CAPTAIN BRITAIN (Betsy Braddock)	CYBERMANCER (Suzi Endo)	DARK ANGEL (Shevaun Haldane)	KILLRAVEN (Jonathan Raven)
NOCTURNE (Gray Poldark)	POLARIS (Lorna Dane)	SPITFIRE (Jacqueline Chapman)	UNION JACK (Joseph Chapman)

Into the Great Wide Open
Part Two

"I'm afraid I'm going crazy...."

Dane Whitman stepped from the waters, kneeling to place a hand on the shoulders of the woman before him. Lorna Dane was dressed in the purple uniform she wore as Polaris, a former X-Man and current Pendragon. She'd proven herself to be a strong, capable woman over the years, facing down threats that would have reduced most people to emotional rubble. But there was an underlying vulnerability to her, one that had worsened following her breakup from Alex Summers and the rollercoaster ride of finding out that Magneto might be her father. And then there had been the Martian invasion, which had disrupted everyone's lives. It was enough to make anyone feel uncertain about who they were and where they were going... "What's wrong?" he asked her, keeping his voice as gentle as possible.

"I saw Magneto's helmet in my bedroom... and then I heard Alex's voice... but neither thing could have been real." She looked up into his eyes. "Betsy offered to help but I can't wait. I need to know now: am I insane?"

"Of course not," Dane assured her. "You've had some problems in the past but they're not affecting you now. I searched your mind when I first brought you to Avalon. You're cleansed."

Lorna rose to her feet, allowing Dane to help support her. "You're sure?"

Dane could see the fear in her eyes and he couldn't help but smile. "You're fine. 100%. I promise."

Lorna's featured shifted from relief to annoyance. "Then someone's doing this to me? It's an attack of some sort...."

"Not necessarily." Dane moved away from her, allowing her to stand on her own two feet. Overhead an owl soared past. "The timestream's been put through a wringer over the last few years. The stuff with Infinitus and Jaspers was bad enough, but what happened in the Corridor nearly tore this universe apart. Since you were at the center of it, there's a lot of possibility swirling about you."

"I don't follow you."

"Well... at the moment you stood at the center of the universe, you had the opportunity to make whatever changes you wanted, to the universe at large and most importantly to your own existence. In the end, you affected only a few universal changes, which is good... but the possibilities surrounding you, all the little what-if's and such, they cause some ripples. You've been experiencing the barest touch of those -- and you're not the only one."

Lorna started to ask what he meant when he gestured towards someone standing under a shady grove, not too far away. For a moment, Lorna's mouth hung open in mute surprise. When she finally found her voice, her words were full of fear and confusion. "How is that possible?"

Dane took a deep breath, raising his voice so that the other woman could hear. "Lorna Dane! I'd like to introduce you to someone."

Lorna realized that he was not addressing her at all. He was calling the other woman Lorna... and why not? She was an exact twin of Lorna herself, though she wore an older version Polaris uniform. The one the stranger wore was the purple and green affair that Lorna had used for many years, but had discarded prior to joining X-Factor. "My God, there's more than one of me, isn't there?"

Dane locked eyes with her. "She's not the only one. There are over a dozen of you here, all from slightly different timelines, slightly different possibilities."

"What are we going to do?"

"We're going to sort out who you are, Lorna. Completely. And then all the others will go away."

Adam Crown woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked over to his left, but Ginny was still sleeping soundly on her side. Her pregnant form looked both radiant and fragile to him in the dawn's half-light and he allowed himself a moment to lightly caress her rump. She smiled in her sleep but didn't wake up.

Adam rose from his bed, dressing quickly and quietly. He strode from his bedchambers, throwing a scare into the guards who were standing at half-attention outside his quarters. He spared them no words or glance, though he sensed that one of them had fallen into step behind him. He hated to admit it, but he missed having Mordred about. Though the bastard had proven to be untrustworthy, he'd been able to scry hidden meanings from Adam's dreams on several occasions. 

