.   _             Blackbird & Countinghouse Presents:            _
   ( )                 CONCLAVE OF SUPER-VILLAINS               ( )
  =-+-=        An Academy of Super-Heroes Universe Comic       =-+-=
    I        copyright 2000 by Tony Pi and Dave Van Domelen      I
                       #15 - "Tip of the Iceberg"
                     Step Two of the Pyramid Scheme

     [Cover shows a giant cross on a mountain burning with a purple 
      flame, with Burnout, Labyrinthe and Caryatid standing on the
      arms of the cross, channeling the flame to strike down Scorch,
      Peregryn and Meteor.  The small golden pyramid-shaped thermometer
      tracing the progress of the arc is now a fraction more red.]

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

                    Pawns, Players and Protagonists

     REBUS          Lorenzo Archangeli     Anchor, highly trained
     TRITON         Derek Radner           Gadgeteer & Electricity
     CAPRICE        Erin Vail              Power mutation
     CONFLICTO      Eugene Kwan            Friction/Viscosity Control
     GLYPH          Zephirah Reuben        Magical sigils
     LABYRINTHE     Yvan Viau              Spatial Magic
     MYRIAD         Alpha Rho Twelve       Shapeshifting
     CARYATID       Claudette Viau         Spiritual Magic
     SPIRAL         Anya Kirova            Telekinetic torque
     TIARA          Princess Ursula        Master thief
     BURNOUT III    C.J. Brown             Fire Control
     ZONE           Gerhard Durst          Zone of power
     MR. STRINGS    Tyra Dumont            Mind Control

===========================================================================

[NEW YORK CITY, July 26, 2024]

     Out of the starless sky came a single shooting star, falling silently
towards the courtyard of the former United Nations Building in New York City.
It was an unholy weapon that obeyed the will of only one man, and it struck
as it was programmed to do.  Moments before it kissed the earth, its head
flared forth a programmed burst of plasma, cutting deep into the stone the
encircled triangles of Khadam.  It then embedded itself into the dead center
of the circle, a sword in the stone awaiting its master.
     A bright tesseract burst open next to the AstroSpear, and a gauntlet
claimed the weapon and pulled it free.  The horned figure stood with his mage
to the right, and his pyrotic to the left.
     "Now *that*," said Chancellor Radner, "was an entrance."

     In a lavish penthouse in the Upper West Side, Cockatrice and Bathory
laid entwined in sleep among furs and silk, surrounded by little paper
cartons of Cockatrice's Chinese take-out.  It was said that Lady Bathory was
a light sleeper by nature, and at the slightest scent of trouble she would
awaken, ready to tear apart the intruder, even if it was one of her own
creatures.  Yet Tiara had prepared for this, wearing a full-body neutrasuit
that masked all personal scents.  She insinuated herself into their
bedchamber with utmost silence, knowing the deadly consequences of stirring
either the ice bitch or the carnivore.  It was almost too easy, this job.
Yet it wasn't the break-in that thrilled her.  It was the very nature of the
threat, the danger of death, that challenged and invigorated her.
     She found Bathory's hairbrush, and with the fur tangled there and a
chopstick, she fashioned a delicate paintbrush.  It was the scent of the
henna that concerned her, but she decided to mask that with a leftover packet
of soy sauce and hope for the best.  She dipped the paintbrush into the
henna, and with utmost care began to touch the ink onto Cockatrice's
cyanide-blue skin, on her left eyelid, the way Glyph had taught her.

     Rex Umbrae's guards had quickly surrounded the triumvirate, and aimed
their measly weapons at them.  Labyrinthe drew up his cloak in uncertainty,
but Burnout simply waved her hand dismissively, and the guards could not stop
themselves from saluting the trio with the muzzles of their guns.  She did
not force them to pull their triggers, however.  "Umbrae," she said coldly,
knowing they were watched, "come pay proper tribute to the Chancellor of
Khadam."

     Even though Cockatrice's eyelids fluttered at times, and Bathory
burrowed deeper into her lover's arms, they slept through Tiara's visit.
With one last stroke, Tiara completed the perfect sigil.  She smiled to
herself.  All those lessons in oils, watercolor, calligraphy and forgery paid
off.
    Before she departed, she left a fortune cookie that held a single painted
pink pearl and the fortune, "Revenge is a dish best served cold."

