1999: A Superhero Novel

by Hodden, TE

  He forced it back, holding it within the schism way. The tides of code rippled about him, reacting to his commands.

  Echoe’s will reached into his mind. You know what you must do!

  Images of the dead worlds flashed in his mind, and he saw too clearly what the fires would do to Earth.

  The fire burned brighter, and hotter, pushing back against his mind. The machine wanted him to release it. The parts of his mind melded into the machine wanted that too. It just needed him to tell it how.

  The sharp edges in his mind twisted, like daggers, urging him to release it. Just let them know how to release it.

  No.

  You can’t hold it! Echo whispered. It is too much!

  He had no other choice.

  The fires poured forth, from the crack in the sky. They seared and burned in his thoughts, as he shaped them into a narrow beam, and aimed them away from the city, away from the souls, and pointed it at the mothership.

  The searing pain shredded his mind.

  Somewhere, as darkness and fire closed around him, he was aware of the beam hitting the mothership. The space ship fragmented into particles, lost in the tide of fire.

  The flames hungered for more. So much more.

  Charlie held them back, as his world frayed apart around him.

  No! He begged. Not like this. Not now…

  The fire continued to fight to be free.

  10110

  “Step away from him!” Echo ordered, as the computer confirmed the Yeoman was slaved to the machine. “It’s time.”

  Wormwood threw the big switch on the mast, and the fragment of Extinction Stone began to glow with a throbbing, pulsing light.

  The mast crackled with energy, and hummed with power as the fracture in the sky began to glow. The schism-way opened, revealing the universe of churning, primordial flames beyond. Endless power, and limitless energy, hungering to feed, to consume, to burn away the souls of the world.

  She shuddered in horror and awe.

  Wormwood was still stood over the Yeoman, the young man behind the helmet, staring into the abyss of flames. He was smiling in a peculiar way, even by his standards.

  Peculiar? Yes Elois, she thought, for once I agree.

  She reached out with her presence and felt the Yeoman’s mind melting into the fabric of the Ether Converter, becoming part of the computer programmes that controlled the lens. On the screen she could him already bolstering the shields that held back the fire, pressing it into the rift.

  She adjusted the targeting array, drawing a path straight down the spine of the Mothership that hovered over the bay.

  The system fought against her.

  “Increase the power!” She ordered.

  Wormwood threw two more levers home. The sound of the array rose in pitch to a steam whistle.

  Echo reached out again, thrusting her thoughts into the Yeomans. You know what you must do!

  The whine of power increased and increased.

  The fire bulged out of the schism, whipping and lashing against the shield, with more and more pressure.

  Harris marched over to her. “Why isn’t it working?”

  “He’s strong!” Wormwood said. “He’s fighting to keep it in its own universe, but he will relent. He has to! He has to!”

  You can’t hold it, Echo promised the struggling Yeoman. It’s too much.

  There was a sound like ripping fabric, as loud as the doomsday trumpet, and a river of fire leapt from the schism, and wormed into the sky, buffered and contained by the lens field, holding it on a true course.

  It washed over the Mothership, dissolving it away to nothing in seconds, and carried on burning into the sky.

  “He did it!” Harris turned to Wormwood. “Shut it down!”

  “Why?” Wormwood chuckled. “We could aim it at that fold-gate in space, and burn Legion out of existence. Ensure he never comes back!”

  Echo scowled at him. “You know the Yeoman could not hold it stable that long.”

  “Yeah,” Wormwood said, “but I hoped you wouldn’t.”

  “Shut it down,” Echo ordered. “The one our master serves, does not like burned food.”

  Wormwood laughed. “Our master? Mine is in there.” He pointed to the schism way. “And it hungers!”

  The Thralls all drew their pistols, and pointed them at Wormwood.

  Harris drew his crossbow. “The way I understand it, that means this river of fire becomes a tsunami that swallows the city.”

  “The city,” Wormwood agreed. “Then the ocean, then the country, then… all the countries.”

