by Barry Reese
“Oh, yeah.”
Jennifer knelt on the carpet, looking up at him. “I’m really sorry for getting you involved in all this. I just didn’t know where else to turn. If you need to go...”
John held up a hand. “No. You’re family... and besides, I feel like this is my last chance to help out Daniel. I know it sounds crazy but when I leave London and head home, it’s over. Dan’s dead. But as long as I’m here with you and Babylon, it’s not over yet. It’s like Daniel’s still around.”
“Did you say that to Roxanne?”
“Not exactly, but close.”
Jennifer decided not to press the issue, knowing that John’s marital problems were his own. If he wanted to talk more, he’d do it, but her pushing would only drive a wedge between them and right now, he needed more friends, not fewer.
Casting a glance over at Byron, she gave him a wink and a smile. She shifted her legs into a lotus-style seating position and closed her eyes. “Okay, John... just make sure nobody bothers me, okay?”
John nodded, feeling a bit nauseous. “You got it, kid.”
Jennifer didn’t hear his reply, her consciousness already stretching out of her body. She’d memorized an incantation that would allow her spirit to access the Realm of the Just Dead... from there, she would be able to visit with the trapped mages and get their opinions on the various options she had for freeing them.
She had no idea that she was about to bear witness to a nightmare.
***
The Astral Plane
“She comes,” Abigail Cross said. Despite the frailty in her voice, she commanded respect from all the surviving mages. As one, they floated toward her, hoping that the moment of their rescue was at hand.
Nathaniel Caine was the first to reach her side. Like all the others, he was beginning to come undone. A spirit could be separated from its physical form for only so long before it began to deteriorate. Already M’Baku and several others had faded into ethereal nothingness. “Let us hope she comes bearing good news,” he said.
Jennifer Black appeared in a sparkle of golden energy, dressed as she would have in her early teens, during her days as Byron’s apprentice: a metal bikini which barely hid her now adult form, with a blue cloak tied about her shoulders. Jennifer sighed loudly when she realized how she’d materialized... she’d have to ask Byron why her astral form was stuck wearing fashions she’d abandoned about half a decade before.
Catalyst moved forward, uncharacteristically rushed in his manner. “Speak, child! Have you found a way to free us?”
Jennifer struggled not to show her concern. They looked horrible, much worse than when she’d last seen them. A few of the mages looked like they were about to fade away completely. “I have a few ideas,” she offered.
“Ideas aren’t good enough,” Sylvia Maxim hissed. She looked haggard, her astral self virtually invisible in some places. “We need results. Have you contacted Kayla Kaslov? Or The Peregrine? What about The New Olympians? There are other paths beyond the mystical that could be explored!”
“I’ve been in contact with the New Olympians... sort of. But I’ve been active on other fronts. I know the person behind all of this! It’s Damian, the son of Lucifer.”
Catalyst snapped his fingers. “Aha! I should have recognized his touch on this. So like his father...”
Sylvia still wasn’t satisfied. “That knowledge won’t do us much good unless—”
A sudden spasm on the Astral Plane made everyone pause. Ripples had appeared between them, visible to each. Again there came a pulse of energy and this time Abigail Cross cried out in pain.
“What’s happening?” Jennifer asked.
Catalyst looked worried, reaching out to grasp Jennifer’s hand. “You must go back, my child! Remember this: a demon like Damian cannot abide what he cannot possess! Love, beauty, sacrifice—these are the things that are bane to a demon!” Jennifer felt Catalyst’s grip loosen on her own as a terrible wave of pain washed over the mage. All around her, the ensnared wizards howled in agony. She tried to summon forth some sort of protective spell, something to shield them from this attack but she found her mind empty, too frightened to think of the proper response.
Sylvia Maxim’s astral form burst into a thousand pinpricks of light. The next to go was Abigail Cross, who died even as she reached out to comfort a frightened wizard at her side.
One by one, some quietly and with dignity, others fighting to the last breath, the most powerful mages of Earth were destroyed. As Jennifer watched in helpless horror, she saw that only Catalyst remained—and he was in dire condition.
From the mists of the astral realm, a woman appeared, wearing a slightly modified version of Catalyst’s own uniform... this was Rachel, his long-dead wife. As the heroine known as Esper, she had fought alongside the original Claws of the Peregrine.
“It’s going to be okay, Nathaniel,” Rachel said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
The two of them embraced and Catalyst kissed her sweetly. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said.
“I know... and I’ve missed you, too.”
Jennifer shook her head, her heart pounding. “No... Nathaniel, I need you! I can’t let you go!” This time her mind did function correctly: she threw her hands out and trapped Catalyst in a tiny pocket of time, only large enough for one. He would be safe in there for a while but it would not last forever.
Rachel pulled back, unable to hold her lover any longer. She looked at Jennifer with fury in her eyes. “He’s earned his rest.”
“I’m sorry,” Jennifer said. “I might still need him... the world might still need him.”
Jennifer suddenly felt herself yanked back to the mortal plane and she opened her eyes, screaming at the top of her lungs.