     Later, they would tell of the summit in different ways in the streets of
New York, depending on whether you asked Barnes, Hooks, or Gush.  That a
dusty red carpet was rolled out for the Chancellor of Khadam was agreed upon
in all the tales, and the fact that the King of Shadows himself arrived at
the doors.  But some say that Rex Umbrae was the first to extend his hand,
and others say he knelt before the Chancellor to pledge his allegiance.
Others doubted the mighty Lord of Manhattan would bow down to another man of
his own volition, and that Burnout forced Umbrae to fall to his knees, while
still others say that the Chancellor broke the stalemate and walked down that
red carpet and into Umbrae's fortress.
     If the gossips disagreed on the manner of their meeting, imagine the
tales they told of the bribes and tithes and deals with the devil that
happened that night.  It was said that Manhattan would become the Khadam of
the West; others said that Umbrae was promised the Chancellorship of the
North American Combine when the Conclave of Super-Villains ruled the world.
Imagine it, and it was rumored to have been said in that conclave of
villainy.  Ah, the truth would be a tale onto itself, for another time,
another place.  All that mattered was on that night, a treaty was signed, and
that Hooks learned from reliable sources that Rex Umbrae gave four canopic
jars out of his Ancient Egypt collection to the ambassadors of Khadam.

               *              *              *              *

[Montreal, Quebec Sector - July 28, 2024]

[Montreal South, 17:04]

     Some idealist in the North American Combine had assigned her the
codename "Noire", thinking a francophone name might appease to the Quebecois
population, but her real name was Sara Jane Howard.  Noire had the misfortune
of being an anglophone Marshal assigned to the wrong place at the wrong time.
She wasn't ready for this: it had been hard enough trying to track down the
resistance movement run by the Viaus, the Sans Rouge, almost entirely on her
own, relying on her ability to turn into a silhouette.  When reports came in
about the Berlin Wall monument in Old Montreal opening up and spewing
Khadamite soldiers, she knew she couldn't handle it alone.
     Back at the Academy, those inseparable buddies in her class..."Exodus"
and "Retrospect"...came up with the idea of a CSV lottery: whoever met the
Conclave first and lived took the pot.  They'd called it the Tontine, though
technically it wouldn't be one unless only the last survivor claimed it.  At
the time it seemed like a harmless game, and ten of them had jokingly signed
up for it.
     But it wasn't a game anymore, and she hadn't the strength to fight an
army.  She triggered the alarm immediately, hoping that the Academy of
Super-Heroes would arrive soon.  All she could do was watch from the
darkness, hidden as a shadow in the blasted colonnade in Old Montreal, as the
Conclave of Super-Villains brought forth their forces to conquer the city.
Maybe she could learn something that would help.  Maybe she could pick off a
straggler or two with her sidearm, save one or two people who needed saving. 
     Maybe even win the pot.

               *              *              *              *

[Montreal North, 17:15]

