| _ _ __ .|. COHERENT \ / /\ | ) WarStar #3 - Arena --X-------------- \/\/ / \ | \ ------------------------------------------- '|` COMICS __ ___ / \ __ An ASH Universe Miniseries | PRESENTS (_ | / _^^_ \ | ) copyright 2000 | __) |/' '\| \ by Dave Van Domelen ============================================================================ [cover shows WarStar on the ground, a grinning Herr Stark standing over his prone form.] ============================================================================ [Haven - May 13, 1993] "STARK! STARK! STARK! STARK!" The crowd chants in a bloodthirsty rhythm. I doubt many of them know me, or particularly like Herr Stark...they just want to see Stark break someone in half. I, for one, do not share that sentiment, since I'm the one in danger of being broken. I use the moment before the match starts to review my situation, and my long odds. Challenger would have been content to simply evict me from Haven and go on with his day, but Herr Stark wanted to feed his ego and once again prove himself the strongest man in the world, so he demanded a duel. I'm not too familiar with what passes for politics here, but the upshot seems to be that if I win, I get to stay, with Stark grudgingly vouching for me. Haven's not that large, so our fight's taking place inside a tesseract constructed by Mr. Maze, one of the residents. The floor is solid, as is the ceiling, but the walls are just...doorways to the other side of the arena, I suppose. Intended to keep us from harming the spectators, or blasting out through an exterior wall. Fortunately, I was allowed to don my armor, or I wouldn't have even the slightest of chances against Stark. Unfortunately, Stark insisted that since he cannot have his father's axe, I cannot have my spear. I don't know who his father is, but this seems to be a sore point for the germanic strongman. "This match will be for one fall," Challenger announces from outside the tesseract. "Lethal or not, up to the winner to decide on that. Once one of you can't move or fight, or cries uncle, the match is over and we drop the maze." I've already decided on nonlethal, should I manage to win. Stark is a powerful man, and if I can actually humble him, he might become a valuable ally. And since we entered the tesseract with its closed system and limited air supply, my armor's transmuters have been changing oxygen into nitrogen. I have my own air supply, but the lack of oxygen should slow down my opponent. I hope. "Fight!" Challenger shouts, and in an instant, Herr Stark is leaping at me! As I duck under the initial charge, Stark snarls, "First I will peel off that armor, schwachling, then I will peel your flesh from your bones!" Like Set, he's strong but undisciplined. One good punch, and armor or no, I'd probably be out of the fight. So my job is to keep him from ever getting that punch. I sweep out with my leg and manage to trip him up, but he springs back to his feet too quickly for me to make any use out of the momentary advantage. "Not so tough without your toy, ja?" he taunts. He thinks he can toy with me, like he must have toyed with other strongmen before me. The death threat was probably just to rattle me, but I can't totally discount it. As we circle, I concentrate on my warmagic. Maybe I'll get lucky and find he's vulnerable to such attacks. He sneers, a glint of awareness in his eyes. At the last second, I turn and launch the spell to one side, then duck down. "Vas?" he turns to follow the blast, which goes into the wall and emerges from the other side, striking him on the back of the head! As he rocks forward from the unexpected attack, I drive a hard punch into his solar plexus while propelling myself out of my crouch. I'm rewarded with a startled whoosh of exhaled air, but I can't get away fast enough and am punished by a glancing kick that lands on my right arm. Only the durability of my armor keeps me from suffering a compound fracture...and in any case, it still hurts like Fire. Blunt trauma's not doing any good. He's certainly not particularly vulnerable to my limited magics. And if the shortage of fresh air is slowing him down, I'd hate to see him at full speed. Maybe I should reconsider and start creating chlorine gas. Herr Stark slams his fist down on the floor. The deckplates are barely strong enough to withstand this force, and the shockwave reverberates outward at such great speed I have no time to brace myself. I'm knocked off my feet and fall awkwardly on my injured arm. I hiss in pain, and this costs me valuable instants. Before I can recover, Stark has me in a