Living_Hellfire

I am very glad to hear this news and I am so thankful to the HC team for all their work. I am proud of this community, the finest online gaming community I've ever experienced going all the way back to 2004. The value of the labour put in by volunteers cannot be overstated and neither can my gratitude.

The Pocket was quiet as the portal flared and The Man in Black stepped out onto the corrugated steel floor. He adjusted his fedora before jutting his chin to tighten the black tie around his neck. The sound of hard soled loafers echoed on the ramp leading up to the common bar and Isaac turned from his patrons to glance up at his friend who nodded back before disappearing upstairs. He made his way around the winding concourse to the second floor and stared at the guests gathered around the usual spot. It was the common assortment of youngsters, a strange mixture of bravado and shyness, flirtatiousness and dismissal but most of all uncertainty as if they had only just arrived. He wove his way through the thin crowd at a respectful distance to find a lonely stool at the end of the bar and promptly sat, pulling an already lit cigar from his breast pocket and jamming it between his molars. He turned to make eye-contact with Jenny from behind his opaque, burnt-orange shades and she nodded with a gentle smile and reached down to find an old dusty jug in an infrequently used cabinet. She filled the strange little, stemless goblet The Man in Black had already placed on the bar with a noxious smelling fluid before nodding again and returning to her other charges. "Why do you spend so much time here, Abomination?" growled the little demonling as appeared at the man's shoulder. "Ye ken the answer, Screwtape. I've tol' ye before, these youngsters need guidance." The Man in Black sipped from the little goblet and coughed before twisting to face the little, red-winged horror as it perched itself on the back of the booth. "And yet none of them listen." He sneered. "You talk and you talk, you even lead them into battle and they still don't listen. Why do you waste your time with them?" The Man in Black ignored his tormentor and focused on the room. All manner of self-styled heroes and villains alike mingled, as well as everything in between. The hum was familiar and he puffed his cigar and spun his little goblet in his left hand as he leaned against the bar-rail. The demonling prattled in his ear, joining the ambient noise of the space as he watched people in capes and tights and tactical gear and all manner of costumery meander back and forth. Time seemed to accelerate as more and more the interactions seemed to take an almost cartoonish aspect as they sped up. They began, carried on for a time and ended. Over and over as The Man in Black sat on his stool and watched. "Angziel?" He woke from his reverie to find an empty bar. Even Jenny had gone, but not before filling his goblet once more. The only other present was a beautiful woman with dusky skin in a white suit, as alabaster as his own cards. She leaned against the bar, filling his vision. "An' who's askin'?" The click of her heels left an impression as she stepped back once, her hands raised in surrender. "I'm just here to talk." She replied in Infernal. The Man in Black knew how it ended if he broke the truce of The Pocket. He could smell Downstairs on her. She was a Local. She returned to English. "My name in this place is Claire. I was sent by your uncle to parlay." The demon dragged a stool over to a safe distance and perched upon it. She stared through the shades into the fires that lay beneath. "Will you parlay... Fergus?" The Man in Black straightened and the cherry of the cigar still gripped between his molars flared and a sweet, blue smoke filled the room. "Did he tell ye that'd werk, then? If'n ye called me as me mum did?" The woman scoffed. "Surely you don't expect me to call you by that ridiculous name as introduction?" She snapped imperiously. "Ye've called me all the others." He plucked the cigar from his mouth and rested his wrist on his knee before sipping from the little goblet, coughing slightly as he laid it back on the bar. "It's what they call me, an' it's a name I cherish an' protect an' ye'll nae e'en say it once." He popped the front of his fedora with his free hand to meet the woman's gaze from behind burnt orange shades. The woman pulled herself to her full height on the stool and smoothed down the front of her blazer. "It would appear I've offended. I sincerely apologize, you are of course The Leg-" The Man in Black held up his hand. "It's jes' Liv." He watched as she tried not to roll her eyes and failed. He smirked. "Liv, the war is going poorly, for both sides." "Is that so?" "Yes, and I've been tasked with- " "Fer whom?" "Excuse me?" He shook his head and stood, draining the goblet before sliding it back into his breast pocket. "Fer whom is the war goin' poorly, lass?" She shifted on her stool. "Well, for both sides and I've been asked to- " "No." "Angziel, you have to underst-" "The answer is no." There was a flash as she stood. A blip and for just a fraction of a second in her place was a fearsome visage as her rage clashed against the curtain of The Pocket. Scarlet red skin bled through the designer suit, hooves in the place of heels, fangs hung over perfectly lined lips and leathery wings blotted out the pot lights in the ceiling. And then the image was gone, but not soon enough. "Angziel, son of Kadziel Opener of Ways, I address thee in tongue of your kin! Your Captor, Lord and Master commands your aid! Defy him at your own peril!" The fallen angel's voice shook The Pocket. Bottles rattled behind the bar, stools stumbled as of their own accord and toppled over and then, predictably he was alone again. "You can't just do nothing forever, Abomination." quipped the demonling as he uncurled from his nap, stretching languorously along the bench of the booth. "Aye, Screwtape, I reckon that's so." replied The Man in Black as he flicked a match and stepped through the flame into The Room of Many Doors.

Thank you, that's very kind of you to say. I hope this doesn't disappoint you, but I generally don't do ongoing series of stories, they're all generally one-offs, but I have many written if you're interested. They're all here, in the RP page of the forum. Cheers, friend.

Thunder rolled over Paragon City and a streak of burnt orange flame tore a hole in the sky. The clouds obscured his view of the metropolis below as The Angel on Fire soared dangerously to the very top of the tropopause, the point where the planet's atmosphere meets the ozone layer. He reached out a red hand and grazed the barrier between himself and the stratosphere leaving an angry rent. Reality roared in defiance and he grinned. The vapor growled but rapidly gave way as he dove down and down through the mist. His tattered old cape snapping angrily in the wind behind him, a constant reminder of his bondage. His grin widened. The view of his city exploded into view before him as he cast his arms out to catch the wind. None had called him this day. The cars rolled on throughout the city streets, folks went about their lives and not one alabaster card had been tossed into the fires for him to hear. He considered fishing or perhaps making himself available to youngsters who may be of need but even angels need a day off from time to time. He returned Miss Liberty's wave as he passed over Atlas Park and climbed once more into the ether, scorching the air behind him. He soared above the hard blue barriers constructed to protect the city against the Rikti and rolled through the black smoke of Cap Au Diable. The usual shenanigans were occurring, but nothing out of the ordinary. The would forever devour each other and themselves. Heads swiveled upwards as he passed, fingers pointed and certain characters of interest scattered. He pretended not to notice as he pressed on, the trail of burnt orange Hellfire snarling angrily behind him. The heavens over Monster Island North of Portal Corp ruptured and the air screamed in protest as he emerged from The Room of Many Doors to a dismal view of abandoned facilities overrun by flora. Enormous, raging creatures comprised of leaf and vine and fungi tore through what remained of civilization but all of them paused as he circled overhead. The wind raged in his ears as he gazed down at them and they slowed their mayhem. One horrific abomination grasped a nearby boulder and hurled it skywards but it was a wasted effort as The Angel on Fire was already gone. Grandville was the worst of all and if there was any doubt at all, the welcome would put it paid. It would seem the guns were already primed, ready and aimed at reality's tear when he emerged. The air detonated around him as flack cannons poured on their own very special sort of attention. He rolled and pitched downwards towards the concourse, pouring on speed that barely outmatched the tracking software programmed no doubt by the spider himself. The sound of the sonic boom shattered the holographic emitters lining the grand promenade as a missile shaped like a man tore itself across the square. The cannons never ceased their bombardment, shattering windows and caring not at all for any sort of collateral damage as they tracked their quarry, climbing upwards into the night sky. He waited there, above the world and folded his arms with all of creation below him. The cannons had stopped but he knew they were still trained. He eyed the tower at the end of the promenade before stretching his arms out and falling backwards into a terminal dive. The atmosphere screamed as it shredded behind him. The first sonic boom knocked over the antennae of the closest skyscrapers, pausing the flak cannons as they were forced into a failsoft backup, but they soon caught up. The second sonic boom went largely unnoticed as the spider's own guns tore apart his own city in pursuit of an illusive prey. The burnt orange streak ripped open the sky as it streaked towards the tower and Lord Recluse had no choice but to watch as it approached. This was neither the first nor would it be the last time that he had faced this foe. Time seemed to stretch as the Spider Lord braced himself for the impact that never came. The Angel on Fire blazed a trail past the tower and seared a course upwards into the clouds once more. Today was not about adversaries or enemies. Today was not about redressing sins or avenging evils. Today was about the wind and the sky. Today was about embracing the heavens and The Legendary Living Hellfire soared onwards.