     Scorch looked down at the fireproof case in his hand, and wondered why
he hadn't dropped it somewhere already.  After all, the single red rose
inside wasn't going to be much use now that his reasons for flying to
Montreal had changed.  What he'd planned as a surprise visit for Julie had
turned into a combat mission minutes after he'd taken to the air, when Solar
Max had radioed him on the emergency band.  Good thing he'd gotten the radio
installed in his helmet, or he'd have walked into an invasion blind.
     The cross atop Mount Royal was just coming into view over the horizon,
and Scott finally sighed and dropped the case into the St. Lawrence as he
skimmed along near the surface.  Time to focus on the mission.
     "Just scout it out," JakZak had told him.  Not that he needed the
warning.  Triton may be a madman, but he's not stupid, Scott noted.  There
wouldn't be anything short of overwhelming force present on the island of
Montreal, and even with his new higher power levels he wouldn't stand a
chance against the entire CSV.
     Time to take off, he decided.  He couldn't get any useful information
without coming into view, and he didn't want to be in range of rifleshot, no
matter how bulletproof his new suit was.
     Scorch turned a sharp 90 degrees and arced up into the sky like a flare,
clearly visible despite the bright afternoon sun.  He could see where the
invaders had already been because of the smoke and ruin in their path.  Not
exactly orderly troops, but reports said Triton was getting most of his
support from the mob, not the regular troopers.  He could make out two main
targets right away.  A large contingent had moved up Mount Royal in the
center of the city.  Another group seemed to have fought its way towards the
Olympic Stadium.
     Julie's fashion show was at the stadium.
     Scorch fought down the rising fear that this realization brought.  He
couldn't do anything about it yet.  He had to gather information...and stay
out of fights.
     "JakZak, do you read?" he asked.
     "Affirmative, Scorch," came the reply, and Scott sighed in relief.  The
jamming field that was keeping any news from getting out of Montreal didn't
reach this high.
     "We have major troop movements on the ground," Scorch reported.
"They're heading for several locations around the city, including the Olympic
Stadium and the top of Mount Royal."
     "See if you can get a closer look at the top of Mount Royal," Peregryn's
voice broke in.  "It's a powerful geomantic location, the Viaus may be
planning something."
     "Gotcha," Scorch said, then dove towards the cross, hearing the static
rise in his ear before the radio cut out entirely.
     Time for a strafing run, he mused.
     At top speed, he was close enough to see what was happening on the
mountaintop within seconds.
     Triton was standing around, and had just seemed to have noticed him.  A
number of troopers stood guard, and a woman Scorch didn't recognize was
burning huge sigils in the ground with an acetylene torch.  
     "You misspelled that one!" Scorch shouted as he cut loose with his
blue-white flames.  They spilled off an invisible barrier, and Triton seemed
to be laughing as Scorch peeled away at several hundred miles an hour.
     Scorch quickly regained altitude and opened his commo channel again.
"You're right, Howie.  Someone's drawing magic symbols on the ground.  But
they've got a forcefield up, I can't get to them."
     "Don't try, we'll be there in a few minutes to back you up," JakZak
warned.  "Just hold position for now."
     Scott cast a nervous glance at the stadium.  The troops had just about
reached it, to judge from the carnage he could see.
     He wasn't going to bury another Sylvester.
     Another few seconds, and he'd landed in the center of the catwalk built
in the middle of the stadium.
     Everything seemed totally normal, except for two things.
     One, no one was reacting to his presence.  Even at something as flashy
as a fashion show, a man on FIRE usually invited comment.
     Two, there was a strange clay pot of some sort nearby.  It looked
egyptian, and that raised his hackles immediately.
     "And now, modeling the latest in titanium and ceramic weave, is the hero
formerly known as Scorch!" cooed a voice from the PA system.  It was followed
immediately by tuneless humming...humming that the entire audience seemed to
have picked up.
     "Oh...SHIT."
     "Getting stage fright?" A woman asked from behind him.
     He whirled around to see a black woman with mid-length hair, bleached
and dyed to look like flame.  The body belonged to C.J. Brown.  The mind
belonged to...
     "Mr. Strings!  Let them go!"
     "Or what?" Burnout taunted.  "I control flames.  You can't touch me.
Assuming I don't just take over your mind."
     The crowd had started to stand and move towards the stage, humming
ominously.  
     Suddenly, there was a sharp crack, and Scorch stood over the prone form
of Burnout.  She rubbed her jaw where Scorch had punched her.
     "Fine.  No fire.  I'll just hit you until you let them go," he growled.
     She grinned, as if she'd been kissed instead of punched.  "Why, Scorchy!
You mean you'll kill C.J. with your bare hands?  You 'heroes' are getting a
lot more brutal these days!"
     "Let.  Them.  Go."  For emphasis, Scorch kicked Burnout with a titanium-
reinforced boot.
     "Unf!  Wait...you're *not* doing this out of hate, are you?" she fixed
him with a stare.  The crowd paused in its motion, but some had already
climbed onto the catwalk.  "You LOVE someone in my latest batch of...ACK!"
she shouted as Scorch grabbed her by the collar and hauled her to her feet.
     With an armored gauntlet and enough strength to break concrete, Scorch
backhanded Burnout.
     She spat out a tooth.  "Fine.  You want her, JOIN HER!"
     Humming filled Scott's head, and he dropped Burnout and reeled back.  It
was like having his brain crumpled into a little ball and tossed in the
trash.
     And then, suddenly, it was over.
     "Imposshible!" Burnout spat past a split lip.  "You don't have the will
to deny me!"
     "You'd be surprised," Scorch snarled, steadying himself.  Then he
launched a barrage of flame.

               *              *              *              *              

[Montreal South, 17:18]

IMSETY THE MAN

     It was a small jar with the golden head of a man to cap it, an ancient
thing that hungered for Labyrinthe's liver even as he held it.  He was poised
on the tip of the iron fleur-de-lys in the St. Lawrence River, what once had
been the Jacques-Cartier Bridge before he and Claudette used their first
magic to twist it into a symbol of their pride, defiance, and love.  He
meditated, spoke the ancient Egyptian phrases to feed it a part of his
spirit.
     The ritual called for them to sink their essences into their desired
domain, and the path of least resistance called for sites which already were
imbued with their passions.  The Magene-twisted symbol of Quebec held a part
of the Viaus' powers, and inspired his compatriots to rally for independence
even under the tyrannical rule of the North American Combine.  Their
resistance movement, the Sans Rouge...literally 'without red', the color most
associated with the former nation of Canada...had been despondent, leaderless
since the CSV's debut.  Yet, with Claudette's return, the Sans Rouge were
quick to rally to the twins' cause.  Claudette had the kind of charisma that
created fanatics, and Yvan had little doubt that her magery had much to do
with the esprit of their followers.
     Now, the troops were moving out of Old Montreal, at a slow but steady
pace.  The gateway was small, as the Berlin Wall segment that provided the
link to Khadam had to draw upon power from the whole of the WorldMaze to stay
open.  The graffiti which were on the old Wall made it possible for Glyph to
effect this with a complex pair of sigils.  Labyrinthe could not spare his
own power to maintain the gate.
     He sensed in the distance spatial distortions that signaled the arrival
of Solar Max, and likely the rest of the Academy of Super-Heroes.  But they
would be too late to stop him here.  It was a fait-accomplait, a done deal.
He had already sunk his essence here, and would only need to join his
teammates Sans Rouge at Dorval.  Zone and his troops could hold the gate
until the completion of the ritual.  He could see Zone's red glow even from
where he stood.
     He bent forward and kissed the steel. "Pour vous, Papa, Maman."
     Then he stepped off the iron flower and vanished into a blossoming
tesseract.