crushing bear hug. My arms aren't pinned, but there's no way I'm going to just be able to force open this terrible grip. "I changed my mind," Stark sneers. "First I will crush you, *then* I will peel you." I start to see spots dancing before my eyes as he increases the pressure on my ribcage. Small cracks appear in my armor, and the warning lights flash to tell me I've lost atmospheric integrity...assuming those are the warning lights, and not the spots swimming in my vision. Poison gas is no longer an option, but neither is playing nice. A dagger appears in each of my hands. I drive the daggers into his biceps, hoping to ease the grip he has on me. His muscles are so dense that it's like driving the daggers into blocks of lead, but I succeed. Breaking free of the howling Herr Stark, I conjure up a wickedly long, if crude, blade and ram it as hard as I can into his stomach. The blade bends and protests, almost breaking, but it goes in. Blood is now pouring from Stark's arms, but the venous blood is remaining almost black thanks to the lack of oxygen in the air. I lean on the blade, pushing it up towards his heart. The malice and confidence are gone from his eyes, replaced by a piteous pleading. Like most bullies, he is a coward when losing. "B-bitte...I...I yield," he sputters, blood starting to spray from his lips as he speaks. "Stark yields!" Challenger shouts, almost breaking my concentration. My world had shrunk to just two figures, and widening it again is something of a shock. I let go of the blade and step back. "Do not pull it out, Herr Stark," I advise. "Not until you have a doctor present, for removing the blade will free up the blood to flow." Stark looks at me with undisguised hatred, but does not touch the weapon. I sigh mentally...this one will never be an ally. But as I look out into the crowd, now unblurred as the tesseract has been dismissed, I can see that I have gained allies today nonetheless. Every man or woman who Stark has bullied in the past now looks on me with favor, if not outright adoration. In fact, one muscular woman near the back seems to be fixing me with a gaze of unadulterated lust. Stark follows my glance and sees her. The flames in his eyes deepen as I smirk. I seem to have attracted the attention of his woman. Good. If Stark is going to hate me, let him hate me so intensely that he loses what little brainpower he has. It will make him easier to maneuver into a tidy demise. * * * * [Grenada, July 23, 1995] "OPEN YOUR GATES!" I bellow, my voice overpowering the nearby surf that crashes against the breakwater that forms one border of the Magnum Industries compound. "I HAVE COME FOR THE NUCLEO-AXE!" To be truthful, I don't particularly want the Nucleo-Axe. As a weapon, it is inferior to the Astro Spear. But Herr Stark, now an exile from Haven, wants it. It is not the mystical weapon his father denied him, but it would make a reasonable substitute. And once I found he was after this captured bit of alien technology, I decided to take the opportunity to humble him once more...and test out some of my new followers in the process. Speakers set into the wall come to life. "WARSTAR, YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO VACATE THE PREMISES BEFORE WE OPEN FIRE. NO ONE'S TAKING THE NUCLEO-AXE ON MY WATCH!" I smirk and simply hold out my Astro Spear. The time limit elapses, and various energy weapons pop out of concealed positions and send ravening beams of destruction at me. Beams which are effortlessly absorbed by the Astro Spear. I press three buttons in sequence and a barrage of plasma charges lance out to destroy the gunnery positions. I bring the butt of the 'Spear back to the ground and smile. There is a long pause, as if a heated debate is taking place within the building. A minute later, the gates open. There is a man standing there. He is wearing some sort of metal skin and carrying a pair of large pistols. "I am Hector Rodriguez, chief of security for this installation. Leave this place, WarStar. You will not get what you came for, I promise you that." "It pains me to force a man to break his word," I grin, then step forward. A familiar weakness assails me, and I quickly key the self-defense circuits of the Astro Spear before I am forced to drop it. "Ah, an Anchor," I say. "An Anchor outfitted with the latest in reverse-engineered alien technology, WarStar," he levels the handguns at me. A man of no dithering, he has apparently decided I've had enough warnings, and he shoots me. The bolts of cyan light strike me and I can feel the transmitted heat as portions of my armor's