Amber gasped awake, clutching at the blanket wrapped around her. At first, she had no idea where she was, and the horrible events most recent in her mind were little more than a dream. Then, as she realized she was in the infirmary room of the Hostel, the sickening reality of it all came crashing down upon her.

	“Ah, you have awakened,” said Darkenwulf. The lupine alien had installed himself as the medic and scientist of the team, a move which everyone heartily appreciated. “You suffered a severe strain, but no serious injuries, by the way. However, I would request that you remain in your bed for at least the next half hour.” 

	Clutching still at the blankets, Amber regarded him. “My uncle? Where is Uncle Ryan?” she querulously asked.

	Darkenwulf inhaled deeply, and shook his head, exhaling with a whuffing sigh. “I... I am sorry. Though his powers enabled him to absorb every single millirad of the radiation, the sum totality of the fireball, and even the last vestiges of the electromagnetic pulse, the shockwave of the weapon was more than he could withstand.”

	“He... he...” She couldn’t grasp the thought. She didn’t want to consider it. And she knew that he knew, somehow, that he wasn’t going to make it.

	“Just lay back. And know that he made a heroic sacrifice. If it wasn’t for you and your uncle, all of Mountainrock would be a nuclear wasteland right now. He absorbed all but the shockwave, and your own barriers disrupted that until it was little more than enough to shatter some widows on the tallest of buildings. There were minor injuries reported, but no fatalities.” He looked at her, his eyes sorrowful. “Except Ryan.”

	“How long have I been out? How did I get back to the Hostel?”

	Darkenwulf glanced at a clock. “You’ve been out perhaps six hours. And you are here because of Wingstorm. She snuck away and followed the two of you. When she saw you fall, she caught you, and your uncle.”

	“I... see.” She laid back down on the bed, and turned her head away from the alien.

	“Yes, get some rest. I shall be back momentarily.” 

	She did not hear him leave. All she heard was the last thing her beloved uncle ever said to her. That he loved her, as the daughter he never had.

***********************************

	Jarhead paced around the Legion meeting room, scowling and snarling to himself. “I need guns. A lot of very big guns. And maybe some tanks. And artillery,” he grumbled.

	He did not notice a weary John Mendolsson, also known as Silverlance, at the door to the meeting room. “Planning something, Anthony?”

	“Yes! I’m going to kill those Doom Guard jokers, and their unnatural bosses! They killed one of our own, and would have killed hundreds of thousands of innocents!” roared back the veteran, eyes blazing.

	Silverlance strode across the room to his friend. “Calm down, Anthony. All you’re going to do thinking that way is cause more death.”

	“You think I don’t know that?” demanded the former active-duty Marine. “I fought in Korea, remember? And I can assure you, I killed there. I am no stranger to it. The Doom Guard and the Undead are going to pay. Ryan deserves no less.”

	John was taken aback. This was not the happy-go-lucky, cheerful, and improvising Jarhead he had known for nearly a year. This man was cold, and ruthless, and vengeful. And grieving in his own way, he suddenly realized. Knowing what had to be done, he straightened himself up to his full height. “Stop right there, Jarhead. Don’t. The only thing you could accomplish against our enemies right now is your own death. And if you can’t get this idea of vengeance out of your head, I will remove you from the rolls of the security team.. err, Legion.”

	Anthony punched a table. “Then what are we supposed to do? By god, are we just supposed to sit around and wait for them to do something else, and maybe succeed in destroying the city next time? How many friends do we have to sacrifice before we finally get the spine to find them and destroy them?”

	Silverlance stepped face to face with him. “We fight them tooth and nail whenever we find them. But we will do so for what is right, and not for vengeance.” He turned on his heel, and stormed out, a little angry at himself for letting his temper get the better of him just then, leaving Anthony with more than a few things to consider.

*************************

	Dragonlord  rounded the corner, and saw Darkenwulf standing outside the door of the Infirmary, marking on a clipboard. “Well, chirugeon, how fares the patient?”

	“Ah, Dragonlord. She is well, but resting. I do believe she has had sufficient rest, but may require psychological reinforcement to overcome her grief at the day’s events.”

	The taller metahuman nodded. “Very well, then, sirrah. Perhaps you and she shall accompany me to the recreation room, where we may partake of friendly companionship as a means to help yon lass overcome this trying period?”

	Darkenwulf nodded. “I do believe that would be an excellent idea.” They then both entered the room.

	“Ah, lass, we were worried about thee,” said Dragonlord as he entered. “’Tis good to see that thou art hale and hearty, if still distraught over Ryan’s noble and uncompromising final act.”

