Battleforce #7

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BATTLEFORCE #7

WIZARDS OF WAR

Written and Edited by Joel A. Sawyer

What has gone before: After they assist him on a case, Windstorm joins Spellbinder and Perseus on a trip to a Carribean island where a powerful wizard has enslaved the populace. Meanwhile, Leon Wakefield, the only survivor of the sinking of a Nuclear submarine, has just awoken and is exhibiting new, untested powers.



The situation itself was heinous, the threat was powerful, and nothing the MP’s of the military post could ever be prepared for. The first two men were incinerated and the two vehicles that first responded were blown apart before they even came to a stop. As the post began to mobilize, Lee Wakefield realized he could fly, and soared off the base.

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It was a daunting task really. With the appearance of an ancient Greek hero, Perseus stood guard as Windstorm concentrated, searching the compound and hoping Centaurus couldn’t feel it. Simply, Windstorm could feel the flow of air in his vicinity using the sense to avoid obstacles and keep track of moving objects. Now, he pushed the ability to its absolute limits, slowly exploring Centaurus’ sanctuary in a search for Spellbinder. Honestly, he had never even thought of this use for his powers until Perseus asked if they worked that way!

And it was working. He had located several objects then focused on them enough to know they were not Shawnee. He did not control the air, just read the existing currents to isolate anything the breeze blew around. Or course, he didn’t have the endurance of Perseus. Sweat dripped from him as he crouched, his eyes closed and his attention elsewhere.

“I think I’ve found her, and she’s still alive,” Windstorm gasped, standing up in his sky-blue and white uniform.

“You need a moment to rest?” Perseus asked.

“No,” Windstorm answered strongly, “It was hard to concentrate like that, but my body is fine, especially after that fruit you found. Let’s go.”

Perseus and Windstorm broke cover, heading straight for the entrance. Almost as quickly, a dozen foot-long bat-like creatures with long thin noses flapped from the door of the structure. The creatures were fairly disgusting, reminding Perseus of the insectoid creatures they had encountered in Chicago.

“Watch out, Wind,” he called, “they are landing on me and trying to stab me with their needle-noses, like mosquitoes.”

“Yeah, but they are flying,” Storm responded, “They can’t even get close.” Windstorm blew the beasts away.

Likewise, when a stone statue came alive to bar their path, Perseus smashed it to pieces. The defenses were not designed with these heroes in mind. Windstorm guided them to a small room where Spellbinder sat alone.

She had been crying. “What did Centaurus do to you,” Perseus asked menacingly.

Shawnee blinked at them for a moment, not really comprehending. “I thought you were both dead,” she whispered.

“Not yet,” Windstorm muttered, reaching out for her. His hand smacked painfully against the invisible barrier. “Ow!” he yelped. Then he examined the barrier. "Air goes through it fine. I can feel the current flowing through without a problem, but it stops my hand."

Perseus moved to attack the force, but Shawnee told him to stop. “It is not a physical force. This building could be destroyed with the field remaining.

“But it extends between these two walls, trapping you in the corner?” Shawnee nodded at Perseus’ statement. Amazingly, the big man simply walked out of the chamber, found the appropriate wall, and broke through. “Wizards really should learn to think outside the box,” Perseus added, Spellbinder snickering at the comment.

They quickly moved back through the structure only to find Centaurus waiting for them outside the complex.

And he looked angry.

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Lee Wakefield thought the sun felt glorious, energizing, as he flew into the city. It was intoxicating, like smoking pot or getting under-the-table drunk. He experimented with his new power, firing a beam of pure energy at a tree and catching it afire. Then he felt more energy throbbing along the high tension power lines. Curious, he touched the power line and melted enough of the protective covering to access the flow.

Lee nearly exploded. The power zapped into him and for a moment he didn’t know what to do, the pain was so intense. Then the energy flowed through him and began to merge with his solar power. The resulting outburst of force crushed or burned everything within 50 ft of the former submarine crewman. Laughing with sheer joy, Lee rose higher into the air searching for the nearest electrical power station.

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“Sir, you have a Priority One call, line 3.”

Priority One? Wonderful, he thought as his receptionist’s words sank in. “Put them through,” he finally said. The phone device clicked several times and he stated, “Dennis Richter, Vortex. How can I assist you today?”

“My name is Wendell Forsythe, FBI. We have a situation,” came the reply from the other end of the line.

Wow, can you make it any more vague? Richter was instantly embarrassed by the thought even if he didn’t say it out loud. “Explain the situation,” he actually said.

“We have a powerful new paranormal,” Mr. Forsythe continued, “He flies, fires energy bolts, melts bullets before they reach him. He’s killed at least 20 people that we know of, all police or military, though the scope of his power does not rule out collateral damage. Right now he is standing within the conductors of a city power station. I think its making him stronger.”

