Destined Prelude #4 - 'Origins'

Prehistory:
The act of creation was never subtle. The powers of heaven and earth parted and the light that shown wasn't as seen as it was felt - Gods in their final moments prior to birth. The twins, conceived in the ether of starlight skies and the eternity of Amenti were the strongest, none doubted this. One would be destined to rule - the most beloved - the bringing of rains and strong crops, while the other would subsist in the desert, a warrior to end all wars and to dwell in the eternal bliss of night.

Nut cried as the birthing pains began in earnest. Above as below, Ra watched with greater interest: Had not Ra decided upon the fate of the twins? Had not the will of Ra been determined? Had not the future been told? The firstborn would be mighty Osiris - The chosen...the blessed. The second born would be Set, born of darkness and destined to use Apep's wrath against those enemies who rose up in defiance of Ra's divine will. The order would be as it was foretold.

Nut cried out again, this time of agony. Ra's all-seeing eye could not perceive what was happening. The goddess again screamed. The birth was not going well. Even mighty Geb, towering like the mountains which stood against the walls of time could do nothing. Nut cried out a final time, before a greater blinding light emerged. It was not Osiris, but Set who emerged...against the will of Ra...breaking the destiny which had been placed upon him.

Prehistory:
 The Ennead always met to discuss. Watchful always to their goals, Set's eyes often drifted to the promised of Osiris, the mysterious goddess whose skill had wrestled Ra's secret name. Although her twin Nephetys was identical physically to her, Nephetys was not the one Set desired. Set watched and quietly seethed as Ra proclaimed the union of Osiris and his wife, the union which would cement Osiris as the leader of the Ennead under Ra. As consolation, Set was given Nephetys.

The deserts burned in a reflection of their master's ire. Set watched in silence as promises were made and pacts forged. Although anger flowed into his heart, it was not anger that he felt for Osiris...Set knew that it was hate...a hate born from destiny.

Time passed and Osiris, ever-trusting Osiris made the mistake everyone had before him: They assumed Set was not as clever...not as willful....or as willing....to do what was unthinkable. The Ennead had forgotten Set's bid for freedom, Set's desire for that they thought was rulership....the Ennead and especially Ra had forgotten what Set truly desired. It was Osiris that paid the price....duped easily, cast asunder by angry hands which knew only hate now. Ra stared blindly down upon the scene, and yet, it wasn't Ra who sought judgment, it was the only being who Set truly cared for...preferring her dead husband to his own company.

If he was to be the villain, so be it.

Prehistory: 
 The deserts and kingdom knew nothing but war. War between gods as Horus and Set battled. A stalemate beyond stalemates. Righteous Vengeance between Great Darkness....but then, had it not always been such? Horus had sacrificed willingly his soldiers for some greater advantage...while Set did not need to sacrifice. Both battled until Ra finally had intervened. Restoring Osiris and creating the great prison, it was Set who had to be punished...but not killed. Ra knew Set was the only one to stop Aphosis...knew that Set would have a purpose...that was his chosen destiny.

Set meanwhile never stopped looking at the queen. Even as parents, siblings, enemies, and allies were brought before him, it was not Set's desire to hear their words. It was the queen's face, the contours he knew by his heart that kept his attention. The queen's eyes never looked up, never met his save for the pronouncement of judgment. Set understood at once that his punishment was a matter of convenience...the villain had to be punished in the eyes of so-called 'fairness' of Ra.

Millennium Ago:
 Imprisoned in darkness, the wounds that rested upon Set's Ka festered. Alone and drawn out only when needed, Set's anger grew until it could no longer simply be contained. There was no peace in the deep shadow - instead there were constant reminders of his role. There would be need and then he would be returned....always to be banished when his services were no longer necessary. Destiny was what Ra said...it was Set's destiny.


1986:
Free from imprisonment, Set was uncertain as to the nature of the world he had emerged. The weakness of humanity seemed to wash over him. The nature of humanity made them little more than pets upon the banks of the mother river....Osiris's chosen. One prison had been exchanged for another...only this time, Set could feel the eyes of the Ennead upon him. It was expected he would be the villain, and villains were conquerors. Whispers from ill-informed worship and ignorant prayers reached his ears, and Set found willingness to become the darkness.