               *              *              *              *

[Montreal North, 17:24]

DUAMUTEF THE JACKAL

     St. Joseph's Oratory is a lovely structure that looks out over northern
Montreal.  It almost forces one to silently respect the craft that went into
its building.
     Almost.
     "Yeeeeeehaaaaa!" Conflicto yelled as he scraped along a wall on his
latest toy, a hodgepodge of spare parts and power sources with "Conflicycle
(TM)" painted along the side.  "Gimme another spin!" he shouted.
     A bored look on her face, Spiral reached out with her power and sent the
Conflicycle (TM) into what looked like an uncontrolled end-over-end.
     Conflicto yelped with enthusiasm and bounced the front wheel off a
solidified chunk of air, wrestling it back under what passed for control.
     Caryatid sighed, knowing better than to waste breath telling Eugene to
be quiet.  Arguing with him would be far more disruptive to the ritual than
his hijinks were.  And he did possess just enough sanity and sense of self-
preservation to stay clear of where she labored over the jackal-headed
canopic jar.  He knew what would happen if he crossed the circle she'd
commanded the spirits to defend.  Being ripped apart by frozen winds and then
hurled off the high platform she was using for the ceremony might qualify as
an extreme sport in the mind of the CSV's jester, but he knew to stay clear.
     "Scouts report we have incoming!" Spiral suddenly shouted, holding a
hand over her ear to better hear her the communications bud over the racket
Conflicto was making.  "Two figures, one is definitely Peregryn!"
     Caryatid suppressed the urge to curse.  The most likely member of ASH to
actually stop her, and he could potentially undo her work if given time to
concentrate on it.  "I don't care how you do it, keep them busy!" she shouted
after finishing a ritual phrase that started the process of pouring her
essence into the artifact.
     "You got it, Rob!" Conflicto replied.  "Conflicycle (TM)...HENSHIN!"
     What had looked like a random pile of droid parts assembled into an
offroad cycle frame now unfolded into a suit of armor that clamped around
Conflicto, albeit leaving gaps and generally looking even uglier than his
normal costume.  The wheels sat over his shoulders like hoverfans and
extruded spikes.  "HEE-WHACK!" he crowed.  "It worked!"
     "Someone needs to sue you for trademark infringement," came a voice from
the top of a low wall.  It was Lightfoot of ASH, in his white and silver
suit.  Next to him, dressed in flowing robes, was the mage Peregryn, who wore
an elaborate golden headdress.
     "Careful, Lightfoot," he warned.  "Invisible elemental spirits are
surrounding Caryatid.  You deal with the other two."
     Before Conflicto could even blink, his armor lay in pieces scattered
around the Oratory.  By the time he could blink, however, he'd managed to
eliminate the friction around his feet, and grinned as Lightfoot slammed into
a wall after slipping up.
     "Spirits of the air, I hereby release you from your bounds!  Return to
the far north that is your home!" Peregryn incanted, and there was a sigh of
air as the chill that filled the Oratory roof was dispelled.
     Then Peregryn found himself spinning around rapidly, his robes tangling
his feet.  
     Caryatid stood and smiled.  "You're too late, mage.  Spiral,
Conflicto...hold them here as long as you can!"  With that, the Quebecois
mage took to the air.
     Peregryn could only narrow his eyes in anger as he fought to regain his
footing....

               *              *              *              *

[Mount Royal, 17:25]

