by Jared Teer
“You know what to do to counter Takeya,” Hughes said. “Deflection is the key. Let’s go over the game plan one last time.” They sat and discussed the strategy for the final match.
Twenty minutes passed and Hughes received a hail with a blue halo forming around his head. “This is Hughes,” he replied.
“We found him!” came the anxious voice of the commander. “Arwad Island off the coast of Syria. We’re assembling a team in the Command Center.”
“Roger, sir.”
The blue halo disappeared and Hughes turned to Darion. “I’m sorry, but I have to be going my friend,” he told him.
“What! What are you talking about, Hughes?”
“Kagan. They’ve pinpointed his location on an island off the coast of Syria. We’re going to confront him.”
“I’m going with you,” said Darion.
“No, you’re not,” said Hughes. “You still have a final test to complete and a tournament to win. The show must go on, Darion. I’ll be fine. You go and win this tournament. You know what to do.” Hughes patted him on the shoulder and dematerialized.
Sky and Ray came running up as Hughes disappeared. “Darion,” said Sky. “Can you tell me what the heck is going on? Clay just took off. He said ‘Kagan’ and disappeared.”
“He probably got called to the Command Center with Hughes,” said Darion. “Hughes’s old teacher Kagan has apparently resurfaced on some island in Syria. They’ve been trying to determine his whereabouts for weeks. It’s a pretty big deal.”
“What about the tournament?” asked Ray.
“Hughes said not to worry and that the show must go on,” said Darion. “I’m pretty sure they can handle themselves. In the mean time, I could use two ugly cheerleaders for the final.” They continued to banter while awaiting the announcement of the championship match.
Hughes materialized in the frantic Command Center. It was filled with a large contingency of warriors of the Host, all on standby in light of Kagan’s emergence.
“Joseph!” called the commander, who was standing along with Solomon Sadler, the head masters, and Omura Kozaki around a holographic projection of Arwad Island. The commander wore his white suit, but the others donned battle attire.
Adam Jones wore a wide-brimmed, white cowboy hat low over his eyes, with a white, long-sleeve shirt, white jeans, and white leather cowboy boots. He wore a white and gold, vertically striped vest and a patterned black and gold poncho. He wore a black leather gun belt, with a silvery revolver at his right side with a golden handle. No ordinary gun, the revolver was of angelic design, firing plasma bullets of the intensity desired by the shooter.
Hawk Chhim of the Hall of Destruction looked intimidating regardless of his slight stature. Five-feet-six at the most, the Ascended warrior of Cambodian heritage wore baggy black pants tucked into black boots, with a wide black band trimmed with red girding his waist. A sleeveless black top articulated his muscular torso.
Lillian Oliver of the Hall of Conception looked as deadly as she was beautiful. She wore a stern expression and stood with her arms folded. Rather than tie her usually long, curly hair back for the impending confrontation, she simply willed it shorter into spikes. She wore a white, formfitting garment with golden greaves, spaulders, and vambraces etched with vines of silver. The spaulders contoured her chest as a breastplate. At her back, magnetically attached to the spaulders, were two, foot-long, metallic sword handles—their blades, two-and-a-half-foot-long psionic edges that manifested upon the drawing of the handles.
Master Kozaki wore a black ninja uniform with split toed tabi boots. The uniform was adorned with armor—polished, golden metal greaves, waistband, shoulder covers, and vambraces. He wore no mask, but around his neck flowed a black and gold scarf.
Clay wore the uniform of the Hall of Might instructors. Solomon wore his typical outfit, similar to Hughes’s, but with a golden cape.
“We’re all here,” said the commander. “You seven will comprise the initial contact team. You will confront Kagan, with deescalation being the goal. Implore him to abandon his murderous campaign and come peacefully back to the Command Center.”
“And when he refuses, sir?” asked Clay.
“If he refuses … restrain him and extract him by force,” said Enoch. “Or … ” he added gravely, “disperse his particles.”