outer coating dissolve and take the main energy of the blasts with them. Without my preternatural vigor, I could fall before these guns quite quickly! Unfortunately for Hector, I have been shot at before by Spellbreakers. Admittedly not as well-armed as he, but just as determined. I duck under his second volley and perform a tight roll. My timing is slightly off because of the unfamiliar weightiness of my armor, but I come up close enough to lash out at the guns with my boot. I cannot restrain a smirk at the irony of this as he keeps his grip only to see the barrels shatter under my heel. Black Opal inadvertantly taught me well. Casting aside the useless weapons, Hector drops back into a fighting stance. His garb must offer some protection, but it doesn't seem to particularly encumber him. Even Anchored, the advantages of strength and reach are mine...the rest are uncertain quantities. I could potentially lose to this man, an unacceptable alternative. Then the installation rocks with explosions, distracting my opponent for a scant instant. But it is enough for me to close the gap and get him in a grip that could hold just about any of the unGifted. "You've just lost," I stage whisper. "While all your efforts were focused on me, my men managed to penetrate your security and take the Nucleo-Axe." He tries to laugh, but it comes out more of a gasp. "No, you lost. As soon as I hired on here, I had them move the Nucleo-Axe to another installation. I'm afraid Magnum has a rather dim view of industrial spies, so the duplicate we replaced it with contained a lethal dose of sarin gas, which is probably killing your men even now." "Perhaps, perhaps not. Any one of my men who did not avail themselves of the resources available on Haven to prepare for nerve gas defenses just failed his final exam. We are in the business of mass destruction, after all, and take due precautions," I counter. I perform a quick estimation exercise, and conclude that of my six-man team, probably two are now dead... if Hector is telling the truth. A pity...I shouldn't have interfered, Stark would have certainly gotten himself killed by the duplicate axe. "Still," I muse aloud, "I don't really need the Nucleo-Axe...just convincing evidence that it has been destroyed or lost." Hector looks at me in puzzlement, then a light goes on in his eyes. "Ah. Scoring points on someone else. Larger plans. All that sort of supervillain nonsense, I suppose." I let go of Hector and step back, smiling. "Something like that, yes. And I suppose your masters would benefit from it becoming known that the Nucleo-Axe is no more, since no one will try to steal what does not exist. And who, I ask you, would think Magnum would collaborate with the infamous WarStar on a bit of fraud?" I smile wanly...it is widely known among the residents of Haven that Magnum is run by an old Jotun, a bitter and evil old giant hiding in the skin of a man. Hector returns my smile, although he does not drop his Anchor field. "I'm not saying I believe you," he cocks an eyebrow and nods towards the building, "but I think I can sell the bosses on that. Now get out of here and collect your men, before I'm forced to demonstrate that I'd still have been able to kick your ass into the ocean." "That would be...difficult," I reply. "However, I admire your skill, both on the battlefield and off, from what little I've seen. If you should tire of working for Magnum, I could always use an Anchor in my forces." Hector turned and walked through the door. As it closed, he shouted out, "I'll send a resume...." * * * * [Haven, October 20, 1996] I sit in the common area, a room intended for socializing and low-level plotting of the sort that goes on all the time here in Haven. My chair is sculpted to look like a pile of shattered skyscrapers, although the cushions do mar the effect slightly. The lengths to which the designers of this place went to feed egos are amazing. Outside, we may be hated, feared, even respected in a grudging manner. But only here are many of the Gifted treated like the royalty they would be on my world. Robots subservient to our desires (assuming our bills have been paid and we're not on Doc Droid's bad side). A setting that reinforces delusions of grandeur. A spa for the supervillain set. A few meters away, Meathead and Skarr are talking politics. Oddly, even after Stark was exiled, even after his "unfortunate" demise a few months ago, Meathead retains the label that Stark gave him. He says he's used to it, and it helps make the superheroes underestimate him. Meathead *has* gotten a lot of