Welcome one and all to the seventh chapter in a so-far seven part
serial starring Gerard Tolken, confused superhuman and a complete
failure at his chosen profession. On the trail of a kidnapped teenager,
he has run afoul of a nefarious scheme hatched by the Wizard. The
Wizard, wasting away with a terminal case of cancer, has devised a way
to leech the excess lifeforce of fourteen externals, and transfer it to
himself. One catch: the process is fatal for the externals...

THE HAMMER AND THE CROSS
Chapter Seven: "A Momentary Lapse of Reason"
by Jim Cannon

      Taskmaster watched with growing disgust as the Wizard
interrogated the Avenger, Siphon. Taskmaster never saw torture as a
useful means of gaining information. The threat, surely, but not the
act itself. Too messy, too cruel. He preferred his violence quick and
clean, not prolonged and gruesome. But the Wizard was the boss. He was
signing the checks, as wage-slaves said. Taskmaster was hired muscle;
he didn't make decisions of policy.
      He would not be the one to ask the Wizard to tone down his
sadism, particularly since he had defied a direct order from the
mastermind and freed several of the teenage mutants in Brazil.
Taskmaster was not looking forward to the Wizard's reaction to that bit
of indiscretion. But, dammit, it was the right thing to do. And it
alleviated some of the weight that was oppressing his conscience of
late.
     Bad dreams were plaguing him, dreams of darkness and sickness. In
one of the less terrifying ones, his skull mask had become grafted to
his face, and he wielded a giant syringe, plunging it into the bodies
of kindergarteners. Their small, innocent forms would invariably grow
twisted and horrific, as whatever mutagen Taskmaster injected into them
became active.
     The nightmare would progress for seeming hours, until the horror
was too much, and he awoke, screaming, bathed in sweat. He repressed a
shudder even now in the laboratory as he thought of it. He could not
even bring himself to recall his more explicit nightly journeys. After
one of those, he would sometimes need to spend some time hunched over a
toilet as the dry heaves took him where they would.
     As the caper progressed, and the psychological cost grew, his
doubts grew as well. How could he justify what he was doing? There was
money, yes, and lots of it, as well as the Wizard's promise of *real*
super abilities. With some actual powers, Taskmaster might actually
stand a chance against the Avengers. No more humiliating episodes with
Hawkeye and Ant-man. Ant-man for God's sake! How does one live that
down?
     So he went along with the plan. Supported Xian, defeated the
heroes who came to call, and, to ease his conscience, he liberated half
of the subjects -- the half not necessary for the Wizard's experiment,
but half nontheless. Taskmaster's only hope for avoiding the Wizard's
wrath was for the operation to be a complete success. That would mean
the Wizard's cancer would be destroyed, and he would return to full
health, with immortality as a possible side-effect.
      But the process, Taskmaster just learned as the Wizard gloated
over Siphon, would cost the children their lives.
      Taskmaster could feel the bile rise in his throat. The mask was
suddenly too tight. He fumbled with it, but his fingers felt thick. At
last, he grunted and pulled the mask away, taking a deep breath. He
chuffed it out again; the air in the small room was heavy with the
smell of blood.
      It was no hallucination -- the Wizard's devices were sawing into
Siphon, shearing off a large piece of flesh from the man's trunk.
Carmine fluid flowed from the wound, staining the x-shaped table upon
which he was spread-eagled, and pooling on the floor beneath.
     The Wizard watched in rapt attention, his cold blue eyes avidly
devouring each cut of the blade. Somehow, the device had avoided
cutting into an artery, so it seemed likely Siphon, even in his
de-powered state, wouldn't bleed to death before he could heal himself.
If he was lucky, he would survive this round, ready to face more
tortures.
     Taskmaster tore his face away from the gruesome tableau and
regarded Selene. Her face was flushed, her lips slightly parted, her
breasts, snug in the leather bustier, rising and falling as she
breathed heavily. She was getting off on this. Taskmaster couldn't
believe it, couldn't contain the disgust any longer.
     Without a word, he turned and left the room. The door shut softly
behind him.
     The Wizard looked up from the moaning form of Siphon, and caught
Selene's gaze. "I guess he just doesn't have the stomach for this, my
dear."
     Selene, mentally monitoring Siphon's agony, didn't say a word.