The seven teleported to the Oneiric Plane—to the Oneiric version of the underground compound on Arwad Island. The scene was ghastly—the walls were a collage of bullet holes and blood, with destroyed terminals, cubicles, and bodies strewn about the room.
From across the bay, Kagan’s translucent form entered through the jammed doors of the conference room and then solidified. “Old friends, it’s a pleasure to see you all,” he said. “It’s been far too long.”
All that was visible of his knee-high boots were the black foot portions. From the ankle up to the knee, his legs were adorned in silvery metal greaves etched with vines and trimmed with gold. His loose, white trousers were tucked into the tops of his boots and girded in a wide band of silver metal with gold trim, with stacked H’s etched in golden calligraphy in the center. He wore a formfitting, sleeveless white top tucked into the wide band. On his shoulders were spaulders of the same design as the band and greaves, with a white cape hanging to the rear almost to the ground. He stood about six-foot five, and was powerfully built, but with the lean musculature of a fighter rather than the bulk of a bodybuilder. He had a full head of curly, dark brown hair, and an angular face with a strong jaw. His brown eyes shone intensely beneath his thick eyebrows as he stood with his hands behind his back.
Solomon was the first to address his old teacher. “Hans, it is good to see you as well. I wish it were under differing circumstances. Such carnage cannot be permitted, as you well know. Please, I implore you, come back with us to the Command Center and cease this crusade.”
“Crusade?” Kagan asked. “I did … I do … what has to be done. Regardless of the Enemy’s treaties, the role of the Host has always been to ensure balance, to ensure that the righteous had a fighting chance. All that I’ve done has been in accordance with that goal. I will not sit idly by, I will not go quietly into the good night, while the terrestrial forces of the Enemy are augmented and storming the gates.
“What say you, Joseph, my good friend? Would you also have me resigned to a planetary endowment, to live out my days in luxury while the Enemy tortures and murders my brethren on earth?”
“There are rules, Hans,” said Hughes. “You know good and well that you have my sympathy, but that doesn’t mean I can excuse your methods. Please, you must leave with us.”
“Must I? And you, Adam? Perhaps you would have me spend the next few years catching up on every western ever made while Israel burns?”
“I would implore you to do the right thing,” Jones returned. “Yours are not the only methods of combating the forces of the Enemy. Just look around, Hans. This wanton carnage is deplorable.”
“Indeed it is,” said Kagan. “I assume that it is equally pointless to try to convince the rest of you of the necessity of my actions. Clay … Hawk … Lillian. And Master Kozaki. It is an honor.”
“Teacher,” said Solomon, “you leave us little recourse. We have a company of a hundred warriors on standby. Please, come with us willingly, or we will be forced to take you.”
“You will try.”
Next, many things happened at once. Solomon dematerialized. Lillian dematerialized. Jones drew his revolver and fired two shots of plasma from the hip. A master of Destructive Applications, Hawk opted for the radiance technique, his upper body burning white hot. Clay shifted forward to Kagan’s left, looking to get an angle for a right, spinning-heel kick. Knowing Kagan to be a dangerous foe, Kozaki went right to his ultimate technique and dropped into a horse stance and slapped his palms together with such force that the clap sent a concussive wave toward Kagan. Hughes opted for the duplicate technique, and two translucent versions of himself stepped f
rom his body to either side and then solidified.
Kagan reacted by holding his palm before himself, and Jones’s plasma bullets exploded on an invisible barrier before Kagan’s hand. The barrier also bisected Kozaki’s concussive blast and the force went around Kagan and obliterated the concrete walls on either side behind him. The devastated wall began to buckle. Suddenly, Clay was on Kagan’s left, and then Solomon materialized to his right. Lillian materialized before Kagan, and with the sound of metal sliding over metal, she drew the two sword handles that magnetically attached to the back of her spaulders and manifested their psionic edges, which shone as semi-transparent bent light in the form of straight blades. Clay went for Kagan’s face with his right spinning heel, but Kagan caught his leg with his right hand just before his face and swung Clay into Lillian and Solomon with such force that they sailed into the far bay wall to his right. The inferno that was Master Hawk shot forward in a supine position with his fists aimed for Kagan’s chest. Just as Hawk neared contact, a black hole appeared suddenly, into which he flew. The hole exited before Kozaki, and Hawk smashed into him in an explosion of thermonuclear proportions.