  The sub-masts of the array began to spark and smoke.

  “Shut them down!” Harris barked.

  “It’s too late,” Wormwood said.

  Harris pulled the trigger, and a bolt hit Wormwood between the eyes. The sorcerer fell, at the foot of the mast. Harris reached out for switches, but was driven back, as arcs of electricity flashed over them.

  Tendrils of fire poured from the schism, onto the rooftop, striking the Thralls like serpents, reducing them to ashes.

  “He’s losing it!” Echo warned. “We have to go!”

  Harris grabbed her wrist, and fired his flight pack.

  They soared up, and landed on the ramp of the hovering Manta, as the river of fire collapsed over the building, and consumed it in a waterfall of liquid flames.

  10111

  The last fragment of Charlie’s strength failed, and the fire poured out of the schism, feeding upon the Thralls, the slaves of the Network.

  The river of fire collapsed from the sky, and washed down over the building.

  His armour activated, phasing about him, protecting him. It protected him from the flames, but drew his mind back into his own awareness.

  He cried out, and mustered what reserves he could, wrapping his will around the fire, and holding it here, to this rooftop. The alchemical chains tightened against him.

  His body was broken, and full of foggy, groggy, pain. His breath was ragged and gasping.

  The flames pouring around him were too bright to look at.

  He closed his eyes, and cleared his thoughts, and shaped his mind into a spell, reinforcing the field around the building, holding back the fire, from pouring through the streets. He reached out with his thoughts and touched the schism. It burned at his soul, before he could pull it closed.

  He tried again, twisting his thoughts about the schism way.

  It pulled at him, ripping at his mind, dragging him into the elemental realm like gravity pulling him to a black hole.

  Don’t you dare, Little Brother, a familiar voice whispered beside him.

  Robin? Charlie could feel her presence in the flow of magic.

  Now is not your time, Robin warned him. Tilda has hopes of a great-granddaughter.

  Nobody, Tilda’s presence snapped, could do this alone.

  There were other presences in the magic too.

  Hush now, Tilda said. Did you think Ethis was just for our quiet retirement? The Yeoman are not meant to fight alone.

  A legion of presences, countless generations of Yeomen, added the force of their wills to his.

  We may be dead, Robin yelled.

  But that does not stop us! The others chorused.

  Charlie joined the effort, pushing back against the tide of fire, and pulling the schism closed.

  Together! Tilda cried.

  The schism way closed. The seal was weak, but it would hold.

  The fire burned itself away, leaving a thick soup of white smoke in its wake. The presences faded. Charlie let himself sink back against the chain.

  He gasped for breath.

  The rooftop groaned, as the building shifted.

  “Oh.” Charlie groaned. “Bugger that.”

  He passed out, as the building collapsed.

  11000

  Allistaire covered his face so none of the others in the bunker could see his smile, as the dazzling white river of fire erupted from the sky above the
Mission District, and shot across the skies above San Francisco, consuming the behemoth of the Mothership, and burning it away.

  The beam continued, slicing through the sky, and into the stars.

  Then the fire collapsed, consuming the building.

  He braced himself for the fire to spill out and consume the city.

  It burned itself out.

  His smile faded.

  Allistaire lowered his hands. “It worked!”

  Childes looked confused. “What was that?”

  “That,” Allistaire said, “was Echo. Our… last line contingency plan. She should explain it.”

  Allistaire tapped open a communications channel. On the screen Echo was with Scimitar, in a jet. He cleared his throat. “Agent Echo? I assume that fireworks display was you?”

  “Yes sir,” Echo said. “The Honour Guard was concealing an inter-dimensional rift in San Francisco. I believe that was why the ship was headed there. To use it as a weapon.”

  Allistaire nodded. “Was their assault… successful?”

  “Sir…” Scimitar said, reluctantly. “I am sorry to report that their plan was never meant to succeed. They were agents of the Legion. This was all a ruse to draw our naval fleet into a trap where it could be destroyed, before they used the rift. Praetorian had been planning this for decades. We didn’t know, but… eventually he tried to turn us.”