     Taskmaster walked quickly down the corridor, his long stride
carrying him away from the torture chamber. *What the hell am I doing
here with these sickos?* he asked himself. *I don't belong here. I
wonder if I ever did.*
     He stopped in the hallway. A technician in a purple jumpsuit
walked past him, one her way to the main lab, where Xian was setting up
the cylinders in preperation for the experiment.
     A thought sparked in Taskmaster's mind, a thought that he quickly
suppressed, lest Selene pick it up. She was probably too engaged with
Siphon and the Wizard, but it always paid to be careful around a tele-
path. At least, thats what Emil said.
     *Emil! Shit. What am I going to do about him?*
     Taskmaster stood in the hallway for a full minute, wracked by
indecision, and then suddenly strode purposely in the direction
_opposite_ of the lab.

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

     The cell was small, and uncomfortable. One side held a low bunk, a
straw thick, that stretched from end to end of the cell. The space
between the edge of the bunk and the far wall was barely a foot thick.
There wasn't enough room to pace. Still, Dick Grayson, Nightwing, tried
just that. He wasn't very successful, a failing that had come to him
all to easily of late.
      Maybe he wasn't ready for a solo career. Before, there had always
been partners, friends. People he could rely on in times like these --
or, more likely, to keep him out of times like these. First was Bruce,
his surrogate father and friend. Then there was the Titans -- Donna,
Wally, Vic, Gar, Ray, and, of course, Kory.
     Kory. *Damn. I promised myself I wouldn't think about her* Too
much pain. Too many happy memories, and one horrible one. At the altar.
     He squashed that down deep, pushing it away with the desperation
of a drowning man.
     What was going on with Siphon? Where had they taken him? What
exactly was planned for the children? And who was really pulling the
strings?
     That was what should be occupying his mind, not thoughts of what
might have been. He needed to concentrate on the now. Still, the
temptation to wallow in self-pity was a tantalizing one. Of course, in
all likelihood, it was that same self-pity that was hamstringing him,
holding him back, causing him to screw up and make bad judgements.
     Like coming here alone. That wasn't a bright idea. But it might be
result, not of being on his own, but of his depression. His morbid
fascination with his ruined relationship. Ruined -- maybe not. Somehow,
somewhere, he would see her again. She had as much as said so. But
would things return to the way they were? Could he take her to that
altar again, knowing she had refused him once before?
     No, most likely not. There would always be some more pressing
concern. Perhaps the demands of her stellar heritage, or his terran
one. *Romeo and Juliet, star crossed lovers indeed. They had nothing on
Kory and I*
     And there he was, thinking about her again, when he would best
serve himself and several kidnapped children by figuring out a means of
escape. *What would Bruce think? Probably give me a stern look. Of
course, he's more dedicated to the mask than I ever will be. He can
separate the two, at least socially. New motto for Nightwing: no more
dating teammates.*
     He smiled to himself. Such things were easier said than done. That
redhead, Mars, for example....
     The sound of someone coughing interrupted Dick's reverie. Outside
the door, visible through a small barred window, stood the Taskmaster.
     The smile on Dick's face disappeared, replaced by a scowl. "Come
to gloat, Taskmaster?"
     The man looked at Nightwing for a moment, then said in a hoarse
whisper. "No. I've come to get you out of here."
     Dick just stared at him. His mind had gone blank. This was the last
thing he would have expected from the mercenary. Yet, without
explanation, he keyed open the door to Dick's cell. The door swung out,
but Dick stayed where he was.
     "Just what the devil are you playing at?" he said.
     "Look, there really isn't time to explain," Taskmaster said. He
had a metal suitcase in one hand, and a heavy canvas sack in the other.
He tossed the canvas sack into the cell. Dick stared at it, not yet
daring to trust the skull masked villian.
     "I...," he paused, took a deep breath, "I can't let the Wizard
