'Destined' Epilogue #1

Note: The following Epilogue contains spoilers for the Marscon 2016 event 'Destined'






At the center of the World-Tree:

Ptah's whispering words still rung in the ears of the super-scientists as the final equation of the Angelic Algorithm moved into its configuration. For those present, it was a moment of transcendence - a grand light spreading outwards from hovering numbers and symbols, moving across the broken aspects of reality, reworking them into a pure state untouched by any being. Shielding their eyes, each of the scientists present felt the knowledge of their works unlocked - For Doctor Tungsten, it was the final answer to resolving the Chimera Retrovirus. For countless others, it was the answers and the acknowledgement across a myriad of questions that they had. Truly, it was a moment of enlightenment - a reward for their role in the greater restoration of their world.

Ptah lingered for a long moment, resting his eternal eyes on Ripley Cross. Although no words were spoken, Ptah smiled for a moment, nodding his head to the unanswered question that Cross had posed and had driven him on more than one occasion towards madness. Something clicked in the young scientist's mind....a fact that had eluded him, something that made him step back in the realization of the moment. It wasn't a perfect answer that Ptah had offered, but one that Ripley down deep could accept.


As reality is restored:
Across the span of reality, wounds that were long festering in their inability to heal closed and scarred over, eventually disappearing amid the nature of Celestial Mechanics. The events and time had changed as the eternal beings, destroyed by Set's rampage found themselves again in existence...quietly chastised for their unwillingness to interfere. History unfurled in different directions - different heroes and villains emerging and disappearing amid the waves of the new universe. Quiet moments which determined the course of history echoed now with greater resolve. The universe was once again whole.

On board Shankra:

The alien ship exited the space of the dimensional thread, the machine used to cross over to the world-tree destroyed....removed...to prevent another journey. Aboard the carrier the survivors found the world ahead vastly different than the one that they had left. The Defenders were reunited in more ways than one....they had succeeded.


Moving Forward:

Aboard  Shankra:

Despite what they had just gone through, dinner was surprisingly quiet. With Earth as the backdrop, the Defenders ate and reflected on what they had gone through, while their allies found themselves now facing a new world, a world where the future was completely uncertain.

When Rook had made the announcement, it came as no real surprise. Since Whiteflame's return, there was something different, something younger about the man. Those that knew Deckard best knew that he never smiled, but there he was, smiling like a schoolboy, holding his wife's hand so firmly that it seemed that they had permanently been joined. The Deckards toasted the heroes present, before announcing that they were leaving the group. In thirty years, the Deckards had weathered the brightest and darkest moments, and now, they were leaving what they had started...to try their lives completely anonymously...like everyone else.

It was time for the next generation to take over protecting Earth.

Grant Hill Cemetery, Jameson City, New Jersey

The services were quiet, not the grand sort of thing he had wanted. A few mourners were family, the majority of those present were not. The family's mausoleum rested silently, and although it only held a single generation of Adlers, it was a fitting place to inter the final remains of Richard Adler. Either due to those present with the ability to control weather or simple luck, the rain that had been ever-present in the days leading up to the service had broke, and while the skies remained dark and overcast, there were moments of sunlight that illuminated the heavens. It was a perfect day, a day so much like the man himself - dour and dark, concealing moments of hope and the promise of better days.

The first night brought the other mourners into the cemetery...those who knew the man only through his professional standing or who could not walk among those who arrived earlier. A single red rose was placed upon the path to the tomb's door - a single sign of respect which all present shared. There were no words...no tears...just memories of a man who had saved not just the city but the world on countless occasions.

 Under the great hangman's tree which loomed upon the nearby rise, The Pilot watched all. The appointed agent of the Hill smiled to himself, watching the processions leave before speaking to his hidden companion.

'It was a hell of a service' The Pilot began, smoothing his short brown hair back before shaking his head, 'A shame you had to miss it'

The younger man, dressed in traveling clothes nodded quietly, 'Not my first funeral....and certainly, not my last'

'Will you tell them?' The Pilot began, 'After all, some of them should know...'

'No' The younger man added, 'It's better this way. Part of what the Grim Ghost said still rings true...an era has ended...my era has ended....it's better they find their way without me..and I think it is time I try to leave this behind.'

The Pilot nodded as a raven, black as midnight rested on a nearby branch, soon joined by another.

'Well...' The younger man started, 'The boat leaves in the next hour. I should be on my way'

'I'd say good luck, but I figure you'd not be one to take such chances' the Pilot began, 'Good Luck anyway'

'I make my own luck' the younger man added, smiling a bit, 'But thank you Pilot...as always'

'Take care Richard. Don't be a stranger' The Pilot said with a smile.