Peregrine Island, August 5 2022, 0235 EDT, 18°C Samantha Harris was raised Catholic but described herself as reformed over drinks. She had said grace before supper and had said her prayers before bed-time at her parents urging but had never really believed, but on this day she prayed as Malta operatives chased her through the streets of Peregrine Island. She didn't pray to the gods who had never gifted her a bicycle. She didn't pray to the gods who had never punished Jenny Turner for slamming her into a locker. She prayed to the silent gods. She prayed to the gods who hear the call of those in need, and her prayers were answered. Thunder rolled over the skyline and a burnt orange glow flashed above the clouds, briefly illuminating the streets below. Sam reached out and grasped a standpipe to swing herself into an alley off of Church street, the apartment buildings loomed above her she hurtled between the bricks as the sound of jack-boots rang in her ears. Carnies paused and glanced as she passed, shaking off the reverie of their games as they became aware of the oncoming storm. Jugglers and Strongmen abandoned dice and cards, ignoring the young woman as they made good their own escape. Sam turned another corner and sprinted before crouching behind a dumpster to catch her breath. She tapped her breast pocket, reassuring herself that the data drive was still there before closing her eyes once again. Sam crouched behind the dumpster, gasping for breath with her entire future in her pocket. She squeezed her eyes shut and said one more prayer "Please, whoever is listening, if you can hear me... I need you. I can't run anymore" She heard the jackboots arrive and opened her eyes before turning her head to stare down the barrels of six standard issue Malta BRK-47 Plasma Lances. Thunder rolled once more over Peregrine Island. A man's voice, hard like gravel and crisp like winter "Miss Harris, my name is Green-04 and I'm here to take you into custody for the theft of proprietary information from Crey Corporation. If you'll please come with me." The Cowboy ambled out from between the Malta agent, all blacks and blues, from chaps to hat. He rested the heel of his right hand on the butt of the modified Peacemaker on his hip. Sam watched as the head of every agent at the other end of every gun swiveled left, down the alley and into the dark. The Cowboy quickly placed a finger to his ear and motioned, sending all six agents into cover position with rifles aimed down into the black. Sam eyed the way she's come thinking to run but was forestalled when she heard the click of a hammer cocking behind her ear. Green-04 held the gun pointed at Sam's head and time stood still. It stood still for so long that Sam began to wonder if she could leave before The Cowboy called out. "We know you're there! Just come out, already!" His voice echoed off the buildings and vanished into the streets to be swallowed up by the hiss of rubber on pavement and the sizzle of streetlights. He placed his finger against his ear again and Sam could barely make out the words "... priority one ... leverage ... target Hellfire ... backup ... ". The silence was palpable until the cough. "Beg yer pardon, mates." The Scottish brogue cut through the night, followed by the click of hard-soled loafers. A bright, burnt orange glow blazed in the shadows of the alley, down-gun of the Malta agents guarding their prize. All of a sudden Samantha Harris was no longer the center of attention as The Man in Black stepped out into the light. Not a man of great stature, but one that commanded attention. A flat black suit and tie with burnt-orange pinstripes, shirt and shades to match. The Man jammed the black fedora onto his head and stuck the cigar back between his molars before offering a grin. "Mr. McRae! On the order of White-01 you are under arrest! Get on your knees and prepare for immediate detainment!" The Cowboy's Peacemaker was no longer pointed at Sam's head and so she crept out from under her captor's gaze, sidling towards the way she'd come, hoping to escape once more. It seemed like a good plan before she kicked a small plastic cup that rattled and clattered for what seemed like an age. All heads turned and then Samantha Harris was the center of attention once again. She looked past The Cowboy and the Malta agents at The Man in Black. She couldn't see past the lenses of the opaque shades but she knew he winked. And so she ran and the world exploded. Plasma fire echoed in her ears as the world slowed. One step in front of the other as Sam raced down the alleyway towards the street. Men and women screamed in agony behind her. Three more steps and she heard the Peacemaker fire once, twice and then she was almost thrown off her feet as a rush of super-heated air carried her forward in a whirlwind of trash. Sam watched as the rooftops spun above her as she was carried forward by the sharp exhalation. She grasped, finding security in the little lump in her breast pocket as she was propelled forward. Her feet touched the earth again and she willed them forward. It was hard to breath, the air was so hot. And then it was over. Everything was red and blue and white as the buildings spun over and over and before long she heard a voice asking her her name and her date of birth. A warm breeze washed over her before she lost consciousness. Talos Island, July 2023, 1337 EDT, 23°C Samantha Harris watched her son play with the other boys as she sat on the park bench and drank her coffee. This was her favorite time of the week despite the fact that the other moms chided her about drinking a hot drink at this time of year, but ever since that day Sam had never really minded the heat. She looked across the street and caught a glimpse of a man in a flat black suit and smiled to herself as she reached instinctively for the data-drive that wasn't there. He nodded and the cherry of the cigar flared and then he was gone.