1991:
Facing the new gods upon their own fields, Set saw the same darkness and rage in their eyes....burning white-hot amid the calls for heroism. There was nothing different...no difference than the roles they were expected to play....except....some were different. Some resisted their roles...their...destinies. It was that distraction which gave him pause - It wasn't from the powers of darkness Set learned of resistance to destiny - it was the heroes who actively resisted Set's own will.

2009:
Set watched as they needed him. The heroes, different faces and different bodies but the same souls reached forward to grasp what they could not begin to understand. Did they understand the contempt Ra had for them? They were nothing short of ants amid the fields of giants. Did they not see that to stop the one would bring the other? It mattered not. Something had taken hold inside of him, reawakening him to the ancient fires that had long since been cooled by the passages of time. Inside of Set burned something new...greater hate...greater need. The queen looked at him with promise and then darted away, returning to her king of the dead...again chosen despite the sacrifices Set had made.

2014:
From the prison Set watched the events play out. The upstart sought to remake everything using the ancient forms of the Celestial Mechanics. Set's hand trembled with rage. Ra was blind to such things once again, allowing the chosen few to understand such basic principles. The Red Shift covered the multiverse for a moment, almost telling him not to intervene 'or else'. It was the 'or else' which made Set angry enough to destroy the prison. The rage filled him like nothing else in his entire existence. Destiny was not something that would be denied him....he would change everything.

2015:
Had Ra known, certainly something would have been done. It was such a brutal moment between the two that no one among the Ennead could foresee. Shock turned to fear among their faces...none believed Set capable of such a fact...but Set had watched...waited....biding his time and learning the secrets Lord Eclipse failed to discover. Ra's true name revealed brought the being into focus, and from there, once defined by the will of Set, destroyed. The rage was too much now...it could not be simply consumed by the death of the instigator....reality itself was the razor-edged knife which cut every inch of him, and Set would no longer be denied his revenge upon it. Even the endlessly eternal feared what would happen: None saw the darkness in Set's Ka clearly - Set had time enough to conceal his Ka from all concerned - He would bathe existence in oblivion.

This was not due to a need to conquer.

Set wanted to see all things perish and feel the pain he had felt.

Set wanted his destiny. Set wanted revenge. Set wanted no crown or empire. Set would simply end everything.

Set would be Destined. 

______

Destined
Marscon 2016

Destined Prelude #3 - Rituals

Each breath was an exercise in pain.

No, it was not the physical pain. His youth nearly restored, Michael Deckard felt nearly in the top shape a man in his late thirties *should* feel like. The pain was more emotional...more spiritual...a personal sort of pain that seemingly blinded him at times.

It had been nearly ten months since Deckard had become a widower.

In the line of work that he had chosen, the real possibility of loss was a constant. Despite the danger, The Deckards had enjoyed thirty years together, raised a family, and had contemplated a time finally away from "The life". Privately, the Deckards had planned it would be Michael who passed first....it had been the logical conclusion.

Then Siberia. The mission. The old enemies. The fatalistic moment when the trap was sprung. They had argued the morning that Elizabeth had taken the team to Russia. It was about the seeming obsession Michael had developed. They parted angry...they did not say goodbye....they didn't look at one another. It was a moment of anger which felt like all the other times - would be resolved when the day ended and they sought comfort in each other.

Instead, Elizabeth had died, leaving Michael unprepared for what was to come next. It took weeks to recover enough of their 'home' to sort belongings. Although to all parties concerned, he had resumed his activities and role albeit low-keyed, there was something different. Those who really knew him, the five or so people within his inner circle knew something was wrong...the signs were ever-present. To those who worked for him, there was no change - obsessive behavior which seemingly was blinded by the inability to see the damage done.

Every morning he rose at the same time. Michael was getting used to sleeping alone, the coldness which took up the place where Elizabeth slept. Her scents were still on the pillows, hanging languidly in the air amid their room. It was the worst, waking up  and moving through the remnants of a shared life. Michael would spend moments trying to recall the daily rituals each would do, but found that with Elizabeth gone, the memories were like the scents - fading into the background of the waking world.

Things were far harder now. Michael had fallen into the repetition of work, and the old familiar temptations seemed to creep more into his active mind. While his will was strong, the source of his strength had been crippled - although he had masterfully kept it hidden, the pain was always present, draining his resolve.