'Not for some time at least' Richard Adler began, 'I think there is a wide world that I should reacquaint myself with...' 


 
Crusaders Castle, New York - Some time later

 Although there were many moments that the Castle had seen celebration, few times seemed to bring out the beauty of the place as much as today did. Streamers of white and silver lined the halls and edifices, while the museum, normally opened to the public remained respectfully closed - It was a private affair after all.

Caters from across the city had gone out of their way to make the day special. The planner, a shortish man of fifty with shockingly dark hair coordinated the majority of the event with the precision and personality of a tank commander, while other entertainment had been provided as distraction for the multitude of children who were present. At 2:00 PM, the guests moved to their seats, some five hundred in total, awaiting the signal. The organist began the march, as the grooms-persons (including one shortish woman) stood waiting. The young girl moved ahead, dropping handfuls of flowers while the dark haired woman with green eyes moved forward, escorted by Mr. Might himself in a tuxedo that seemed to barely contain him. Although in her late forties, the woman seemed almost radiantly youthful, while the man who awaited her looked on, brimming with an excitement of a man half his age.

'Dearly beloved' the goddess Freya began, 'We are gathered today to unite in holy matrimony Richard Sinclair Fortune and Juliana Prentiss...'

The couple exchanged vows, and even the most stoic members couldn't help stifle a few tears.


Somewhere Else:

The battle continued to rage, and for the briefest moment, he had the upper hand. Deploying his group, he understood that he had finally done it...Deckard was destroyed, the Defenders had been crushed, and  Revenge had been his. The strategy was simple...childishly simple...it only required the proper use and motivation of force.

Leaning back, he could not help but feel there was something about this that was too familiar - Always the Defenders seemed to rally from nowhere...always the Defenders managed to return to the battle and thwart his plans. How could this be? How could the greatest tactician of any age make so many simply mistakes during a battle? It was as if his strategy wasn't simply flawed - It was a thing someone who lacked the understanding of such things would do.

It became very clear to him that the answer was obvious - He was in hell. This was his hell. When the realization hit him, he turned as quickly as he could to find some exit, to deduce some sort of stratagem to escape this prison. As if in answer, the image around him shimmered, and for the briefest of moments he saw the person he hated the most, reunited with his wife...smiling....and free of him.

Then all went dark, and the battle began again.

As it had done already countless times

As it would do so endlessly

A battle of poor strategy where victory would always come close, and never succeed.

A war in which his enemy hadn't just recovered from the inflicted wounds...but was happy...and would forget him.

Amadeus Van Brandt was in Hell.


 The Future

The world had changed. The alien immigrants who had sought refuge and brought their knowledge shared openly and fairly. By the end of the decade, mankind had made large strives to correct the damage it had done over decades of misuse and greed. need and want were becoming something of the past, while major diseases including cancer were quickly eradicated. By 2030, mankind had begun to spread its wings outward from its homeworld, moving with its protectors throughout the solar system. While not a perfect world and problems persisted, the horizon was no longer far away and mankind began to achieve its place among the stellar nations.

As Halley's Comet returned, mankind had established colonies on nearby worlds, coming into contact with a variety of new alien races. The third age of exploration began, and among this age Defenders International, rechristened to Defenders Interstellar worked to ensure that peace, justice, and freedom would always be defended.

It would be a glorious age.


The Solar Barge

The Solar Barge slowly moved across Amenti's heavens, Horus-Ra sitting upon the throne at the aft. As the barge moved, Aphosis moved underneath, its serpentine body in the great depths of the abyss reflecting no light.

Horus-Ra remained unmoving despite the danger. Attended by the other gods, Horus-Ra simply stared forward, motionless amid the activity. Aphosis ascended slowly, coming closer to the edge of the surface, then suddenly struck by an attack that drove the devourer off once again. Aphosis sank into the abyss wounded - the barge would not be destroyed now...or ever...

Horus-Ra turned slightly to his protector. For a moment, Set's eyes locked onto Horus-Ra's eye, a quiet understanding passing between uncle and nephew, before Set returned to his post. Unlike the times before, Set's place was not forced - it was a duty Set chose to perform....and in that....it wasn't a punishment - it was a privilege..and most importantly, a choice.

Set would protect his nephew from the devourer every morning in Amenti. Set would defend his people from whatever threats would come. A silent acceptance had developed between Osiris and Set, and for the first time, brothers were seen together.

Set was content.

Set was Destined.


