Champions of Eternity, Chapter 1
Here it is, as I said yesterday--the first chapter of the story mentioned in the post below. All the caveats I mentioned below apply, of course. Now, here goes:
There is more than one universe. Each begins, and within it a million million decisions are made, and each calls into existence its own myriads of quantum possibilities. Thus, at each choice, a new universe springs into being, a fresh-grown twig on the tree of time.
Each universe floats-a four-dimensional mote-part of a 196,833-dimensional hyper-colloid resembling a snowflake. The fluid in which they float is known, in those universes in which it is known, by many names. Some call it the Bleed, after its crimson colour; others call it Hypertime. Still others, who walk between universes as easily as stepping across a stream, refer to the sum of universes beyond their own simply as “Shadow”.
And in the Bleed itself-there are people. They are explorers, dreamers-superhumans, capable whether by art or instinct of traversing the higher dimensions. Like gods they soar, commanding the very fabric of reality itself. They are heroes, villains, soldiers, scientists and adventurers. Theirs is the Multiverse, and everything in it-a pure, precious gem.
At the wall at which what most would refer to as “realspace” intersected the higher dimensions, in a minor capillary of one of a hundred thousand tributaries to a lesser Bleed-stream, itself a tiny tributary of one of the great Bleed-channels coursing across the Multiverse, there stood a man. He was of average height, black hair brushed straight back from a round, Asiatic face, well-honed muscles tensed beneath black, skin-tight quantum armor. A cape of purest white flapped from his shoulders.
The man concentrated for a moment, focusing his will against the barrier that separated him from his destination. In front of him, a portal opened. Beyond could be seen pure blackness, interspersed with stars. The man paused a moment, a smile of anticipation on his lips. In a way, he was going home. Beyond the portal, he knew, he would find friends. He would find peace. Most of all, he would find refuge, and rest-a time to heal, and forget, for a while, the hundred secret wars in which he had fought.
He gathered himself, and stepped through.
He felt the cold of vacuum envelop him as he emerged in orbit around the planet. Smiling, he realigned himself, facing the planet in preparation for re-entry-and stopped short. The smile vanished, to be replaced by an expression of incredulous shock.
Below him, making its way across the planet’s surface like a hungry mold, an immense cloud of black smoke billowed.
The flying man floated above the planet watching this, a look of dismay and grief slowly stealing across his face. Inside his eyes, several very specialized cells within his optic nerve came to life. Abruptly, he found himself viewing the scene in the infra-red spectrum. A chill hand clenched around his gut as he saw the heat of a million forest fires twinkling like a horde of malevolent glowworms crawling across the surface of a continent.
“No,” the man whispered, the sound spiraling off into nothingness in the vacuum of space. With a sudden effort, he dived, riding gravitation’s pull down into the churning clouds.
Down he fell, the atmosphere around him glowing from the heat of his re-entry. A thunderous shockwave slapped aside the choking clouds of smoke and smashed the flames below into quiescence as he passed.
A brilliant beam of light, glittering as it ionized the surrounding air, stabbed up towards the man. He swerved, the beam going wide as the gunner overcompensated for the sudden motion. Ahead of him, an immense titan of metal and pulsating, alien flesh loomed. The man howled, clenching his fists above his head. A black shell of quantum energy sprang into existence about him. With a thunderous crash, he met the armor head on. The heavy plasteel crumpled under the impact. As he shot through the interior and out the other side, the immense backplate crumpling outward under the assault, the great machine toppled backwards, the force of its fall shaking the earth itself and knocking the tiny figures that scurried about it off their feet.
Onward the man flew. Gradually, he slowed, until he found himself hovering over what had once been a verdant wood. Numbly, he stared at the destruction laid out before him. Great swathes had been burned through the trees with some sort of energy weapon. Others lay piled in great heaps, as if tossed by a careless giant.
The man’s hands clenched into fists as he surveyed the carnage. About the soot-covered ground were strewn the bodies of many animals, the former inhabitants of the wood.
Several of them looked as if they had not died quickly.
Quickly, the man looked around. A flash of white under a fallen tree caught his attention. His cape billowed in the hot wind as he descended to the forest floor. Slowly, he made his way across the burned ground to where the tree lay.
Lying under the trunk, eyes staring wide from the terror of its final moments, was a unicorn. The man knelt by the creature’s head, placing a hand upon its blood-spattered neck. Still beautiful, he thought, even in death. They were beauty exemplified, the unicorns-beauty and wonder and imagination made flesh.