Tommy "Two-Times" Fertucci hated a lot of things. He hated pastrami. He hated his brother-in-law. He hated the fact that he had to wear orthotics, but more than all that Tommy hated that he had been burnt. Every time Tommy looked in the mirror and his gaze caressed the warped flesh of his mutilated face his hatred was stoked all the more. He looked down at the back of his melted hand, wrapped around the butt of a Sig Sauer P320. He looked up further, down the iron sights to stare into the opaque shades of The Man in Black, that damned cigar still smoking between his teeth. "Now what, mate?" The Man grinned, drawing on the cigar sending plumes of blue smoke into the night sky. The Scottish brogue echoed off the brick of the surrounding apartment buildings but was overmatched by the sound of slamming windows. "You motherfucker, you got some stugots showin' your face ta me! You scarred me an' you didn't have to. Didn't have to!" Tommy shook the gun in fury as he stared the other man down. "I was just there on a job, on a job!" "An' what of it? Ye took the job didn'ye?" The Man in Black grinned in anticipation and shifted his feet, the black leather loafers scraping at the pavement. And that's when Tommy shot him. The bullet passed through the other man's forehead, throwing him off his feet. A fedora, a cigar and a pair of burnt-orange shades floated upward, twisting and spinning in the air before landing unceremoniously in the gutter. Aside from that, nothing moved for a few moments. The echo of the gunshot disappeared into the ether, no sirens were heard, no dogs barked. Tommy shrugged, turned away and moved to replace the weapon in his shoulder holster and then stopped. The mobster braced himself against a sudden gust of wind that rushed in towards the dead man. As quickly as the wind came it vanished, only to be replaced by a roar. Tommy turned and had to shade his eyes as The Man in Black lifted off the street cradled in the wings of Hellfire. The black, two-piece, three button suit with burnt orange pinstripes was gone and replaced with blackened armour plates of otherworldly origin. His hair, wild and loose floated in the upcurrents, a ragged, scorched and shredded cape hung from his shoulders. The Angel on Fire straightened and folded his arms as he stared down at Tommy Fertucci from sockets dancing with malevolent flame. "How... how did you do that, do that?!" Tommy raised the gun again and this time there was no hesitation. He squeezed the trigger, and then again and again, but the rounds seemed to just splatter as they reached the target, superheated to the point where they were more liquid than solid. "I tol' ye, Tommy. I tol' ye ye should turn yerself in, but ye didnae listen, did ye?" His voice snapped angrily as he spoke, his voice shaking the recently closed apartment windows. "I tol' ye tae turn yerself in, Tommy!" Thunder rolled over Independence Port and Tommy Fertucci closed his eyes against the flash of light. When he opened them, for the last time on Earth it was to the sound of hard soled loafers on pavement. "An' now yer comin' with me, lad." The mobster screamed in agony as The Man in Black gripped his forearm with a bare hand. A portal opened, scarring the street and setting off car alarms. Streetlights flickered and buzzed out while still others flared before bursting. Tommy's screams were heard long into the night after the portal closed and both men were gone. The howls seemed to haunt the neighbourhood in a way they hadn't before, on those other occasions when this community had witnessed this sort of thing. It's almost like Tommy "Two-Times" seemed to scream twice as loud and twice as long as he descended to Hell. Slowly, windows began to open, letting in the cool night air.

This is the best thread I ever started.

Posted with permission of Tayne North II of Everlasting Two young half-dragons capered in the park just south of Atlas Plaza, one with hair of scarlet red and one with hair black as night. Around and around they chased each other, rough-housing and carousing, chittering back and forth in Draconic as The Man in Black lounged on the park bench and looked on. "You will keep them safe, yes?" Asked their mother in the man's memory, and of course he assured her he would. He watched as they found a convenient hillock and began a game of distance where they would launch themselves off the top and glide as far as they could. The red-headed Bolo slid slowly to a stop after an impressive leap and chided his brother Sammo. Sammo flicked his black hair, climbed the hillock and glided even further and stuck his forked tongue out at his twin, and so it went. The sun was high and traffic was low, the hum of meta-humans passing overhead creating an ambient noise, civilians ambulated through the park on their way to or fro and The Man in Black breathed and knew peace. He watched from behind blue cigar smoke as his adoptive nephews learned about life and love and expanded their understanding of the world and in that moment his error was made manifest. "Uncle!" The cry came as though from a dream. "UNCLE!!" The man's eyes snapped open from behind opaque, burnt-orange lenses and as his vision steadied he realized his grave mistake as Bolo and Sammo charged towards him. He had fallen asleep. The little half-dragons' eyes were wide with fear, their wings laid back across their backs as they sprinted towards their guardian who remained lounging upon the park bench, the cigar drooping from his mouth. Figures emerged from the shadows of the nearby copse of trees, robes of blue and green and red and white symbolizing all four elements worn by men and women with glowing eyes. In their hands were wicked implements designed for torture and dismemberment. The Man in Black stood and tucked the still burning cigar into his breast pocket. "Alright, lads, quite alright. Jes' stay behind me, aye?" The dragonlings nodded, their eyes still wide with fear as they scurried behind their uncle who turned to face the robed mages. "Step aside, mortal, we will have this dragon spawn as sacrifice. You need not be harmed, but we will have these wyrmlings." Snarled the Arch-Mage, her eyes aglow. The Man in Black turned his head slightly over his shoulder to catch his young charges from the corner of his eye as they huddled together. "Nay, I reckon ye shan't. Now bugger off." "You meddle with forces you cannot possibly comprehend, mortal! We would rather this not be a spectacle, but we will slay you where you stand. The choice is yours." The Arch-Mage snapped her hand down, manifesting a ball of brilliant light, crackling with energy. The Mages behind her hefted their weapons and readied their spells as they advanced, attempting to encircle their prey. The silence is palpable and seems to stretch on for minutes. Sammo and Bolo looked back and forth, the gaze snapping from the back of their uncle's head to the terrifying visages of their would-be captors before their uncle turned back to them. "Lads, stay put, dinnae move, stay precisely where ye are, aye?" The little half-dragons nodded, clutching each other and with that The Man in Black raised his hand and a circle of fire sprang to life around them, shielding them entirely from the outside world. The heat was intense inside the circle of fire and Sammo the blue, so closely attuned to lightning began to whimper. He looked to his brother Bolo the red who immediately embraced his brother and wrapped his red wings about his twin to shield him from the heat. From beneath Bolo's wings the two hatchlings locked eyes and took comfort in their embrace. Even from behind the circle of fire and from under Bolo's wings the light was almost blinding as lighting lanced down from the heavens and thunder rolled over Atlas Park. Worse than the noise was the sensation of reality shredding itself apart to make room for something that should have never existed in the first place. Then came the screams of battle. The hatchlings hunkered down together taking note of the cacophony beyond their protective inferno. Eldritch words invoked dark magics that hammered the outside of the flaming shield, accompanied by the shrieks of human sounding voices as they were suddenly cut short. Small, concussive blasts shook their existence. It was hard for the youngsters to differentiate between their own quaking and the vibrations caused by the battle itself. Clouds rolled over the sky, darkening the park as shards of ice as sharp as knives began to fall from the heavens, accompanied by a maniacal laughter that quickly changed to an agonal scream that was silenced abruptly. A robed hand reached through the circle for a moment only to be immolated, the ash from the limb floating upwards like dust in the wind, borne skyward by the twisting heat of the flames. There was a tearing sound of flame ripping the air and a mighty explosion that preceded the groaning sound of toppling trees and terrified human screams. The brothers clung to each other in terror, helpless but trusting nonetheless. And then the world went black. Neither sun, nor moon shone and not a star gave light. Only within the circle of fire was there any sense of the visible world and as the war outside the circle faded into the background Bolo looked down at Sammo only to find his brother staring into the sky. Bolo turned his head to look over his shoulder. There, floating effortlessly in the heavens was an Angel on Fire, wreathed in flame with copper hair floating in the wind. The light from his fires pressing out against the black, a brilliant, blazing sword in his right hand. The Angel raised his sword above his head before plummeting to the earth and the two brothers ducked, almost by instinct before they heard a single, shouted word. A word they would remember the rest of their lives. "BURN!!" The explosion shook the world, staggering the youngsters, forcing them to cling to one another to keep balance but also to avoid getting too close to flames that encircled them. The debris that didn't soar over the heads of the younglings smashed against the shield, vaporizing instantaneously, snapping and snarling as it was reduced to its constituent molecules, disappearing into nothingness. And then the sky cleared. The darkness fell away and the sun shone down once more and there was a momentary silence before lightning struck from the heavens and thunder rolled over Atlas Park once more. The Man in Black stepped through the circle of fire as though it wasn't even there, startling the dragonlings who fell back slightly. "S'alright, lads. It's jes' me, it's jes' yer uncle Liv." The Man plucked the still burning cigar from his breast pocket and jammed it between his molars. "There's naught tae fear, 'tall." He grinned, the plume of blue smoke encircling his black fedora like a halo. "I reckon it's time tae see ye home tae yer mum, aye?" Sammo and Bolo nodded as one. "So, ye'll jes' have tae trust me once more, jes' this last time, aye? Ye'll take a hold o'me coat an' we'll jes' step intae this fire." Sammo looked to Bolo fearfully, already uncomfortable with the ambient heat. Bolo glanced at The Man in Black and back at his brother and nodded tapping the ring on his finger. Sammo glanced down at his own ring, made of the purest Infernite harvested from the Lake of Perdition and nodded back. Again, as one, they gripped the bottom of the man's jacked and the three of them stepped through the open flame and disappeared. The circle of fire guttered out immediately, leaving nothing but a deeply scorched, black circle in the earth. The charred, immolated and dismembered corpses of the Circle of Thorns mages lay scattered about the devastated park, just South of Atlas Plaza **** The Crucible was quiet and dark and Bosco, a large German Shepherd lounged across the leather couch, his head resting on his paws awaiting the return of his master and soaking in the warmth from the campire central to the sitting area. As if on cue he raised his head, his ears perked forward and predictably the campfire erupted and out strode The Man in Black accompanied by two dragonlings, red and blue. The youngsters rushed to greet the loyal hound as it bounded from the couch, his ears back against his skull, tongue lolling out of his mouth, his tail sweeping low and fast. Many licks and whimpers later The Man in Black cleared his throat as he stood next to one of three Pillar of Fire and Ice. "Come along, then, lads. Yer mum's waitin'." The boys said their final goodbyes to Bosco and joined their uncle, once more taking hold of his jacket before passing through the crystal. They emerged into private living quarters on the top floor of the Valiance apartment building, a bespoke and genteel home. Tayne North II came around the corner from the private quarters to find her twin sons gripping the coat-tails of her friend's jacket. At once the two hatchlings raced towards their mother's embrace and began chattering their adventure in Draconic. The Man in Black stood by the crystal listening patiently. Expectantly. As she listened Tayne's face turned from surprise to shock to fear to anger. She muttered to the little half-dragons who then scampered towards the kitchen and she straightened to her full height and stalked towards The Man in Black. No words were spoken as she glared at him, furious. She knew what lay behind the lenses of those burnt-orange shades but it didn't matter, she glared past them anyway. The smack of her palm against his cheek reverberated from every corner of the room. They stood there a moment, saying nothing to one another before The Mother Dragon pointed back towards the crystal. The Man in Black bowed his head ever so slightly and disappeared back through the Pillar of Fire and Ice. Tayne took a breath and turned on her heel and made her way toward the kitchen to check on her children and, perhaps to find a bowl of ice water to soak her hand.