THE CROSS

     Triton's first clue that Solar Max had arrived was the solar flare
washing over the mystic circle Glyph had erected.  When the heat and light
faded, the familiar armored figure was hovering just out of reach.
     Triton took off his helmet so Solar Max could see his grin.
     "Hello, Challenger.  Not arresting me anymore?"
     If the barb hit home, Solar Max wasn't letting it show.  "Whatever it is
you're doing here, Radner, you're not going to get away with it."
     Triton laughed.  "Such a lovely cliche.  I suppose next you'll tell me I
have the right to remain silent?"
     "You HAVE no rights, 'Chancellor.'  Not in the Combine.  Or did you
spend all your time in Civics class plotting robberies?"
     Derek feigned shock and horror.  "That's RIGHT!  By making myself a
Khadamite citizen, I forfeited all human rights in the Combine.  How could I
forget such an important point?  Then again, it won't matter much shortly,
since I won't be in the Combine, I'll be back in Khadam."
     "What makes you think I'm letting you leave?  That forcefield won't keep
me out for long, and I think I can keep Labyrinthe from fetching you."
     "Something of a challenge, then, Challenger?  But I don't have to move
from this spot."  He put his helmet back on.  "Pardon the rudeness, but I'm
tired of shouting.  Radio is so much more civilized.  Like our last
conversation."
     "Enough riddles, Radner.  You're not Rebus," Solar Max growled over the
radio.
     "Oh, I have not yet begun to riddle you, Challenger.  Riddling you with
bulletholes would certainly be nice, but I'll settle for words right now.
When is a radio conversation like a Greek invasion?"
     "Huh?"
     "When it's a trojan horse, dum-dum.  Have a nice life."
     Suddenly, Solar Max shook like a man in the grip of a grand mal seizure.
Triton reflected sadly on the fact that his lovely little virus's
brainwashing feature, the one that had turned the original wearer of his
armor into a psychopathic killer, only worked with the right hardware.
Hardware Solar Max's armor lacked.  Still, his armor was no longer under his
control.  And he was stuck in it.
     Triton laughed heartily as "Solar Max" turned and flew straight for the
Plateau area...like a missile.

               *              *              *              *

[Montreal West, 17:27]

QEBEHSENUEF THE FALCON

     Dorval Airport had a special significance to the Viaus.  Its infamy as
the site of the dramatic debut of the CSV aside, it also held the duty-free
shop where the twins' mother, Isabelle Comeau Viau, once worked before her
untimely death.  Thus, it was chosen as the center for the spell that
Labyrinthe had to perform, and the Sans Rouge had been asked to secure the
area.
     But Labyrinthe was late, and the Academy curs early.
     Gaston "Polaire" Lapointe was one of the seven paras in the Sans Rouge,
aside from the twin leaders.  He was also the only one left standing among
the seven.  The Green Knight and the newest ASH member...a woman named
Breaker...had dispatched the others more rapidly than he expected, forcing
their way past the gauntlet of resistance fighters and into the store.  The
Green Knight had smashed the flyer Etienne "Aigle" Bernard into a bank of
liquor bottles in the duty-free shop.  Claudette had demanded that they hold
the position and defend the funny hawk-headed jar until Yvan arrived, and no
one ever said no to Claudette.  Not even Yvan.  But could he and the two
armored CSVers hold the giant and the teke at bay?
     There was no time to debate it.  He summoned rage within his mind and
transformed into a polar bear, drawing the heat in the room into himself.
The room temperature dropped below zero almost immediately, and he hoped the
shock would disorient the heroes.  He launched himself at the Green Knight
and hoped that the CSVers would save him from certain defeat.  After all, his
power was all for show...he was restricted to human strength, and only used
the ursine form for intimidation.
     And he was thrown by huge hands towards the canopic jar he was supposed
to protect.  He roared in pain, but knew he would hurt even more if he
changed back.
     The one called Myriad sent a tendril of her protoplasm out of her suit
to snatch the jar out of his way.  He crashed into the display counter and
laid sprawling across glass shards and maple syrup.  "No so fast, American,"
she said.  "You cannot prevail against us.  Khadam will triumph."
     "Try that again without the jar," said Breaker.  An invisible force
gripped the jar in Myriad's "hand", but Myriad's pseudopod held firm and
played tug-of-war with the fragile vessel.  The jar was about to break when
the other woman...Caprice shouted, "ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS! " and pointed with
two fingers on her left hand at Breaker, and an open right hand at the Green
Knight.  Suddenly, the battle for the jar stopped.  Breaker looked surprised
that she lost her grip.  The Green Knight had it worse.  At Caprice's
gesture, he had liquefied into blood, and sloshed out of his suit.
     "Sal!" shouted Breaker.  But the blood, though strangely animated like
Myriad's protoplasmic body, was unable to respond to her.
     Myriad tossed the jar to Caprice and slithered out of her armor.  She
grew in size, turning into another, fiercer polar bear than Gaston was.
     "Let me show you how it's done, Quebecker," the giant bear growled, and
advanced on Breaker with gigantic paws outstretched.

               *              *              *              *

[The Plateau, 17:28]