kill those kids. No matter how much he's paying. And I can't get them
out of here on my own. I need your help against Emil."
     Dick crouched down, not taking his eyes off of Taskmaster, and
checked the contents of the bag. Within, he felt his weaponry and gear.
Batarangs, cables, fingerprint kit, lockpicks, radio, and a host of
other little goodies.
     Dick picked up the bag and stepped out of the cell. He manuevered
himself so that Taskmaster was too far away to make an attack, but
close enough for Dick to reach him, even in the close quarters of the
hall. "Free the others," he said. As Taskmaster proceeded to do so,
Dick added -- "Drop the case, and lose the cloak, too. I want to see
your hands."
     Taskmaster glowered at Dick for a moment, then cursed and did as
Dick asked. Meanwhile, Dick was busy transferring his trinkets out of
the bag and back into the secret pockets and pouches on his costume. As
he did do, a startling thought occurred to him. *What if Taskmaster is
being honest? What if he really does want to save those kids?*
     *Doesn't matter if he is,* he thought, *because we're out now. And
this time, we're staying out.*
     Taskmaster keyed open Mars' door, and then Morning Star's.
     Taskmaster stepped away from them, his hands held up and away from
his body. Quite a number of weapons were revealed, and, Dick knew,
there would be several more hidden away elsewhere on his person.
     "What next, Taskmaster?" Dick said, discarding the bag.
     "The girl's armor is in the case. There is a key on my belt that
 will unlock the collar on the other one."
     Before Dick could say anything, Mars opened the case. "Hey. This
_is_ my armor," she said, pulling out the silver and black plates.
     "I don't like this. I smell a rat," Morning Star said.
     Taskmaster looked agitated. "Yeah, I know how this looks. I'm not
an idiot. You people have no reason to believe me. But I won't be a
party to the deaths of children, and that's just whats gonna happen
unless you *do* trust me."
     Morning Star took an aggressive step towards Taskmaster, and Dick
made a snap decision. "Hold it, Star. Taskmaster, give me that key. But
first, I want your word that what you say is true, and that no harm
will come to us, or the children, from you."
     Morning Star looked at Dick incredulously. Mars slipped into her
armor, oblivious to the conversation. Taskmaster visibly relaxed. He
recahed for his belt, and withdrew a small metal object from a pouch.
He tossed it to Dick. "You have my word," he said.
     "You're not actually going to trust him, are you, Nightwing?"
Morning Star said as Dick drew close to her.
     "I can't see as we have much choice, Star, " he said, locating a
small opening in the side of the collar, and slipping the metal key
into it. With an audible click, the collar fell away, clattering on the
floor.
     An intense white light filled the room for a brief flash, and then
faded. Morning Star flexed, a thin layer of ghostly light enveloping
her body from head to foot. "I feel MUCH better," she said.
     "Good," Taskmaster said, picking up his cloak. Dick tensed, and he
felt Morning Star go rigid beside him, waiting for Taskmaster to make
his move. *If he's going to make one, that is,* Dick thought.
     But the mercenary made no attack. Instead he said, "Let's get
going."
     "Not so fast," Mars said, clicking the last piece of armor into
place and standing. Dick had to admit she looked impressive in the form
fitting back and silver steel, and he could tell Taskmaster was
impressed as well. "Where's Siphon?" Mars commanded. She held a short
cylinder of metal in her hand. She touched a button, and a three foot
long energy blade sprang from the tip.
     Taskmaster shook his head. "He's with Selene and the Wizard. But
the children are the priority, here. Right?"
     "Maybe. But I'm going after Siphon. The rest of you take care of
the children."
     "No, Mars, let me," Morning Star said. Dick glanced at her. Were
all these women infatuated with Siphon? "If Selene is there, you won't
stand a chance. I should go. Her telepathy won't be much use against
me."(#)
    Mars seemed to hesitate, then nodded.
    Morning Star smiled. "Alright Tasky. I need directions."
    Dick suddenly had the feeling that they might all make it out of
this caper alive, and in one piece.