The days seemed shorter, and the nights, often sleepless, lingered longer. If Amadeus Van Brandt had hoped to kill Michael Deckard he had succeeded, for the waking death was far worse than the actual event. Perhaps that was what Van Brandt really wanted - a sort of endless suffering that Deckard could never escape from. Now all Deckard had left was his job, and in that, he could feel himself disengaging despite evidence otherwise. The real problem was that no one could see it. Was it redemption now? Was that the mission Deckard threw himself into? It mattered little - Without her, nothing really mattered.

Running across the beach and along the paths in the jungle, it was simple mechanics of motion and effort. It was as if he were dead, and for a long time Michael Deckard quietly prayed it would be so...maybe then, if he had balanced his books right with a lifetime of service, he'd see his wife again.

If it were only that simple.....

Destined: Prelude #2

Throughout the eons, he had walked. When the stars winked into existence, he was present to record their first moments. Although he had recorded all of the moments, he had never paused nor wondered - for there was nothing he could not know or did not understand. The notion of a new experience had never crossed his mind. Indeed, he was not expected to do more than chronicle, for it was what the eternity of elemental forces and endless beings did. Therefore, when he arrived at the moment that he would witness, it became clear nothing was right.

The golden fields lay ablaze, providing the only warmth and light amid the winter's sun. He first made observation that it should not be winter, than the snows of the far frozen realms of Ymir should not intrude so far south...and that the stench and strewn bodies of the fallen should not be present. Ragnarok was not intended, but the dead and dying lay in the snow - the broken bodies of gods, goddesses, and other creatures, and none of it should be.

He felt it for the first time, that terrible sensation he knew of alarm, but had never had reason to feel it. Although he appeared as a human, it was how he was perceived amid the faceted dimensions...and should not be prone to their failings. Yet, there was something here....something he knew was wrong. It was not scheduled, it was not part of the order. Even when Eclipse seized the Celestial Mechanics of the universe, it had purpose, it made sense...it was foreseen. The view he looked upon made no sense, made no purpose...was unknown.

For a moment, he perceived through dark glasses the dark god Set, standing amid the destruction and chaos, the unmoving director of the shadows which consumed and fed on the Asgardians. The ancient book was quickly consulted, and for the first time since the explosion that brought the myriad into existence, the Chronicler paused.

'Is there something not in your magic book, elder?' The Egyptian God's voice echoed over the battlefield. For a moment, the Chronicler was at a loss....to be perceived unwillingly was something that was rare indeed, but to be discovered while outside the normal din of reality and dreaming was far...different.

'Allow me to repeat...' Set added, 'Something not in your magic book? Something not in your celestial order? Perhaps you need to consult the rest of the endlessly eternal beings for guidance....'

The Chronicler new well enough the pages would be blank...the Egyptian had somehow subverted the order and balance of destiny. Rather than make a show of such to placate the god's ego, The Chronicler nodded,

'Such a disruption will not go unnoticed, Set' The Chronicler said in his matter-of-fact tone, 'No doubt Ra has already Dispatched Apep and the others'

'Always seeing but eternally blind...' Set retorted, turning to face the Chronicler for the first time, 'No...I have no worries of that'

'You should' The Chronicler answered, 'It is doubtful Ra would be so pleasant a jailer next time...'

'I doubt that very much...' Set began, 'Nor would I concern myself with Apep or Aphosis...'

The Chronicler turned his head slightly. Such an answer was certain, no hesitation. The carnage burned around them, and even the other elemental forces of the universe seemed to pause.

'And why is that?' The Chronicler asked, as if bored by the answer.

'For they are in oblivion, Narrator....' Set answered, tossing down the remnants of Ra's eye, 'Where you shall join them...'

The Chronicler was beyond such actions. Like the great Ender, the Dream-Maker, and others, to suggest that the Chronicler was simply an appearance of a function would not be too far from the truth...and yet....pain...a concept the Chronicler had understood and witnessed, but never experienced....until now.

The battle was all-too brief. For the first time, The Chronicler experienced the terrible things that were foretold....and Set....no longer a mad god, stood supreme, the door to Yggdrasil opened. In the fatal moment, the moment of the Chronicler's own ending, the visions were all too clear:

Set was going to destroy them all.

___________________________

Destined DI 30th Marscon 2016

www.marscon.net

January 15 - 17th, 2016.

Destined Prelude 1: The Desert

Despite the auto-cooled systems within the armor, the heat was nearly unbearable. What breeze there was only cut the faintest edge across the Saharan dunes, stirring up small dust devils and reflecting the swelter. He had been walking for nearly an hour, moving methodically across the barren landscape with such mechanical cadence someone might have mistaken him for a drone at distance. 