At least, they had been. This wood had been their haunt-the last refuge of an ancient race in a new age-and more. He remembered the animals-how the unicorns’ presence had seemed to attract them, infuse new life into them, so that, in better days, every tree seemed to have had a creature living beside, in or around it. Now…
Rage flared in the caped man’s heart as he looked upon the still, broken form that had once been one of the multiverse’s most beautiful creatures. Gently, he closed the dead unicorn’s eyes, then stood up.
Striding away, he swept his cape away from his side with his left arm, revealing a katana sheathed at his hip. With one smooth motion, he drew the weapon, the blade glowing eerie blue in the smoke-obscured sunlight. From the back of his throat emerged a low, animalistic growl. Whoever had done this-for whatever purpose-they would pay. Senses beyond human knowledge probed the wood around him, searching for a sign-any sign-of those who’d perpetrated this atrocity.
Microfusion reactors glowed brightly to quantum-enhanced senses. He could see them now, bounding along effortlessly, parahuman muscles and the hyper-advanced actuators of suits of powered armor propelling them swiftly across the broken ground.
And then, he saw her. Stumbling ahead of the pursuing forms, tottering on legs barely able to support her. A unicorn, blood shining bright red against her white fur. As he watched, her legs gave way, spilling her onto the ash-covered ground.
The man surged forward, left hand glowing with barely restrained energy. A shield of dark energy sprang into being, covering the body of the fallen unicorn. Sprinting forward with inhumanly long strides, the man charged headlong at the first of the howling attackers.
A heavy sword, its edge lined with dozens of buzzing, razor sharp teeth, swung down at the man’s unprotected head. With a savage motion, the caped man swept his own blade round. There was a sound of metal scraping on metal, and the attacker’s arm, along with the sleeve of powered armor in which it had been clad, spun away. A second later, the caped man’s left fist crunched through his breastplate and out through his back. The caped man stood there for a moment, holding his opponent high above his head. Then, with a convulsive jerk, he flung the dying man into the face of his nearest comrade.
Somewhere in the wood, a gun chattered out its message of death. The man turned, a dark barrier materializing out of the thin air to intercept the bullets in their path. As the barrier faded, he swept his arm forward and let forth a blast of black energy in the direction from which the firing had come. A brilliant flash of light lit the woods, as the deadly blast breached the containment fields of the gunman’s armor.
Howling a battle cry of his own, the caped man charged, spearing the armored men with blasts of energy, his sword and fists flashing with deadly force through plasteel armor and flesh alike. Body parts flew as he slashed wildly at the attacking men, cursing and spitting all the while.
The next thing he knew, he was standing over the body of the last of his opponents, howling to the skies. About him were strewn the bodies of the rest of the armored men, broken by the force of his furious assault. He looked around, then collapsed to his knees. A bitter laugh forced itself through his lips. A berserk episode. How long had it been since he’d last lost control of himself? He remembered a day long ago, surrounded by orcs at the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Then, as now, the rage had taken hold of him, and he’d lashed out with fist and sword and superhuman power, scattering both enemies and the men with whom he had marched in fear.
In the heat of the rage, his powers had overtaken him once more, and he’d found himself flung beyond time and space yet again, only to find himself…
Here. He’d woken, lying in the wood, and as he woke, he’d found a peace that had eluded him for many years. All gone now, he thought, as he got to his feet. He’d had many happy memories here, and found a friend when he’d thought he would remain forever alone. All gone now.
Sheathing his sword, he made his way over to where the fallen unicorn lay. As he neared, his eyes widened in recognition, and he quickened his pace. Dissipating the shield he knelt over the fallen body.
“A-amalthea?” he whispered.
The unicorn’s eyes opened. Her chest heaved as she took a ragged breath.
“No,” said the man. “Don’t. You’re injured. Don’t strain yourself.”
“Stalker,” whispered the unicorn. The corner of her mouth seemed to rise in approximation of a human smile.
“I’m here, Amalthea,” replied Stalker. “It’s all right now. You’re safe. I’ll get you away from here-get you healing-”
A single tear trickled from the corner of Amalthea’s eye. She was special that way, the man knew-the only unicorn able to cry.
“My people,” she said, in a broken voice. “They’re dead, Stalker. They killed my people. All of them. I’m the last one. The Last Unicorn…” Her voice trailed off.