	Amber sat up, and realized that she was still in her costume under the covers. Slightly self-conscious, she climbed out of the bed. “Worried? About me? Why, you hardly know me?”

	With a grin, Dragonlord responded, “Ah, but thou art one of us now. In addition, my lady, thine uncle was one of our noblest and most respected members. Thus, we who are now your brothers and sisters in arms were concerned for you, in both body and soul. now, with the intent of helping to heal the gaping wound that now gnaws at thy psyche, wouldst thou accompany Darkenwulf and myself to a demesne more suitable to relaxation and contemplative conversation?”

	Despite the archaic phrasings, and the tall metahuman’s distinct tendency to hyperbole and self aggrandizement, Amber couldn’t help but feel a smile begin to tug on the corners of her mouth. “Why... I do believe I shall,” she responded.

	A few moments later found the three in the rec room. Amber had been met with consoling statements and the occasional hug on her way there, and found herself being toasted by the other three Hostel inhabitants currently in the room. They were Cyrano, the man with the prehensile nose who had been present at the first meeting of Legion, as well as Gary Dorric, who possessed superhuman strength (though it was limited to the force of his grip), and Tanya Shvaughan, who had discovered she was completely and utterly immune to alcohol. They made their way to on of the tables, watching the sunset through the bay windows of the room.

	“We mourn for Synergy,” began Dragonlord. “He was a good man... and noble. To Ryan, wherever he may be. May he grace the halls of Valhalla, to feast and celebrate his life in the way we all must.”

	Darkenwulf raised a glass of water. “To a solid, dependable man, with the courage of a regiment, and a sense of honor few could discount.”

	Amber reached for her glass of soda, and raised it as well. “To my uncle. I loved him.”

	Cyrano, meanwhile, was staring out the window. Suddenly, he squinted, and used his nose to adjust the spectacles perched on his face. “Say, what’s that?” he asked.

	Before the others could look in the direction he was pointing, a shimmering red bolt catapulted through the bay window, striking him dead center in the chest. He was thrown backwards into the table the Legion members were gathered around, and lay very, very still.

	To the shock of everyone in the Rec Room, further rays of varying hues began to cascade across the room. Most took cover behind a hasty shield Amber had erected, even as they looked to the source of the attack.

	There, silhouetted by the final rays of the sun, lay a sight terrifying to the civilians of the Hostel. The Doom Guard, several hundred strong, raced across the open rear grounds of the hostel, while some who had been so gifted took to the air. All were firing their weapons at anything that moved, and, floating on a disc of energy manifested by Liche, the Undead and Black Blade soared above them, shouting orders and invectives.

	“We’re under attack!” shouted Amber. “Someone hit the alarm!”

	Dragonlord did not move. He merely looked at the body of the man who had never taken the field, one who was unarmed, and unprepared for the blow that had robbed him of his life. “Dead... he’s dead,” he shuddered out. “Dead like Allison.”

	“Dead like Ryan.”

	“They killed him.”

	“No more.”

	“NO MORE!” shouted Dragonlord, as he raced to the shattered bay window and the hordes of enemies outside. To the wonderment of those behind Amber’s shield, his form glowed green and ran like water as he crested the windowframe. Then, a roar not heard in fifteen hundred years split the sky, and the sky was blackened by a shape out of the deepest dreams of mankind.

	Now a behemoth, a titan, a true dragon of old, the entity that had called itself Dragonlord beheld the onrushing foes with baleful eyes the size of dinner plates. A head as large as a bus reared back, and the bellows-like lungs inhaled with enough force to bend the limbs of nearby trees.

	The conflagration that followed was truly horrific. White hot, the dragonfire incinerated the very air on its way to those who had slain the ones he called friend, burning away both oxygen and other gasses as it hissed through the air. Wherever the fiery arc fell, entire platoons of Doom Guard met their fate before they even realized it had occurred. The platform the Undead rode upon weaved and bobbed and narrowly avoided the blazing death that assailed them, but the significant majority of the forces they wielded were not so lucky.

	With footsteps that shook the earth, and an even more thunderous, earsplitting roar, the mighty Dragonlord, once again a true lord among dragons, took to the skies, his mighty wings creating a hurricane force wind that impelled the survivors back even further, and he began to chase them. However, the Undead had eluded him, and once more began their assault upon the Hostel.

	They then saw that the rest of Legion had already assembled, taking advantage of the time bought for them by Dragonlord’s rampage. They stood outside the window of the rec room, each one ready to defend their Hostel and their friends. Silverlance, his hand resting on a sword he had strapped to his belt, looked at their foes. “Stand down, Undead. Blackblade, surrender. It’s over!”