The King of Darkmoor stopped only when he'd stepped out onto a balcony, overlooking the new Chapel of the Green. It was nearing completion, with only a few more repairs needed before it could begin hosting services. The old beliefs were coming back under Adam's watch and he couldn't be more proud of that... but now he sensed that trouble lay on the horizon. 

"What ails thee, sire?"

Adam's mouth turned downwards for a moment as he heard the voice from behind him. He didn't turn to look at the source, for he knew it well. The words were tinged with concern, concern which went beyond the norm. "I... you know it well enough, Tangerine."

The beauty with the reddish-blonde hair moved up to his side, so close that their fingertips almost touched. A refugee from a dark future in which mutants had been hounded into concentration camps by all-powerful Sentinels, Tangerine had used her telepathic powers to aid the Pendragons* and the Dark Guard in the past. Since the disbanding of the Guard, she'd come to Darkmoor, trying to do everything she could to help Adam's dream of uniting Britain under his rule. "I shouldn't tease you, should I?" she asked, shaking out her hair. He could smell her shampoo and it made his heart break. Telepathically, she asked, Nightmares again?

(*Tangerine joined the short-lived "replacement" Pendragons in issue # 16)

"Yes. No. I don't know what I should call them actually. I saw a woman... Jessica Drew. She held Caliburn in her grasp, she had Arthur's spiritual blessing...."

"What does that mean? You're Arthur, aren't you?"

"I have part of his spirit within me, but that doesn't mean there aren't other heirs to his crown. To his legacy."

Tangerine pursed her lips, shivering slightly as the wind began to pick up around them. "So there's a woman out there who's going to come and challenge you? Is that it?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I saw Pete Wisdom. He... died."

"That can't be! I know Wisdom's alive. I heard from his sister not more than a day ago and--"

"This wasn't the same one. It was another, from another universe or something." Adam turned to face her, his handsome face showing all the pain and stress that he'd been enduring. "Things are coming to a head and I'm not sure where to turn. The prison breakout, the rising tide of confusion throughout the land, Betsy's plan to bring down the Barrier... I'm not sure what's the proper path for me to take. And now I'm afraid that Arthur's legacy won't even lie with me! That it'll be usurped by another!"

Tangerine reached up and silenced him, placing her fingertips against his lips. "And then there's us, isn't there? I'm so sorry for making all this harder on you."

Adam swallowed before speaking, taking her hand in his own. He held it against his chest so that she could feel the pounding of his heart. "It's not right. Ginny's pregnant and I've taken a vow to her...."

"But the attraction between us keeps growing," Tangerine whispered. Her face was tilted upwards towards his and both felt the magnetic urge to press their lips together. "I'll leave Darkmoor if you want. If that's what's best."

"I told you... I don't know what's right anymore."

"Adam?" Ginny's voice made them both jump, pulling away quickly and guiltily. The Queen moved into view, her hands resting atop her prominent belly. She smiled at the sight of them, showing no sign that she recognized the tension in the air. "I was looking for you."

Adam moved to his wife, forcing himself to look innocent. He loved Ginny, of that there was no doubt... but since Tangerine's arrival, he'd been drawn in two different directions and he hated himself for it. "Nothing wrong, I hope."

"No. Just lonely." Ginny kissed her husband's cheek, wrinkling her nose. "Are you really going to keep that beard of yours?"

"I think it makes me look distinguished."

"You're all scratchy." Ginny looked past her husband. "I've been meaning to tell you, Tangerine... I'm glad you're here. My husband needs someone to talk to and he's afraid of burdening me with details of his rule."

Tangerine blushed slightly. "It's the least I can do. In return for the hospitality, I mean."

Adam looked away, his mind turning temporarily from the affairs of heart. He planned to use the Pendragons' computer to look up information on this Drew woman, the one who had a spiritual claim to the throne. If she was worthy, perhaps a peace could be reached. If she was more like Mordred than Arthur, though... then he'd have to take drastic action to stop her.

