PART VI: The Icon
Day of The Attack
Seven Gates District, Brickstown
Xanatos's vision began to blur. He was losing focus.
Sovereign had the strength to snap the hero's neck in an instance. Why was he killing him slowly? Ah of course. It was simple; He wanted to watch him die. He wanted to watch the very essence of his soul slip away from his body piece by piece. He wanted confirmation that the blue-eyed boyscout was gone. That the iced wonder was no more. That the hero himself had ceased to be.
Unfortunately, Sovereign had forgotten about the OTHER blue-eyed boyscout:
The Imperial. And as Xanatos slowly went limp in the grasp of his enemy, the burgundy and gold form of The Imperial hurtled towards Sovereign at breakneck speeds. His war mace, the
Sceptre of Kings, held firmly in his right hand. His left hand clenched so hard that calluses had begun to form. The Imperial was out for blood.
The old man collided with the beast with the force of a freight train. As he did so, he wrapped his arms around him, carrying them forwards together. Sovereign was not prepared for the attack and, dropping Xanatos idly, he was thrown backwards by the force of the assault. The Imperial kept a hold on the demon, his arms forming a vice-like grip around the demi-god's midsection, as he flew the two of them forwards - ploughing through wall after wall of building after building. The attack began to weaken Sovereign, but not by much.
The assault slammed to a halt as the two superhumans ploughed into the Rikti War Wall. The powerful bristling energy field immediately sending them both cart-wheeling downwards into the unforgiving concrete streets of Brickstown. Two small craters formed as The Imperial and Sovereign crashed into the ground. The force of their impact shaking the Seven Gates district. Yet, no sooner had they touched down, than they were back on their feet again. Trading blows that would have killed lesser men, their costumes hanging in tatters, their eyes glowing with the raw magical and otherworldly energy that each of them was throwing back and forth.
"This ends now villain!" said the Imperial, as his fist connected with the monster's jaw with a sickening crack.
"I believe you are correct old man..." replied Sovereign as he lashed out at The Imperial, tearing at his costume with one beastly hand, while the other ripped off his belt, "Ah, what have we here?"
The Imperial took several steps backwards; Sovereign had done his homework. His belt contained a magical item known as the
Pearl of Gilgamesh. It granted him his immortality, healing factor, and immunity to most forms of physical damage. He had originally found the Pearl in a deep catacomb underneath Salamanca back in 1942, and it was said to have granted those that could unlock it the powers of Gilgamesh himself. It was one of The Imperial's most treasured possessions.
Sovereign cared little for the item’s prestigious history, and with the indifference of a god, crushed the Pearl of Gilgamesh into dust. It’s pure white essence devoured by the brutal dark energy that pulsed through his hands.
The effect was instantaneous. The Imperial began to glow a dull white as the powers of Gilgamesh slowly seeped away from his body. Long term exposure to the Pearl over the years had allowed him to retain a lot of its powers internally, but now that the Pearl was destroyed he was fighting on borrowed time. His reserves could only last him so long. He could feel his healing factor slip away, the wounds he had sustained so far suddenly becoming more apparent and more real. His immunity to physical damage was also leaving him, and for the first time in years The Imperial could feel the wind against his skin.
But all was not lost. For while most of his powers now fled his body, he still had one more trick up his sleeve: The Sceptre of Kings. It was not only a weapon of magical renown, but it was also the source of his superhuman strength. While his now very human hands might break from the contact, The Imperial was still able to punch as hard as he ever had. And he was betting that Sovereign didn't know this.
"Do not be disheartened old man, you fought well..." said Sovereign as he cockily sauntered over to The Imperial, "...certainly better than that imbecile Xanatos."
As Sovereign moved closer and closer, The Imperial grabbed the sceptre all the more tightly. He was crouched down low, feigning defeat, feigning injury, luring Sovereign to him. He couldn't survive a direct assault from the monster; finesse was the name of the game now. While it would almost certainly destroy him to do it - he only needed one shot. Just one shot to end this.