 

Destined Prelude #5 'Hope'

Amenti

Already the heavens ran with blood, and there was not anything that Bes could do about it. Bes, smallest of the gods ran with purpose, avoiding the destruction of Heliopolis and trying desperately to find Serket. Behind the little god the full rage of Set was on display. Bes had seen with his own eyes the rending of Ammit as Set tore the jaws of the devourer asunder, tossing them in the boundless pools of abzu. As Bes ran, he could not shut out the cries of the others, the gods who formed the line against the God of the Desert...for it was now clear Set's bloodlust would not be sated.

Bes rounded the pillared column of his home, seeking the signs of the great Imiut and the paths to the necropolis below. Bes knew that if any would have answers, it would be Serket...and Serket would consult the great god of mysteries Nekhtet. Cascades of light engulfed the palaces of the morning behind him, and it seemed to Bes that the skies themselves rained red with Set's vengeance.

Bes hopped down the stairs, emerging into the gloom of the funerary rooms. With sudden abruptness, Bes stopped, skidding to a halt at the feet of the amazonian and ferocious form of Sekhmet. Adorned with the crown of her station, Sekhmet roared at Bes, her claws glistening with the blood of immortals, and for the briefest moments, the lion-headed Bes debated crossing the warrior goddess - what choice did he have? Bes had to reach Serket.

'Let him pass sister' Serket added, pushing past the larger of the two. Although the scorpion goddess was dwarfed by Sekhmet, there was something about her words which soothed the larger lioness, and Bes found himself relieved. Sekhmet turned and paced the areas near the entrance to the tomb, as the shiny carapaced form of Serket moved forward.

'Serket...' Bes said, catching his breath, 'It is all lost! Ra is dead!' Bes began, his words tumbling free in a tone born of sorrow and caught between sobbing, 'Set has gone mad...he will kill us all...'

In response, Serket raised a hand to Bes, her eyes calm and cool, 'No brother Bes...collect yourself....hope is not lost. Set has not won this day....not yet'. Extending her other hand, Bes's eyes followed towards where she was pointing....the adjoining antechamber which glowed with an eeriness to it  that even gods found fearful. Despite himself, Bes shuddered, looking from the chamber to Serket and back again.

Serket rose and walked forward, motioning for Bes to follow. Keeping pace with Serket, Bes marveled how he had never seen such things in all of Amenti...how such a chamber would be kept secret, even from one such as himself. The walls told the ancient story of Ra, the stories of the arrival...the birth...and even the rebirth of all of creation. Serket waited near the center of the room where a large tableau rested, her fingers tracing across the inlaid worksmanship.

'Is this-' Bes started to say, stopping as quickly as he realized the answer.

'Yes' Serket answered, her gaze never looking up, 'It is exactly what you think it is'

For a short time, there were no words exchanged between them, only the sounds of distant thunder...the battle had moved closer. Serket moved her hands expertly over the surface, activating secret latches as the sarcophagus opened. Bes's eyes grew large as he saw the sides open, revealing the great canopic box. Quietly Serket knelt and opened the box, the four jars resting inside.

With a mighty roar, both Bes and Serket turned towards the tomb. Sekhmet had entered battle, and both knew it would be a battle unto the death. Serket quickly moved her hands inside of the great sarcophagus and removed the large metallic plate, taking it and the jars up into a small bag.

'Here' Serket said quickly, thrusting the bag to Bes, 'Go...get these out of here....'

Bes failed for a moment to comprehend what was being asked of him. His hands held the bag as Serket turned towards the doorway. Already the din was becoming deafening...Sekhmet was still fighting, but it was a lost battle.

'Go where?' Bes said numbly, looking at Serket with the lost expression that he often had when tasked by the others, 'He is everywhere. He killed Ra...'

Serket turned for the briefest of moments, 'Go to the places we cannot Bes...you are the only one who can...warn who you can...our salvation...all of our salvation rests in your hands...'

Bes looked to protest for the briefest of moments, and then nodded. There was no other choice. With a final look at his sister, Bes hopped 'sideways', departing Amenti for the places few could travel.

Serket smiled slightly. Bes was often underestimated by all in the Ennead, and Bes could go to *those places* that few could. There would be a chance....a chance after all. Serket stood for a moment, feeling the coldness ahead of her. Sekhmet had stopped fighting, and the tomb had grown silent. Only the footfalls of the approach made any noise. Sekmet readied herself, the smile fading as her eyes narrowed. It was Serket's time now...a time she embraced...if Nekhtet had whispered true.

It would all be up to Bes...and Bes's favorite beings....the dwellers of Earth.


----

Destined
Marscon 2016

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.