 

His armor, normally green and gold was now in chameleon mode, reflecting dull browns and yellows while shifting subtle tones to blend him into the environment. He stopped, checking the GPS systems to gain his bearings. In doing so, he saw a snake slither nearby....a desert horned viper, known for its unique venom and 13 separate types of toxins. For a moment, he kneeled, looking at the snake as it moved, turning his head to watch quickly depart across another dune. As he turned back towards his targeted direction, he stopped...

 

Across the dunes, hundreds of snakes slithered towards him, a roiling mass of serpentine bodies that was made up of a variety of species - moorish vipers....saw-scaled vipers....spitting cobras....hundreds if not thousands, slithering away from the direction he was headed towards. Rather than wade through the mass, he remained still, allowing the snakes to pass him by. There was no doubt in his mind if there ever was - He was near the target site.

 

After ten minutes, he moved through the shifting sands to the top of the dune. The site came into clarity directly in front of him - an immense bowl of blackened sand, blasted to a dull ebony color. The pyramid, for that's all it could be, rested in the center of the desolated area, He paused, there was no reason to move forward...and it was the first time he actually felt a sense of coldness... a numbing chill which passed over him. It reminded him of a quiet memory of childhood - Seeing the movies of ancient temples and lost Arks, and the eerie music that played when the artifacts were uncovered. If it were possible to feel fear, it was those moments that quietly affected him...but the reality was far different. He stood watching the light disappear into the mass of black sand and darkened limestone....as much a tomb as what it really was...a prison.

 

He took a few tentative steps forward, finding the sensors in the armor reporting a drop in ambient temperature of around 30 degrees. The clouds seemed to darken slightly to his perception...as if he had stepped out of a desert and into an overcast afternoon near the beach...but there was nothing friendly about the outing, and the destination loomed like a leering gargoyle at him. He moved forward, noticing in his perception that the remains of the 1986 expedition camp sat undisturbed. For a moment, he debated going over....but there was something that stopped him. Although he could not place a finger on what it was that made him pause, he knew if he proceeded he would join the unfortunate members of that expedition, and his mission was more direct. Turning away from the diversion of the ruined camp, he proceeded quietly towards the pyramid.

 

His first steps into the pyramid echoed down the long entrance. Although open to the elements, there was no build-up of sand nor debris. He didn't really expect there to be such - The place wasn't of mortal man, and he could feel a dull presence that seemed to slow everything in its awareness. In that moment, he understood why he had been chosen for the mission...he had shown remarkable resistance to such things...he had survived more than his share of calamities and enemies, and it was his ability to evade and escape such dangers which bordered on the supernatural. Normally, that sixth sense which existed to warn him of trouble would be a dull noise in his head....but now...now it was screaming. Nothing about the mission was safe, he knew that...but it seemed foolhardy to move forward. Girding the reserves of willpower, he moved forward in to the darkness.

 

It seemed forever to move forward in the darkness. He struck a light-stick and dropped it, moving another 200 yards before doing the same. He had done this four times before he found the first one, and realized he was moving in a circle. It didn't make sense...nothing about the darkness or the interior pyramid did...but he warned for that. He moved forward a few steps, the stopped...quirking his head slightly. Taking a step back, he turned and moved back the way he came. Within a few moments, he stood in a long corridor, outlined in glyphic images and writings. He spent a few moments moving down each section, photographing with his helmet's interior cameras while taking the necessary readings. He didn't understand half of what he was recording, not out of ignorance, but the sheer alien nature of tools. It was a good thirty minutes of intense study before he reached the wall at far end of the section. There he stood, facing a black wall - dull in years with only a single heiroglyph in its center.

 

His fingers moved out, tracing it for a moment and checking tactile surface readings. It wasn't stone, it wasn't metal...it was something...else. The hand-held system attempted to trace the material through the periodic table and the alien cross-section element guide, but nothing known on Earth or twelve surrounding star systems even came close. It would be a puzzle for the scientists back at the lab, his work was finished.

 

He heard something quietly behind him, and he turned to see a similarly clad figure....riddled with bullets and other wounds. For a moment, he stopped moving. The figure helmet, split from force had cracked just enough that he could see an eye looking through the visor, looking at him with a maliciousness that wasn't human. He knew what he was looking at - an impossibility that bordered on the mad or a victim of MvRS, but part of him knew it wasn't either.