"I do not know why Baron Blitzman chose to break me free from the Ziggurat," said Sovereign, suppressing laughter as he said the rogue's name out loud, "But I am certainly very grateful."
The Imperial said nothing. His eyes faced the floor but in the corner of his vision he spied a weak spot in Sovereignl the demon had no fighting stance. His arms hung by his sides lazily as he strode forward. He was completely unprotected. The Imperial waited patiently until the shadow of the beast enveloped him entirely. He looked up, feigning weakness, into the eyes of his enemy.
"Consider your death at my hands an honour," said Sovereign, as he raised his right hand, now pulsing with raw cosmic energy, above his head.
"And the same to you...villain"
The world stopped as The Imperial leapt, with what little stamina he had, at the beast. His right hand holding the Sceptre of King's aloft. He seemed to glide through the air for an eternity, his tattered gold and burgundy costume draped about him as he did so. His sceptre sailing through the air, every bit his last chance at victory. His eyes closed, his teeth grit, his heart in his throat. This was The Imperial's final play.
And it was to be his greatest. For the sceptre connected to Sovereign's head, followed thereafter by a sickening "crack" as the force of the attack snapped the creature's neck instantly. As he died, Sovereign's face was a mixture of confusion and fear. He had thought himself invincible. But The Imperial, weakened now more than ever, had beaten him. As the villain's large hulking form slumped inelegantly to the floor, one thing became apparent.
The beast was dead.
The Imperial fell to the floor, exhausted. His mind dizzy with relief. Beside him, The Sceptre of Kings rattled across the concrete as he let it go. His injuries were many, and his vision was blurred, but he was alive. As he sat in the ruined Seven Gates district of Brickstown, The Imperial felt a strong hand firmly grip his shoulder. It said all it could. It was approval, despite the apparent murder of the beast. It was support when he most needed it. It was a friend in a City of Villains. It was Xanatos.
"Good work my friend..." said Xanatos as he eyed the deceased supervillain that lay unceremoniously on the concrete, "You did what I was never able to."
No words were exchanged. The death of any creature, no matter how evil, was not something these heroes took lightly. And as the two heroes stood in silence, reminiscing over the battle that had very nearly claimed both their lives, Xanatos' comm-link began to burst with life. Reports from all over the city were coming in thick and fast. The escaped convicts, united behind a mysterious leader, were wrecking the city. And at the heart of their campaign of terror was Xanatos' HQ - The Old Guard Academy. Even now, as the two heroes stood and caught their breath, many young heroes were fighting for their lives in the hallowed halls of Xanatos' school for heroes.
"Go to them," said The Imperial as he leaned backwards against a nearby building, his injuries masked by a disarming grin, "They need you."
Xanatos said nothing. He clearly did not want to leave his friend in such a vulnerable condition, but the city was falling to pieces and he had little choice. Still, he hesitated. His eyes met The Imperial’s.
"Go!" said The Imperial as he pushed Xanatos fiercely, "I will be alright, you needn’t worry about me old friend!"
Xanatos nodded solemnly and, without looking back, shot upwards into the night sky.
***
Throughout The Old Guard Academy siren's blazed. The powerful front gates had been torn apart by explosive devices, and the few remaining members of the security detail were doing their best to hold back the horde of villains and rogues that now descended upon the fortress-like school. Young heroes hid in dojos and classrooms, holding each other and fearing for their lives. The few remaining teachers; experts in their areas of superheroics, but rusty when it came to in-field action, did what they could to protect their charges. Though they too were scared witless.
Xanatos's Rogues gallery had arrived. ERA had arrived.
And leading them was perhaps the most dastardly rogue of them all…
Baron Blitzman.
As the last of the security detail was cut down by a villain wielding a wicked looking Katana, the villains began to pour into the academy. Their savage grins matched only by the gaudiness of their costumes. Too many to name individually. Too many different powers and gimmicks to even hope to recall. Far too many to defeat.
