New Olympus Saga (Book 4): The Ragnarok Alternative

by C. J. Carella

  “We all thought he’d recovered,” Olivia said.

  “You all weren’t sleeping with him.”

  “Let’s forget about blame for now, Ali. There’s plenty to go around, and none of it will change what happened.”

  The elevator doors opened into the main atrium. A throng of reporters was waiting for them, kept at bay only by two lines of velvet ropes and a handful of discreetly-positioned Legionnaires.

  “We’ll talk more after dealing with the general public,” Olivia promised her.

  Nothing you say is going to make me feel any better, Ali thought.

  The Invincible Man

  Freedom Island, Caribbean Sea, July 20, 2014

  Duped again. Made a fool of. Again.

  “Stop with the anger and self-loathing, okay?” Christine said. “Or do you want to turn into the Ultimate Mister Night?”

  “I’m sorry,” John said. He’d always considered those who wallowed in self-pity to be useless whiners, and here he was, puling like a child who’d just discovered life wasn’t fair.

  “Just try to relax. Don’t dwell on the negative crap. We dodged a big bullet. Massive. You don’t know how bad my evil twin was. I’d never thought I’d be glad someone was dead, especially someone who shared every last bit of my DNA, but I am. Glad. That she’s dead. The bitch.”

  “The important thing now is to undo all the damage she’s done,” Adam said, looking up briefly from the monitors filling much of the examining room. “I’m still picking up large levels of Taint in John’s aura.”

  “I know. I can see them, like tiny little tumors. She really did a number on you, John. And Daedalus’ parting blasts didn’t help. Normally the disruptors just hurt or kill you, but in this case they acted like fertilizer on the seedlings in your aura. The d-bag. But most of the damage was Dark Christine’s doing. The bitch.”

  For a few brief days he’d been happy again. Now those moments of joy had turned to ashes in his mouth.

  “John, please. The Outsider stuff feeds on just those kinds of feelings.”

  “I’ll try.” He wasn’t wearing the ring that protected him from her empathic senses, of course. She needed full access to his emotional state, to help cleanse him from what her evil counterpart had done to him. He felt naked; worse than naked. His shame and anger were in full display in front of her. And his hatred, too. At this moment, he hated her. None of this would have happened if you’d never come to this world.

  The hurt in her eyes told him she’d sensed the sentiment, if not the exact words.

  “Maybe I deserved that,” she said, concentrating on her work. “After this is over, I’ll transfer to another team. California, or Asia. Whatever. But let’s get you healed up, John. At least now I have the skills and the raw power to remove the infection without doing too much damage. I’m going to try and remove it all in one sitting, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to do it. I still haven’t finished with Cassius.”

  “I spoke to him while I waited for you. He mentioned you weren’t willing to do what was necessary to speed up the process.” It wasn’t meant to be an accusation, but came out as one.

  “I wasn’t willing to mutilate his soul,” Christine said. “I still don’t know enough about the whole ‘mind-soul construct’ as Uncle Adam likes to call it. It definitely is linked to your personality, memories, access to the Source for us Neos, and all kinds of other stuff. If I rush things, I could destroy his mind, or strip him of his powers, or turn him into a sociopath. So yeah, I’m not willing to take the chance unless there’s no other choice. Slow and steady, that’s the ticket. It took me about fourteen days to cleanse myself, back on Earth FUBAR. Now that I have lots more energy available, I may get it done faster. On the other hand, it was easier to fix myself, mostly because I had a better handle of what parts of my soul to cut away. Uncle Adam suggested a few new techniques to move things along, and you get to be our personal guinea pig.”

  “Glad to be of help,” John said.

  “And you actually meant that. Only ten percent sarcasm, give or take. It’s got a nasty emotional signature, by the way. Sarcasm. It’s like biting down on tin foil, a mixture of cynicism and disappointment with a thin film of humor on top. Not my fave.”