The High Overlord moved amongst the fleshlings, feeling disgust at their very presence. He had learned to tolerate humans to certain extents over the years but he'd never fully come to appreciate them. They would always be a lower lifeform to him, a trained ape capable of the occasional bit of inspiration but nothing more.  

Lady Mandarin suspected these feelings in her new companion, but she cared little for them. They were unimportant to her, for as long as they were able to destroy her enemies, all was well. "We haven't had time to find a more suitable base for ourselves," she explained, guiding the armor-clad Martian through the twisting hallways of the abandoned office building her allies had commandeered. "But his will do until we claim Lyonesse for ourselves."

"I am still confused about how you found me," the Overlord mentioned, lowering his head to fit through a doorway. The other members of the Emissaries of the Dark were within, chatting amongst themselves. The ones called Dragonslayer and Hell's Angel were engaging in the human foreplay known as kissing, the Overlord saw, but the other two – Captain Englander and Jack O'Lantern – were looking through a newspaper together. All four of them glanced up when Lady Mandarin and the High Overlord entered the room but there were no exchanged greetings. Friendships were not needed here, for the most part.

"As I told you, I serve entities known as the Bane. They've watched you for some time and they encouraged me to find you before your enemies did." Lady Mandarin stopped at the meeting room table, turning to face her Martian ally. "You saw the sensor readings. They came to your lair within hours of us leaving. We saved you and your small band of troops."

"Ah, yes. And this is where I display my gratitude by offering to join your band of warriors," the Overlord said with sarcasm. "Perhaps you and your Bane don't realize who I am. I planned the invasion of Earth. I conquered it and—"

"In your reality, you conquered it. Here, the fight's still going on and events are proceeding along a different path than before." She nodded at Englander. "Bring it forth."

The Overlord watched with interest as Englander rose him seat, picking up a heavy metal case from the floor. He set it down on the table, carefully unlatching the front clasps on the box. "I'll be glad to be rid of the thing," Englander muttered. "It's been a bloody bear to handle."

The Overlord stepped forward as the box was opened and something began to crawl forth from within. It looked like pure shadow, writhing about like a snake. "What is that?"

"It's a representative of the Parliament of Darkness," Dragonslayer answered, rising from his own seat. His lover's hand was grasped tightly in his own and there was a look of excitement in their eyes. "It's been anxious to speak with you."

The High Overlord made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded a bit like the braying of a donkey. He snatched at Lady Mandarin, clutching her by the throat and lifting her off her feet. "You want to bind me to that thing, don't you? Make me a slave to your Bane, like you are? Never!"

"They can give you power," she hissed, her eyes going to her teammates, pleading for aid. She saw Dragonslayer begin to draw his sword.

"I will snap her neck before you can take any action," the Overlord warned. "Someone needs to repackage that beast."

Englander knelt and snatched up the wraith-like member of the Darkness and shoved it back into its cage. "It's done."

"Good." The Overlord dropped the Lady Mandarin to his feet. "Then let's make sure we're on the same page, shall we? I am a Martian. A higher lifeform. Humans are beneath me... but one has earned my ire. Killraven. I have journeyed from the future to see him dead and his world broken forever. You are all tools to an end. Do you understand? I don't care about this war between Avalon and the Bane."

Jack O'Lantern found her voice, the strange voice altering magic she preferred making her sound male. "Do you have a plan?"

"I have more than you have, from the looks of things. Killraven and the Pendragons share an aversion to seeing innocents die. I propose we draw them out, into a trap from which they will be no escape."

Englander glanced down at Lady Mandarin, who was slowly rising to her knees. "I have a feeling this is our last chance, mates. There's something brewing on the wind. I've felt it before, on scores of worlds. It's change. something fundamental is going to be altered very soon and the Bane are frightened." He placed a hand on the closed box, feeling the thing within shift and pulse. "The Bane's drawing power back into themselves for some reason. A last gasp attempt, maybe? I don't know. But if we want to be the ones to kill the Pendragons, we'll have to do it now. I'm sure of it."

