and then left the office. Vladimir clasped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously with a giddy smile across his face.

“My lord, please we must go over this…” Michael whimpered from behind him. Vladimir whipped around and reached out to the fat man’s mind. Michael no longer saw Vladimir standing in front of him but in his place was a gargantuan dragon with black scales, razor sharp horns and spikes all over his body. Michael quivered and started to cry as he cowered beneath the illusion. Then Vladimir ended the illusion and walked calmly back to Michael and helped him stand up. He even straightened out the fat man’s tie for him taking extra care to appear compassionate and gentle.

“I apologize for showing you my true form again, Michael. I know how you hate it so.” Vladimir said and flashed a loving smile.

“M-m-my lord, g-gazing upon your splendor is-is a joy. I s-s-simply cannot stand before it for t-t-t-too long.” Michael stuttered and tried to smile.

Stuttering pig, you disgust me, Vladimir thought, but kept his kind façade on long enough to prevent Michael from pissing himself. Again. Vladimir turned around after he was sure Michael wasn’t going to wet the carpet and made his way out of the office.

“Take care of it, Michael. I have faith in you,” Vladimir called as he exited the office.

If you can call utter disgust ‘faith.’

Vladimir made his way to his executive elevator and used it to enter the floor the rest of the company didn’t even know existed. He tapped his foot to the tune of the elevator music that hummed and chimed in his ear until the machine came to a grinding halt on a sub-basement level. Vladimir cracked his neck, his knuckles, his back, grinning like a madman when the doors slid open and he saw the ritual site in front of him. Several figures stood adorned in black robes around a raised stone pedestal. They were all chanting in an ancient dialect that predated even Latin.

Ah magic, Vladimir thought, what little these fools actually know about the power they wield will never cease to amaze me. They’re so damned stupid, but at least they can be useful. Vladimir walked over to a small wooden table and removed his coat, then his tie and shirt. He stripped until he was completely naked and then walked up onto the pedestal and nodded towards the “Arch-Mage” as he called himself.

“The process will be… painful, my lord. I hope you are prepared.” The Arch-Mage said as he pulled back his hood to reveal his horribly maimed face.

“I am prepared, magus. Do your work and be thorough; it’ll be your head offered to the Mad God if there are any complications.” Vladimir’s tone was cool and calming. He may as well have been telling the weather because he wasn’t making a threat; he was simply informing the Arch-Mage.

“I assure you, my lord,” the Arch-Mage said, “there will be no complications.” The man motioned towards one of his acolytes and then pulled his hood back over his head. Two acolytes ran off and returned, each holding a different piece of Vladimir’s plan that took just over a hundred years to formulate and carry out. The one on the right held a mechanical masterpiece made possible only by advances in modern technology and cybernetics.

“It works then?” Vladimir asked as he examined the device. It was smaller than he thought it would be, but for that he was gladdened. Anything larger would be difficult to hide beneath his suit. The device was designed to be a hybrid of modern technology and magic that stored the collective genetics of over a hundred thousand Supers and over a dozen Paragons.

“It is hard to say, my lord, without being able to test it. We were forced to evacuate sooner than we would’ve liked. However we have no indication that it would not work, if that is comforting.” The Arch-Mage said. The man had a voice like a toad addicted to meth which grated on Vladimir’s nerves every time the ugly bastard opened his mouth. Vladimir grunted with irritation but he could not fault the man; at the very least he had finished his work and jumped ship which allowed him to be here now to finish the process.

The storm-bringer had been much more of a nuisance than Vladimir had anticipated. The one thing he did not account for was the new Paragon’s rage. He had Phalanx cornered and unable to act without severely ruining his own plan; the entire Super community was lobbing for civil rights, what a joke, while the rest of the world shouted for their crucifixion. Yet, he had not seen the storm-bringer’s reaction coming, nor had he anticipated he would be outright immune to Vladimir’s nullifiers. It angered him, infuriated him that such a hefty wrench had been thrown into his plans.

Doesn’t matter, he thought, none of it matters now.

“Are you ready, my lord?” The Arch-Mage asked, standing behind the two acolytes who bore the fruition of a century of labor. The second acolyte placed the book he’d been holding onto the podium in front of the pedestal that Vladimir stood on and flipped it open to the page he desired.

“Proceed, magus.” Vladimir said and closed his eyes. He felt hands about him as they strapped the device to his chest and pinched parts of his flesh as they attached wires to his skin. He opened his eyes and saw they were all standing around him now with their palms facing him like they were about to blast him with some hidden energy. He felt the room get colder as the room turned black. He felt blinded until a deep red light appeared from nothingness and lit the room in its sanguine shade.

The mages chanted their unholy words and the room began to shift temperatures rapidly. One second it felt like he was buried in ice and the next he stood on the sun’s surface. He started to sweat from head to toe. Vladimir looked down and found himself surprised to see that the skin on his chest and abdomen had become fleshy tendrils that reached out to grab the device. His skin wrapped around the metal which seared his skin. Vladimir bit his tongue and groaned as he felt the metal fuse with his skin and bone.