High above the Oneiric Arwad, a company of a hundred warriors of the Host hovered, awaiting the cue to join the battle. There was a massive explosion from the castle in the island’s midst, the result of Hawk’s impact with Kozaki. A golden streak shot from the dark mushroom cloud and came to an abrupt halt in the midst of the assembled warriors. It was Solomon.
“Sir,” said one of the warriors. “Shall we engage the target?”
Solomon looked at the young warrior with a smirk. “Don’t worry, the target will engage us.”
From below the mushroom cloud, deep beneath the surface, came booms reminiscent of artillery fire, shaking the entire island. There was a boom, followed by one of the Hughes duplicates rocketing backward into the atmosphere where it exploded like a golden fireworks display. The booming ceased and Hughes, Clay, Jones, Lillian, Hawk, and Kozaki materialized in the air with Solomon and the others.
“Blast the island, now!” shouted Hughes. The entire assembly bombarded the island with all manner of destructive projectiles—plasma orbs, black hole balls, Asteroid Torrents. Destruction rained down on the island in a spectacular display, and it exploded in a domed conflagration. As the smoke cleared, the ocean waters reclaimed the space no more occupied by the island in a whirlpool-like flood.
“What happened, Hughes?” asked Solomon.
“One of my doubles managed to restrain him in a full nelson,” Hughes replied. ”Hopefully we got him.”
A blue halo formed around Solomon’s head. “Base,” he said, “are the Lazarus Beams picking up anything?”
“Negative,” said a voice that came not from the base but from high above the assembled warriors—Kagan!
A black hole orb the size of a mountain rapidly descended upon the assembly. Those on the outskirts managed to evade it, but those directly below the descending orb were pulled into the maelstrom, their bodies ripped asunder on a molecular level. The orb then began to shrink until it was the size of a tennis ball, and then it floated to hover just above Kagan’s outstretched palm.
Of the initial contact team, only Hughes, Jones, Solomon, and Kozaki remained. Of the standby assembly, roughly half survived.
“It was unwise for you to challenge me in this manner. My powers have grown exponentially since my exile. Here, allow me to demonstrate.” Kagan then cupped the small black orb in both hands and brought it toward his stomach, where it absorbed into his abdomen. The assembly looked up at him in astonishment. Kagan began to laugh, his laugh sounding like that of a multitude.
“When you came here, my powers already exceeded those of any one of you,” Kagan said darkly. “Now, my strength is being augmented by that of your comrades. Give up this futile insurrection, or share their fate.”
Kozaki, his pride as one of the most powerful fighters in the universe challenged by Kagan’s words, exploded toward Kagan, attacking with his Praying Hands. Kozaki attacked fiercely with clasped finger thrusts and chops, but Kagan seemed to leisurely avoid all of his blows.
“Attack!” shouted Hughes, and the rest of the assembly joined in the fray. They attacked from every possible direction, with Kagan in the center of a sphere of striking limbs. Wave after wave of warriors engaged him but were fended of by his retaliation. His speed and power were simply too great. Kozaki was the next to succumb to Kagan’s terrible new powers. Kagan grabbed him by the throat, and, looking into Kozaki’s eyes, Kagan’s became black and began to pull in the golden mist that was Kozaki’s Essence, reducing his body to a chalky husk that he wielded against his attackers.
Kagan cast the shell of Kozaki aside, and began to lash out with thunderous Praying Hand claps, more powerful in concussive force than Kozaki ever imagined. The claps repelled waves of warriors, sending all in their blast radius hurtling away.
“Back off!” shouted Hughes, conceding the futility of a physical assault, and the remaining warriors formed a wide perimeter around Kagan. “Projectiles!” shouted Hughes, and he began to form a plasma orb before his outstretched palms. The others in the assembly followed suit. Jones pointed his revolver at Kagan with one hand and formed a plasma orb before the palm of his other.