And stood before them, the last hope for the academy, was
Rave Spider. In his ear, as ever, was
Joe. Informant to the heroes of Paragon City.
"Okay guys this isn't going to be as tough as it looks. Other than Baron Blitzman, none of the big name villains seem to be here." Said Joe into the comm-links of Rave Spider and Johnny Turbo as they stood, side by side, against the oncoming horde, “Longbow, S.E.R.A.P.H., and Portal Corps are all trying to lock onto your location to teleport you out…but it’s going to take a while.”
Rave Spider said nothing. He just clenched his jaw shut and prepared for battle.
Johnny Turbo on the other hand, was looking in the opposite direction.
"Don't even think about running Johnny." said Rave Spider, his eyes set on the villains who were still moving towards them. (The Old Guard Academy foyer being conveniently large enough for drawn out exposition.)
"I'm not," said Johnny Turbo as he pointed behind him, "Rave...look..."
Glancing backwards, Rave Spider saw that the younger heroes and teachers had gathered behind him and Johnny Turbo. They were not running. They were not going down without a fight. Despite the fear in their eyes, they were not prepared to simply roll over to the first villain that came knocking. As Rave Spider glanced across a sea of young heroes he saw a few faces he recognised, a lot of interesting costumes, and not a single person with the slightest inclination to back down.
"Then it's settled," said Rave Spider, as flames began to dart around his arms, "Follow me newbies."
And with that, the heroes charged to meet the oncoming horde.
***
As Xanatos disappeared into the distance, his yellow and blue form engulfed by the dark grey rainclouds, The Imperial took stock of his situation. His wounds were not life threatening, but they were serious. He needed to get to a hospital. Fortunately Brickstown Infirmary was not far from his location. And so, with strength apparently from hidden reserves, the old man pulled himself to his feet and began to amble along the sidewalk. He staggered, leaning on the many damaged buildings for support as he journeyed onwards.
As he walked his vision began to falter. Without the Pearl of Gilgamesh his old age had now caught up with him. Everything was a blur, nothing was in focus. Perhaps it was due to his injuries as well? The Imperial was not sure. But within moments the solid architecture of Brickstown had transformed into ethereal and translucent swirls of energy. A dull ache began to pulsate in the back of his head. Suddenly strange colours began to wisp around him, through him, and beyond him. He felt like he was floating on air. The heaviness of his footsteps replaced by an unnatural lightness. The pain from his injuries replaced by a warm friendly numbness. He shook his head several times but it did not remove the sensation. Nor did it prepare him for what was about to happen...
"Hello my love"
The Imperial pivoted, as quickly as one can in a euphoric state, to meet eyes with
Eleanor: His wife. As she stood by his side, that familiar smile on her face, that alluring look in her eyes, that reassuring hand on his arm, The Imperial knew what was happening. He had not seen Eleanor for many years. And his heart jumped at the sight of her. There was a great sadness in meeting her, but it was met with a great joy. Oh how he had missed her.
"I-is this real...?" said The Imperial, his strong hands shaking slightly as he tried to hold her. His arms passing through her ethereal form as he did so. "Oh how I have missed you..."
Eleanor just smiled. It was a smile that was just for him. It was a smile that was entirely his. As he looked on her lovingly, the surrounding swirls of colour began to take shape. Twisting and cavorting as they did so, until they formed bookshelves, desks, walls, chandeliers, and many various items from an era long since passed. The explosion of colour was surreal and wonderful. And it was only when the colours stopped that The Imperial realised where they were. They were in the library in which they had first met all those years ago.