 

'Thief' was all it said, pointing a jagged finger forward, a reminder of something that only three people should know about. The revenant stood silently, a witness to an unsaid crime, and for a moment, neither moved. Finally, the image faded, it had served its purpose...but still...there wasn't any movement. With effort, steps were taken, footfalls moved forward, and it wasn't until waning daylight of the outside that he felt himself swallow hard. It wasn't a ghost...it was a reminder... a reminder of the secrets he had to carry. He moved over the blackened landscape, over the dune, and the hour south through the desert towards extraction. It wasn't until he reached the extraction point that he actually stopped moving. As the scarab-ship landed, he moved into the back, saying nothing to the pilot, instead falling to the jump seat.

His hands moved upwards and took off the helmet and looked at it. It was the same as it ever was....the gold and green, mirroring his balaclaved face. He started at it for some time before he pulled the mask off, the blue-green eyes looking back. 

How long could he live with the knowledge that he had stolen another man's identity? How much longer facing what he knew the tests would confirm about the pyramid would he be able to face the ugly secret known only by a few. How long could he hide the truth when it was clear the world was on the razor again?

How long did any of them have before they would have face their destinies?

 

_______

DESTINED

30th Anniversary Event

January 15 - 17, 2016

www.marscon.net

Next Stop: Ravencon 2015!

Good Morning all;


 Still recovering from Marscon, we're looking forward to the next convention and Ravencon! Ravencon is celebrating its 10th anniversary this year as Richmond's premiere fan event, with programming and a variety of guests and other cool stuff. For more information about Ravencon, check out their site at www.ravencon.com!


OMG and Project: Crusaders are presenting three brand-new post-DESTROYED adventures at Ravencon, including a Ravencon exclusive event.

  

Six months after Destroyed, the Defenders find themselves with a most unusual request for help: A call from the Shining City of Atlantis to defend against…pirates? Can the Defenders get to the bottom of what’s really going before it’s too late?

 

Summoned by the Supreme Magnus, the Defenders find themselves in a pitched battle between the villainous Shadowheart Queen, the First Witch Grimhylde, and the ancient dragon Tiamat. Can the Defenders stop the combined mystical threat before humanity suffers? Only one may be the fairest of them all….

(Ravencon 2015 Exclusive)

In years previously, heroes have faced genetically enhanced chimpanzees, mad German doctors, android Sasquatches, demons from the darkest darkness of hell, and Buddy Holly. This year, it’s more of the same, except all-new and different, and totally not capitalizing on the trend in superhero movies and comic universe reboots. Can a group of heroes (You) help the self-proclaimed world’s greatest thief recover a device which may or may not be able to re-write reality? Has it already been used? Is this actually a reboot? You won’t know until you find out!





All events are running throughout the weekend, as well as an introductory workshop for new players or those who want to get involved! For more information regarding scheduling, please visit our WARHORN SIGN-UP site

Destroyed - Epilogue #1

Marapulai - Row of Kings

For some time, he sat and watched the U.N. peacekeepers move forward, while members of Chrysalis Inc worked in round-the-clock triages to stabilize both citizens and soldiers alike. The day had begun with him being fired out of a cannon into heavy fire, and ended with him sitting on a wall, watching weird alien sky-ships arcing across the skies headed towards the latest of King Croc's surprises.

The battle armor effectiveness gauge read 17%. He had gone through the portable CDFF, the Imperium shielding, and half a dozen tank traps on his way to do what he thought was a suicide mission...and yet...he lived. It wasn't great training or supreme effort...it was his knack...his knack for survival. What did it mean on the station right before everything went to hell? He tried to recall right before being sucked into space when Shankra was breached - He would be the one to watch them all burn.....

It was best not to think about a madman's pronouncements.

________

SMART LABS, New York City

'--And as you can see, SMART Labs will show an increase in operational value over the course of the next quarter...'

Ripley Cross had heard enough. It wasn't that they could have saved Shankra...it's that they were outfoxed...outmaneuvered....outplayed....by bureaucrats. Nearby, Persephone's eyes followed his lackluster attention, staring at him with the cool countenance that always was prompted by forced response.

This time, it was different.


Abruptly, Ripley stood, shaking his head, 'This isn't science....this isn't improving the world...it's marginalizing it'

Taking off his badge, Ripley tossed it onto the table, and walked out of the room. A moment later, Persephone followed.