  John let her ramble on without comment. She was working as she talked, the chatter helping steady her while her psychic scalpels removed the Taint from John’s aura. She was trying to minimize the damage, but every few seconds he felt bursts of intense agony, a mixture of physical and emotional pain that was sheer torture. He forced himself to stay still.

  “Eighty-eight percent,” Adam said. “That’s better than I’d expected.”

  “If it’s not a hundred percent, it’s crap,” Christine said, biting her lower lip as she concentrated. “It’ll just grow back every time he feels bad about something.”

  John clenched his teeth when a fresh burst of pain ran through his body; he made no overt signs, but she sensed it, of course.

  “No. No!” Christine said.

  “Ninety-one percent, but your accuracy and efficiency are declining sharply. To continue before you rest is foolish, Christine. I told you total success was unlikely.”

  “And you were right. I…” She stepped away from the chair where John had been sitting for the procedure. “I need a break.”

  She all but ran from the room, leaving John and Adam behind.

  “She thought she could fix all the damage in one session,” Adam said. “And she tried, for all that it left her exposed to all your hostile emotions. You have no idea how much pain you inflicted on her.”

  Adam sounded a lot less like cool and collected Doc Slaughter and a lot more like the murderous vigilante who made up half of who he was.

  “I didn’t mean to,” John said.

  “You need to get over it, John. Let’s face it, you were never worthy of her.”

  “And Face-Off is?”

  “More so than you. The fact is, you’ve gotten used to getting your own way for far too long. Linda’s death was the most traumatic thing you’ve experienced in half a century, and it almost destroyed you. You became a melancholy shadow of yourself, and Daedalus took advantage of it. You almost ended up dead, insane or a puppet as a result. And Christine’s alternate self did the same thing yet again. And you still can’t seem to deal with it.”

  John began to shout a heated reply but checked himself. Adam was right in every particular.

  “You are right. I’m still wallowing in self-pity. About Christine. About my suspension from the Legion. It’s downright pathetic, isn’t it?”

  Adam didn’t say anything.

  “There is only one thing to do,” John said. “I’ll go join Cassius in the Sanctuary. The same security systems meant to contain him will work on me, and we can keep each other company until Christine and you figure out a way to disinfect us.”

  “That’s probably for the best.”

  “I’ll be on my way, then. Please tell Christine I’m sorry. And Ali.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be seeing them both very soon, John. We won’t turn our backs on you. Remember that.”

  The truth of that statement only made him feel more ashamed of himself.

  Christine Dark

  Freedom Island, Caribbean Sea, July 20, 2014

  She needed a hug. Lucky for her Mark was available and very huggable.

  “You know, in the comics, it’s all over after you’ve taken down the Big Bad. They usually don’t dwell on the cleanup afterwards.”

  “The comics are full of shit.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Things didn’t go so well with Ultimate, then.”

  “I got ninety-one percent of all the crap evil Mini-Me put in him.”

  “That sounds pretty good.”

  “Not when it comes to cancer or this stuff. It grows back, you see.”

  “Oh.”

  “I only managed to fix you because of our bond, and even then I worry I did some damage to you.”


  “I feel just fine. Well, the other day I started speaking with a Portuguese accent for no reason, and everything tastes like chicken, except chicken, but other than that…”

  “Funny guy.”

  “You’ll get it done. You can do anything, Armageddon Girl.”

  “Now you’re just trying to peeve me off.”

  “You look beautiful when you’re angry.”

  “I most certainly do not. My skin gets all splotchy and my lips disappear and I get that peeved-goofy expression on my face.”

  “Maybe I like my women angry, splotchy, and goofy.”

  That led to a bout of tickle-wrestling, and that led to some sexy times.

  “Feeling better?” he asked her, some time later. Getting close to Monday later.

  “Yes. A little.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m glad she’s dead. Unconditionally, no second thoughts, totally glad.”

  “Been there a few times.”

  “Yeah. Like a hundred times.”