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

       My throat, hoarse and taxed, gave out before the blade finished
its sweep. Out of pain blurred eyes I saw the claw hand grasp hold of
the section of flesh severed by the saw, and lift it off the table, to
lay it down upon a plexiglass tray that the Wizard produced. He covered
the tray with a transparent cap, and then placed it within a small
refridgeration unit built into the console on my left.
      My side was raw, burning with white hot pain. The effects of the
drug and the savage attack were causing me to hallucinate. I could
swear that the molded corpses of my parents had appeared, hovoring over
Selene's shoulder. They were waiting for me to join them.
      My father's skeletal hand beckoned to me. I struggled vainly
against my bonds in an effort to rise and join him. He seemed to shake
his head sadly. Then he and mother drifted backwards, through the wall,
and dissappeared.
      I could not understand the Wizard or Selene as they gestured and
admired my wound. Something was happening...but what? I tried to focus
past the haze, but my attention was called away.
      Colt had entered the room. Funny. I didn't even see the door
open. His silver and violet costume was torn and decrepit; his face and
hands and chest showed the scars and ravages of the legacy virus that
had consumed him. He pointed an accusatory finger at me. His cracked
mouth opened, his gray lips forming words. I strained to understand,
but I could not hear him.
      And then, just as I began to realize he was saying "Your fault,"
his image was blasted away by the arrival of Cygnus. He formed out of
the vapor, his head collapsed and shattered by the blow of my hammer.
Only his mouth remained. Gore stained his flowing alien garments, and
he glided over the ground to me.
      He leaned over, his arms bracing on my shoulders, and his ruined
features coming close to mine. His mouth opened, revealing sharp and
pitted teeth. "I will see you soon, my son," he said, forming the words
carefully in English. Then he leaned down and kissed my cheek.
      Right about here I lost it completely.
      I found my voice again, and managed to unleash a shout of denial.
Rage and fear sent adrenalin pumping into my arms and legs. My bonds
shattered, spraying metal bits about the room, scattering Cygnus's
image. Only the Wizard and Selene remained in the room.
      The Wizard stared at me blankly, one hand pointing towards the
wound in my side. Selene looked startled for a moment, but quickly
regained her equilibrium. She blasted at me with her psionic powers,
but my anger and anguish were total; her attack glanced off my psyche
completely. Screaming in animalian rage, I jumped down from the table
and swept the Wizard aside.
     He flew across the room, crashing against the far wall.
     I reached for Selene. She backed away -- difficult to do in the
cramped quarters of the operating room -- and animated the table behind
me. It reached up with metal arms to grab at my torso, pulling me from
its mistress. I twisted, reaching behind me to take ahold of the base
of the table. It wrenched free from the ground with one pull.
     By this time the table was flowing over me, trying to envelop me
in its cold embrace. I saw the sphere in the ceiling descend, its arms
spreading out, its gruesome tools humming with malevolent power.
     On my right, the Wizard picked himself up, tearing away the
surgeon's gown he wore, revealing a form-fitting suit of violet and
pink armor. He slipped on some gloves.
     In desperation, I peeled the flowing table off of me, and used it
as a shield when the sphere attacked. Blades, saws, and drills glanced
off, but a cutting laser began to burn through. The arms of the table
still flowed like mercury around my torso, drawing me to it.
     The Wizard raised his hand, pointing a finger at me. His fingertip
began to glow.
     Suddenly, the door burst open with a metallic scream, and Teresa
exploded into the room. Selene and the Wizard were momentarily
distracted. The table stopped flowing for a second, and I seized the
opportunity to heave the table at the sphere. Both collided, and the
globe exploded with a shower of sparks.
     The Wizard aimed a finger blast at Teresa, but it glanced off her
bio-field. She unleashed an optic blast that floored him, knocking him
into a computer bank. Selene narrowed her eyes at Teresa, but the
bio-field protected her from psionic as well as physical attacks.
Teresa flew across the room and slammed Selene with a fist.
     The Black queen dropped to the floor, unconscious.
     Teresa turned to me, saying something. I couldn't hear. Her
expression changed when she saw the gaping wound, and she gently eased
me to the floor. She tore off Selene's cloak and wound it tightly
around my midsection. She moved her mouth, forming words, but they did
not register on my fevered conciousness.
     She stopped trying to communicate and, after a bit, the roaring in
my ears subsided, and the world returned to its normal dimensions and
colors. My side was in agony.
     "Where are the others?" I asked through gritted teeth.
     "Taskmaster freed us," she said slowly. "Tasha, Nightwing and he
went to find the children." Her voice betrayed her concern, both for
the others and me.
     "I'll be fine. Go after them. I'll catch up," I said.
     She shook her head. "C'mon. I know you're indestructible and all,
but I'm not letting you out of my sight." She gripped my elbow, and
helped me up. With the adrenalin rush fading and the pain increasing, I
was forced to lean on her more than I wished.
     "Can you stand up alright on your own?"
     I nodded. She let me go, and I surprised myself by staying on my
feet. Teresa produced the collar she had worn earlier, the device that
inhibited her powers, and affixed it around Selene's neck. With a snap,
it came together, and a red light went on, signaling it was working.
     I stood, letting my body work on itself, stopping the bleeding and
sealing up the wound, while Teresa ensured our foes wouldn't provide us
with any further trouble. She tore open the Wizard's armored suit and
then bound Selene and he with the pliable remains of the surgical
table.
      When she was satisfied, we departed the scene, heading for the
bowels of the fortress, to help rescue the children, among them
Teresa's sister.