'This isn't really the time for one of your childish displays Ripley' Persephone coolly intoned, following behind him. For a moment, Ripley stopped, the turned on his heel to meet his twin.

'No...it isn't' Ripley answered, staring unflinchingly into his sister's eyes. There was something in the gaze that caused Persephone to take a step back.

'What then?' Persephone said, quickly regaining her composure, 'Are you still upset about Red?'

'Upset? Why would I be upset? The Destroyers attacked Shankra with our technology....our access....we might as well put the caustic necrites in their hands'

'Oleg Natik designed the caustic necrites, not SMART' Persephone quickly responded, 'SMART was not respo-'

'No...' Ripley started, 'We did nothing....we never do anything. Are we any better if we do nothing? I'm tired of SMART either being the victim of its inability or its incompetence'

'That's not fair Ripley' Persephone chimed, 'Science should remain neutral.'

'No...' Ripley said, 'Not at the cost of the lives of the people around us. We have the most gifted minds anywhere, but we hoard our intelligence and projects jealously'

'We provide scientific clarity in a chaotic world' Persephone, 'We make sense of the universe'

'The universe....' Ripley shook his head 'Doesn't have to make sense....it's time we do something else...'

'Such as?' Persephone asked warily,

'Make a difference...a real difference. Joe Tungsten and I are going to do something else...things need to change...evolve....and they won't do so here...in a place that stifles real progress...real attempts to help society and mankind'

'Those are SMART's goals' Persephone answered, 'You are steering a path from accepted scientific principal to emotional madness'

'No...' Ripley said firmly, 'We're going to do what we should have done a long time ago....' pausing to turn towards the elevator, 'we're not going to hide behind the apathy of this place....not where w can make a real difference....'

With that, Ripley left his sister standing in the hallway, and as the doors closed, he couldn't help but feel a bit better....the weight he had grown accustomed to as part of SMART seemed to disappear.

*They* would do something better...



______

USS Saratoga - South Indian Ocean, 15 miles SSE of Marapulai

He moved his fingers over every inch of the outer hexite-plated hull, ensuring that the damage had been repaired and the necessary modifications were in place. In his life, he had cared for few things as much as he did his greatest creation. With a jeweler's precision, he performed countless micro-adjustments until everything checked out. Moving backwards, he stood for sometime, marveling on the elegance that even now, made him wonder how he could have created such a thing.

He stood watching it for some time, not in wrapped adoration but thinking of the last six months of his life....the last three years really...since his life had been up-ended at the hands of his 'friend', how he had lost everything, again....and how things had come into a clarity he had never known. All of the years spent in angry vindictive rage had blinded him to the reality he was in: He was a hated man, a man whose brilliance was overshadowed by his own arrogance...for what was it to live in such anger if not arrogance to believe he was the only wronged party? He had devoted the majority of his adult life to seek revenge....to vindicate himself against those who had wronged him....a demented 'Count of Monte Cristo' remaking himself time and again with revenge being his sole comfort and purpose...and where did that get him? He had a great gift, and he had wasted it on building something which nearly caused death on a wide scale. He had been blinded by his own need to see he had become the very thing he despised. It was a harsh revelation...one that he wouldn't forget, not this time.

He stared at the MAULER suit as the sun descended, the last rays glinting off the suit like an armored knight of old, cascading into a brilliant myriad of beams and reflections. He had been giving a remarkable gift, and time still to use it. What if he could adapt his technology differently? Could he somehow make up for his mistakes? At least, could he find some atonement? He had been so blinded by things...but now...it was as if he had woken up from a bad dream. Ideas swarmed through his brain - Adaptable cybernetic replacement limbs at low costs, neurokinetic adapters to allow nerve repair, nanomachine augmentation devices....such ideas that would better the world. He would develop and design them, make the free and available to all - No more hiding his ideas, fearful that they would be stolen....he would make everything open-sourced...


But that would not be enough.

No....he knew he would need to repay mankind for his actions. He would need to make things right. He knew that it would require something more, something much much more to make up for his actions.

Philip Cranston would need to transform the world.



_____

Undisclosed location, New York City.