"He's right," Hell's Angel agreed. "The whole mystic community's felt it. There are rumors of someone -- a man and a woman -- taking drastic actions. And I've heard there are a few temporal anomalies beginning to pop up. It's like the fabric of our universe is becoming tattered."

"Then let's agree to put my plan into action quickly," the High Overlord stated. "The sooner our enemies are dead, the sooner I can attempt to return to my native time... and revel in the total subjugation of the human race!"

Polaris of the Pendragons stared about, feeling her head growing dizzy. "Oh my god. This is incredible."

Dane Whitman allowed all the Lorna Dane's to watch each other for a moment before he continued. He'd assembled all of them in a large gazebo located on the shores of his lake. It had never existed before today but Dane had willed it into reality. "There were actually many more fractured portions of yourself -- possibilities -- created when you were in the Causal Corridor. These are only the ones who's realities were strong enough to survive this long. What we need to do is pick and choose what parts of each should be 'real.' The rest will then fade away and you'll all merge back into one being."

"Pick and choose?" one of the Lorna's asked. It was one dressed in a faux-Magneto uniform, complete with helmet. "There should no selection needed. I am the real Lorna Dane, heir to my father's legacy!"

"Magneto's not our father!" another retorted. This one wore a blue and yellow costume that mirrored the one Polaris had first worn with X-Factor. "That was a lie. Our parents died in a plane crash!"

"Enough." Dane Whitman held up a hand. He looked over at the Pendragon he'd chosen as his personal spy within his old team. "I have reasons for leaning towards you as the prime Polaris here. Do you want to handle the picking and choosing or shall I?"

"Where would I start?"

"Daughter of Magneto seems like a good one," Dane answered. "Yea or nay?"

Lorna stared at one variant of herself, who bore a wedding ring. "This isn't fair. I had a hard enough time making my decision when I was in the Corridor. And now I have to do it again?"

"I can do it for you...."

"No," she whispered. "I'd rather have a say in it." She closed her eyes, focusing her thoughts. "I'm not Magneto's daughter. I don't want that hanging over my head anymore. That was a lie, created by Starr Saxon and his Magneto robot." The Lorna Dane who wore Magneto's uniform vanished. "I met Iceman... Bobby... and was led into the X-Men. I met Alex Summers and we fell in love. At first we didn't want to be heroes, we just wanted to be with each other, but again and again we were led back into the life of adventure. It led us to X-Factor... and to breaking up." Lorna looked sad but resolute. She knew she could have Alex back this way but it wouldn't be right. Not at all. "I met a woman named Zaladane who claimed to be my sister. That was a lie, too. I was an only child, an orphan. The X-Men and their allies became my family over the years: Guido, Rahne, Jamie, so many others. Eventually I had a breakdown," Lorna hesitated here, unsure if she wanted to leave that part in. But it was part and parcel of who she was and could not be denied. "But I got better, overcame my weaknesses. When the chance came for me to come under the Barrier, I jumped at it, wanting a new start. I became your personal Pendragon and joined the team. I've come clean with them and they've forgiven me for the lies I told at the beginning. I'm more powerful than ever and I'm at peace with who and what I am." That last bit was a slight fabrication, but as she said it, it became real.

"You're done," Dane said.

Lorna opened her eyes and gasped. She was alone now, with the Lord of the Lake. She felt calm and self-assured, like she'd just accomplished something of great import. Looking down at herself, she was surprised to notice that her costume had been altered. "Where did this come from?"

"A gift from me. New beginning. New costume. It's tradition." He scratched his chin. "Listen. Tell the Pendragons something for me... I know they wouldn't care to hear it from my lips, but maybe they'll listen to it from yours: the timestream is not stable. We've all done our share to damage it. I just helped fix your little corner of it, but there are other tears out there. We've got to be careful in how we proceed. Make sure Betsy understands that."