     "No, I'm fine," Lightfoot insisted.
     Peregryn raised an eyebrow.  Tom Dodson's face was livid with bruises,
from being smashed into walls and floors by both Conflicto and Spiral's
powers.  He almost definitely had broken a rib.  But he was healing visibly,
most likely an effect of his powers.  Still, at the moment he was NOT fine.
Only the fact that Peregryn had brought along Loki's Snare had let them come
out of that conflict quickly enough to have a chance of following Caryatid.
It would take Conflicto and Spiral several minutes at least to escape that
seemingly simple rope net.
     "You're not fine.  You need at least a few minutes to heal.  Land
and..." Peregryn was cut off by a red blur that smashed into Lightfoot with a
horrible crunching sound.
     Peregryn cut and turned as quickly as the air elementals carrying him
could manage.  The dust was settling from the smashed house Lightfoot had
been plowed into.
     Solar Max was beating Lightfoot into unconciousness.
     Peregryn didn't waste any time wondering why.  There were too many
possibilities, given the abilities of the Conclave of Super-Villains.  He
pulled a slat of wood from his sleeve, upon it inscribed the Japanese word
for lightning.  One of the tablets Raiden's worshippers had left behind in
1998, and part of the mystic arsenal Peregryn had been slowly building for
years.
     He threw the wooden slat at Solar Max, and it transformed into a bolt of
lightning in flight.
     The armored hero arched his back and fell over, then desperately started
struggling to remove his suit.
     As soon as the helmet came off, JakZak shouted, "Hold it!  Don't shoot!
The armor's been infected with a hostile AI, help me get it off!"
     With quick, efficient motions, Peregryn removed as much of the armor as
he could.  This did explain why Solar Max had been using physical force and
not his powers...the armor had no weapons, and no access to Solar Max's
gravitic powers.
     JakZak was covered in bruises and burns.  The armor must have been
keeping him distracted with shocks and other pains, so he couldn't interfere
with the armor's actions.
     Despite his injuries and his nakedness, JakZak's first priority once he
was free of the armor was to go to Lightfoot's side.  "He's still alive,
thank God," he blurted out.  "But he's out for the count...his powers won't
be able to accelerate his healing until he wakes up on his own.  Fortunately,
his Safsuit's force fields kept him from taking anything too permanent."
     Peregryn finished drawing a hasty magic circle.  "Place him inside this,
I can keep him protected until we have time to return to him.  But time is
short, I need to be after Caryatid."
     "In a second.  Sorry, Tom," he said to the unconscious hero.  "But I
need to borrow your suit."  He touched a control at the back of Lightfoot's
neck, and the suit peeled open like a banana skin.  He picked up the suit and
wrapped it around himself, and it sealed back up.  Then he gently moved
Lightfoot into the circle on a cushion of nullgrav.  "Okay, let's go."

               *              *              *              *

[Old Montreal, 17:30]

     "They're pouring out of a gateway," said Meteor, returning to Essay's
hoverchair in at the edge of Old Montreal after a swift recon.  She tapped at
a coordinate on Essay's map.  "Blasted most of the structure around them so
they'd have space to maraud.  No sign of Labyrinthe.  Took out a few of
theirs," she continued, rubbing a sore wrist, "but I think their forces get
stronger the closer we get to the center."
     "Is there a device that is sustaining the gate?" Essay asked.  "Destroy
that and we'd cut off their backup."
     Meteor nodded.  "Not technological, but there seems to be a slab of rock
that supports the gate.  If we can get close enough to destroy it...."
     Breaker's frantic voice came through on the emergency channel of their
communicators, interrupting them.  "Meteor!  Sal's down!  Need backup, NOW!"
The channel went dead.
     Meteor looked at Essay, who only nodded.  Essay guessed at what Meteor
was thinking: the rookie was in over her head, if the CSV had already taken
down Sal Napier.  Two heartbeats later Meteor was gone, in a blur of yellow
and green.
     Essay checked the charge on her chair's plasma cannons and activated the
electric shield.  There was an easier assault route...top-down.  She might
not need the hoverchair anymore, but it was chock full of weapons and damned
useful in a fight like this.  She angled her chair and tapped out a
trajectory.  She braced herself for the boosters to fire.
     Then, she was airborne.
     By the time her meteoric descent was noted, it was too late for the
Khadamites in the red-lit square.  A few fired energy rifles at her, but the
electric shield deflected the plasma charges.  Her own plasma weapons burped
superheated gas at the gateway, some sort of monument.  But while small
chunks of concrete were gouged out of the gateway, the damage didn't seem to
have any effect on the gate's functioning.  Time for something a little more
drastic.  Good thing she *didn't* need the chair anymore....
     She adjusted her trajectory to target the gateway dead-on, then twisted
out of the chair seconds before impact.  Essay fell safely, cushioned by the
impeller belt she wore, while the hoverchair collided with the gate with a
resounding crash, liberating the energy of a fusion bottle.  The gate
collapsed, and the resulting explosion rocked the block, knocking the
Khadamite soldiers over.  A wave of mystical energy washed over her, making
her skin tingle.  The block was still partially intact, but whatever had
turned it into a mystic gateway was no longer working.  
     Nor was her hoverchair.  She smiled to herself, not terribly sorry to
see the symbol of her former infirmity gone, and sprung to her feet.  Plasma
gun in hand, she began to fire upon the Khadamites who were still lucid
enough to rise to their feet, felling the soldiers with her blasts.
     "This will never do."  A figure coalesced from the red light that filled
the area.  She fired the plasma gun at it, but the man-shape ignored it.  It
glowed brighter, and the soldiers she felled were rising again to their feet,
ignoring their pain and burns.  One of the gene-experiments rushed at her
with immense speed, bolstered by the red light, and slammed into her.  The
two of them broke through a car windshield, and Essay's breath was knocked
out of her as the impeller belt short-circuited.
     The creature was about to smash her face in when a strange shadow fell
over them, nullifying the red light effect.  Essay's opponent suddenly lost
its gift of strength, and thrashed in pain.  "Sorry I'm late," apologized the
shadow.
     "I know.  You were out of your league, Noire," said Essay, using the
Marshal's codename.  She tossed the creature off her, but as it touched the
red light again it was revitalized.  "_Maldito!_  They're like zombies!  Can
you nullify that _pendejo de luz_?"
     "I can't get close enough to him.  I've tried."  Another apology, but
useless.  Once the Khadamites began firing at them, she had no defense left.
     The glass shards that jabbed at Essay's back gave her an idea.  Quickly,
she scooped up the glass fragments and pumped them into the blunderbuss-like
barrel of her hand-cannon.  "Eat glass, Red!"  The plasma belched as she
pulled the trigger, and the shards of glass sprayed out as a mist of glowing
pellets, each no larger than a grain of sand, but rapidly cooling into
optically perfect teardrops in flight.  The light-man screamed as he was
refracted by the glass, and the red glow faded into blackness.  With the
disappearance of the glow, the Khadamites tumble back onto the ground,
roiling in pain.
     Essay spoke into her communicator.  "Gateway destroyed."