'You understand' the younger man added, 'We have a zero tolerance policy. This policy is absolute. I don't have time for those of you who believe that you are better than the program...that believe this is an easy way to work down your sentence, or that you think your behavior is justified'


Pausing to look over the group, the younger man went on to add,

'The only reason you are here and not in Lazarus Sleep somewhere in the pits of MAXXAM is that we believe you have the will, desire, ability, and hope at reformation. This is not an easy process. You will not enjoy it. I don't rightly care if you feel prison is easier. Every person who serves and survives earns their wings - If you fall back into your old ways, I don't care whatever the reason, we come down harder on you.'

Walking amid the group, the young man was flanked by the giant who stayed a few feet away. The sheer difference in size in the giant to the rest made the gathered group pause for a moment. Even the hardened criminal knew better than to try their chances at Von Hammer.

'Now...you've waived your rights, we've completed our profile. Your rehabilitation begins now.'

The young man moved from behind the giant and brought up a computer screen. Images flared to life, showing a variety of individuals in still-photographs and video footage.

'Our job is to find them, bring them in, or take them down...any questions?'




______

Argent Tunguska, Siberia, Russia


The soldiers moved into place, flanked by both Hammer and Sickle suits. The carnage was nearly complete - A century of work and collecting nearly lost. The one-eyed man moved with little care to the dead, instead moving around the fallen bodies - already being collected for a mass fire-pit.  The dead would burn, but it was for the living that the soldiers were more afraid for.



The signs of the battle were everywhere. From the sides of the ancient walls to the surrounding areas, fire, blood, and visceral lay strewn throughout the timbers of the reclaimed forest. The footage, which would never see the light of day, revealed in stark detail those responsible, and the one-eyed man unconsciously rubbed the three scars under the patch he sported.

'Check below' was all he said, his voice barely above the din of the nearby helicopters. Squads moved with effortless efficiency into the smoking darkness. Within ten minutes, the 'all-clear' signal was given, the one-eyed man turned towards the entryway, descending into the depths.

The darkest secrets of the last 100 years of Russian history lay shredded and burning in the records room. The artifacts room had suffered from the battle above, and yet, several of the more important items lay undisturbed - the resting eggs remained in perfect placement, the large cylinder with the last of the Romanovs remained connected to the power source, the blue quartz skull, the only item within the vault to make the One-eyed man shudder remained faintly glowing behind the ancient wards placed upon it by the Mad Russian Monk.  After checking the rest, the One-Eyed Man moved to the laboratory.

The Laboratory, much like he assumed it would be, was devastated. Large sections had simply been destroyed in high-intensity plasma, while others, looted for their resources no doubt, had been left vacant. The One-Eyed Man made note of all projects he could determine were 'lost', while at the same time looking to find which projects had been either destroyed or left behind. It was not the lost or destroyed projects which elicited an uncomfortable response, instead the projects that had been left made the One-Eyed Man breathe heavily.


Moving with precision down the dark hallway from the Laboratory, the One-Eyed Man moved into the cathedral-like main elevator. Nodding to a soldier at the controls, the massive elevator descended into the depths, seemingly leaving the top of the shaft far in the distance. Relieved to see that the massive blast doors were closed, the One-Eyed Man entered the code that only three men alive knew, opening the doors. It remained in stasis....Neither the battle nor invaders had bypassed the doors....and it had not awoken. Only the One-Eyed Man moved into the massive room, skirting the the edges of it, illuminated by the faint purplish-glow that emanated from the body. The One-Eyed Man avoided looking directly at the beast, instead, he checked the supports, the wards, and the locks upon the vulcanium-derived chains, before exiting the room and restoring the locking protocols. The whine of the doors coupled with the re-activation of the nuclear device gave some reassurance, as the elevator ascended from the depths.

The One-Eyed Man quickly exited Argent Tunguska, nodding to a commander to take over the external sweep and clean. As the din of other helicopters could be heard, the One-Eyed Man quietly disappeared into one. A full report would need to be given....as well as a consideration on who survived that had seen the interior of the the base.....


____

Undisclosed Location, Somewhere outside of Istanbul, Turkey

The gathering was a mix of the old and new. The few surviving 'Founders' were adorned in their finest uniforms, removed from storage and faintly of the smell of naphthalene and the ardor of a recent cleaning. The crisp uniforms, faded with nearly 70+ years of storage gave an almost sinister air to an already sinister event. In comparison, the sole woman present wore a black dress with red hourglass, her tannish scaled flesh amply exposed, with the writhing mass of serpents pulled back as if in a pony-tail. Although the Founders were monsters of a different sort, none present doubted the young serpentine woman was far more the monster in intent and purpose. Gathered with a large group of robed figures around a pit, the figures began to chant a long and forgotten language.