"I'll pass it on." Lorna kissed him on the cheek, surprising him. "Maybe when you're done playing Lord of the Lake, you'll return to the group."

"They'd never have me."

"Things change. Just look at me," she laughed, spinning about to show off her new attire.

Dane joined her in laughing.

Lyonesse

Betsy Braddock stared at the assembled wards before her, the magical discs which Blackheart had used in his unsuccessful bid for power. Because of these things, most of Europe lay locked behind a barrier of immense power. It had been a blessing in some ways, for Britain and elsewhere had been spared the awful effects of the Martian invasion, but Betsy was anxious to see the Barrier come down. It was time for Europe to rejoin the rest of the world.

"When's the final tally due in?" Spitfire asked. Jacqueline was holding her youngest son in her arms, leaning against the doorway into the Pendragons' meeting room.

Betsy sighed, giving her old friend a wan smile. "Any minute now. It's rare for Parliament to meet behind closed doors like this and from what I've heard the debate has gotten a bit heated."

"I can imagine." Spitfire paused before continuing and Betsy stared at her, knowing what was coming. "We've had a vote of our own, you know."

"About whether or not to support me in this?" Betsy asked. "I thought I could count on all of you...."

"You can. That's what I wanted to tell you. We're all behind you, even Joey."

Betsy looked back down at the wards. "There's a 'but' coming, isn't there?"

"It'd be nice if you'd tell us everything you saw in your vision. Why the rush for the Barrier to come down? Shouldn't we take it slow, build up our forces before entering this war? You know I'm on your side, but I've been listening to the arguments and some of them have merit."

"I know they do. Believe me. But you'll have to trust me a little bit longer on this."

"Why can't you--?"

Before Betsy could reply, she felt a telepathic alert from Dark Angel. It was odd getting used to have another telepath on the team, she mused... and then frowned. She wondered if Shevaun had 'peeked' into her mind, anxious to find out Betsy's reasons for moving on this plan so quickly? She wouldn't dare, Betsy thought to herself, but fear rushed through her nonetheless.

Pendragons! Shevaun's mental voice yelled out. There's something on the telly you should all see.

Images followed the words, projected straight from Shevaun's eyes into the heads of her teammates. In the training room, Killraven and Nocturne looked up from their spirited sparring, while Union Jack and Cybermancer halted their conversation over a spot of tea in the dining room.

The High Overlord's face was filling the television screen, looking harsh and dangerous in his gleaming armor. "Greetings, people of Britain. You are most likely unfamiliar with me, thanks to the Barrier you have erected around your nation. But know this: I represent the Martian forces who have decimated the rest of your world. And I have seized the halls of power that you call Parliament. Your leaders, including the Prime Minister, are mine to do with as I will."

The image shifted to reveal the men and women of Parliament, standing huddled together while the Emissaries watched over them. "I will begin executing them one by one in the next five minutes. I will continue slaying them every five minutes after that, until the Pendragons arrive to surrender themselves into my care. I will then free these innocents.The man called Killraven, must be with them or the deal will be rendered null and void."

The image shifted, fading to black.

Betsy took a deep breath. She'd known they wouldn't have to wait long for the Emissaries to strike but this...? It seemed a bit obvious for them. Where was the months of planning, the stalking of their foes? But then she remembered what Killraven had told them about the High Overlord: He strikes directly, in full view so that everyone can witness his power. He has no fear.

"It's time to teach him some then," Betsy whispered. Pendragons, she projected, Suit up.

TO BE CONTINUED

A special back-up feature:

Unseen Hands: Removing Complications
Written by Joseph Connell

A single hour before the arrival of the Red King at Darkmoor*.

(*as shown in Pendragons # 83)

The door was the only way in or out of the cell. 