his self-confidence back with Stark's absence, however. He's grown out of his shell and stopped being just hired muscle...I've actually offered him a position as one of my lieutenants, but he hasn't decided whether to accept yet. He's smart enough to see that there's other games in town, and he's not going to throw in his lot with the first man to see his potential. I decide it might be worth paying attention to what he has to say on the subject. "...I know I can't vote myself, Skarr...neither can you. We're both convicted felons and expatriates to boot. But that doesn't mean we have to stop caring about the elections." "Hey, I never cared," Skarr hisses slightly. Reptilian characteristics spliced into his DNA gave him his powers, but also a number of inhuman traits, like a mouth not really built for human speech. "Why should I?" "Because Quayle's dangerous," Meathead retorts. "Yeah, we all laughed at him back in 88, but he dropped the stupid act as soon as Bush was assassinated by The Guys. Not only is he a lot smarter than anyone gave him credit for, he's also powerful enough to beat most of the guys here in single combat." I found myself nodding. I had found in President Quayle of the United States an interesting parallel to myself. He had kept his true skills hidden, only showing just enough to work his way into a position where they could be used. But where I had earned the "reward" of an exile to this world, Quayle had found himself the head of government. Some whispered that he not only arranged the failed assassination attempt on himself at his inauguration, but also the assassination of George Bush. Haven tended to encourage conspiracy theories and paranoia of that sort. And The New Guys liked to spread the word that their predecessors were "vanished" by Quayle to keep them from blabbing. Hmm. Vanishing. I haven't thought about that in a while...no one seems to just disappear here, not even the very powerful spacetime manipulators like Solar Max or Mr. Maze. I turn my attention back to the conversation, as Skarr is trying to make some sort of rebuttal. "...not like we can fly into Chicago and sign in as someone from the graveyard, Meathead. Well, you might try, but I ain't got a chance." "Money, Skarr. Just set aside a tenth of what you blow here on the games and food and drugs here on Haven, and you can swing some serious campaign contributions." "Working in the system?" "Not...quite," Meathead smirks. "I've been contributing to Quayle." Skarr boggles, an impressive sight when you realize his jaw can unhinge. "But ain't you just..." "Arguing against Quayle? Sure! I didn't say I was being *careful* about my campaign contributions. And if nothing else, I leak the information to CNN next week." As the two dissolve into laughter, I decide that Meathead MUST join me. He has grown into a cunning man of late. Hopefully, however, he's wise enough to avoid meddling in Haven's own politics. He'd find himself "vanished" in a very prosaic way, dumped into low orbit by Challenger. No one more powerful than the Conclave of Super-Villains really wanted the job of running Haven. They either had their own empires, or valued Haven as a neutral ground...or they simply realized it was a job that was far more trouble than it was worth. Those less powerful than the CSV were usually smart enough to know this fact, and they didn't try for the top spot. But every few months, someone either tries to claim a spot on the Conclave, or tries to oust them entirely. They tend not to be seen again, unless you count shooting stars. No...Haven is not to be the core of any empire, and certainly not mine. But it's a useful place to find allies...and find out about your enemies. As Herr Stark discovered. * * * * [The ruins of the City-State of Septimus Artorius, somewhere in northern Manitoba, Canada, June 12, 1997] I awaken to find myself stripped naked, covered in bruises and bound to a wall by shackles far too thick for my unaided strength to break. My armor and Astro Spear are nowhere within my field of vision, and it very much appears that I am in a dungeon of some sort. I smile. Everything is going according to plan. "What's so funny?" demands a voice to my left. I crane my neck as far as I can manage, and barely glimpse a slender man manacled to the wall. His hands are totally enclosed, but he's not as severely strapped down as I am. I recognize the voice...the Alchemist, who vanished a month ago, one of the first victims of Antiochus V's quest for magical power that had come to be called the TechnoMystical War. The robot sought a way to