               *              *              *              *

[Olympic Stadium, 17:30]

HAPY THE BABOON

     Caryatid felt the commotion in the Olympic Stadium several heartbeats
before she could see it.  Strange...she would have expected a great deal more
flame in a conflict between Scorch and Burnout.  Perhaps they recognized the
futility of using fire when neither could be hurt by it.  Or maybe Burnout...
Mr. Strings...was toying with her opponent.
     No matter.  Claudette only needed Scorch distracted for a few minutes
while she performed the ceremony that would place her essence into the
baboon-headed canopic jar and sink that jar into the earth.  How Burnout
chose to carry out that task really didn't concern the mage....

     "I'm getting bored with this," Burnout sneered through a split lip.
"Surrender or I start killing my puppets."
     His face unreadable behind the ceramic helmet he wore, Scorch simply
replied, "No."
     "No?" Burnout cocked an eyebrow in surprise.  "You're supposed to be one
of the heroes, Scotty.  Sacrifice yourself to save others, that sort of
thing.  Or has Channel's death turned you all grim and gritty?"
     The temperature started to rise, and blue flames leaked out through the
ceramic weave of Scorch's armor, looking for all the world like wings of
fire.  "If I thought surrendering would do any good, I might consider it,
Strings.  But you've played your hands too clearly, bitch.  You'll kill them
all on a whim regardless of what I do.  You're INSANE.  You can't be trusted
to keep any bargains.  So no...no surrender."  A few of the humming models
started to swoon, along with older members of the audience.
     "Stop that!" Burnout shouted, reaching out with her power and trying to
snuff Scorch's flames.  The fires wavered, but the heat in the stadium
continued to build.  "Do you want to kill them before I can?"
     "Heatstroke.  Some of them will need to be hospitalized, and maybe one
or two might die, but you can't command an unconscious person to kill
herself." 
     At a mental signal from Mr. Strings, the remaining puppets started to
lurch into action, but they quickly dropped as if their strings had ben cut.
     "Now, Strings...the advantage is mine," Scorch said with more than a
little anger in his voice.
     "Correction, salamander," came a voice from behind him.  "The advantage
is ours!"
     He turned just in time to see the mystic bolt that slammed into his
side, knocking him off the stage and onto a pile of unconscious bodies.  He
barely had the time to snuff his own flames before landing in a stunned
sprawl.
     Caryatid turned to Burnout.  "I'm done here.  Come, we must reach the
others to perform the final ceremony."
     "NO!" Burnout snarled.  "I want him dead!"
     "How?" Caryatid cocked an eyebrow.  "I don't plan to waste any time or
energy on him, and you cannot hurt him with flames.  Come, before he
recovers." 
     Burnout scowled, and for a moment Caryatid felt fear grip her heart.
Would Strings be foolish enough to try and dominate a teammate, just to get
petty vengeance?  Claudette had cast spells to protect herself from mental
control, but there was no guarantee they would work if Mr. Strings truly
wanted to take over.  And, as one of the original Ankh Killer triumvirate,
Claudette knew more than most how dangerous the spirit of that young girl
could be.
     "Fine.  I can destroy him later, at my leisure.  Damn...I wish we HAD
been behind Channel's death," Burnout spat.
     Caryatid nodded and lifted the two into the air.