	“Haw, haw! Looks like fun!” howled Ghoul, leaping from the disc towards legion. His crusty mottled hide connected with a fist that could shatter granite, however, as Hauler took out the day’s frustrations in a mighty uppercut that sent the scavenger hurtling away at a tremendous speed. Before anyone could stop him, the massive metahuman leapt after his foe, determined to put him down once and for all.

	“Liche, bring us down!” commanded Black Blade. “Attack at will! But Silverlance is mine!”

	Vampyre took to the skies, his blood-red wings filled with the winds of the evening skies. He leered at the remaining flyers, and laughed. “Come, come, who would challenge me for domination of the night! Who would face a vampire at the height of his power? I have fed recently, and now I thirst for battle!”

	“MONSTER!” screamed Amber, rocketing towards him an a golden nimbus. “You won’t hurt anyone anymore!”

	Wingstorm saw this, and deciding her friend needed help, raced after the two as they began their aerial duel, only to be intercepted by the diaphanous Ghost. “Not so fast, my dear. he is not the only one of us that flies!”

	Across the property, Ghoul finally landed on a grassy hillside. He extracted himself from the small crater he made, just in time to see Hauler land. The larger metahuman charged him, but Ghoul just rolled onto his back, and used his feet to catapult Hauler into a tree. The tree was pulverized, but Hauler seemed completely unhurt. 

	As they both got to their feet, Hauler grinned. “No interference - no interruptions. Good!”

	Ghoul grinned back, displaying irregular, razor sharp teeth and discolored gums. “Just the way I like it!” And with that, they charged each other.

	Hundreds of feet in the air, Vampyre gracefully swerved to the left to avoid a massive fist of golden energy. “Such a pretty little thing...” he taunted. Before she could react, he rushed in close, and grabbed her wrists. “So very pretty. Are you sure you do not wish to join me in Eternity?”

	She struggled, but felt her will sap. His eyes took on an eerie glow, and she could not resist staring into them. “N...no....I...don’t...”

	“Ah, but just imagine. An eternity of nightfall... the moon overhead, shedding its blue-white light upon a world ours for the taking.” His mouth opened into a smile that could shatter hearts, and looked fondly at her. “Isn’t it tempting? Admit it. Simply suffer to my embrace, and you shall be eternal, as I now am!”

	“Only... one... problem,” she gasped, eyes locked onto his, heart racing like a teenager’s. 

	“And that is, my lovely?”

	“You disgust me!” she shouted, and marshaled the last of her strength in a burst of all her power, catapulting the blood-sucking Undead leader away from her.

	Though he was hurt, Vampyre was secretly elated. If he could but embrace her, then his eternal nights would be just that more perfect, for such was the fire in her. He licked the blood from where he had accidentally bitten his lip in the blast, and smiled once more. “Very well then, my sweet. Let the battle commence!”

	Wingstorm stared at Ghost, some distance away. “Get out of my way, you’re nothing but a phantom. There is nothing you can do to me!”

	He chuckled. “Are you sure?” he asked.

	“Absolutely!” she declared. The young girl raced through Ghost, arms outstretched. But the minute she made contact with his ephemeral form, she felt an unnatural chill stiffen her, and she fell nearly ten feet to the ground, shivering and chattering. Only the subconscious constant rotation of her wings spared her serious injury from the fall. “S..so cold...”

	“Heheheh,” smirked Ghost. “Still think I can’t do anything to ya?”

	Back near the Hostel, Wight actually bowed to Jarhead and Black Tiger. “Prepare yourselves, mortals,” he wheezed.

	Keeping his eyes on the living corpse, Jarhead leaned to Black Tiger and whispered, “You go high, I go low.” Leaning away again, he waited until the monstrosity had advanced far enough, and yelled, “NOW!”

	With a feral roar, Black tiger dove full into the chest of Wight. At the same time, Jarhead dropped close to the ground, and lashed out with his foot, taking away the Undead’s footing. He came crashing to the ground hard, as Black Tiger rolled away. “Yes! We got ‘im, Anthony!”

	Unfortunately, Wight rolled backwards and came up on his feet. “Impressive,” he raped. Drawing his ornate silvery gray blade, he continued, “But you will not find me so unprepared again.”

	As Jarhead looked at the sword and began to evaluate his options, Black Tiger merely grinned. “Awww, little corpse likes to play with pointy things.” He flexed his powerful fingers, and his own razor sharp claws popped out. “Let’s have some fun.”