Lieutenant Colonel Angela Jessiman climbed the stairs, albeit slower than usual. Her adjutant officer said nothing as he followed, arms full of briefing notes and while he said nothing he noted the speed at which his superior officer climbed the steps towards the conference room where The Lady Grey awaited, ensconced in the heart of the bunker that held back the Rikti that swarmed the war zone. Lt. Col. Jessiman's pace slowed again as she approached the enormous doors to her fate. She glanced at Captain Jung, making eye-contact briefly before adjusting her armor again. She checked her side-arm and reflexively touched the rifle slung across her back before inhaling deeply. The doors whispered open at a touch and resigned to her fate she strode into the room to face her commanding officer. The Lady Grey stood with her back to the door, at ease at the far end of the conference table, stern and imposing as always. Rumour was that she was older than Statesman himself, having fought in numerous wars from the First to the Last. A bulwark against the Rikti invasion and the founder of the Vanguard, she was not just a hero to humanity, as commander of the bunker in the WZ The Lady Grey was a column upon which the survival of humanity depended and relied. "Ma'am, Lieutenant Colonel Jessiman reporting as ordered, ma'am." The officer stood to attention and snapped a salute.. "Lieutenant Colonel Jessiman, the situation is dire and my orders will be delivered quickly, are you prepared?" Asked The Grey Lady as she turned abruptly. "Yes, Ma'am." "Very good. The Rikti are forging ahead, again. Despite how many times the heroes of this city, of this very reality itself take out that damned ship of theirs they still manage to find another and they are making another push against this stronghold." The supreme commander of the Vanguard placed both palms on the table and leaned forward. "Your orders are to take our remaining forces and hold this bunker, do I make myself clear, Colonel?" "Yes, Ma'am." "Excellent, now, come around here and look at these maps." **** All eyes were drawn to the soldiers as they marched towards the portal to the Rikti War Zone. Four by four they passed through into the breach and ran towards their positions. "Ma'am, with respect, how certain are you that The Lady was telling the truth?" Lt. Col. Jessiman looked sharply to her left, glaring at Captain Jung. "Are you calling The Lady Grey a liar, Captain Jung?" "No, ma'am, it's just... " The adjutant officer swallowed, daring to speak "It's just... rumor is that he's retired, is all." The Colonel resumed her inspection of the troops filing through the portal once more. "If the Lady says he'll be there, then he'll be there.". **** Large bore rifles fired quantum rounds into the oncoming Rikti as they rushed the barricades surrounding the bunker in the Eastern nook carved out by humanity. The auto-cannon turrets mounted on the concrete plinths glowed red as they peppered the invaders assailing the stronghold from the South and West. The tunnel to Crey's Folly had already fallen, closed off entirely as a result of artillery fire from marauding alien airships, closing off any chance of rescue from the rest of Paragon City. The soldiers in the Rikti War Zone were cut off and alone and their commanding officer knew it. Lt. Col. Jessiman leaned over the holographic image in the command tent, the chatter of operations officers coordinating troop movements rattled in her ears as she watched as her soldiers slowly lost the battle at hand. The Rikti had managed to capture four of the surrounding warehouses at the corner of the pocket and were working on destroying the apartment building that backed onto the Western barricade, meaning certain death for the battalion she had stationed therein. The fire from the Rikti was relentless, like nothing Colonel Jessiman had ever seen before. She barked an order to have close air support cover the retreat of the men and women covering the Western front so that they could escape North behind the auto-cannons. "Ma'am, the Southern cannons are over-heated and jammed, the engineers are trying to get them up and running again but without sufficient coolant they can't cover the retreat!" The commander stared down again at the holographic image, watching as the tags of her soldiers began bunching together as they moved towards the rear exit of the building under siege. Her vision expanded as she watched the surge of Rikti as they erupted out of the various warehouses, pressing towards the barricades. This was it. Lt. Col. Jessiman looked to her right to catch the eye of her adjutant officer and saw only fear and resignation. And then the thunder rolled over the Rikti War Zone A Rikti Airship disappeared from the map. And then another. A concussive blast tore through the battle-field, throwing combatants, Rikti and human alike onto their backsides. The command tent shuddered, forcing all the occupants to grab onto anything and everything nailed down to avoid being forced to their knees or bounced out of their chairs. Lt. Col. Jessiman made eye-contact with her adjutant, the realization sharp in both their eyes. He had arrived. "Ma'am! Multiple reports of a third combatant!" "Ma'am! Massive losses reported among the Rikti!" "Ma'am! Multiple explosions reported along the Western front!" The air screamed, as though being torn apart on a molecular level and a blazing comet of Hellfire slammed down into the square next to the radar emplacement, dragging a trench of blackened, scorched earth in its wake. The shockwave tore its way through the human's encampment. Lieutenant Colonel Jessiman staggered and toppled over, smashing through the now useless holographic table, giving herself over to the mercy of fate and said a silent prayer, hoping against hope that someone would remember her and that her husband and children would know her sacrifice and then everything went black. *** The first thing Angela Jessiman experienced was the smell of ozone. That sweet, full smell of electricity as it burned sharply, accompanied by the arcing sound of electronics breathing their last gasp. The command tent was in shambles, equipment strewn about as carelessly as the bodies of her staff. The cloth of the tent itself fluttered in the unseasonably warm breeze as she was suddenly reminded of warm summer days spent laying in grassy fields on her grandparent's farm. In the distance she heard the sound of voices. Human. Her own troops affecting rescue. How had they survived? More importantly, had they won? How was she still alive? Hands on her. Rolling her over onto her back. Fingers on her neck. The smell of dirt and a man's neck across her face. "She's breathing! Medic! Medic!" "Ma'am! Can you hear me?! Ma'am! Colonel Jessiman, can you hear me?!" "Of course, I can hear you!" she barked in a whisper that came out as a soft gasp. Was that gunfire? She needed to get to her post. Her troops needed her. They needed her as she felt the IV press into her arm. They needed her as they slid her onto the backboard and strapped her down. Her troops needed her as they took her vitals "Sergeant!" That voice. That Grey voice. "Sergeant, you will transport the Lieutenant Colonel to the nearest medi-vac, am I understood?" "Yes Ma'am" The voices were like memories, they weren't real. Her vision was like a kaleidoscope, warping and turning as the world spun. The sound of heavy metal blades chopping the air slowly overcame her senses and the shouting of soldiers faded as she felt a tumbling, jostling, nauseating twist and then the ground fell away. As Lieutenant Colonel Jessiman floated into heaven she turned her head to the right and gazed past the medic monitoring her status to take in the battlefield left in her wake. The warehouses to the West of the enclave were entirely destroyed as though annihilated from the skies. The burnt wreckage of more Rikit airships than she could count lay strewn amongst and between the enormous buildings as though tossed by a bored giant. The buildings themselves were entirely engulfed in flames and the remaining Rikti were scattering, many of whom were ablaze themselves and those that weren't were dodging spot fires and random explosions. As the Blackhawk helicopter yawed left the Vanguard defensive position came into view and it was... relatively untouched. The auto-cannons on their plinths lay dormant, many of them out of use due to over-heating, others destroyed entirely. The concrete barriers were scorched and blackened and blown apart in sections, but no Rikti appeared within the security area. Lt. Col. Jessiman blinked again, not quite sure what she was seeing as she was whisked away, but not before she saw the soldiers fleeing from the one anomaly scarring the earth just South of where her command tent once stood. A deep, black trench carved a path through the centre of the Vanguard stronghold. Even stranger was the inferno that burnt at the apex of the trench. Stranger still were the soldiers fleeing from the apex of that trench, as though their lives depended on it. From her vantage they seemed like ants running from a spot fire, but she knew better. She knew different. This was no spot-fire. Lieutenant Colonel Jessiman blinked hard, knowing she would only ever see this once. She squeezed her eyes shut before opening them once again, forcing them to focus once more to bear witness as the fires at the apex of the trench erupted. The last of the soldiers barely made it to safety. Wings of Celestial Flame and Rage blew apart the remaining nearby structures, sending shrapnel and debris into the sky. The Blackhawk helicopter shuddered with the shockwave, the second Colonel Jessiman had experienced that day. Or was it the third? A column of Hellfire tore into the heavens proclaiming the rebirth of the Undying. "He came..." "What was that, Colonel?" Asked the medic. Angie Jessiman turned to make eye-contact with the combat medic hovering over her. "He came, she was right... he came." She turned her head again and watched as The Legendary Living Hellfire scorched a trail of burnt, orange flame across the sky.