The sole occupant of the cell, laid out in repose, appeared no more formidable than would any ordinary man who was of middling height and weight, just shy of turning middle age.  There in fact seemed no reason at all for him to be afforded the entire subterranean wing of the prison to himself.  Provided, that is, there was anyone about to consider or even see such things.  The prison staff, busy as they were with more conventional inmates, had little time to worry or wonder how a single, unnamed, unrecorded inmate suddenly appeared in a cell that hadn't been used in over a decade. 

The only source of illumination within the cell was the little diffuse light the narrow slants of door itself allowed in.  All else was darkness, to mortal eyes at any rate.     

But then, no mortal eye however would be able to catch the innumerable sigils and wards and pictograms that had painted or chiseled or burnt directly into the stone walls, floor and ceiling of both the man's cell and every corridor leading to it.  Just as no mortal sense would ever perceive the dark forces that swirled about his otherwise inert form, these same forces held in check by the wards surrounding them as by his own semi-mortal flesh.

By rights, no one should have been able to approach the cell without tripping every alarm – both technological and mystical – in the prison.  Never mind actually gain entrance into the cell itself. 

The slender figure – its features hidden way in dark trench coat and under a fedora hat – made no sound as he padded down, unlocked and opened the cell's door, then slipped inside.  He made sure the door was fully shut and locked behind him; no sense in taking chances if things went wrong.

Eyes that caught the thin threads of light, that even seemed to sparkle with some inner radiance, stared into the darkness of the cell.  He could only barely make out the solitary cot in the corner, confirming it was the only piece of furniture there.  The intruder padded silently forward to stand at the foot of the cot itself. 

Before he could make another move, the cell's interior became alight with a gentle glow from the furthest corner opposite where he stood.  The intruder neither started or even flinched in surprise; he remained standing where he was, slowly, almost casually turning to face the light.

The crystalline features of Stephen Saunders twisted into something resembling polite mockery.  His hollow voice spoke "Greetings, Master of the Black Scrolls of A'sath'toth.  I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"I know you, strange mannequin?"  asked Nekros, a frown marring his otherwise hansom and youthful features.  A ball of magelight flared and flickered from his upraised fist, illuminating the cell and causing the many wards and sigils surrounding them to likewise glow.

"Mannequin?  First time I've ever been called that."  Saunders removed his hat, running a smooth palm over his perfectly shaped 'hair'; this made a sound of glass being scrapped across glass.  "Not entirely inaccurate, I suppose."

"You are familiar to me, mannequin," Nekros murmured, squinting against how Saunders 'skin' sparkled in the light.  The latter smiled with something nearly approximating bitterness, which was too mild a term for the expression.

"I should hope so," Saunders drawled.  "You've encountered my template too often to count."

"Strange?  Is that...no, surely not.  I felt your...no, I felt his death many a moon ago."

"Indeed you did," Saunders nodded, his manner now affecting modesty.  "But, with deference to the dearly departed, I admit I am not he."

"I can see that," Nekros snarled.  "I may be addled by these damned wards, but I'm hardly blind."

"Ah, yes.  The wards.  Strange you should mention those..."  Saunders smiled to himself, as though remembering some joke he alone was privy to.  "Imagine their surprise..." he murmured, then shook his head and returned full attention to the necromancer standing across the room.  "I apologize.  Its rude to let one's attention drift like that, isn't it?"

"What is it you wish here, mannequin?" Nekros demanded, his other hand coming up and beginning to glow in similar fashion to the first.  "Are you here to aid me or what?"

"I'm afraid its 'or what'," Saunders stated bluntly.  "I'm afraid you're too much a potential complication, and my calculations do not allow for unexpected complications.  Even predictable ones such as yourself."

"Oh?"

"Indeed.  We've gone to considerable time and effort to..."

"And who is 'we', exactly?"

Saunders clicked his tongue in disapproval; nails on a chalkboard was melodious in comparison to this strange sound.  "It's rather rude to interrupt, you know.  And who 'we' are...well, I rather think that's the least of your concerns, right now."

"Oh?"