“How is he killing?” Richter asked, his attention now fully on the conversation.

“The last persons were police officers responding to a trespassing alarm at the power station. The suspect melted the police car before the two officers could exit the vehicle. The suspect turned the automobile into a pile of molten slag in about 15 seconds.”

“Dear God,” Dennis swore, “Give me the location.”

Moments later, Dennis transferred the call to The Vortex Coordination Team and then he started on his call list.

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His name is Jason Hunt. For the last week he has lived in New York City chasing a vampire who really wasn’t; she was just a messed up, drugged out Goth kid with the power to fly and change her coloring to blend into her surroundings, including shadows. She wore chromed, pointed teeth for the effect. Hunt had captured her last night after days of searching and investigation, and now he slept in his nondescript, cheap, pay-by-the-week motel room. At least this one had cable TV.

It was truly a strange lifestyle he had chosen for himself. Through government service and a few well chosen endorsement deals, he really didn’t want for money, and no hourly job gave him freedom. When not on a government assignment, he simply packed his few belongings and went where he was needed. Few possessions meant little to keep him anywhere in particular, so his home was literally where he was.

His mobile phone chimed the Super Mario Brothers theme, and he looked up, running his hand across his bald head. Six hours of sleep isn’t bad, he thought, but I wanted to sleep myself out, maybe catch a movie or something today. He sacrificed a lot for his chosen line of work. He answered his phone.

“Jason, its Richter,” the response came.

“What’s up,” Hunt replied.

“Its an extreme emergency. We need Shield as soon as you can get there.”

“Where,” Shield said, already up and heading for his costume.

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Benita Corrales moved through the aisle at the local Piggly Wiggly perusing the shelves for her needs. Almost thirty, she looked younger, and heads turned as she went by. She was Hispanic with an OK body but a face the kind that songs and poems were written about. Black hair to her shoulder blades, sharp brown eyes, slightly puffy lips, and perfect skin tone, she was skinny and curvaceous but not overly so. She wasn’t ‘totally hot’, but Lord she was pretty.

She dropped a cabbage into her shopping cart even as her phone rang. She pulled the device out of her purse and checked the caller ID, which read ‘VORTEX’.

I already put off my grocery shopping for too long, she thought as she hit the receiver button. “Yes,” she answered pleasantly, hiding her annoyance.

She listened to Dennis Richter’s information, her expression becoming so fierce that a man admiring her figure reached her face and suddenly moved away, fearing it was his attention that caused the reaction.

“All right,” she said into the phone and disconnected the call. Leaving her cart for a store employee to deal with, she quickly walked out of the grocery while shoving the phone and her ID into the protective pocket of her uniform. I liked this outfit, too, she mused, The government will have to buy me a new one! Then, standing out in front of the building and scaring the 30 or so spectators who saw, she burst into bright orange, blazing light. All semblance of her clothing gone, she appeared head to toe bathed in energy, with her only garb a short-sleeved sports one-piece with a ten-pointed star on the chest and slim footwear apparent. She launched into the air even as a teenaged girl shouted, “It’s Starfall!”

Despite the circumstances, the recognition made her smile.

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Scott Deyoung sat in his home laboratory busily reverse engineering one of the devices he had acquired, that is, hidden from the government, taken from the battle with the Techno-Warriors. Machine Maker had developed some weapon upgrades that Scott wanted to add to his Starknight schematic. His phone beeped, and an electronic voice told him which line the call came from.

“Encrypt, mask, answer,” he said out loud, knowing that the caller would hear a voice similar to the one the armor produced, “Starknight. How can I help you?”

“This is Ace,” the answer came, “Are you available?”

Wow. Starknight is getting popular, he thought. “How fast?” he asked.

“As soon as,” Ace told him through the speaker. “We have a situation. Others are going in first, but Justice thought we should be ready just in case.”

“Where?”

Ace gave directions, and Starknight realized it would take an hour to get there. I really have to improve my transportation options, Knight told himself.

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Erin Xiang sat at a desk at the front of Graham’s Books, one of Charlotte, North Carolina’s largest sellers of printed material. Erin’s book, titled 'Power Loss', told the tale of the origin of Molecule, her subsequent imprisonment by the US Government, and her eventual freedom, winning a lawsuit against her former captors. Out only a week, the book so far had sold more that Erin and her publisher had anticipated.

Coupled with the judgement against the Government, sales from this book could really make her rich, she had begun to realize. What a strange concept for a former lab technician that didn’t get to finish college. And now, a line of people stood waiting for a handshake and an autograph. She had never imagined that it could be so exhausting sitting and signing, and she stifled many a yawn in this third hour of the session. Luckily, only a few fans remained.

Her mobile phone chirped and she responded.

“Ace, hello. You know, you should call me once in a while just to see how I’m doing. Really...I’ll be there as soon as I can. Good bye.”