Co-written with Saeletra The Man in Black returned to the immediate, his gaze returning to his surroundings. The voices of youngsters, the grinding of freshly fallen snow beneath hurried steps, the sound of local traffic hissing along wet, cold pavement. He looked around to find himself standing near the street just South of the quad, local traffic of all sorts passing nearby, mainly vehicular and pedestrian as students rushed to and fro, they exited and entered, they passed by without even a glance. He looked down at his hands, past the blue smoke of his cigar to find them steaming in the sub-zero temperatures, the falling snow creating sparks against his bare flesh. He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and made for the nearest door lest he call attention to himself. A small, blood-red demonling held the door open and made hurrying motions to The Man in Black. As he passed through the threshold he glanced at the plaque on the wall near the stepped through the entrance. "Earth Sciences, Screwtape?" He asked, as he waited just inside the doors, allowing the precipitation to vaporize. Fortunately they had come through a side entrance and not through the lobby of the building where the sudden increase in humidity would have not only been palpable but visibly noticeable by way of the cloud of steam produced. More fortunately indeed was the efficiency of the newly installed HVAC systems designed by Dr. Keyes that facilitated the immediate evacuation of said steam and the equalization of humidity. "You know I can't read mortal gibberish, I have no idea where we are, Angziel." "Have ye nae sense o'direction 'tall? After all this time?" The Demonling shrugged and after a momentary silence ambled down the hallway and made a sharp left. The Man in Black followed. The hallway was entirely empty, lined with frosted glass windows and doors upon which were etched the various names of the various people to whom the rooms belonged with the standard sort of doors that one might expect in a respected institution, yet institutionalized nonetheless. Dr. Jarvis Peterson, Professor of Anthropology. Dr. Sandra Carrington, Professor of Archeology. Dr. So-and-So of Such-and-Such and so on and so forth. "Have ye sensed an open flame yet". Screwtape shook his horned head and spat, the saliva splashed against the marble flooring leaving a smoking pit mark. "Any heat sources 'tall?" The little Demonling turned abruptly, his wings folded against his back, his tail lashing angrily. He held his hands out and looked up at The Man in Black. "If I had sensed a heat source I would have said something! Stop asking! I... wait a moment." He sniffed the air before scampering off down the hall, bounding his way, half airborne and half sprinting. "Screwtape, wait! Wait ye wee, feckin' bastard!" *** An attractive woman, appearing in her late 20's, sat at her desk in her office, she rubs at her eyes, nearly knocking off the battered, fitted, sun faded, blue ball cap perched on her head. A couple of taps brings the datasets she was looking for up on her laptop, a sip of something from a mug, and a few clicks later, she lets out a soft groan and stretches. Her movements are the slow movements of someone recovering from a bruising fall. Despite her injuries, Meg is already in motion and on her feet as her office door erupts in splinters and a thing made of nightmares rolls through the threshold. Standing a mighty three feet tall, blood-red and angry as the nine hells it beat its wings and barked and snarled from a mouth filled with jagged fangs as it strode back and forth leaving deep scoring marks in the floor with its taloned feet. The wooden bat, turned and lathed from the heart of an old maple tree, she keeps by her desk appears in her hands and she's already moving to swing on the sudden intruder in her office. Even if the intruder is short, howling, gibbering, snarling, and red. She checks her swing as a figure filled the doorway of the her office. A man in a flat-black suit with burnt orange pin-stripes, shirt and pocket square to match, a fedora upon his head, eyes inscrutable behind opaque, burnt orange shades. He took the burning cigar from his mouth. The temperature in the room seemed to spike as the man took a step into the office, his hands held up in a placating gesture. Dark violet eyes flick between the man and the gibbering thing and she shifts to keep both figures in her sight line while leaving herself an escape route if needed. "I beg yer pardon... " said The Man in Black as he took note of the name-plate on the woman's desk "... Professor Coburn, we've nae met an' I do humbly beg yer fergiveness fer the interruption." While her attack remained checked Meg still planted her feet, ready to swing at either man or infernal. "Who are you? Why is your, er, what is that? tearing up my floor? And why are you two bursting into my office as if Pompeii just erupted?" When she speaks, Meg projects a quiet confidence to her words and her voice, neither high pitched nor low, is a pleasure to listen to.