"Indeed."  There was no threat in this one word, merely the promise of the inevitable.

Neither necromancer nor crystal figure made a move for many long moments.  Neither broke eye contact nor shifted in the slightest.  At length, Nekros lowered both his hands, although they remained alight.  The wards and sigils glowed even stronger now about them, soon filling the cell with their unearthly glow, bathing all corners in the color of fresh-spilt blood.  A similar glow, albeit far more subtle and subdued, could have been seen beyond the cell's door if either bothered to look.

Saunders casually removed his hands from the pockets of his coat.  Nekros tensed, eyes alert and themselves glowing, preparing to release the harnessed power he had marshaled against any hostile move.  Against any move at all, truth be told.  Since waking to find himself in this cell, alone and virtually incapacitated, he'd longed for a target to strike out against.  Now he had one.

Except, Saunders' manner was too casual, too calm to be an actual threat.  If anything, he was deliberately casual and calm, moving with such calculated ease that Nekros could see everything, his stance one of studied disinterest in his temporary cellmate.  He might as well have been alone in the cell, the way he took a cigarette from its embossed gold holder and lit it with a similarly elegant lighter.

The insult couldn't have been more blatant.

The smoke from the cigarette drifted lazily between Saunders' glass lips, pooling as a fog within his mouth.  There was evidentially nowhere for it to go; a further sign of the essential imperfection of his present existence.  Nekros calling him a 'mannequin' wasn't that far off the mark.  A lesser mind would have surely gone mad after only a few minutes of this mockery of life he'd awakened to the night the Barrier rose.

Rather than dwell on this, Saunders turned his attention back to his would-be rival.  Yes, he'd managed to get the necromancer well and truly furious, to the point where his next move would likely be his last on this plane of existence.  A not unpleasant thought in and of itself, granted, if only so he could be finished with this idiocy.

Nonetheless, he had to play this little drama to its inevitable conclusion. 

He kept his eyes fixed on Nekros, even as his hands once again returned to his pockets.  "I assure you, dark master," he said with casual politeness.  "What occurs next is purely in service of a higher cause.  There is absolutely nothing personal involved here."

Nekros said nothing, letting his sneer communicate his own feelings clearly.  "Remove your hands from your pockets," he growled.

Saunders simply shrugged and did as bade, his right hand now holding something that caught the light in an odd way.  Nekros caught sight of this and demaned "Open your hand!"  Again, Saunders complied, revealing a small square made of what looked like frosted glass nestled in his right palm.  "What is that?"    

Saunders cold, crystalline features twisted into a grin as he replied "Why, the instrument of your removal."  He tipped his hand ever so slightly, causing the glass square to tumble quickly to the floor, where it instantly shattered into a thousand glittering fragments, quickly leaving behind only a find mist that clung to the floor for several more moments before slowly spreading out.

Nekros took a long glance at the floor, then focused back on the hollow man standing across the cell.  "Whatever your plans..." he began, only to has Saunders cut him off with a loud, dry chuckle. 

"My plans?  Ha!  You couldn't begin to comprehend what I plan."  Saunders laughed a few more breaths before sobering and staring back the necromancer's eyes.  "I suppose you plan on blasting me into dust before I can make another move, eh?  No, don't bother answering.  I'd hate for you to waste your last breath."

"Whu...?"  Nekros then notice the mist that had been at Saunders' feet, what he'd presumed was nothing more than glass dust, was in fact...moving.  Not simply moving; stalking across the floor...directly towards him!  He unleashed twin bolts of eldritch energy at it, which by rights should have torn apart anything living or dead.

Both bolts passed completely through the patch of misty color that approached, their power easily absorbed by the wards surrounding them all. 

Nekros looked up at Saunders with a combination of shock and disbelief.  "Surprised?" Saunders asked rhetorically.  "Its not a gas or a mist or anything either you or I could possible understand."  He leaned back against the wall and smugly folded his arms.  "Well, anything you could understand perhaps.  I'm not nearly as...limited, shall we say?"