integrate magic into his circuitry as another part of his plan to assume ecological dominance over organic life. "Nothing is funny, except perhaps the sight of us in this room," I reply. "But events are progressing quite satisfactorily." There's a pause, as if the Alchemist can't believe what he's hearing. "You look like you've been used as a punching bag by Antiochus's robot servants...what would consitute *unsatisfactory,* brain death?" "Actually, his organic 'Lysias-15' units deliver a more painful blow." I look down at the bruises on my chest, and estimate it has been almost a day since I was brutally and efficiently beaten into submission. The robot obviously saw fit to drug me as well, but that was no longer a problem. "Tell me, Alchemist, who would you consider the most dangerous men in the world? Well, most dangerous entities." "Lord Ebon," was the immediate response. The Alchemist almost never left Haven, so great was his fear of the necromancer. "Dangerous, yes. But he seeks godhood, and could potentially achieve that goal without threatening any but a few. Someone else?" Alchemist fell into a sort of listing drone. "Doublecross..." "Who wants to turn everyone into living light," I added. "...Devastator..." "Who seeks the death of all humanity." "...and of course, our 'host,' Antiochus V. I think someone once tried to explain to him that there was a historical Antiochus V that followed the infamous ruler of the book of Maccabees...the damn robot vaporized him." "Ah, yes. Our host. He doesn't seek to destroy or elevate or go beyond humanity...he simply wishes dominion and acknowledgement of his evolutionary superiority. To anyone wishing to rule the world, that makes the robot the most dangerous of all, because he is a rival. A rival to be eliminated." "You plan to rule the world?" "It was given to me to rule, in fact. But I need to destroy Antiochus V first." The Alchemist bursts into gales of laughter. "Believe me or don't, my plans are already in place. I assume Antiochus is monitoring my every word, but he will record nothing but innocuous chatter, unless his mystical skills are greater than I give him credit. I finally learned how to fool machines with my own spells, you see." The laughter stops. "Okay," my cellmate ventures, "your plan involved getting beaten within an inch of your life, stripped of your weapons and tossed in a cell? I think I'd rather hear Plan B." There is a faint rumbling in the walls. "As if on cue," I smirk. "The Academy of Super-Heroes, the St. Louis Cavaliers, the London Knights and the Elite Regiment are all assaulting this dead city. And since it took only ASH and the Regiment to destroy this place when it was a fully functional war machine, I expect Antiochus V will find his resources stretched thin for the next hour or so. Not that my plan required this, but I knew the 'heroes' wouldn't wait too much longer to strike." "That sounds like you have an actual escape plan?" "Yes, and..." Then everything goes red and black and gold for I do not know how long. The next thing I know, I am slumped over on the floor, three of my four shackles destroyed, and the fourth seriously cracked. However, my left arm is broken. "What the HELL was that?" the Alchemist demands. "Painful. And successful." No need for him to know that I contracted with the BacterioMage before leaving Haven. His microbial gift to me was designed to feed on sedatives during its inactive phase, then give me a brief series of massive seizures, amplifying my strength to the point where nothing but Collapsinum could hold me. It was a gamble...had the restraints been a bit stronger, I would have torn myself apart rather than the bonds. I wrench the broken bone back into position, ignoring the new pain. "I can fix that, if you free me..." the Alchemist pleads. I would have freed him in any case...the more magicians running around the shattered mobile fortress triggering alarms, the easier my task. But a healed arm would go a long way towards accomplishing my task as well. With my good hand, I carefully snap open his bonds. After working blood into his hands, the Alchemist makes a series of mystic sigils in the air, and a glowing stone appears between his hands. "The Philosopher's Stone. One of the first things I taught myself was how to retrieve it," he explains. Then he holds the stone to my broken arm and concentrates. It is a disturbing feeling, the bones knitting themselves back together as I watch, but the results can't be argued with. "Thank you. Now go," I tell him. He pauses to create himself a robe out of thin air, then