John sat up with a start, even as Byron the Enchanter looked away, his eldritch abilities sensing what had happened.
Rushing over to Jennifer, John knelt at her side. She was panting, her eyes wide with horror. “Jen? What happened?”
“They’re dead. They’re all dead except for Catalyst and he’s so close... Oh, John, if I’d only tried harder, maybe I could have—”
John pulled her head to his shoulder, holding her as her body was suddenly wracked by sobs. “Hey... don’t blame yourself. You can’t. You did the best you could.”
Jennifer pulled away from him, cosmic energy beginning to flicker around her hair and face. She gritted her teeth through the pain and John backed away, remembering all the times that he had experienced this same transformation. He also remembered the first time he had done exactly what Jennifer had just done—hiding away and letting Babylon become the armor that protected your fractured heart.
Babylon rose from the floor, his wrath something terrible to behold. “Jennifer has fled to a place where her guilt and pain cannot be seen by others.”
“Great,” murmured John. “And what are you planning to do to help her?”
“Claim vengeance!”
“Somehow I knew you’d say that.” John picked up his shotgun and a pack of smokes. “Let’s saddle up, partner.”
***
Face Front, True Believers!
Babylon and John Galahad entered the “Isles of Magick” event at this point; the majority of that adventure is available in the “Isles of Magick” anthology, now on sale at your favorite vendor! Rather than reprint that volume here in its entirety and rather than skip it entirely, we’ve cherry-picked the parts that have the biggest impact on Babylon’s narrative.
If you feel like you’ve been dropped into the midst of a major superhero donnybrook, just hang on and go with the flow! What you need to know: Damian has tapped into the mystic power of various sites throughout Great Britain. By accessing these power points, he hopes to unleash some sort of dark power over the land, and Babylon has teamed with the New Olympians to try and stop him.
Truly, this is the Reese Unlimited age of heroism!
Chapter VII Olympus Falls
BBC Newsroom 4<
br />
“... I realize how difficult this may be to believe but it’s true.” The woman known as Aphrodite stared into the camera, her golden curls lying attractively around bare shoulders. She wore a white silken robe that clung to her curves in an attractive fashion and her green eyes sparkled like emeralds. She had been given the unenviable task of convincing a disbelieving nation that the unthinkable had occurred—that the man that held the highest office in the land was, in fact, heir to Hell itself. “Clive Winthrop is not only responsible for the bizarre storms afflicting Great Britain; he is also the mastermind behind a scheme involving a number of criminals and the murders of many of the world’s greatest practitioners of magic. I repeat: the Prime Minister is a murderer... and he’s empowered by nothing less than the fires of Hell itself.”
The enigmatic mage known as Nox stood protectively behind the cameras. Most of the studio was running on automatic now, as Nox had forced most of the BBC workers out of the building. As soon as Aphrodite had begun her libelous assault on Winthrop’s character, attempts had been made to silence her. Only Nox’s mystical abilities kept her on the air, her words now being picked up by international news agencies and transmitted far and wide. Most were dismissing her as a crank, a daft beauty that had gone off the deep end, but some were beginning to wonder—because it did explain so much of the weirdness that had been afflicting the nation in recent times. It was as if a veil had been pulled aside, the spell carefully crafted by Winthrop was being removed, replaced by the cold fear of the unknown.
Nox felt a sudden stab of pain in his temple and he groaned. Aphrodite continued speaking, now outlining the relationship between Winthrop and the supernatural drug trade. Aphrodite was unaware that her teammate was staggering under a sudden and unexpected assault.
“What... is... happening to me?” he murmured. Strange images flashed before his mind’s eye. He saw Damian rising into the air, growing taller and taller until he dwarfed all of London. Mystically-charged bolts of lightning flew all around the villain and a terrible wind, howling like a pack of wolves at a blood feast, roared through the streets. All around were bodies, the eyes of the poor victims staring blankly as The New Olympians and their allies fought one last battle with the greatest of evils...
And Nox saw what would come next, after the warfare was done...
“Nox?” Aphrodite’s calming touch on his forehead brought the wizard back to reality. He noticed with a start that he was lying on his back, the hard studio floor providing little comfort. He was always sickly-looking, with pale white skin and a severe widow’s peak... but at the moment, he looked close to death.
“What happened to me?” he asked.
Aphrodite helped him to his feet. “I was hoping you’d tell me. I finished my spiel and noticed you were on the floor.”
“You got it all out?” Nox asked.
“No. They finally took out the satellite feed. I guess when you toppled over, whatever you’d been doing to stop them went away. It doesn’t matter. The ones that are willing to listen heard my words and they’ll tell their friends.”
She moved away from him, looking out one of the windows. The snow was falling so thickly that it limited her vision. “There are armed men below,” she said, spotting movement through the field of white. “We’ll have company any minute.”
“We need to call the others back to Lyonesse,” Nox replied.
Aphrodite turned quickly, staring at him as if he had just grown a second head. “But what about the four mystical sites? Why would we call the team back to the island when they’re supposed to be keeping those sites away from Damian?”
“Because they’re doomed to fail, if they have not already. I’ve seen the future—and it’s bleak.”