Vladimir was suddenly aware of a thousand things at once; the device’s wires were starting to move into his skin and attach to his veins, muscles, spine and brain. He felt his muscles throb violently against the skin. Memories that weren’t his washed through his mind, quickly replaced by new ones. His eyes twitched. There was a strange sensation, separate from the pain, which invaded his senses; Vladimir knew when his mind was being invaded due to his own telepathic powers and now, it was being blitzed. He felt a presence beyond that of any telepath he’d ever met digging its claws into his mind. His rage flamed and fire lit his eyes.

How dare you! He shouted in his head, when I find you I will tear out your damned heart and eat it while you die! Vladimir threw a curse of obscenities at the presence that still kept a firm grip on his psyche. He tried to move and leave the pedestal but he was trapped, none of his muscles allowed him to move. The device continued to sink inside of his body.

Silence! A voice that was not his own hissed in his mind, intriguing; you are not like the others. More… Yes… Haha, so much more! The voice faded and Vladimir suddenly felt like someone, or something, was digging its teeth into his brain. Sharp pains rose, fell and flared again and spread through every nerve in his body. The Arch-Mage had been right, this was painful and Vladimir could not wait to slash the man’s throat for not finding a less painful way to do things.

Do not harm my servants, little mortal. They are mine to devour!

I do not take orders from you! I do not take orders from anyone!

Best you learn, human.

I do not serve you, Mad God! I AM a GOD!

Bahaha, such an amusing title the mortals give me.

I grow tired of your presence, leave my mind or else!

Oh my, such ferocity in you. Submit to me now, child, like the good little puppet you are.

The voice laughed.

Vladimir reached out with all the power he could muster and roared with vigor. Whatever this presence was, Vladimir knew it was no match for him and he would find the source. But first, he would have to deal with these cultists. It took every ounce of power he had but he managed to put his will into the minds of several of the cultists and force them to close their mouths and drop their hands; just enough to break the incantation. The rest of the acolytes drew silent and looked around.

They were confused.

“My lord, we must finish!” Yelled the Arch-Mage, who then started to chant once more, but Vladimir had no intention of letting them continue. They had done enough and now Vladimir had all the power he could ever want. His left hand opened and lightning ripped out and struck a cultist in the chest, setting their robes on fire and frying their nervous system. Vladimir leapt backwards and landed behind another acolyte; he grabbed the man by his head and tore it clean off his shoulders. He ran left with blinding speed and gripped another by the neck. Fire erupted from his hand and turned the robed man into a pile of ash in less than three seconds.

One of the remaining acolytes, there were three left, started chanting something and his hands burned with a strange, black fire. Vladimir motioned his hand upward and the rock beneath the cultist rose into a pillar of stone that stretched up and crushed the robed cultist between it and the ceiling. The Arch-Mage and his last two acolytes stared, dumbfounded, at the display. Vladimir used his mind to invade the two remaining acolytes and took control of them like puppets. The two drew the ceremonial daggers from their belts and drew the blade against their necks delicately.

“You were going to feed me to your god, Arch-Mage.” Vladimir said as he stalked forward angrily.

“My lord, please it was not our intent to-“ the Arch-Mage lied and stumbled backwards.

“You dare lie to me?!” Vladimir roared and suddenly found himself staring down; his entire body had grown in size as his anger raged and now he was over eight feet tall. He gained control of his powers and lowered himself back down to his normal height and grabbed the Arch-Mage by his neck, lifting him by the neck with one hand.

“My lord I-“

“If you lie again I’m going to break your damned neck.” Vladimir was lying; he meant to kill the Arch-Mage one way or another. He had always intended to kill them once he’d gotten what he needed out of them, but when that presence had demanded he leave them alone, he’d decided to take extra care in killing them; especially the Arch-Mage.

“P-please understand, my lord, we serve a higher power. We must appease him with sacrifice!”

“You were supposed to be worshipping me, Arch-Mage. Your god is celestial whereas I am physical; I can make you suffer much worse than he can in this coil of life.”

“You blasphemer! You ingrate! We have given you the power of a thousand men and you repay us with this sacrilege?!”

“The sacrilege is yours, Arch-Mage. You have served your purpose.” Vladimir whispered and then thrust his other hand into the Arch-Mage’s chest and tore his heart out, shattering his ribcage and spilling his intestines onto the floor. Vladimir tossed the corpse away and casually strolled towards the table with his clothes. He wiped the blood away with a nearby rag and then proceeded to dress himself.

A hundred years of technology and research had enabled him to do something no one had ever even considered; he had stolen the genetics from thousands of Supers and Paragons and found a way to store and hold them with technology and then used magic to gain the ability to call on their powers. He had finally gotten his Moment of Power and was now a true Paragon with thousands upon thousands of powers to call upon whenever he wished.