dashes away for freedom. Or a painful death. It doesn't really matter to me, but if he survives I might be able to use his gratitude to my advantage. As I stalk the halls, I use my transmutational magics to create some small armored protection for myself. Armbands, greaves, a breastplate and codpiece, a light helmet. And then a sword. All fairly crude, but serviceable until I can find my proper weaponry, assuming I'm given the chance to don it. The halls are empty, the only signs of occupation being dim lights and a faint hum of generators. Antiochus has sent his entire force out to fight the heroes, and if the ruckus I caused in the prison room caused him to reassign any of his troops, they had not managed to reach me yet. The scrying reports I bought from Seer indicated a number of other prison cells on this level, but stopping to free all the mages would give Antiochus time to realize his situation and escape. I leave that task to the heroes. My destination is the one room Seer couldn't see into, and the one room I want to be in...the throne room. Or control room. Call it what you will, it is where Antiochus V controls his crumbling techno-empire. As I walk, I can't help but wonder how successful a fleet would have been, had it been sent when scheduled. This rolling city of five thousand troops with advanced extradimensional weaponry and backed by dozens of Gifted soldiers had been reduced to ruins by the natives of this world. Perhaps that was why I had heard nothing from home in months...they had decided that an invasion would be more challenge than they could stomach. Finally, I reach the throne room, and see...myself? "Ah, WarStar...I did not expect you to awaken so soon, but that gives me the chance to thank you for your gift," Antiochus V's voice vibrates as he turns around. His metallic face peers out from the helmet of my armor, and the Astro Spear rests in his steely grip. "The encryption of your onboard computers is providing me with an amusing challenge to distract me from the tedium of meat-time combat out there," he sweeps his arm to indicate the fighting outside. "And once I do break it, I will use your Astro Spear to end the opposition by those cattle." "I don't plan to give you the chance. Mazewarp!" Antiochus V almost looks surprised as my armor vanishes from around him. A contingiency plan, to make sure I did not lose it entirely...I had Mr. Maze place a "marker" on it so he could call it back to Haven on my voice command. It had taken years, but I finally know who I can and cannot rely on among the Havenites. "Bah. I will slay you with my magic instead." Circuits printed on his left hand glow green, and a bolt of eldrich power lashes out in my direction. I suppress a grin as I dodge...no time to get cocky. But Antiochus is falling prey to the most basic of beginner mistakes...relying on newfound magical powers in a fight, rather than tested and true skills and weapons. Of course, no one ever accused the Metal Messiah of being underconfident in his abilities, new or old. I hurl my sword at him. I don't expect it to hurt him...it was meant for use on his servitors. But he falls right into my trap. He concentrates and creates a mystic shield, just so he can make a show of blocking an attack he should have just ignored. And that gives me an opening. I grab the Astro Spear and hold on for dear life. Without my armor, I'm nowhere near as strong as Antiochus V, but the 'Spear is *my* weapon, I know it inside and out. "Die, meatbag," he snarls. "You first," I retort, activating a flight thruster and sending the Astro Spear into an off-balance spin. Antiochus is unencumbered by limited range joints, and his wrist simply spins while he keeps his grip firm on the haft. But the spearhead is now touching his leg. I press all four buttons at once, then leap away, taking the brunt of another mystic blast as I now fly through the air faster than I'd intended. When I get back on my feet, I turn to see the Astro Spear abandoned on the floor as Antiochus desperately tries to destroy the small black hole now devouring his leg. But the magic he throws at it has no effect, and the scientific forces he employs too late only serve to feed the singularity, staving off its evaporation by the precious seconds it needs to consume all but his head. The head falls to the floor with a hollow clang. Antiochus kept his brain in his chest, where it would be safer, an "evolutionarily superior" design choice. I smash the head with the butt of my Astro Spear, then head for the underground exit that the heroes shouldn't have found