  “Not really,” Mark said, turning serious. “I rarely was happy I’d killed someone. Mostly satisfied because they weren’t going to hurt anybody, ever again. A few times, though, yes, I could have danced a jig on their graves. Actually did, once or twice. Some people can only make the world a better place by getting the fuck off it.”

  “She definitely was one of them.”

  “I’m glad I helped.”

  “I kinda wish I’d done it myself. So bloodthirsty of me, I know, but after what she did…”

  She felt his notional eyes on her.

  “No pressure,” he told her. “When you’re ready, you can tell me what else happened over there. I know the most important part already.”

  “Which is?”

  “You got away. You’re here. You got away – that’s what matters.”

  I just don’t know if I have. If I ever will.

  “Let me check back on John, see if I can take another swing at the Outsider energy, or at least schedule a follow-up,” she said.

  A quick phone call later, she found out that John had flown to the Sanctuary. She could go there the next day and start work on both him and Cassius.

  She was out of excuses not to show Mark the rest of the story.

  “Might as well get it over with.”

  Earth FUBAR, Day Twenty-Nine

  “And for the main event, fighting solo for the first time, here she is: Nellie GOOOOMEZ!”

  Christine walked onto the arena. A lot of people on the stands were cheering for her, rather than for her death. Others were less generous of spirit.

  “This is it, baby! You goan die!”

  “Nobody makes it out alive, bitch!”

  “Show us your titties!”

  She gave the catcallers the double finger as she did her walk-around, which got her more cheers and more catcalls. Might as well concentrate on the cheers.

  “We love you, Nellie!”

  “You go, girl!”

  “Kill the fucker!”

  The unannounced, surprise fucker. Christine was worried about that. There were no good surprises in the arena. None.

  Just kill the mother-frakker and then you can spend the night with Mark.

  That had been the only bright spot in her life. They’d spent most of last night making love, and hunting down his tormentors. Killing and fucking, as Mark had put it. That should be safe enough, she thought. Mark’s memories were a jumbled mess, but he was pretty sure neither Dark Christine nor Mister Night had dropped by in a long time. They’d gotten bored with him. Chances were they wouldn’t notice Mark was awake until Christine made her escape.

  And then what? Leave him behind? How do I rescue him?

  She’d rescued her Mark, but that had been with the full use of her powers and more luck than she ever had any right to expect, and even then it had been a close thing.

  I don’t know if I can leave him behind. Even if he’s not my Mark.

  And he wasn’t; she’d known that much even during the brief hours they’d spent together. This Mark had been brutalized for far longer than hers. His inner rage had been stoked to a terrible temper. The things he’d done to some of the ghost torturers when they’d dared intrude in their private time had turned her stomach. Would have turned her Mark’s stomach. He was more cruel, jaded and cynical than the real Mark.

  Real? God, what an awful thing to think. He, all these people, they are as real as everyone on Earth Alpha. Or Earth Prime for that matter.

  A change in the crowd’s mood snapped her out of her reverie. They’d just announced the lucky winner of the Kill Nellie Sweepstakes, and she’d missed it. A lot of spectators were booing, which meant…

  Two portcullises were going up instead of one.

  Which meant she was screwed.

  The first guy out was wearing a crude suit of steampunk power armor, all metal rivets and puffing hydraulic pistons, big metal plates around his torso, a huge helmet covering his entire head and face except for a grill-covered viewing slit. The armor looked about an inch thick in most places. Snipe was stronger than your average kickboxer champion, but not that strong; her knives would never punch through that.

  And there was the other guy, just in case she might somehow figure a way to deal with Iron Douche.

  The second gladiator was wearing a blue and black ninja costume immortalized by the beloved game franchise that had turned the word ‘Fatality’ into an international meme. And from the way he was leaving small icy footprints behind him, he had the same powers of said game’s character.

  Ice, ice, baby. Her mom sometimes sang those words, then looked ashamed about it.