The crowd roared as the Obliteratrix slammed its chains down onto the arena floor, forcing Angziel to spring back and up, into the air. His only chance was to circle back around before the enormous Infernal could wrest his weapons from the salted sand and bring them to bear. The air screamed its objection as the abomination marked the coiling arch around the enemy. Standing over eight feet tall and weighing well over a thousand pounds, wielding twenty foot chains at the end of its wrists this Infernal, despite its size and girth was considered only a minor champion of The Pits, and it knew its business. With a flick of its wrist the behemoth yanked the chains loose and twisted at the hips to bring them around widdershins to meet his prey. Down and around and through, time slowed as the abomination wove its way between the chains, sending blast after blast of Hellfire and destruction into his opponent. The crowd roared its approval as the Obliteratrix staggered, slamming against the wall of The Pit. The brief respite only emboldened the combatants. The giant Infernal pushed off the wall and snapped the chains back into position and glared at the tiny speck floating above the sands of the arena. The crowd quieted, waiting and expectant. *** The Man in Black jolted awake, almost falling off the couch in the office down the hall, past the storage room and around the corner from the broom closet. "How many times, Abomination?" Asked the little demonling. "You are weak, Angziel!" Infernal spit tends to singe and so it does as Screwtape barks his condemnation at his Soul-Bound, spackling the rug, the couch and the end-table holding the ash-tray in which a cigar burns slowly. "Not now, Screwtape." "Oh? Not now?! Then when, Angziel?" The demonling hops up on to the couch to assume the space now left by the man as he gets to his feet. "You have these dreams every night! Do you miss The Pit? Do you wish to return? You could, if you wanted to, you have The Key to the Room of Many Doors buried in your chest. Is that not what you desire, Abomination? If not, then why do you dream of it?" The Man in Black plucks the cigar from the ashtray and jams it between his molars, picks up his fedora, dusts it off and plants it squarely on his head. Mindful of his injuries, still not entirely healed from his last battle, he makes for the door to his office. Once in the hallway he straightens, smoothing down the front of his suit and squaring his shoulders. The demonling followed him down the hall, taunting him all the way "Where are you going, Abomination? Do you think that the mortals of this plane want your help? Give up!" The Man in Black passed the broom closet. "They do not trust you, Angziel. They are fearful of you. You frighten them, they are simpering prey and they know that you could be their devourer, should you choose. You could dominate them, you could rule them and yet you insist on serving them. You are pathetic!" The Man in Black passed the storage room. "That's enough, Screwtape." "You are soft and weak, Abomination. You are everything Father reviles, you are everything that mortals fear, you are alone and afraid and you will never know peace for as long as you refuse to rule these putrid creatures. You will see... you will see." *** It was one of those days where one might have to remember what a cloud even looks like. The sun shone brightly down onto the snow carpeting the campus as The Man in Black strode into the light. Students passed back and forth as he made his way carefully across the quad seemingly without direction, but guided slowly without intent. He grinned as he watched these fresh-faced young adults hurrying their way to class, socializing, sharing ideas and opposing points of view. His heart glowed as he watched youngsters discover their personhood. He stood there a long time, in the centre of the quad, the blue smoke from his cigar forming a halo around the black fedora perched upon his head. The Man in Black breathed and knew peace.

Thunder rolled over Steel Canyon and a flaming comet slammed down in the alleyway between the residence building and the University Centre, just West of the quad. It ripped up the pavement before coming to an abrupt halt, the massive spike in temperature sending the dumpsters and bins hurtling through the air, only to crash against the concrete structures and back down, slanted, broken and akilter. The pressure wave slammed through the adjacent buildings setting off alarms and flow valves sending water surging through suppression systems that soaked every room, jolting students from their beds. A three foot, blood-red demonling scampered around the corner of the University Centre and, completely unmindful of the open flames and leapt into the gap onto the chest of the figure laying unconscious in the wreckage. His existence depended on it, for if he failed in his task to rouse the man laying in this pit of Hellfire then they were doomed, both. Screwtape beat his wings, breathing life into the fires around him as he stood on the chest of his Soul-Bound, bringing heat and rage. He spit down onto the body upon whose chest he stood, snarling in Infernal, a guttural language comprised mostly of snarls, snorts and growls mostly unpronounceable by the human tongue. His twisted his horned head slightly to take note of the sound of mortals gathering their belongings and scurrying about within the walls of the buildings nearby and snarled his disdain. Screwtape despised mortals. He assessed the figure again. These weren't ordinary wounds caused by small arms fire, swords, knives, energy weapons or any other sort of conventional weaponry which would be imminently survivable. These wounds lasted. They scarred in a way he had never seen before and were different from the sort that Screwtape's Soul-Bound had survived in the past. Time and time again he had seen the abomination fall and rise again, like a phoenix. In fact, it had become so routine that it had become part of his name, how he was known by all mortals in this accursed realm. These wounds were different, they didn't just scar the body, they scarred the soul. If the little demonling didn't act quickly the damage would be permanent and they would both cease to exist entirely. Screwtape leapt up and down on the abomination's chest, pumping its lungs, driving oxygen into the furnace that fueled it. He used a talon to open a vein in his own tiny forearm and dripped caustic blood down onto the open wounds that glowed through shredded armour. The clamor from the nearby buildings increased, the mortals were evacuating, the cowards. How he reviled them and their need for safety. The demonling sneered his disdain at the cowardice of mortals as he desperately tried to save his own existence. They knew nothing of what he or this thing in the crater had given them. What they had sacrificed for them. How he hated them, these weak, soft, pathetic things that knew nothing of pain or torture or agony. How he would love to show them the exquisite delights he had endured. The imp bared his teeth and concentrated at the task at hand, jumping and landing on the abomination's chest, pumping its lungs as the Infernal blood did its work closing the wounds behind shredded armoured plates. As he leapt up and down, Screwtape turned his head to see the gathered resident students in the quad just as the students themselves noticed the disturbance in the alleyway. One young woman pointed and cried out, calling attention to the destruction, drawing the attention of the other students. Heads swiveled and mouths opened as they stood for a moment, gawping at what they were seeing. Bloody mortals. With time running out Screwtape leapt off the chest of his Soul-Bound abomination and beat his wings once, twice, thrice and then landed as hard as he could down onto the chest of the dying figure in the flaming crater. The explosion tore apart what was left of the courtyard behind the buildings. The already battered dumpsters and compost containers took flight and landed on the nearby highways surrounding the campus, their servitude finally completed as a column of unadulterated Hellfire erupted from the crater. Screwtape was blown backwards into the quad, tumbling over and over to land at the feet of the gathered students, almost all of whom were sodden, soaked by the suppression sprinkler systems triggered by the abomination's arrival in the first place. The little demonling gathered himself and snarled at his audience, and while none of them spoke Infernal they all received the message loud and clear before Screwtape vanished with a soft popping sound as the air around his corporeal form rush into to fill the vacuum left by his absence. *** The Man in Black lounged on the specially made couch in his office down the hall from the storage area and just around the corner from the broom closet, his fedora over his face, the cigar smoldering slowly in the ashtray on the side-table nearby. Despite his injuries, most of which stubbornly refused to heal, he could hear the sound of four inch heels as they strode down the unused hallway. He sighed to himself and with no small effort rose to a sitting position, removing his hat and placing on the couch cushion beside him and did his best to face the door to his office, just in time to greet Constance Richards. The Dean glared down at her subordinate, noting that he didn't stand at her arrival as she mockingly knocked on the doorframe, as though pretending to ask permission to enter before simply doing so. "Howdy, Dean Richards, I beg yer pardon fer nae standin'. Y'see, I'm nae feelin' at me best at the moment." Said the man. "Then why aren't you at home resting, Mr. McRae?" "Well, I reckoned that there may be a youngster in need o'aid that I can provide from the comfort o'this wee sofa." he grinned. Constance Richards was neither impressed nor amused. "Mr. McRae, I'll cut to the chase. Is there anything at all you can tell me about the disturbance last night that caused thousands of dollars of damage to this institution, not to mention the inconceivable psychological damage and trauma done to the residential students of this university?" If silence was thick, this would be chowder. The Man in Black cleared his throat as he shifted on the couch, belying the pain he felt. "I'm afeared I dinnae catch yer meanin', Dean Richards. Was there a disturbance?" The Man in Black grinned and plucked the cigar from the ash-tray nearby, jamming it between his teeth. "Y'see, I was at home, as ye mentioned, catchin' up on me rest." He adjusted slightly. "Would ye care tae sit, Dean?" Constance's shoulders dropped slightly and her tone softened as she cocked her head. "No, I would not. Do you not recall me saying I know who you are, Mr. McRae? Do you not recall the time I informed you that you would be under scrutiny?" "Aye, I do." "And do you recall what I said to you on that occasion?" There's a brief silence as The Man in Black hauls on his cigar. "Aye. Ye dressed me down fer interferin' with youngsters what may wish tae render aid tae the citizens of this city, an' should I do so ye'd shitcan me. Am I on the mark?" Dean Richards shifted uncomfortably as she loomed over her subordinate. "Well, yes, that's what I said, but the general point was that any sort of misbehaviour or mischief would be deemed as a fireable offense. You're an educated man, you're hardly stupid or ignorant." She seemed to get her steam as she barreled ahead. "I think you understand very well what was meant by that conversation in the hallway and while I can't prove it, I think you had something to do with the absolute destruction of the alleyway just outside your office, the obliteration of university property in the form of those garbage receptacles as well as the terrorization of the students living in the dormitories nearby!" Her tone is strident by the end. "What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. McRae?!" The Man in Black rose to his feet, but not without effort. His opaque shades concealing the angry fires behind them. Even at his full height he had to look up into the eyes of the Dean. "May I call ye Constance?" Constance nodded. "If'n yer under the impression that I've nae the best intent fer the youngsters attendin' this college then I've several bridges fer sale. Havin' said that ye claim tae know me, who I am an' what I am an' yet ye've nae patience at all, nor've ye made any attempt at unnerstandin'. At this rate, if'n I were ye, I'd be less concerned about whether er nae ye should shit-can me an' more about whether or nae I'll be leavin' the employ o'this institution, an institution I've been keepin safe, secure an' well tidy since ye were in primary school, if'n I may be so bold." The Man in Black took a breath, wincing at the wounds across his midsection before sitting down on the couch. "I'm an old man, Dean Richards. I care about the youngsters o'this city. Ye may nae appreciate me methods, ye may nae care about how it gets done but it's quite facile tae make that judgment from yer fancy office at the other end o'this hall. Now, if'n ye dinnae mind I'd quite like tae take a wee nap." The Man in Black lounged back on the couch as the click of four inch heels receded into the distance.