Aphrodite sighed, thinking of her son, all alone on Lyonesse. She should be there with him so the idea of going back appealed to her but her friend’s claim that the team was doomed to fail did little to reassure her. “He’s going to win... ? Damian’s going to conquer Britain?”
Nox smiled softly—that same, enigmatic grin that sometimes crept over his features. It was an expression that Aphrodite had come to appreciate more and more. The wizard reached out and touched her cheek. “The battle may be lost but the war is another story. As long as we live and breathe, there is hope. Believe.”
And she did.
***
The Doubler Stones
Gideon Black had belonged to a religious zealot in life, a plantation owner that had been obsessed with the supernatural. He had made sure that all of his slaves were firmly indoctrinated in his beliefs. Gideon had learned about Heaven and Hell, about Angels and Demons, almost from the moment he was old enough to walk.
He also learned about the cruelty of man, particularly of fathers to their children. Magdalena’s father—Gideon’s owner—had been a bitter, sinister being that sought to punish others for the sins he saw in himself. One of his favorite objects of punishment was young Gideon.
Gideon had often felt the sting of the lash... the pain, at times, was almost unbearable and he sometimes wondered if his heart would burst from the anger and rage that it triggered.
The emotions that raced through the cosmic spirit of retribution now were very similar to those he’d experienced as a child: red-hot rage washed over his heart, making his anger blaze into an inferno.
All around him and the New Olympian known as Artemis were the bodies of the dead—innocent tourists that had picked the wrong day to visit the Doubler Stones.
First mentioned in the local Addingham parish records of 1786, and later by Nicholas Size who described them as “haunted,” the Doubler Stones had been rumored to be the meeting place for witches and possibly the site of sacrificial rites. Geological “freaks,” the Stones were visible for miles around and it took a lovely walk through the high moors to reach them. For these reasons and more, men and women from throughout the world flocked to the site.
Unfortunately, the heroes had arrived too late; the mystic sigil located atop the Doubler Stones had flared to life and brought about the horrific deaths of far too many innocents.
“They must be avenged,” Babylon said, his hands clenching into fists.
Artemis, dressed in Amazonian-style battle attire, knelt beside a young man, reaching out to close his eyes. She muttered a small prayer to the Gods before responding. “I agree. The man behind all of this has to pay.”
“He is no man... He is far worse. But I can kill him, if I can get close enough. In Damian’s realm, I learned that I am not just a force for retribution—this armor was forged for the angels of death. As long as I am bonded with it, I have the ability to slay the undead and the immortal.”
“Then I hope we can get you close enough to the sodding bastard for you to gut him,” Artemis replied. “I might try to do the deed myself if I get the chance.”
Babylon grunted, pleased to sense a kindred spirit in Artemis. He turned his head to the side, casting a glance at Byron the Enchanter. Jennifer’s old friend had insisted on following them, even though the point of his mission—the freeing of the trapped mages—was no longer a possibility. “Can you tell us how the others are faring?” Babylon asked. “We have heard nothing from the other New Olympians.”
Byron shook his head, looking weary. “I fear that the magic in the area has interfered with my ability to maintain contact with the others.”
Artemis touched Babylon’s arm, speaking quietly. “Gideon... be quiet.”
Babylon did as she said, glancing around. He neither saw nor heard anything but his senses detected something foul and evil. “One of the perpetrators of this travesty remains,” he whispered.
Before Artemis could respond, a figure appeared atop one of the Doubler Stones. He seemed to materialize out of thin air, though the stench of brimstone that accompanied his arrival told Babylon that the man had arrived via a portal from Hell.
The figure atop the stone had long hair that was tied back and a manic grin on his face. He wore a skintig
ht black costume and sported a small bird’s skull affixed to his forehead. He brandished a blade in each hand and as he leaped from the stone and landed in a crouch before the heroes, the blades caught the moonlight and shone brightly.
“’Ello, luv,” he said, staring at Artemis. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Babylon stepped forward with astonishing speed, gripping the long-haired man by the left arm. He yanked the fellow closer and asked, “Who are you?”
Before the stranger could respond, Artemis said, “He’s one of our oldest foes—a killer called Magpie.”
“Yes, I can smell the death that clings to him.” Babylon brought his face closer to Magpie’s, cosmic energy swirling about his eyes. The villain merely smiled, displaying no fear of his enemy. “Are you ready to face retribution? You will feel the pain of all your victi—”
Magpie spat in Babylon’s face. “Sorry, old chum, but you don’t put a spook into me. I’ve been the main boy for a lot of blokes that’d put you into a screaming fit. So...” Magpie brought up an arm quickly, dislodging Babylon’s grip. “Sod off!”
Magpie did an acrobatic back flip, landing in a battle-ready crouch. He landed just in time to block a kick from Artemis, who looked nearly as furious as Babylon.
“Why is it that good people die off and bastards like you keep coming back?” she asked, drawing her sword from its scabbard.
“Because people like me are smart enough to make deals with powerful patrons, Artemis. You know, it’s not too late to switch teams and come over to the winning side.”