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

     Dick still puzzled at Taskmaster's change of heart, even as he,
Mars, and the man in question walked at a rapid pace through the
gleaming corridors of the subterranean headquarters of the Wizard. Dick
still wasn't certain he knew who the Wizard was, but he had a good
idea. He was someone sick enough to turn the Taskmaster against him, a
man who could make a cold-blooded mercenary have conscience pangs.
     *Sounds like the Wizard and the Joker could get along well* Dick
mused. His daydream was brought to an abrupt halt as a purple-suited
technician walked into their path from a side-corridor.He looked at
the trio oddly, and began to voice a question.
     "Don't even say it, pleb," Taskmaster barked harshly. "Get lost."
With a startled look, the technician bolted down the corridor. He
looked back once.
     "Was that smart, letting him go? Won't he alert the base?" Mars
asked, her voice acquiring a metallic quality as it passed through her
suit's speaker.
     "Has to happen sooner or later," Taskmaster grumbled. "Besides,
he won't know what to make of this. It'll be a while before he
decides what to do."
      Mars and Dick exchanged looks, but there was little they could
do. A moment later, the whine of an alarm echoed through the hallway.
    "You were saying?" Dick smirked.
    Taskmaster muttered a choice curse under his breath, then began to
run down the hall. "C'mon. We don't have much time!"
    Dick and Mars sprinted after him.

    Five minutes later, Taskmaster skidded to a halt in front of a
massive steel door. Dick was feeling a bit winded; a bad sign. He'd
been cramped up in that cell for too long. Mars looked fine, but then
her exoskeleton probably reduced fatigue.
   There was still no sign of guards, although the annoying whine of
the alarm continued unabated. Another bad sign. Dick wondered how
Morning Star was doing. Had Selene and this Wizard proved too much for
her? And how could he hope to fight a telepath? Empaths were difficult
enough...
   Taskmaster punched a code into the pad by the door. Nothing
happened. Irritated, he punched it in again. He stared at it a moment.
"What the hell is going on? They couldn't have changed the code
already..."
  Dick was liking this less and less. It was looking more and more like
a set up every moment. He looked around, unclipping a batarang from his
belt as he did so.
   "Allow me," Mars said, pushing Taskmaster aside and producing her
energy blade. With a flick of a button, the weapon ignited, and she
swung the sword in a wide arc. It connected with the door, slicing
through it with ease. Sparks skittered off the metal as she cut open a
hole large enough for them to slip through.
   When she finished her cut, she pushed against the door, and the
metal piece she excised clattered against the floor on the other side.
She stepped through immediately, and to Dick's surprise, Taskmaster
hopped through right after her.
   As if on cue, purple suited guards appeared at the end of the
corridor, led by a man in a suit of power armor adorned with spikes and
weapons. "Shit," Dick muttered. As he leapt after Mars and Taskmaster,
the corridor lit up with blaster fire.

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

     Teresa resisted the urge to carry me. I could sense her urgency,
her need to find her sister and make sure she was all right, but she
also knew I needed time to heal, time to pull my body back together.
So we walked. At first I leaned against her, but the further we
progressed, the stronger I felt.
     By the time the alarms went off, I was walking on my own. My side
still ached, and Selene's cloak was caked with blood. At the same time,
my side itched with new growth. My immortal cells, though weakened,
were taking care of me.
     When the alarm went off, Teresa started, surprised by the siren's
wail. I started as well, but not because of the alarm; I'd been
expecting it for some time. No, I felt something at the edge of my
senses. Something familiar and half-forgotten. It called to me.
     When we came to a branching in the hall, Teresa turned left. "No,
this way," I said, heading to the right. It was calling me, and I
needed to answer.
     "Gerry -- the others need us. Taskmaster gave me directions. We're
supposed to go left here," Teresa called. I shook my head and didn't
answer, compelled down the right hand passage. After a moment, Teresa
caught up with me.
      "What are you doing?" she asked.
      "There's... something down here I need to find," I answered, not
slowing.
      "What?" she demanded. By this time I had a pretty good idea, but
neglected to answer, deciding instead to concentrate on putting one
foot in front of the other. I stopped when we reached a door.
      "Open it," I commanded.
      Teresa gritted her teeth and seemed ready to refuse. But she
turned and grabbed the door, digging her fingers into it and ripping it
off the wall. She tossed it aside and I stepped into the room. It was
fairly large, a bedroom, and it looked spartan and clean.
     The bedsheets were folded with military precision, and the metal
desk and computer console gleamed. The walls and floor were bare. The
dresser showed no markings. If not for the beat-up footlocker under the
bed, I would have assumed the room unused.
     I smiled, feeling the welcome coldness of my old friend as it
washed over me. It missed me, and it wanted me back. Good. I would need
its help in getting us out of here. I walked across the room, dragged
the footlocker out, and ripped it open.
     There, lying on a white cloak, was my hammer.
     "Frostfang," I whispered, picking it up. It hummed with power,
pleased to be returned to its master's hands.
     Teresa looked a bit relieved. She must have thought I was going a
bit weak in the head. "Now?" she said.
     I smiled. I felt better than I had in a long while. "Now," I said,
"It's clobberin' time."

