Amber Shards
Chapter 1
A Cleansing Fire
By
Michael Liebhart
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
(from The Tiger by William Blake)
The figure stood on the hillside surveying the countryside from within the folds of a deep gray cloak. The sun had set and a full moon spilled pale light over the landscape. The night winds blew warm, causing the clumps of grass to stir and the cloak to billow.
The hilltop was bare with the exceptions of the grass and boulders. The sound of a running stream was just audible to his ears. The figure looked around seeing the woods that surrounded the hill.
"Very good; no frills and stripped down to the bare essentials." Looked down at the pack and few possessions that were all that was left of home, the figure chuckled darkly. "Just like me."
Reaching down the shrouded form picked up a gnarled staff from the meager pile of possessions and with apparent care used the staff’s base to sketch a large rough circle amongst the grass and stone of the hilltop. Once finished an arcane word was spoken and floated across the air. The outer edge and center of the circle shimmered in a silver flickering light and then returned to normal. With this the surrounding land became quiet. Neither crickets nor night creatures stirred, all of them sensed power building and had decided to leave the immediate area.
The figure replaced the staff amongst the possessions and sat cross-legged on a boulder and began to chant into the silence. The night continued. The moon rose to its zenith and began to fall and the cloaked figure continued speaking words of power, occasionally got up from the boulder and wandered in and out of the circle to touch a point here or gather and plant a handful of silver light there.
Finally in the east the dawn had begun to rise. The figure stood facing away from the sunrise, stared across the circle now dotted with floating points of silver light. When the first amber rays of light had begun to cross the circle casting a shadow within, one word was spoken and a soundless thunder shook the hilltop. The rocks and boulders shifted as the earth in the circle began to rise.
Gray stone began to jut from the ground, displacing grass and dirt, as it continued upwards into the air. By the time the sun had crested the horizon it was greeted by a stone tower rising fifty feet into the air looking like something out of a medieval story. It was of fitted stone with battlements at its top and was nearly twice as wide as it was tall. Slowly, carefully the figure bent over and picked up the bundles and walk into his new home
Gerald walked up the stone stairs sighing to himself. He was in his standard dress, pressed black slacks, white starched shirt and black jacket. His white hair short and neat, his gray eyes sharp; the perfect image of an English butler.
His life now, here at the tower was good, but it hadn’t always been that way.
He had chosen to wander into the old park and die. Radiation sickness had settled in and was killing him by inches. Leaning on his makeshift staff, he had stood on a small bluff overlooking a pond. If he let himself fall into the water, the fall that might just end his life, if not he knew he didn’t have the strength to swim out. He was never sure if he had fallen in or not. The next cohesive memory he had was being in the tower in a bed, clean, well fed and healed.
The Master had told him to rest here for a time and then he could return to the world again. Gerald had been a butler before the world had gone mad and it was all he knew. After much discussion he managed to secure his position here at the tower. Though perhaps distant at times, the master was a good man.
Pausing before a set of oaken double doors and he pushed them open and entered the two-story room that should have been the central hall of this structure, but was instead used as a laboratory. Light streamed in from windows high on the walls.
Strolling past the alchemical equipment and staying away from the summoning circles and apparati, he approached the master sitting in front of a bank of computers and monitor running simulations that Gerald could not even begin to comprehend.
A sigh escaped the lips of the dark haired man that turned around to look at him. He wore his normal soft gray poet shirt complemented by his black and silver doublet. The breeches were of a charcoal gray and the boots were a dull black. His hair was long, but pulled back in a ponytail. His facial features seemed somewhat soft, the mustache and goatee not withstanding, but his eyes belayed the softness of the face. In them was a glint of the hardness hiding within.
"Yes, Gerald..."
"The Warlord Martek and his minions have returned and surrounded the tower,” he drolled out in his thick British accent. “They have attempted breaching the walls using some sort of rocket launcher, but have been unsuccessful. They are shouting for you to come out of your", he cleared his throat, "Shit-assed hide-away and face them like men." This last said stiffly without any inflection.
The dark haired man sat and stared, seeming to study nothing. His eyes seem to glow softly and then he stood. Turning to Gerald he said "You think I should have killed him the last time I ran into him."
"I make no such judgment about your actions"
"Like hell you don't.” To soften his statement he smile and said. “I haven't gotten to where I am today without knowing what people were thinking. It's the one thing that has kept me alive.”
"You are right though. I had truly hoped that he would have learned a lesson, but it appears he isn’t going to change. I can’t sit by and let him keep harming those who can’t stand up to his power." He sighed. "I guess this time, the lesson needs to be more...permanent." The hardness that was waiting in his eyes came forward, changing his expression for wistful and sad to empty and cold.
As he spoke he gathered a few items. The hand held computer, which at his touch, transformed into a bracer, he put on his left forearm. As silver ring with an insignia of a rose he placed on the index finger of his right hand. Lastly with some care a silver medallion with the emblem of a silver phoenix upon it he placed about his neck.