Every now and again I end up on a team that's bitten off more than it can chew and this song runs through my head. I'm not sure why, but sometimes when I'm on a team like that I'll just flash this song up and and listen to it while I gather myself and Rise. It usually doesn't end well for the bad guys.

And that's when thunder rolled. The building shook and a burnt orange light flashed past Mike's room. The sound of open flame snapping in a heavy wind and a spike in temperature accompanied the clattering of rattled windows. Robert Frost would have to wait for another day as Mike leapt to his feet, his mass almost breaking the bed-frame in his haste. He hurried to the window and looked down. A large group of Freaks had gathered in the courtyard of the four tenement buildings, piled into a communal space that held a basketball court as well as rear alleyways and byways, most of which were separated by either wooden fences or publicly installed chain-link. The Freaks had all manner of chicanery in mind, nearby parked cars were already half-destroyed, buildings defaced, wooden and chain-link fences smashed, they were on a tear, one that if not derailed might well consume The Gish entirely. For the moment the Freaks had paused their mayhem and seemed to be staring up and beyond Mike's window at a strange orange glow. Mike craned his neck this way and that trying to get a look at the source of the glow, but the angle was all wrong. "Boy!" That voice again, from the other room. "Boy, that better not be you making that racket!" The commotion outside immediately ceased to matter as the hair on the back of Mike's neck stood up. He turned to face the door to his room, hearing the lounger snap closed he raced to the door, his hand inches away before it flew open and Dad strode into the room, forcing Mike to take a step back. "Boy, if I told you once!" The blow across Mike's face was familiar and predictable. He knew it was coming. He knew deep down that he may even have been able to stop it, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to and instead felt his nose shatter under Dad's knuckles. "I told you a million times that you can't be making that... " Dad's eyes flicked to the glow of the window. He wandered over, looking down as Mike held his hand to his nose, feeling it reform, cartilage reshaping, bone knitting itself into place. Within seconds the damage was undone, but it didn't heal the new scar laid over the dozens of scars he had sustained at the hands of this man. Mike blinked the tears away and looked over as Dad turned away from window. "What the fuck is this, boy?! Is this your doing?! Did you call them down on us!" He strode towards Mike as the boy backed away, towering over the monster who stalked him. "That's quite enough, then!" Both the man and the boy froze at the sound of the declaration. "Ye've had yer fun an' made yer mischief, now it's time tae return tae where ye came from an' leave this neighbourhood quite well enough alone, do I make meself clear?" The voice came from outside and it was loud, loud enough to rattle the windows again. Their squabble forgotten both Mike and Dad approached the window to peer down at the gathered Freaks outside. There must have been dozens, all packed into that little square between the four buildings. Lights flicked on in the apartments of the neighbouring buildings, followed by faces, also peering down at the courtyard and then up at the strange, burnt orange glow. As Mike's gaze scanned upwards along the windows of the building opposite his, he noticed eyes widening and fingers pointing as they could see the source of the glow. "I am 5cuzz-8uck3t!" Cried an enormous Tank, centered within the crowd of Freaks. "This is OUR turf now and you won't take it from us, Burning Man!" and with that plunged his enormous, armoured hands down into the ground, hauling up an enormous chunk of concrete and hurled it towards the source of the glow. The rest of the Freaks roared in approval and opened fire with all manner of light arms. The Shockers took to the air and disappeared from view as they chased their quarry, that same burnt orange glow. The chase was quick. Both Mike and Dad twisted their neck back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of the source of the glow as Shocker after Shocker fell from the sky, scorched and burning, like ash falling from the burning boughs of a great tree. Occasionally bolts of flame or quick streams of fire would descend into the mass of Freaks gathered in the courtyard. An enormous ball of fire descended, the sound of it shredding the air before slamming into the ground consuming a crowd of Freaks who then staggered about trying to beat out the flames consuming them. Even with all of that, time after time Freaks would still clamber to their feet and resume their assault on their airborne adversary. Mike had seen enough. He pushed away from the window and made for the exit to the apartment and hurtled down the stairs. The cacophony outside continued. The howling and laughter, the cries of pain, the explosions and the popping of open flame at velocity continued, though muted in the stairwell as the boy leaped down a flight at a time before hurtling out the side entrance of the building into the courtyard. Thus far unnoticed by the mob of Freaks still intent on their quarry, Mike shielded his eyes as he looked up. There, above the square, surrounded by Freaks with patch-work jetpacks was a lone figure, an enormous sword in his hand and burning like a thousand stars he sent body after charred body hurtling to the earth with the gladius, while his other hand sent barrage after barrage of merciless fire into the crowd of Freaks below. Mike watched as The Man on Fire twisted and brought the Angelic sword down, slamming it into the air sending a wave of Hellfire into his attackers. More bodies plummeted, but not enough. Mike shifted his vision to the Freaks still on the ground. He had not yet caught their attention. A group of four Freaks hunched behind a cluster of dumpsters firing at the threat above. Without thinking or considering the boy charged them, barreling through them and knocking aside the dumpsters, sending the punks flying. Mike snapped open the enormous club and without thinking hopped and spun in the air, catching an airborne gunner square in the chest sending him smashing into the brick siding of the nearest building. The young warrior landed lightly, twisting again, left foot behind right foot and continued his charge before leaping into the air and bringing his club down into the centre of the largest group of Freaks who had now turned to face the new threat, but too late. The club slammed down on centre court, smashing the already torn pavement and sending the main body of Freaks into the air. Energy crackled about them as they sailed out from the epicenter of the blow, staggering even 5cuzz-8uck3t. There was a pause in the action and Mike had a moment to take in the carnage. The stench of burnt flesh and the moans and cries of the nearly dead and mostly immolated rang out, echoing off the buildings. The scream of sirens in the distance as emergency service vehicles hurtled towards the scene. It was more than Mike could take and yet... the young man recognized that in the face of great threat this was the only way it could or, perhaps should have played out. He looked up