Kagan simply smiled and held his arms out to the side: “Come on!”
The assembly fired their plasma orbs toward Kagan, which exploded in their midst like a miniature supernova. The flash subsided and Kagan seemed to be no more. The ocean below churned in a concave whirlpool a mile in diameter, the result of the sudden incineration of millions of gallons of water. They had all put their greatest efforts into the blast and were exhausted.
“Do you think we got him?” Jones asked Hughes.
Suddenly, laughter filled the expanse from no place in particular. Then, storm clouds began to coalesce, forming a massive visage of Kagan looking down and laughing at the assembled warriors.
“My God!” Hughes, disheartened, looked around at the astonished faces of the remaining warriors and knew that the battle was lost.
CHAPTER 18
Urban Golem
Back in the arena, Darion was anticipating the announcement of the championship match.
“Don’t worry, dude,” said Ray. “Just watch out for his finger thrusts when he gets in close. If he gets you in a nerve center, he could paralyze you.” Darion nodded.
“And don’t be afraid to use a special move or two of mine,” Sky suggested while nodding smugly. “Press the action, and if he goes up: Rocket Uppercut! If he goes to either side: Knuckle Twister!” Darion nodded.
Ray burst in, “Hey, it’s called: Tornado Fists! And it’s my move!”
The announcer’s voice came through the expanse. “Ladies and gentlemen, the finals have been … cancelled.”
“What!”
A blue halo appeared around Darion’s head. “Darion, this is Enoch. Please come to the Command Center, it’s urgent.”
“Okay,” said Darion.
“What the heck is going on?!” said Sky.
“The commander wants me to come to the Command Center. He said it’s urgent.”
“Okay, hmmm,” said Sky. “Man, can you come to my room and let me know what you find out, if you find anything out?”
“Yeah, I got you,” said Darion.
Darion materialized on the Command Center platform. Enoch and a few others were standing around a wide circular table from which rose a projection of Oneiric Manhattan. A red dot hovered in place above the projected city, more specifically, above the UN Headquarters on the bank of the East River. Seven golden dots rapidly approached the red one.
“Enoch?” came a voice that seemed to come from nowhere in particular. “We have the target in sight. Shall we engage?”
“That’s a nega—” Enoch began, but he went silent as the red dot zipped toward the golden ones.
“Too late, sir,” said the voice. “He’s attack—aaah!”
Th
e golden dots disappeared quickly, one by one.
“Darn it, Hans!” said Enoch, smashing his fist down through the holographic image to the table. The red dot returned to hovering above the UN building.
“Sir, we have to send more warriors,” said a member of the Host standing around the table.
“No,” Enoch said pointedly. “I don’t want to provoke him. He’s liable to reveal himself to the world. The president of the United States is heading to the UN as we speak. They’re having an emergency session to address the recent unexplained attacks on terrorist cells in the Middle East. President Coulter is on his way to refute accusations from terrorist recordings that blame the U.S. for the attacks. Of course, the majority of the member states already think that President Coulter is dishonest due to the negative press his administration gets, so, I doubt anything he says will shake their convictions in the least. Kagan has truly put us in a pickle this time. Is he trying to set off World War III?”
Enoch looked over in Darion’s direction. “Darion, welcome,” he said somberly after noticing him. “As you’ve probably surmised by now from what you’ve heard, things aren’t going too well.”
“Where is Hughes?” Darion asked.
“Hughes and the head masters, along with a great many warriors, have … been defeated by Kagan.”
“What do you mean by defeated?”
“Their particles have been dispersed,” said Enoch. “We attempted to prevent particle escape with the Lazarus Beams, but it was no use.”
“What does this mean?” asked Darion.
“It means … It means our hands are tied.”
“What?!” said Darion. “How is this possible? Aren’t we supposed to be the good guys? What is he doing?”
“Kagan always believes himself to be acting in the best interest of righteousness,” said Enoch, “but his methods are impulsive and often brutal—the result of PTSD, Post Terrestrial Separation Disorder.”