Outside the stone tower over 50 men stood. All were wearing combat fatigues of one type or another as well as body armor and an impressive array of weapons, each looking seedier than the next. Some occasionally pelting the outside of the structure with bullets from machine gun from the Nats and occasional energy blast from the Metas. Warlord Martek surveyed the structure. He wished he had the resources to blow this hillside away. That stupid sorcerer might have spelled the walls of his precious tower, but he doubted that he had spelled the whole hillside, but what he had planned would be much better in the long run.
The Warlord rubbed the metallic right side of his face. He had never been a handsome man and the cybernetic enhancements had not improved on this. He had shaved his head bald and was equipped this time in a black body armor. It was a 'gift' from a friend, as well as other 'toys'. The digital display in his right eye was quantifying energy reading, feeding him tactical reading, displaying equipment status as well as transmitting this little event to his benefactor.
He had needed cyber augmentation after his last round with this freak. This 'Silver Phoenix' mage was getting to be are real pain the ass! If he helped them thwart the new 'Rebels' that had recently arisen he would have been an asset. Here he was in a time where if a man had the power he could carve out a kingdom, yet moron was sitting on the fence, intentionally! Doing...research!
After the fiasco attacking those merchants Martek that ‘Silver Phoenix’ had inturrupted. The warlord had put out feelers to see if anyone had heard of this guy. A messenger arrived asking for him. It seemed that someone has stepped up and forked over the cash and tech to have him and a couple of his boys’ cybered out. The only stipulation is that they could request to record certain things, like now.
Cracking his knuckles Martek resisted the urge to interface with his new 'toys', but at that moment the little twit came out the front door. He activated his neural net and brought his new firepower online. He continued to watch as the sorcerer just surveyed him and his men as if they were an annoyance. He always found it so strange that his impressions of the man were never as sharp or clear as when he was actually near him. It was as if he were more...solid...or real. He hated the way it made him feel. Well this time it was all going to change and the chips were going to fall in his direction.
"Phoenix!" Martek bellowed, "We have returned as I promised. You have one last chance to join us. If not directly then ally yourself with us. This will happen either willingly or unwillingly. It is your choice."
Two green eyes seemed to be boring holes in him. "First of all, my name is not Phoenix, it is Ian Patrick, Lord Ian Patrick to someone of your standing." Ian's voice, though quiet, seemed to carry across for everyone to hear. "Second, I warned you the last time we tangled that the consequences of our next meeting would extreme...". As he spoke a soft white flame danced in his eyes. He never moved, but a sense of menace seemed to build in him.
Martek chucked. "Listen Phoenix," he stressed the word sarcastically, "you can forget doing any of you little mind tricks against me this time. I come wired with alpha wave shielding. Now, time to take your medicine." He smiled maliciously, raised an armored hand and projected a blast of electrical energy.
In the blink of an eye Ian was gone. Faster than Martek had expected the mage rolled and came up in the middle of a group of the men. Martek smile and turned to face him, his men scattering from the area. Ian stood with his hands on his hips waiting. The electrical energy arched blue from the warlord's hands and danced all around the dark haired mage, but never actually touched him; stopping mere inches from his skin.
Without turning his head, Ian glanced left then right. "Is that it?" he asked sardonically.
"No," Martek growled. He looked at his men "Fire!!!"
From all sided bullets, lasers and all manner of energy projectiles flew at Ian. Though he had carefully lain the enchantment on his medallion he had never field-tested it against this amount of firepower. Ian still hadn't worked out all the rules and physics of this new world yet. He showed none of this uncertainty on his face. The shield continued to withstand the onslaught.
Ignoring the surrounding barrage Ian’s mind raced working out the final parameters for dropping his next spell when he felt a sharp stab of pain in each of legs. Looking down he saw what was causing him distress. From the ground beneath his feet was what looked like a pair of dull gray mechanical centipedes. They wound round his legs and stabbed their pincers into him. Most likely they had used a slow but steady pressure and managed to punch through his shields. A sharp fire burned up his legs and into his body. The fangs of these things were pumping some drug or toxin into him!
The weapons fire had ended. He immediately realized that the 'fireworks' had been a distraction from the real attack, these things.
The mechanical creatures might be strong, but he was stronger. He tried to reach down and remove them, but nothing happened. All he could do was stand, looking down and stare at the accessories attached to his legs. Try as he might, he could not move his body to shake these things off. Whatever this substance was, it was fast and very powerful. Ian’s knees buckled and he dropped to the ground. The wizard knew he had only one chance. "...what...what are you doing...to... to me.." he stammered.
Martek stood watching the scene enjoying the sight immensely. Let this arrogant shit suffer a little further before he told him his fate and watched as the mage succumbed to it.
"What you are feeling is a powerful paralytic and psychotropic drug. It is designed to put someone like you into a comatose state while making your mind very susceptible to outside influence. In that state your telepathic abilities are not going to do you any good. You will be...reprogrammed to aid my cause." He walked over to Ian, who at this point was having trouble holding himself up on his elbows. "Do you have any final words while you have free will left?" he sneered.