Well, a little excitement for the afternoon, Erin told herself, feeling immediately more cheerful. She didn’t broadcast it, but the fact was, she enjoyed the action that this new life provided. In the end, the last half hour of the autograph signing went quickly and painlessly.

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That...was Ace,” Theodore Lynn, Ted for short, said as he stepped from his den with a look of concern written all over his face. Not expecting a call like this, his blond hair shot in all directions and three days growth jutted from his chin. His wife, Charity, sat on their sofa watching her man. “He wants me to help against some new super criminal,” Ted finished apologetically.

“Is this something you want to do?” she asked softly.

“Want to? Of course not!” Ted told her emphatically, “These abilities have taken me away from you enough as it is. But I think I should.”

She nodded. “You’ve been given a gift, a strange, magnificent gift that no one else seems to have. I’m sure He wants and expects you to use it. Maybe your...time in captivity helped prepare me for this.”

Ted smiled and kissed his young wife as if he would never see her again. This would become a habit for a long time.

“Are you bringing the costume?” she asked softly.

“Suppose I should,” he answered with a shrug, “Erin says it helps her stay somewhat anonymous. I would hate if our private lives were too impacted by all of this. The Paparazzi haven’t started lurking around yet, anyway.” After acquiring the backpack that held his gear, he went to the front door, paused, and with his best not-very-good ‘Ahnold’ impersonation, he said, “I’ll be back!”

Charity smiled, but the jest really didn’t relax either one of them that well.

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“How do we do this?” Perseus asked Spellbinder urgently.

“Me?”

“You’re the magician.”

Realizing he was absolutely right, she looked at Centaurus. “He uses symbols and hand motions, and tries to take advantage of perceived weaknesses. Cover each other, try to interrupt his spellcasting, don’t let him dictate the battle.”

“Is he casting a spell?” Windstorm asked. Shawnee saw the ogrish mage forming symbols with his hands and she nodded.

And Windstorm was gone, flying straight from the doorway to their captor and, in about a second, faster than his companions even knew he could fly, he caromed off Centaurus’ chest and flew upward as the magician stumbled back. The beast-man grimaced with the impact and started to aim his hands at his airborne opponent, who had already turned and now shot down toward the mage.

Perseus looked around, spying a clay jar with a potted tree growing from it. A moment later, the jar and plant smacked painfully into his target’s right shoulder with a meaty thud. His spell broken, the sorcerer growled with pain and irritation at the strongman and gestured toward him when Windstorm shot in and took Centaurus’ legs out from under him. He rolled in the dirt and rose, snarling in anger.

“Upstarts!” the wizard bellowed, “As Windstorm came in for another pass, Centaurus turned and batted at the flyer, knocking him away. As Perseus charged, the warlock seemed to exhale a gout of noxious orange gas which enveloped the warrior. Centaurus smiled, but as the gas cleared, he saw the hero still standing, holding his breath with his eyes closed.

At that moment, Centaurus realized there was something strangely wrong with Perseus, at least from the wizard’s perspective. Even as the hero advanced, Centaurus tried to sear him with pure magical energy to almost no effect. He resists magical attacks! The spellcaster thought with astonishment.

Then he felt Spellbinder’s power rise up around him. He looked at her still standing at the doorway of the unfinished structure, her eyes and mouth glowing a bright violet light and her skin shining. Suddenly, as a purple spark popped from one of her eyes, Centaurus felt the mystic armor screen he had erected before the fight began separate from his own well of power and vanish. His protection was gone even as the muscular man reached him. Centaurus began to make more gestures that Perseus remembered from the first time, the Paralysis Touch. Spellbinder flew from her cover then, also recognizing the spell and wanting to protect her friend, and shot her target with a mystic bolt. With over a hundred years of discipline and training, though, Centaurus ignored the pain and extended his palm toward Perseus’ chest, but Perseus neatly deflected the strike away and punch the warlock. Pain flared again as Centaurus lifted clear off his feet and landed 20 feet away from his attacker!

“THIS WILL NOT BE!” he roared, accessing one of his hold-out spells. Every spellcaster reserved a few magics at ready, to be used suddenly without preparation. He drove his fists into the dirt, the resulting explosive shockwave knocking down small trees, upturning nearby smaller structures, collapsing the corner of the unfinished temple, and bouncing Perseus into the air and onto his back. When he landed, Perseus found himself stuck in a suddenly created mudhole that robbed him of his leverage and traction.

As Perseus floundered, Centaurus glared at Shawnee. “Your stubborn actions write your doom in the historical records, Manchester. You had such promise. I shall mourn your fall."

“There is a thin line between confidence and arrogance,” Spellbinder retorted, firing a magic bolt directly into Centaurus’ face.

Centaurus bellowed into the sky as Windstorm grabbed hold of Perseus hand. “I’ll pull you out,” he hissed, and then he groaned, “Geez, man! Feel like my arm’s gonna come right out of it’s socket!”