  “All of you?” One of the Joint Chiefs demanded.

  “Sir,” Echo said, mournfully, “they murdered the UN team to hamper our response, and freed a dangerous criminal from the Tombstone. One of them, the British agent known as Yeoman, sided with us, against them, but he… bravely gave his life destroying the enemy. Without him, that fire would have run free and burned us all.”

  “We are in his debt,” Allistaire said. “And in yours. Do… we know what happened to the traitors?”

  “That is unconfirmed,” Harris said. “I am having what remains of the Special Duty Battalion secure their HQ. I doubt they will return, but if they do…”

  Allistaire rubbed his face. “I’m sorry Agent Echo. It looks like you have your next mission. If they survived, find them. Put their threat to an end.”

  Echo smiled. “Sir, Yes Sir.”

  11001

  Melisa’s heart was running fast and cold. She could feel Charlie’s presence, weak, distant, and pained, but alive. Beyond any doubt, he was still there, alive.

  “Are you sure about this?” Catherine asked, bringing the Manta down into the smoke and debris.

  Nothing of the building still stood. It had been reduced to scorched rubble and molten glass, collapsed across the street.

  Matthew grimaced, and held tight to Angel. Summers had her arm around Melisa.

  Melisa nodded. “I’m sure!”

  Barney clicked through on his screen. “There’s somebody down there.”

  Catherine glanced down at the scanners. Barney was right. There was a figure, lost in the smoke, clawing at the rubble.

  Flintlock stopped digging, and looked up, as the Manta’s engine wash scattered the smoke, shielding her eyes with her hands.

  Catherine flicked open the ramp.

  “I’ll go,” Matthew said, climbing to his feet.

  Melisa scrambled from her seat and ran for the hold, grabbing one of the emergency packs. She leapt down from the ramp onto the rubble. It shifted beneath her feet, and burned at the soles of her boots. She dropped an insulated blanket over the rubble, and fell to her knees by Flintlock. She pulled on some gloves, and clawed at the rubble.

  “Charlie! Charlie!” She cried.

  Flintlock stared at him. “You… sense him?”

  Melisa nodded.

  Flintlock clicked her fingers. A gun appeared in her hand, a long barrelled, antique pistol. Hewn from clear crystal. “Look me in the eye, and tell me you mean no harm.”

  Melisa stared into her eyes. Her rage boiled over. “What did you do to him?”

  Flintlock lowered the pistol. “It wasn’t me. It was one of you.”

  Matthew drifted over. “What do you mean?”

  “The old codger with the crossbow!” Flintlock snapped. “He shot the Yeoman in the back, and helped feed him into that machine. He did this!”

  The words wounded Matthew. “We can talk about that later.” He reached out with his aura, and scooped at the rubble with it.

  Charlie was in his armour. He tried to stand but couldn’t.

  Melisa and Flintlock dragged him up.

  “Come on,” Melisa said. “Help me get him back to¬”

  A police car screeched to a halt at the end of the street.

  “Guys,” Catherine said over the radio, “You need to get him aboard. Now!”

  The officers climbed out of the police car, in tactical armour, their shotguns held ready.

  “Now!” Catherine shouted.

  Melisa dragged Charlie with her, as Flintlock pushed them up the ramp. Matthew flew in behind them, as the ramp closed.

  “Halt!” One of the Police Officers shouted. “Stand down.”

  The engines roared, and the jet flew sharply skywards.

  *

  They hid in a cloud system, with the stealth field up, and the engines on silent.

  Melisa stood at the back, where Charlie was slumped in a chair. His thoughts were aware, but broken and disjointed. Machine code zeroes and ones kept spilling out from behind his shields.

  Everybody else was listening to the chatter on the radio.

  Barney slumped back in his chair, defeated. Matthew stood, stoic and thoughtful. Angel leant against him, her head bowed, and her veil shimmering in her breath. Summers leant over the back of Catherine’s chair, so they were cheek to cheek. Catherine looked like she had been stabbed right in the heart.