His thoughts raced as he contemplated this. He had just escaped a life of manipulation and mental slavery; he could not bear that again.
Ian nodded, tried speaking but at first couldn't seem to manage to get out the words. Licking his lips he tried again "...yes...Saorsa..."
Martek look puzzled. "What?"
Ian propped himself up and slowly stood. The pale continence vanishing like snow in a fire. Martek took a step back looking at the centipedes that were still pumping the drug into the mage.
"Saorsa. It is a trigger to a broad band anti-toxin spell." Ian's eyes glowed once more and he casually reached down and crushed the heads of the metal centipedes, removed them from his legs and hurled the far down the hillside. "I lived for a long time in a powerful ruthless royal family where only the weak are weeded out by mere poisoning."
Martek hauled back, fist glowing putting everything he had into devastating blast to try and penetrate Ian's shield. In a blur Ian grabbed the energy-encrusted fist and began to squeeze. In a casual voice that belayed the rage in his eyes, which seemed to burn with white fire, he said "Now Martek, I tried to warn you, but you never listened. You must remember not to trifle in the affairs of wizards for we are quick to anger." The armor on his hand began to buckle and there was the snapping of bones in the warlord's hand.
The warlord watched as the sorcerer began to crush his hand with incredible strength. He knew he most stop this, but something as was preventing it. Perhaps there had been a power spike in the cyberware, he didn’t know, but whatever it was had paralyzed him.
"Oh, the name is not Silver Phoenix, it's just Argent and one more thing, I have tested your new mental shields and found them lacking. Cuthach!"
Martek could only stare as death approached. When Ian spoke the trigger word for his spell, silver light began to dance in front of Martek's eyes spinning, then within them gaining speed and then reaching tempest speed in his brain, the motes appearing to be sucked into his head through his eyes.
Though he was shielded against mind reading and the powers of domination, they could not handle the raw power of the Mind Storm spell that raged through shattering his mind and whatever sanity it contained. What had once been Martek began to scream and scream and scream....
Ian turned around noticing that there was some half-hearted gunfire directed against him. He shook his head and turned to face Martek's stunned followers and in a bright voice he did not feel. "Don't think I have forgotten to bring a present for you as well. Caisil-chró!"
Speaking the word activated the spell. White flames danced around the wizard and he vanished. The sky above rippled as a portal opened up and large black objects hurled towards the tower and the group of men. The warheads exploded upon contact with the earth hurling pieces of men, earth and stone high into the air turning the area around the tower into a war torn hell.
Eventually the smoke cleared showing rubble lying about the hillside.
An unnatural silence had fallen as well. The earth surrounded was pot-marked down to a depth of about 10 feet and then it seemed to be solid stone beneath. The tower stood completely unscathed, including its glass windows.
A flickering of light and Ian returned to the hillside. He sneezed a couple of times and looked around. He hated doing that. Even now killing was not something he did lightly. He knew he had a responsibility to those who could not defend themselves.
Looking around trying to decide on how best to clean up this mess and spied part of Martek's armor. Walking over to it he said. "By the way, I did fortify the hillside. I may be an introverted mystic, but my uncles did manage to pound something in the way of tactics. I hope before you find you destination in the afterlife that your victims have a change to meet you on a more time…”
Picking up a piece of one of the 'centipedes' he lifted the computer bracer and turned his wrist to look into one of the screens. "Celia, note to self, work on upgrading personal defenses, I still don’t have all the bugs worked out." There was a sound that emerged from the device that sounded strangely like someone blowing a rasberry. Smiling, Ian dropped the part where he found it.
Turning back to the tower the smile faded. Ian realized he was not going to get any more research in today. There was a lot of clean up to do and the scavengers were going to eat well tonight.
In a room far away a wall screen displayed the recent battle while a computer analyzed the data. The recording of the battle was frozen on the face of Ian as he was crushing Martek's hand.
The cyber implant had worked well. The watcher leaned back in the high back leather chair and pondered this event. This individual might prove very useful. He was apparently skilled as a warrior as well as being quite versed in magic. This could work very nicely in his plans. He will definitely have to be watched.
The door to the office opened and a woman in business suit approached. "Yes Mercy."
"Mr. Luthor, your afternoon appointment has arrived..."
End of Amber Shards - Chapter One.
-- Story written and copyrighted (C) 2001 by Michael Liebhart, and may not be
-- reprinted without permission.
-- Otherverse as an apocalyptical setting is an original creation of Dylan Clearbrook
-- Some characters in Otherverse stories are original creations of Dylan Clearbrook,
-- Jason Froikin, Michael Liebhart, Jason Gasper, or Eddie Cunningham and may not
-- be used without express permission of the respective author
-- Supergirl and some other characters are property of D.C. Comics
-- Dr. Doom and some other characters are property of Marvel Comics