The wizard’s vision cleared and he activated the trigger on his blue jacket, which would absorb some of any physical attack now that it was ‘on’. Spying Perseus, he made a grabbing and then a throwing motion, and a surprised Perseus found himself yanked off his feet again and thrown across the huge, grass and dirt pavilion. As he landed, Centaurus drew a non-existent sword, and a shining, scintillating blade grew from his hand. When he waved the ’blade’, a wave of force extended out and slammed Storm to the ground. Centaurus charged at Windstorm, bringing the sword down...

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...into Spellbinder’s blocking forearm, her Ricochet Field deflecting the blow away from both heroes. Glancing at Perseus coming from the side, she then dove onto Windstorm and pushed him down flat as a twenty foot long tree trunk, swung like a baseball bat, swished over them and slammed into Centaurus, again sending him into unwanted flight.

“I wanted to get closer to you,” Windstorm whispered to Shawnee, “but the circumstances really suck!”

With the heroes out of position, the battered wizard took a chance. He hopped to his feet in a way that defied his size and bulk and assumed a wide-legged, yoga-like stance, slowly moving his arms in an intricate pattern in front of him. Perseus closed the distance and started to swing his tree-bat again, but with a sudden, barking shout, Centaurus sent soccer-ball sized blobs of grey goo out in all directions. Two globs struck the tree and ate into it, another blob plopped against Perseus’ shoulder. He gnashed his teeth and cried out, his pain receptors firing even though the goo didn’t do any permanent damage. He stumbled under the agony and tried to wipe the substance off, succeeding only in spreading the sticky stuff further. Spellbinder put all of her energy into her field to redirect the blobs and none reached her or Windstorm, but gobs of the horrid stuff melted and destroyed everything else it touched, leaving burn marks all over the field.

Centaurus, now confident, assumed another pose, with his palms upward and open to the sky. A strange red/indigo cloud began to grow about 30 feet in the air above his head.

“That looks bad,” Storm said, rising into the air. Concentrating, he drew the forces of the sky to him, swirled them around him, and pushed them against Centaurus’ creation. After about twenty seconds of heavy wind, Storm dissipated the cloud.

Centaurus smiled, having hidden the casting of a second spell within the first. Even as Windstorm blew his cloud away, Centaurus knelt and jabbed two fingers into the dirt. The Earth split, tossing rocks and dirt upwards in a 50 foot area around him. One hit Shawnee in the hip and another struck her opposite calf, but Windstorm managed to dodge, the speed of his airborne reflexes absolutely amazing! Centaurus, ever thinking and planning, began his next spell.

“Centaurus, wait!” Spellbinder called.

Through gritted teeth, he hissed, “You failed to heed my instructions. This is the result. You will receive no mercy from me now!”

“We can end this now, without any of us suffering further,” she continued.

“You cannot defeat me. You will fall,” he grunted.

“But at what cost. Look around you. We’ll destroy this place in the process!”

“I WILL NOT relinquish this site to you!” he bellowed.

“I don’t want it!” she shouted back, her voice carrying surprisingly for her small frame, “I just want the slavery to end! We’re mystics. We’re supposed to be the smart ones, the thinkers. If we just stop now and leave this place alone, it will be here when you need it, and I might even be on your side by then.”

Centaurus grimaced, but he stopped his casting. “We could also end up as enemies.”

“I’m willing to risk it. Leave a marker if you must, so that if I try to develop the lei line myself, you will know.”

The huge wizard paused, still tense, then he relaxed and a small smile crept onto his face. “You are certainly Desmond’s apprentice,” he grumbled, “He is also a negotiator. Further battle is pointless, but I give you fair warning, Shawnee Manchester. Do not make a habit of interfering with me. The fact that you may be useful to me eventually will gain you a little lattitude, but not much.” Centaurus turned and walked away.

“And that’s it?” Windstorm asked incredulously, “We just walk away?”

“There is no law enforcement in the world that could confine him if he were unwilling,” she said, “For magic-users, this is an extraordinarily good ending to a conflict, and he knows it as well as I do.”

“Not to interrupt,” Perseus called, “but could someone help get this grey crap off of me? It burns!”

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Lee Wakefield had been half dozing as he leeched energy from the city power grid. Electricity was not as easy to absorb as solar energy, but he had been left alone for some time. Then he felt a new power source moving toward him from the South. Must be what the police are waiting for, he mused. He noticed the orange glow shooting through the sky moments later, and soon a very attractive woman blazing orange floated down to about ten feet off the ground in front of him.

“Leon Wakefield, I am Starfall,” she called to him, “With the authority of Homeland Security, you are under arrest for multiple counts of murder.”

Wakefield smiled, and the power transformer he stood under exploded, sparks and fire shooting into the sky.

To Be Continued...