One figure moved forward and tossed a small sack of something wriggling into the pit. One of the founds moved forward and emptied the contents of a leather satchel, hands trembling due to fear as much advanced age. Finally, the serpent-woman leaned in, producing a human skull from a nearby box. For a moment, the woman held the skull in almost abject adoration, kissing the polished smooth top with a intimate familiarity before tossing it into the murky depths. The chanting reached a crescendo, with the few lights produced by torches in sconces flickering as a heavy unexpected breeze pushed into the room. The Founders shuddered, but the snake-woman smiled, her fangs glistening in the dim light.


A hand reached out of the murk, pulling itself free as if doing so was in defiance of fundamental force. The robed figures moved back as the figure fully emerged, towering for a moment in the shadows as he slowly stood. The Founders balked, the servants fled, but the snake woman smiled broadly.

The General had returned. CHRONOS would live again.



___

The story so far....

DEFENDERS INTERNATIONAL (D.I.) is the codename for the U.N. meta-hero organization which helps deal with the meta-villain/exo-threat/eldritch horrors that are an active enemy to mankind. Formed after an attack on the U.N. in 1986, D.I. has maintained its position as the primary defense organization in the world. Led by Michael Deckard (code-Named ROOK) for most of the group’s history, Deckard, along with his wife Elizabeth (code-named WHITEFLAME) have remained the only founding members still active with D.I.

D.I. has faced many menaces and threats, ranging from the Egyptian God of Darkness SET to three separate alien invasion attempts in 1992, 2005, and 2008. Chief among the adversaries that D.I. has faced are the villains known as the DESTROYERS, the original threat that D.I. formed to protect against. The Destroyers, led by AMADEUS VAN BRANDT (code-named TACTICIAN) have often been overshadowed through the years by greater threats but remained persistently a thorn in D.I.’s side. The Destroyers have mostly disbanded, and Tactician had been captured in 2012, held until 2014.

RECENT HISTORY

In 2008, a massive and ancient primordial weapon known as THE DEVOURER attempted to destroy mankind due to mankind’s knowledge of the primordial creation equations known as GOD MECHANICS,unleashing cosmic disasters and ‘resurrecting’ dead heroes and villains with the use of primordial technology called NECRITES. The assembled heroes defeated the ancient machine, capturing some of the technology.(MARSCON 2011 EVENT ‘DEVOURED’).

In 2014, an evil primordial being known as LORD ECLIPSE attempted to assemble a mythical equation called THE ANGELIC ALGORITHM by using God Mechanics in order to bring about the entropic RED SHIFT. Nearly destroying mankind and seizing the Angelic Algorithm, Lord Eclipsed used what bits of the God Mechanics he had gathered and plunged the Earth into darkness by extinguishing the Sun. Narrowly reigniting the Sun and defeating Lord Eclipse, D.I. managed to restore things mostly to normal. (MARSCON 2014 EVENT ‘ECLIPSED)

Due the partial use of God Mechanics, dark matter and deep spatial fields had been disrupted. In part because of the disruption, a Texas-sized asteroid of VULCANIUM, the strongest material in known space had been ejected from the Earth’s core and was locked in orbit around the planet Saturn. Dubbed ASTEROID HEPHASTUS, the asteroid was seen as a solution to an age-old problem regarding Vulcanium and the current supplier on Earth.

Sometime before the dawn of Prehistory, a massive asteroid impacted Earth comprised mostly of Vulcanium. The remnant islands, dubbed the MARAPULAI CHAIN saw much turmoil and strife. As the modern age began and Vulcanium was discovered, Marapulai quickly became a center focus for world powers. In 1956, a bloody coup led by a massive reptilian-like mutant named KING CROC established Marapulai firmly as a haven for the illicit and illegal. King Croc used the Vulcanium supply to ensure his rule was firmly received and accepted, blackmailing at times world governments into submission, while offering haven to criminals of all sorts for a price. As the single source of Vulcanium, King Croc set his own rules and standards, a fact that nearly all of the civilized world chafed under.

With the discovery of Hephastus and the potential of limitless other mining opportunities for Vulcanium, Marapulai’s hold on the world seems ready to slip. It is only a matter of time before King Croc’s atrocities catch up with him, setting the stage for something that the world is not prepared for…

DESTROYED

MARSCON 

JANUARY 16 - 18 2015