at the windows, now nearly all of which were backlit against faces pressed, staring down. His neighbours, many of whom he knew and had spoken to personally and cared about. Old men and women, children, mothers and fathers. His friends. His community, all gazing down at him with wonder and fear, but not fear of him, fear for him as the Freaks gathered themselves once more. "You pip-squeak, I'll have you for my slave!" Roared the enormous tank as he charged. The ground shook with each step as eight hundred pounds of flesh and steel tore its way across the short distance of the destroyed basketball court. As large as Mike was, he was dwarfed by the immense Freak and time seemed to slow and visions flashed across the back of the new hero's eyes. Abandoned. Placed. Foster siblings. Punches and kicks. Names called. Never feeling welcome or safe, never feeling at home. Never feeling a sense of belonging or security. Blow after blow after blow. Broken bone after bruise after cut after cigarette burn after ligature mark. And then there was a light. A burnt orange light shining in the night sky. An Angel on Fire, arms crossed, floating in the heavens, lighting up the courtyard. The faces of his neighbours, his friends all shining in the dark, staring down at him as he faced this monster charging him. This monster who threatened him and his home and his safety and the safety and well-being of those he cared about. Time dilated once more. Something broke in Mike Bana in that moment as he stared down the threat. Not because it threatened him, he knew his regenerative ability would allow him to survive. It broke because he knew that if this threat wasn't stopped that people he knew and cared about would be endangered. His eyes flicked up once more to The Man on Fire and something caught in the back of the young warrior's mind as he made eye-contact and stared into the fires of Hell itself. Paragon City's newest hero made his decision. Mike shifted his stance slightly, dragging the club behind his right foot and as time resumed its normal flow he brought it up with everything he had, sending it square into the bottom of the cage holding the Freak Tank's head sending the villain into the sky. 5cuzz-8uck3t flipped backwards, end over end, sailing over the basketball net and landing in the street, his momentum tearing up the road as his slid to a stop against the fence opposite the tenement complex. The remaining Freaks in the courtyard were silent as they watched to see if their leader would rise, which he did but not without struggle. "THIS! IS! MY! HOME!" Mike yelled. His voice echoed off the brick buildings and into the night sky. The ensuing silence broken only by the crackling pop of Hellfire from above, that burnt orange glow still illuminating the courtyard. The sirens were louder now, the doppler effect giving them a strange reverberation as they approached. 5cuzz-8uck3t, now on his feet gave a short signal and the remaining villains moved off to follow him at a jog. They disappeared into the sewage canals nearby before the PCPD could arrive. They left their dead where they lay in charred, mangled and scorched heaps. The young warrior looked around himself for what seemed to be the first time, taking in the destruction left in the wake of the battle. He then looked up at the faces in the windows, all of which had gone from fear to joy. The windows slammed open as cheers went up. Fists raised and arms waving as his family celebrated him, screaming their appreciation. So loud was the raucous adulation that the approaching sirens were drowned out. Having no real idea what to do with all this, Mike just waved and looked skyward again only to find the night sky. The Angel on Fire was gone. He made his way back to the side entrance of his building, only to be met by Dad. The older man sneered. "I suppose you think this means that it makes up for-" Mike slammed his fist into "Dad's" nose, feeling a satisfying crunch, sending the old man staggering back. "Never again, Dad." The young hero said. "Never again." **** His room was as he left it, with one exception. On his nightstand was a simple, alabaster business card, pure as the driven snow. The words upon it were scorched and blackened, as though scribed in flame. "The Legendary Living Hellfire Guidance Councilor Paragon City University, Steel Canyon"

The sharp clack of hard-soled loafers echoed down the empty hallway of the North wing of the campus, past the storage closet and down the hall to the right. "Excuse, me! Mr. McRae?" He stopped, taking the cigar from his mouth, turning slowly. "Aye, Dean Richards, how my I be o'service?" At a statuesque six feet tall, not counting the heels that left their own aural echo in the hallway, Constance Richards was an imposing figure to say the least as she strode down the empty hallway towards The Man in Black. She seemed fatigued, even exhausted as she came to a stop, towering over her subordinate. "Mr. McRae, it has been brought to my attention that you were a witness to the fire at the residence on Cartwright Avenue, is that true?" "Aye." "Is it also true that you prevented Maxwell Drake from intervening, and thereby risked the lives of multiple students of this university, including those who are not powered or trained?" The Man paused, taken aback with the cigar dangling between two fingers at the length of his arm. "I recall speakin' tae Max, aye, an' encouragin' him tae allow the mort-" He cleared his throat "That is tae say the civilian authorities tae perform their function." Constance Richards' eyes widened. "Did you just refer to the students of this university and the citizens of this city as 'mortals' Mr. McRae?" The tension in the hallway ratcheted up. The Man in Black looked over his left shoulder to meet Screwtape's gaze as he peered around the corner. The glee on the little demonling's face was clear. He turned back to his boss. "Nay?" The Dean took a step towards The Man who matched her progress with a step backwards, maintaining a certain distance. The dean tried to hide her smirk. "I know who you are Fergus McRae! I know your aliases and your reputation. You are dangerous, destructive and capricious! I granted you the position of guidance councilor because I felt it would benefit the reputation of this University to have someone of your history and stature on faculty, but make no mistake." She leaned forward. "If you interfere again with a student of this university who is clearly attempting to affect good or to attempt to protect others I will personally oversee your office being cleared out by the least expensive contractors I can find, do I make myself clear?" He jammed the cigar back between his teeth as he stared up from behind opaque, burnt orange shades. "Aye, Dean Richards. I do apologize fer o'ersteppin'. It was nae me intent tae cause harm, jes' tae aid youngsters in unnerstandin' oor role." He puffed the cigar, the blue smoke forming a halo around his hat. "I can promise ye that I'll nae make the same mistake again." Constance Richards drew herself up to her full height, glaring down at her subordinate and without another word turned on her heel and stalked back down the hall towards the main building. The Man in Black hauled on the cigar and continued along his way to his office, down the North wing, past the storage area and around the corner from the broom closet.