yet. Maybe Antiochus had the presence of mind to transmit his core consciousness away at the last moment, maybe he relied on his new mystical circuits until the bitter end. In any case, he won't be a threat to my conquest.... ============================================================================ Next Issue: With the Godmarket in full swing, WarStar has to choose between his armies on Earth and his Empire back home. But if he chooses to go home, how will he get there? ============================================================================ Author's Notes: A couple of background setting notes for the curious, stuff that didn't fit into the story itself. Magnum Industries was the Bell Labs of supertech in the 1980s and 1990s. They hired dozens of paranormal super-brains and gadgeteers, first to take the lead in Violation Physics-based supertech, and later to reverse- engineer alien technology. They managed to get a few prototypes onto the market by the mid 1990s, but the rise of the Godmarket masked the societal effect this might have otherwise had. And when all their paranormal personnel (and their boss) went away in 1998, all those paranoid anti-spying safeguards triggered, destroying the vast majority of their research. What little remained was grabbed by whoever could get it, and formed the core of several long-running research programs in the 21st Century (such as Project Daedalus). Of course, without paranormal geniuses, the task of reverse- engineering alien technology got a LOT harder, and very little progress was made in the next twenty years. In the original Champions campaign ASH grew out of, the Ultimates assassinated President Bush despite the efforts of the PCs. Subsequently, a lone gunman tried to kill Quayle, but found his bullets bouncing off Quayle's invisible forcefield (30 PD/ED hardened and fully invisible) just before Quayle disintegrated him (big BODY drain). It was never definitively established who was behind either assassination attempt, but Quayle went on to be such a popular president that the Constitution was amended to let him run again in 1996. Of course, being a supernormal, he vanished in 1998. The City State of Septimus Artorius is another artifact of the old Champions campaign. When the original Strafe seemingly died as the result of a neutron-bombardment deathtrap, he had actually mutated. For a while, he used his new powers to pass himself off as an extradimensional visitor, from a world where the Roman Empire had managed to get reinvigorated in the 5th Century and went on to conquer the world. Then, in the wake of ASH destroying a dimensional gate, a hole ripped in space anyway and this big mobile fortress of a city shoved through, much to the surprise of everyone, including Centurion's (nee Strafe's) player. The city rolled around the Great Plains for a while, self-sufficient but plagued by internal conflict that kept it from being truly effective in conquering. Eventually it was driven up into Canada and destroyed (that part was not played out, it was a "summer break event"). Magnum managed to secure the contract with the Canadian government to study the ruins, and held it pretty securely until Antiochus V took over in early 1997. Magnum reassumed control, now also messing around with leftover Antiochus V technology, but the avatar of Mars completely destroyed the city in April, 1998, as a demonstration of his powers. And as a warning to those who would "Pick over the corpse of Rome, even another world's Rome." Oh, and if "Septimus Artorius" isn't proper Latin, I'll just hide behind the fact that they had an extra 1500 years to evolve the language. }-> Finally, Antiochus V has not been seen since the TechnoMystical War. Might he survive somewhere in the world, waiting for the right time to return to activity? Perhaps.... In any case, this is not the same Antiochus V as I use in my RoboMACs fiction, but they do share several common points in their origins. On the off chance you'd like to look up the Biblical Antiochus IV, you'll need a Catholic Bible, or a study Bible with the deuterocanonical books, as the Protestant Bibles don't include any of the Maccabean books. [Much later note added September 29, 2007 - I realized later that the group I called the Elite Regiment in this issue was the same one I called the Veterans in ASH #11. One of the problems that comes from mining backstory for obscure details and then changing them is forgetting you did so already. Retcon: the Veterans was their public name, the Elite Regiment is what they went by when on military-sponsored missions.]