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

      Dick tumbled, tucking his legs under him, and rolled into a
standing position -- it looked complicated, but it was as easy to him
as breathing. In front of him, Taskmaster produced his own energy
blade, a knockoff of the Black Knight's, but he didn't ignite it. Mars
stood warily, her blade extended in a classic fencer's pose.
      In the center of the room, set up in a ring, were sixteen
cylinders filled with goo, teenagers bobbing around inside them. Thick,
organic looking cables plugged into the roof of each cylinder and
connected them to a seventeenth in the back of the room. This one was
empty, and a short Asian man stood near it, his nose bandaged under
eyes wide with surprise.
      The Abomination leaned against the wall, his arms folded across
his chest. He seemed unconcerned. *And why should he be?* Dick thought.
*This guy has fought the incredible Hulk to a standstill. How in hell
are we supposed to beat him?*
      "Taskmaster, what are you doing?" the Abomination rumbled.
      "I'm sorry, Emil. I have to stop this," Taskmaster said.
      Dick produced a second batarang, preparing to let fly. He glanced
through the door behind him. Nobody yet. They were taking their time.
      *Damn.*
      "Stop what? You're supposed to be on our side, Taskmaster. I've
heard you say several times that you wished these heroes were dead. Yet
now you will stand with them against me? Against our benefactor?" The
Abomination's voice rose a few octaves as he spoke.
       Taskmaster grinned humorlessly. "Yeah, that's about it, Emil.
The Wizard is gonna kill these kids. I just can't let that happen."
      "Of course he is!" the Abomination shouted. "What did you expect
he was going to do? You knew from the beginning what you were getting
into. Now you're having second thoughts? Preposterous. I hope you
realize the consequences of your actions."
      The Abomination unfolded himself from the wall. Behind Dick, a
soldier poked his head and the barrel of his rifle through the hole. A
batarang knocked him into dreamland. *One down...how many to go?* Dick
thought.
      "Emil, please. Listen to me," Taskmaster pleaded. "These kids are
innocent. They haven't had time to screw up their lives yet. They
haven't picked sides. They don't deserve death."
      The Abomination smiled. "Few people ever get what they deserve."
He exploded into action, racing towards Taskmaster and Mars, fists
flailing. One lashed out to peg Mars, but she leapt out of the way, and
the fist smashed into the ground. Taskmaster pulled off a bound worthy
of Spider-Man, igniting his lightsaber as he did so.
      Dick was left standing there, looking the Abomination right in
the eyes. He smirked. "Howdy, Gruesome."
      The Abomination lashed out with preternatural swiftness, but Dick
was up and away, flipping through the air to land -- for an instant --
on the Abomination's head. Then he bounced away behind the beast.
      Two guards burst into the room, guns blazing. Blaster fire
slammed into the Abomination's chest. When they realized their mistake,
the soldiers disappeared as quickly as they arrived, barely evading the
Abomination's rage in the process.
      Mars darted in and lashed out with her blade, opening up a wicked
gash in the acid-scarred side of the Russian. Only partly cauterized,
the wound leaked greenish blood onto the floor. The Abomination aimed a
fist at Mars, but a batarang caught his nose, momentarily distracting
him, and Mars bounded away.
      "If it bleeds, we can kill it," Mars shouted.
      The Abomination uttered a curt bark. "Better men than you have
tried in the past. And failed."
      Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw the Asian man edge into
the recesses of the room, where the shadows could hide an escape
route. Dick spun and loosed a bola. It flew gracefully through the air,
and caught the man in the legs, tripping him up. He fell to the ground.
     Taskmaster shouted at the Abomination. "C'mon, Emil! Be realistic!
I don't want to hurt you."
     "It's past time for that," the Abomination said. Already, the wound
Mars inflicted was closing up. *Am I the only person here without a
healing factor?* Dick wondered, pulling out two more batarangs.
     Mars unleashed a barrage of laser fire from her wrist blasters
that startled the Abomination, and actually forced him to take a step
back. Taskmaster, apparently done with talking, took the oppurtunity to
slash behind the Abomination's knee. The green giant staggered, but
kept his footing.
     His fist flew for Taskmaster's head, but the mercenary managed to
dodge, barely. But the effort left him off-balance, and he fell to the
floor. His sword was knocked from his hands.
    The Abomination prepared to make the coup de grace, but a blow from
behind rocked him, and disillusioned him of the notion. The monster
turned, his eyes red with rage, and beheld two more combatants ready to
enter the fray.
    The cavalry had arrived, and it looked like hell. Siphon was
battered, still showing a few yellow bruises from his previous tussles
with the Abomination. A dark garment was bound around his abdomen, and
it looked soaked with blood. His skin was pale, and sweat made it look
shiny under the harsh lights. In his right hand he held a blue-white
warhammer with a too-short shaft.
    Next to him stood Morning Star, her body outlined with ghostly
light that seemed to pulse with anger. She hovered a few inches off the
ground, tense and ready to attack.
    In contrast to Morning Star's readiness, Siphon looked like he was
ready to fall down.