Before he could say anything she was upon him. Her ethereal form suddenly tangible, her arms wrapped around him as they embraced. Ghostly tears streaming down her porcelain-like face. He closed his eyes, thankful for peace at last. He was ready to move on. All he wanted in the world was the woman he held, for the first time in decades, in his arms. He wanted nothing more than to be with her. The embrace continued for what seemed like hours, his arms around her, holding her, cherishing her. Eventually though, Eleanor's hands began to move. They rose upwards over The Imperial's arms, tenderly touching his wounds, careful not to harm him, but rather provide him comfort in his weakest moment. He smiled as she did so, as her hands came to a slow halt – each one placed daintily on the old man’s rugged and weathered cheeks. She cradles his head in her hands, and in his eyes she saw only love.
"I love you Eleanor," said The Imperial, the warm numbness returning as he struggled to stand. His wounds would soon get the better of him. But at least she was here in his final moments.
"Goodbye my love," said Eleanor, tears covering her pretty face, as she slowly, almost reluctantly, moved her hands around his throat. “I am so sorry…”
His eyes poured into hers as she began to choke him. Despair, upset, anger, but most of all pain. Why was she doing this? Had he failed her? Did she not want to be with him in the afterlife? Did she blame him for her death all those years ago and now, at the time of his death, was she finally exacting her revenge? All of these questions seemed plausible, and The Imperial would never know the answer to them, for try as he might, the numbness in his limbs forbade him from moving against her. His arms were heavy, his vision blurring in and out of focus. He fell to the ground, his aged mouth gasping for air as his lovers hands were still gripped, vice-like, around his neck.
But at that very last instance. As he felt his life force slipping away. As he felt the hands of his former lover finally granting him the freedom he had longed for all the long years of his life, The Imperial found a strange stillness. The great unknown threatened to engulf him, and in his own way he embraced it. In his own way, in the final moments of his life, The Imperial knew that the creature throttling the life out of him was not Eleanor. It could be any number of things. But it was not her. And for that reason alone; Alastair Victor Cromwell, The Imperial, was at peace.
***
Phanto crouched, straddling The Imperial, his gloved hands wrapped around the golden age hero's neck. He held tight, for fear of his life should he dare to let go too soon.
This had been an opportunity like no other. The Imperial, weakened and depowered after his fight with Sovereign, was not an easy target. But for Phanto, the master of illusion, it had taken little to persuade the old man that his time was up. All he had done was prey upon The Imperial's deepest desires and fears. The old man missed his wife. That much was clear. And from that point on, killing one of the greatest heroes Paragon City had ever known had been painfully simple. It was almost...textbook. Phanto felt cheated. Or was it that he HAD cheated? He wasn’t sure.
His gloved hands shook as he eventually let go of The Imperial. The gold and burgundy body of the aged hero falling lifelessly to the ground. Phanto looked down at the cold and still old man. In the moonlight he looked positively regal, despite the damage that had been done to him. Phanto, the master of illusion, was very much in shock. He couldn’t believe he'd killed him.
But it was shock that quickly turned to arrogance: He had killed The Imperial! His own hands had squeezed the life out of one of Paragon’s finest. Were he able to smile, Phanto would have been beaming. He slowly reared himself to his feet. Not due to weariness from the battle just fought, but for a much darker reason...
He was savouring the moment.
The rain began to fall heavily, the little droplets of water bouncing off-of the fish-tank Phanto seemingly now wore in place of his head. The dull patter of raindrops calming the illusionist’s mood. With an aloofness borne of victory, Phanto slowly raised one gloved hand to where his face should be, and spoke into his wrist-mounted comm-link. He tried to suppress his giddiness.
"Baron Blitzman, this is Phanto," said the master of illusion as he began to walk away from the scene, "The Imperial is down."
As he walked slowly through the heavily damaged streets of Brickstown, away from the scene of the battle, Phanto risked looking over his shoulder. Sure enough there, alone on the sidewalk, the body of The Imperial still laid stock still. The rain falling down hard against him as if he were nothing more than part of the scenery.
"I repeat. The Imperial is down."
We both know what you three were trying to do.