	Nearby, Flamestrike and her sister gateway were confronted with the unnatural spectre of the Liche. “Children, please. Lay down your aspirations to battle, for the sake of your immortal soul.”

	“Is he talking to us?” asked Flamestrike.

	“Umm,” responded Gateway, “I think so.”

	“What a jerk. Eat hot plasma, Bone boy,’ she drawled, and unleashed one of her most powerful blasts, which manifested directly above Liche, and seared down towards him. For a heartbeat, all they could see was the roaring flames.

	Seconds later, they could only stare in shock. Liche was unhurt, and surrounded by a shimmering bubble, which faded as the flames around him died down. “How... pathetic. I am sorry, children, and I grieve for you before my master.”

	Elsewhere, the massive reptilian form of Dragonlord, now revealed to truly be a dragon of old, chased after the fleeing remnants of the Doom Guard. When he nearly was once more in range to unleash his breath of death, a wave of nausea overwhelmed him, and he felt his energies rapidly dwindling. “Magic... hasn’t returned enough... gotta rest... shielded from banality...” He shone briefly like a small sun, and collapsed, barely conscious, onto the ground, in human shape once more.

	“Hey, guys!” shouted once agent. “The big lizard’s a person again! And he doesn’t look to good!”

	“Everyone, Alpha formation! Surround him! We don’t want to take the chance he’ll turn again!”

	With that, the full remaining members of the Doom Guard landed, and took up positions around the fallen and exhausted hero. “On my orders, hit ‘em with everything you’ve got! One... two...”

	In the center of the battle, two foes squared off. On one side, Silverlance stood tall, staring at the man before him. On the other, Black Blade advanced slowly, chuckling. “Thy warriors have abandoned thee,” he said.

	“No, they’re only keeping yours busy,” was the albino’s reply.

	“Ah. No matter. This fight is now as it should be. You and I alone... my brother.” With the last word, Black Blade brandished his daemon-haunted sword, and took up his fighting stance.

	“You are not my brother,” snarled Silverlance. “You are the demon who stole him away, and warped and twisted him into a sorry, misbegotten thing.” Reaching down, he drew the rapier he wore at his own hip.

	The sight caused Black Blade to laugh. “You dare face a demonic swordsman with a mortal blade of your own?”

	“I dare” he curtly replied. ‘I only hope those three years of college fencing pay off,’ he pondered as an afterthought.

	At the farthest ranges of the Hostel’s property, a battle raged like few others before it. Craters of tremendous impacts littered the ground, and the last remaining oak was currently being uprooted by Ghoul. “Here’s a toothpick!” he shouted, and swung it at Hauler.

	Hauler simply raised a forearm, allowing the trunk to splinter harmlessly off his thick hide. “Gee, thanks. Here’s something Jarhead taught me, by the way.” Reaching out faster than Ghoul expected, Hauler grabbed one of his still outstretched arms, and pivoted. Suddenly flung off balance, he found himself rotating over Hauler’s hip, to land face-first on the ground.

	“Ooof! Fat lotta YAAAARGH!” he screamed.

	“Oh, be quiet. This technique is called an arm bar. And it will keep you still and under wraps and in a lot of pain until the others finish their fights.” As if to punctuate his statement, Hauler twisted the arm he still held slightly.

	“Gaaah... hurts...” snarled Ghoul. But the truth was, he did not feel pain any more. His act was to merely conceal the fact that his free hand now clutched at the dry, dusty earth at their feet, and gathered it into his grasp.

	A lunge was almost off-handedly parried, as Silverlance and Blackblade continued their own private duel. “Pathetic,” sneered the possessed warrior. An overhand shot of his own is barely parried in time, and the shock of it threatens to knock the rapier out of Silverlance’s grasp. “Child’s play,” he chortles.

	“Shut up!” barked Silverlance, wondering why he had ever attempted this foolishness. He dropped low, and feinted for his enemy’s legs, then suddenly changed direction and jabbed at the open face of Black Blade’s helm. He was met only with a powerful kick to the chest, which knocked him back nearly ten feet, as well as knocked the wind out of him. His sword skittered away, and came to rest far too far away to do him any good.

	“Ah... how unfortunate.” A gesture, and a bolt of seething black imps raced out of the black sword, shattering the rapier beyond any hope of repair. “Your arrogance to think you could hope to best me in swordplay was your downfall.” Stepping closer, he raised the sword above his head. “Silverlance... the game is now mine.”

	The sword fell. A flash of red. Then darkness.