  I want my Mommy. I want to wake up and find all of this was nothing but a bad dream.

  The two contestants did their own walkabout. She used the time to study them. The guy in the riveted armor moved fairly slowly. She might be able to dance around him, although she was sure he was capable of short bursts of speed. Better be on the lookout for that. He also had two shoulder-mounted weapons that looked like grenade launchers or really big shotguns, which would be a lot harder to duck.

  Cold Ninja’s powers soon became evident when he ice-blasted a particularly loud heckler. The poor dude’s torso and head were frozen solid; as the rest of his body convulsed, the frozen parts fell off him and shattered on the bleachers. The terrified crowd around the victim started a mini-stampede; a gaggle of Watchers broke that up, rushing down and beating people with truncheons until they sat down and shut up, and never mind the melting dead guy on their seats.

  I’m going to kill that asshole.

  It was a nice sentiment, but chances were she wasn’t going to survive the next five minutes.

  Her two opponents ended their circuit on opposite ends of the arena, with her in the middle, so no matter who she faced, the other would be behind her.

  They’ve really fixed this fight. Only a complete sucker would bet for me. She idly wondered what her Vegas odds would have been, if Vegas still existed.

  “Fight!”

  The two super-gladiators charged.

  * * *

  Some years ago, long before she ended up on Earth Alpha, Christine’s mom took her to a self-defense class. She only made it through a few sessions before begging to switch to something else; the whole violence thing was just too icky, and she was sure she’d never have it in her to hit a fellow human being.

  One of the early lessons had sunk in, though. Running is your best first option. Don’t try to stand and fight if you see a way out.

  She ran.

  Ran, somersaulted, zig-zagged, dodged around. Ice bolts and lead slugs missed her by inches. Her run was just an opening gambit, though. By moving off to one side, she forced the two d-bags to come at her from one direction. Once they were more or less lumped together, she changed course, doing a spiral run that brought her closer to them.

  Only Snipe’s inhuman reflexes allowed her to avoid the icy bolts of death and the variety of crap the Iron Madd
en was shooting out of his shoulder launchers. Slow-moving mini-cannonballs; swinging bolas meant to truss her up; razor wire nets. As she got closer they stopped with the ranged attacks and waited to engage her in hand to hand combat. That probably saved her bacon; it was hard to approach someone who was shooting at you.

  The black-and-blue ninja came first, moving at Neo speeds, kicks and punches flashing at her. She tried to chop off his hands, but he was fast enough to parry her knife strikes without getting cut, which should be impossible in real life. But this was fantasy made flesh, her own imagination turned against her.

  As they fought without landing anything major on each other, the armored guy started circling around to get a shot at her back. His metal fists were the size of car engines, bigger than the Robb-Thing’s; if he landed a punch he’d break every bone in her body. He’d have to corner her first, though, and she kept circling around to prevent that.

  She managed to score a couple of shallow slashes on the ninja after she got a feel for his combat rhythm and how to get around his defenses. The ninja didn’t like getting cut; he started using ice bursts alongside the kicks and punches. A near-miss left a patch of frostbitten skin and flesh on her left shoulder that hurt enough to make her cry out loud.

  “Just die, bitch,” the ninja said.

  “After you,” she replied.

  He started prepping another blast. She timed her move just right, and zigged instead of zagging. The ninja sent a bolt of ice her way just when the armor guy finally got behind her. The ice blast missed her and hit the iron dude instead. A thick crust of pure frozen goodness spread over the armor guy’s chest and arms, temporarily paralyzing his upraised arms. Christine did an impossible kicking somersault, catching the ninja in the face with a foot as she leapt over the Iron Giant wannabe and landed on his massive shoulders.

  Before either of her foes could react, Christine drove a knife through the metal grill and into one baby blue eye, which immediately stopped being either blue or an eye. The iron a-hole was still screaming as he tottered back and forth, which meant she hadn’t quite reached his brain, so she stabbed him in the other eye, and that did the trick.