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

      I felt like falling down. Throwing Frostfang at the Abomination
took more out of me than I expected, especially after the reception
in the hall. But I kept my feet under me, and assessed the situation.
The Abomination was regarding me, his rage not yet great enough to
cloud his reason. Nearby, the Taskmaster picked himself off the floor.
Tasha stood at the ready, blasters and sword primed. Nightwing
crouched by the empty cylinder, the one intended for the Wizard.
      Everything seemed frozen. I took a deep breath and spoke.
      "You've got two choices, Mr. Blonsky. Give up now, and we'll go
easy on you. Persist in this adolescent display and I will take it out
on your hide." I managed to smile threateningly too.
      "You are no threat, Avenger, and as for your friends -- they are
but the stinging of hornets to me."
      "The hard way, then?" He grinned and nodded, advancing a step.
      I let him have it.
      Tasha opened up with her blasters.
      Teresa unleashed the full force of her optic beams.
      The Abomination staggered under the onslaught, but pressed his
attack. His skin blackened and burned as Tasha's blaster fire tagged
him, and Teresa's beams slowed him down. But still he came. My arm grew
tired too quickly. I gasped for air, taking an involuntary step
backward. He was almost on top of us.
      Teresa switched tactics; she grabbed me and flew out of the way.
The Abomination slammed his fists into the ground where we had stood
a heartbeat before. The steel of the floor tore like tissue paper.
      Teresa landed by Nightwing. He looked concerned. "You okay, big
guy?" I nodded, focusing my attention on the massive Russian. Slowly he
turned. His back was scorched and flaking from Tasha's barrage. One eye
was swelling shut, and his chest was covered with welts from Teresa's
attack.
      Taskmaster stood close to the Abomination, his sword held at the
ready. "You can keep fighting Emil. But eventually they'll wear you
down. You know it. I know it. They know it. Do the smart thing. Leave."
      The Abomination regarded him coldly for a moment, and I feared
that he might actually kill the mercenary. Instead, he said, "I will
remember this Taskmaster." Then he turned and shouldered his way
through the door, out into the hall, and away.
      Teresa looked at me. "Should we go after him?"
      I shook my head. Then my knees went out from under me, and I lost
consciousness.
      I hate when that happens.

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

(#) Author's Note: Teresa's resistance to psionics isn't just a
conveniant add-on in this chapter. I mentioned it way back in Chapter
One.

Taskmaster, Abomination, Wizard, and Selene are all (C) Marvel Comics,
used without their consent.
Nightwing is (C) DC Comics, also used without consent. But there's
really no need to sue me...

Siphon, Mars, and Morning Star are all (C) James M.G. Cannon, who is
not a big corporation but can still be possessive about his characters.

Good news! This story is now archived on Hawk's page. The address:
http://gwis2.circ.gwu.edu/~hawk/fanfic.html

As always, send your comments, suggestions, anecdotes or dememtia to me
at: X8CG@MUSIC.STLAWU.EDU