Vladimir left the sub-basement whistling a tune his mother used to hum before bed. Sometimes he missed her; sometimes.

***

“You’re fucking me…” Jon said with absolutely no hesitation.

“I am not, Wolfspider.” Phalanx replied with a tone of regret.

“No-no, I mean you are literally bending me over and shoving the Washington Monument up my shit-hole with this. That cretin is your son?!”

“Say it again, that might make it more believable, or something.” Phalanx quipped and turned his whole form to face Jon.

“Dare I ask who the mother is? Lizzie Borden? Satan?”

“That’s not important.”

“What?! Oh now we’re going to do the ‘I’ve been with more women than you’ve ever even heard of’ immortality bit, is that right?” Jon felt his anger rising again. Inside his head a tiny voice screamed and begged him to shut up and stop antagonizing the Paragon who could crush his chest with a flick, but it was drowned out by his anger. He wasn’t even sure why this revelation made him so angry, it just did.

“We’ve all been young once, Jon. Would you care to list all of your partners? How many sired children do you have and don’t know of? How many DO you know of?” Phalanx shook his head and crossed his arms. “I was not always the one who sought to stop bad things from happening; I wasn’t always careful, calculating. I didn’t always make plans. When you’re seventeen and you can carry a horse on your shoulder, consequences don’t exist.”

“And I suppose the poor bastard just wants a daddy, is that it?”

“Vladimir wants many things, a father figure is nowhere on that list. You asked what my Moment of Power was? It came the day I returned home and discovered my wife with a sword in her chest and my son holding the hilt with a smile on his face.” Phalanx said, staring straight down at Jon who remained silent. Jon decided to listen to that little voice in his head now; this was not the time to be antagonizing. The Paragon was confiding in him.

“Why would he do that?” Jon asked after a moment of silence.

“He said he was tired of taking orders from a ‘common wench’ and ‘his father’s whore.’” Phalanx went silent and looked away, staring off into the distance. Inside the helmet he had closed his eyes; the image still very fresh in his mind even after several thousand years.

“So, he’s had a god complex for some time then?” Jon said. He felt moderately ashamed of verbally assaulting Phalanx like he had. No doubt the man had his own demons he’d been battling for centuries, especially considering his son.

“Sometimes I think he was born with it. For as long as I’ve known him, Vladimir has thought himself better than everyone around him. He wanted us to rule the world, enslave the kingdoms; your standard tyrant.”

“And that’s when you decided to get all heroic?” Jon asked.

“No. At first it just became about tracking down my son and getting him to come home. My true strength had erupted and my body had taken on its true nature; the legends formed themselves. After a while it became about cleaning up the damage he caused and trying to prevent him from killing. Soon after, however, he started to see how he could affect other peoples’ minds and influence entire nations through one figure. He learned tyranny from all the world’s worst names and then some. Thousands of years of bloodshed and deceit have turned him mad with power.”

“I only have one question then, Phalanx.” Jon said which forced Phalanx to look back at him.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to be able to kill your own son? Because nothing short of that is going to end this.”

Intermission

“Breaking news, folks,” Diane Tremane says just after the Channel 6 news logo interrupts several cable channels. “Yet another research center owned by Draco Industries has been the target of a vicious terrorist attack by the Super who is being called the Winter Wraith by tabloids and local newspapers. The Super who appears in a cloud of fog and leaves only death in his wake. The research center in question was being used to research new ways to battle cancer. Draco Industries CEO, Vladimir Dracovic had this to say.” The video feed cuts away to show Vladimir standing in front of his building with an army of microphones being held close to him. His expression seems somber and tragic.

“It is truly a loss we have suffered at the hands of this coward,” Vladimir says, “we’ve lost a great deal of data in these attacks and now our medical research has plummeted. But I promise you, the Super responsible for these losses will be brought to justice. My company is going to be donating several thousand dollars to the police department so that Chief Slayt and her officers will be better equipped to handle this terrorist known as the Winter Wraith.”

“Mr. Dracovic!” A wispy voice calls out from behind the camera. A new microphone shoves its way onto the camera held by a hand with painted red nails. “What do you have to say to the claim that this Super has somehow found a way to make himself immune to the Nullifier weapon you designed?” Vladimir stands silent for a moment with his head tilting to the side. For a brief second there is fury in his eyes as he stares off the camera into the soul of the female reporter, but he collects himself and nods dutifully.

“It is true; the terrorist seems to have found a way to resist my weapons. My scientists are researching new ways to combat this menace as we speak and I assure you your city will be safe again!” Vladimir yells and then stomps up the marble stairs and back into his building. Reporters shout questions after him until the video feed returns to Diane Tremane sitting patiently at her desk.

“Several other facilities owned by Draco Industries have also been destroyed with a fair number of casualties.”