               *              *              *              *

[Dorval Airport, 17:31]

QEBEHSENUEF THE FALCON

     Meteor sped through the streets of Montreal at her highest speed towards
Dorval Airport in the west.  She hoped she would not be too late to help the
rookie out of her predicament.  It would be too soon to lose another
teammate, she thought.
     She gingerly danced over the trail of unconscious bodies left by Sal and
Cristina up the ramp to the departure level of the airport terminal.  She
heard the tail-end of Christina's scream from the duty-free shop and raced
into the brightly lit room.  She shuddered from the strange coldness that
pervaded the shop, but ignored it to survey the situation as quick as
possible.
     Labyrinthe floated in mid-air in the center of the store, holding a
falcon-headed jar in his hands.  A polar bear laid among the remnants of a
broken counter.  Sal's empty suit lay in a pool of undulating blood, with Sal
himself nowhere to be seen.  Was it Sal's blood?  A CSV armored figure laid
unmoving on the ground, its chest adorned with the symbol of a half-face.
Finally, Caprice was clad in CSV armor, standing over an unconscious
Christina with a rifle pointed at her throat.
     The speedster evaluated her options.  First, save Christina.  Two, stop
Labyrinthe.  Three, find Sal.
     In the blink of an eye, Meteor acted.  She ripped the rifle out of
Caprice's hand and swept-kicked the villainess into a display case of
colognes and perfumes before she knew what hit her.
     One down.
     Hardly taking time to breathe in the escaping odors, Meteor stood
herself in front of Labyrinthe and swung the rifle at top speed like a
baseball bat.  The rifle met with distorted space, which was trying to force
the rifle out of Meteor's grasp.  But Sarah pushed her speed to her limit,
slowing down the unfolding event.  She had barely enough time to adjust her
swing, catching the golden falcon by its beak and slicing it off the canopic
jar.  The rest of the clay jar shattered from the impact, and she heard the
beginnings of a sigh of surprise from the mage.  Labyrinthe was trying to
stop the pieces of the jar from falling to the floor with distortion
tendrils, and Meteor knew she had earned some extra time.
     Two down.
     But where was Sal?
     At her frantic speed, it took three seconds too long for her to register
the fact that Christina was no longer breathing.
     Sal and Labyrinthe were going to have to wait.
     Meteor scooped up Christina with as much care as she could manage while
operating at her accelerated rate, hoping that she hadn't hurt the girl by
doing so.  It didn't even register with her that the "girl" was maybe a year
younger than Sarah was.
     "Come on, girl, don't do this to me.  Not today, not ever," she
whispered, even though her voice would be a compressed burst of noise to
Breaker.  She slid into the hallway and spied the safety of an abandoned
foreign exchange across the way, where the bulletproof glass might afford
them some measure of protection.  She laid the rookie down on the ground,
shut the door and slowed to human norm.  She removed her helmet and leaned
down to perform artificial respiration on her teammate.
     In her haste, she did not take any note of the henna tattoo over
Christina's left eyelid, an ibis drawn most perfectly.
     Christina blinked open her eyes, and as she did so, her eyes took on a
pale, pale blue, and her skin flared into a cyan glow, while her hair
blanched with a speed that rivaled Meteor's reflexes.  Realizing that she had
made a fatal error, Meteor threw herself into a frenzy of speed, but she had
met those death-darting eyes and it was too late.  Fast as she was, she
wasn't faster than light.
     The sympathetic sigil over Myriad's eye, painstakingly painted by Tiara
under the guidance of Glyph, transformed Myriad into a perfect replica of
Cockatrice.
     The power held but an instant, but in that brevity, the transformation
was perfect.
     Cockatrice's deadly power surged through the conduit that was Myriad and
caught Meteor with in its web of transmogrification.
     Where Meteor half-stood, her face more in surprise than panic, her body
twisted to race out of the path of harm, there was now but ice.
     Beautiful.
     Unmoving.
     Ice.

                              TO BE CONTINUED!

===========================================================================

Next:

     The Battle of Montreal continues in ASH #30, "Polar Glare"!  Then come
back here as the Conclave of Super-Villains licks its wounds and turns its
sights towards a bigger target....

===========================================================================

Author's Notes:

     Tony: Since Agent Jo Ridley was in fact an NPC from my _Wild Cards_
campaign, I borrowed some PCs from the same campaign to fill the ranks of the
Marshals: Sara Jane "Lady Jane" Howard (created by Mike Oeder), "Exodus"
(created by Devin Mitchell), and "Retrospect" (created by John Hall).
"Polaire" was my character from a Villains and Vigilantes (tm) game from
grade 9, but that name sounds much better than "Polar Paw", which was the
original name I used!

     Dave: "Henshin" means "change" in Japanese, and is often used in anime
where robots transform.  The transformed Conflicycle (TM) bears an uncanny
resemblance to the Motoslave suits from Bubblegum Crisis, hence the trademark
infringement comment Lightfoot made.