The only reply to this was Nekros loosing more eldritch bolts at the moving patch of whatever-it-was, all to the same effect.  Saunders' dry voice carried over the escalating din.  "Its actually a predator, one native to a region where what we comically call 'physical laws' operate in a completely different manner.  It's not a gas or a mist as I've said.  It isn't anything definable as real to you or I.  I call it 'the Colour', after a particularly prescient story by Lovecraft.  Have you ever read it?  That's 'Colour' with a 'u', by the way."

The creature, this Colour, was very nearly upon him, causing Nekros to back up against the wall and all but scream, "Call it back!"

Saunders simply shook his head.  "I can't.  There's no way for the likes of us to communicate with such a beast.  I doubt it would listen anyway."  He grinned again, cruelty and joviality entwined.  "Does scythe heed the plea of the bumper crop?"

Nekro was no longer listening, however.  The Colour had affixed itself to his leg, expanding quickly from there and soon covering his entire form with its vague, unnatural glow. "Ah...ahhhhh...aghhhhhh!" Nekros screamed as his body shriveled as the creature fed upon him.  His screams became hoarser and weaker as his own color drained, his skin becoming gray and leathery, his hair falling away until only a few strands of bleached white were left.

The Colour itself was not left unaffected by its feeding upon the necromancer.  It soon darkened and literally fell off Nekros's now shrunken, desiccated body, its eerie substance now a mishmash of black splotches and unnatural glowing radiance.  The entire form pulsed and surged, as if it were bodily gasping for breath.  Saunders watched this with some passing interest, apparently more concerned at patting down his pockets for something.

Soon the Colour issued a final shudder, then exploded in a burst of radiance and light and an inhuman howl, it seemed to extinguish all light with it, plunging the cell into darkness once more.  Saunders instinctively shut his eyes against the assault.  There was, he knew, little need for it, immune as he now was to the ravages of the physical world.  Still, habits die hard, even for an unliving mannequin.  He smiled grimly to himself at this thought as he found the item he'd been rummaging for.

Pulling the box of matches from his pocket, he struck one alight.  The glow from the single match was now the sole source of illumination there, casting its weak light only a short distance.  Saunders took a moment to examine the nearby walls, then floor, nodding to himself that the wards and sigils was all been scored clear. 

He slowly meandered over to where Nekros had fallen just moments earlier, soon coming to stand before the shriveled body of the necromancer.  He went down on one knee, holding the match close to the now-lidless eyes that stared out at him.  "Alas, poor necromancer," Saunders taunted with a true smile.  "Undone by something not even alive.  Ironic, given how there is nothing left to stop you from walking out that door." 

Saunders stood and dropped the match to the ground before the fallen body.  Amazingly, it remained alight, even as he spun on the heel of his polished dress shoes and marched away.  There was only the 'click-clack' sound of the door shutting but not locking behind him; the soft patter of his retreating footfalls was soon drowned out by other, louder, more frantic noises and sirens from far above. 

Had Saunders lingered just a few seconds, he might have caught how the staring eyes of the desiccated body behind him seemed to move downwards to stare at the flickering match.  This might have been simply a trick of the dying light, or not.  There was no one present to know one way or the other.

The small flame soon breathed its last and died out, leaving only cold, darkness behind.  The cell's solitary occupant was in no condition to complain, however.

Outside, the din of fast-spreading chaos could be heard, and the cell shook with each echoed explosion and the cheers of those villains now released.

Next Issue: Our current storyline comes to an end as Killraven confronts his oldest foe and we learn the truth behind Ravonna's recent actions. Plus: Polaris rejoins the Pendragons and we find out what the effects of this issue will really be....

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Sorry that the main Pendragons got scant attention this issue, I'm trying to hit on a lot of things as we head towards # 100. The new Polaris costume will be unveiled next issue, by the way.

You can reach me at aric_dacia@yahoo.com