  “So…” Melisa let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. “They’re blaming us. They think we… attacked the moon? We called Legion here?”

  Barney shrugged. “I guess he has to blame somebody…”

  Angel sighed. “But why?”

  Barney shrugged. “Because… Otherwise people might know he did it?”

  “No!” Angel snapped. “Why is he doing any of this? Why lure in the Legion? Why use the elemental fire? Why keep risking the world?”

  Charlie reached over and grabbed Melisa’s hand. “Necrex!”

  Melisa stared at him. “You’re sure?”

  Charlie nodded. “Elois was one of his…Hunt Of Knights.”

  “Then…” Flintlock winced. “That’s it! If his Lieutenants are here, then they have been pushing the world to the brink. The Legion, the Fire… Either could have drowned the world in death, and thinned the veil between realities. They want to come across, and when they do, this world will die.”

  Matthew rubbed his face. “And now he’s hedging his bets to keep us out the way. We don’t have anywhere to run, or hide, and we will lose all our contacts. We need to stop whatever comes next, and we don’t even have a clue where to begin.”

  Catherine smiled. “Yeah. We do. Mel brought it home from the prison. I asked Padmaja to take it when she bugged out. It isn’t much, but it’s something.”

  Summers softened her voice. “We lost Mars. We can’t retreat there. Maybe… Antarctica.”

  Barney shook his head. “They have a transportation pad. They can reach us. Nowhere on Earth is safe.”

  Flintlock walked over to Charlie. “So… We don’t hide on Earth. Where do we go, Yeoman?”

  Charlie’s thoughts soured and darkened. “I know a place. It’s safe, and it has supplies. It will do for now, but we can make it work long term.”

  Catherine looked over her shoulder. “Where?”

  “Scotland,” he whispered. “Loch Wulver.”

  11010

  The new Marine One descended onto the deck of the cargo ship. Allistaire left his security detail behind and hurried across the sodden deck and down into the hold.

  The Thralls parted to let him across the palatial floor.
r />   Misrule and Echo were in the middle of the floor, where a craggy old man lay naked, in a circle of chalk symbols and candles. Agent Harris. Their pet superhero.

  Misrule looked up at Allistaire. “We have more convenient ways to communicate.”

  “No.” Allistaire squared his shoulders. “These need to be my words.”

  Misrule smiled. “Then by all means…”

  “You told me I would be free!” Allistaire snapped.

  “I miscalculated,” Misrule said. “It should have been over. The Yeoman was not meant to contain the Elemental Fire. If I wanted that, we would have ensured it with all the Thralls in a choir. At least he died a hero. He… did die, didn’t he?”

  “They found nothing of him,” Allistaire promised.

  Echo smiled. “And the others?”

  Allistaire took the lump of slag from his pocket and tossed it to her. “They were probably on the ship when it burned away. There have been reports since. If they still breathe, they will be found.”

  Echo turned it over in her fingers. “This is all that is left of the Singularity Spear?”

  Allistaire nodded. “All that is left.”

  Misrule put a finger to Allistaire’s chest. “They will be found. Nightmare will ensure of that.”

  Harris opened his eyes. There was no humanity to them. They were lumps of black glass, full of stars.

  11011

  Harris tried to scream, but could make no noise, with lungs full of the dark brine of this terrible ocean. He twisted and struggled, clawing at the chains that bound his ankle.

  A giant eel emerged from the shadowy depths, with a maw full of fangs. It didn’t touch the other figurers, the contented sleepers anchored by their chains, but they swayed and shifted in its wake.

  One twisted around on her chain, her hair billowing about her in a halo.

  Phoebe was as beautiful as ever, her eyes closed, a smile of serene contentment on her lips.

  Harris froze, and stared at her, his heart in his mouth.

  She drifted back out of view, swallowed by the gloom.

  Harris tried to scream, but couldn’t.

  Part Four: The Eleventh Hour