Stalker stood silent. The Last Unicorn. Amalthea had been that once, the lone member of her species at large in an unfriendly world. She had searched long and hard to find the brothers and sisters whom she knew to be hidden from her, and finally she had found them. Now, through a cruel twist of Fate, she was well truly the Last Unicorn once more.
Amalthea opened her eyes again. “Let me die, Stalker.” The pain in her voice was almost heartbreaking. Stalker’s vision suddenly clouded. He blinked, and realised that he too had tears in his eyes.
“No,” he said, though as the word left his mouth he immediately knew it was the wrong thing. “Don’t die, Amalthea. You’re not alone. I’m still here with you. Please, don’t leave me.” Tears fell from his own eyes, landing and beading on the unicorn’s ash-stained white fur.
He heard a sound behind him. He whirled, recreating the shield he’d placed over Amalthea’s fallen body as he did so. The katana whistled from it’s sheath, tracing a glittering arc through the smoky air as he brought it round-
-and with barely an inch to spare, pulled the blow before it could touch the man standing before him.
He was tall, wrapped in a long green cloak and hood, out of which stared a chalk white face covered by a domino mask. An eerie green flame burned upon his chest.
Stalker stood, his face almost as white as that of the man in front of him. Then he sank to his knees, the blade falling to the ground as he did so.
He recognized the man-knew of him from a reputation that spanned the multiverse. He’d been a superhero once-the greatest of a universe-spanning corps of space policemen. Then, he’d fallen, stealing for himself the combined power of the Guardians of the Universe, ancient sponsors of the corps of which he had been a part. Attempting to rewrite history to erase the destruction of his home city, he had been brought low by a host of heroes, only to escape, still possessed of immense power. Then, barely a year later, he had died, sacrificing himself to destroy a creature consuming Earth’s sun.
Hal Jordan had died a hero, and when the position of the host of the Angel of Vengeance had fallen open, he had stepped in, wresting control of the entity from the fallen angel who had taken it over, then remaking it. Where once there had been the Green Lantern of Earth, and later the villain known as Parallax, there was now the Spectre, Angel of Redemption.
“You are Stalker,” said the Spectre, the winds of the ages seeming to whisper around his words as he spoke.
Stalker just stared. For a few moments, there was silence. Then, he collapsed, great, heaving sobs coursing through his body.
“They’re gone. All of them,” he sobbed.
Jordan knelt down beside him. His eyes narrowed behind his mask as he regarded the sobbing man.
“You loved this place,” he said, placing a hand upon Stalker’s shoulder. It was not a question.
Stalker gulped. “Yes-yes,” he said, passing a hand over his face. He picked his sword up from where it lay on the ground, sliding it back into its sheath. “You know?” he asked, staring at his clenched fist.
“Of all people, Stalker, I should know.” The Spectre’s voice was gentle.
Stalker looked at him. “My…apologies,” he said, slowly, getting to his feet. He knew the stories of Hal Jordan’s fall. The Green Lantern had lost almost everything he loved in the destruction of Coast City, many universes away. In the end, it had driven him mad.
“Don’t be,” replied the Spectre. His gaze fell upon Amalthea.
Tiredly, almost laboriously, the unicorn opened her eyes once more. “I…” she began.
Gently, Hal Jordan smoothed a tangled lock of her mane. “Be still, Daughter of the Presence,” he whispered.
Amalthea’s eyes closed again. “Let me die,” she said, in a voice that came near breaking Stalker’s heart.
“No,” replied the Spectre. “Death is not the answer. Live.”
“Please,” Amalthea pleaded.
Stalker looked from one to the other, a hundred emotions coursing through him as they spoke. “Spectre-” he began.
“No. I’m sorry.” The Spectre placed one gloved hand on Amalthea’s neck. A strange green glow spread from beneath his palm across the snow-white fur. As soon as it had come, the glow vanished, and Amalthea lay there, the great wounds torn in her side gone. Her chest rose and fell evenly, her eyes closed. In the arms of Stalker and the Angel of Redemption and Wrath, the Last Unicorn slept.
“You live, Amalthea. A universe of great things awaits you, as it does us all. Walk into the light.”
Gently, Stalker laid Amalthea’s head back on the ground. “She is the last of her kind, Spectre. How-”
“-will she live?” asked the Spectre. “It won’t be easy. I suppose-she will manage, just like she did, all those years ago. Be there for her.” He patted Stalker on the shoulder.
Stalker nodded, and concentrated. Once more, a bubble of pure energy formed over Amalthea’s sleeping form. “She was never properly one of them, you know. Not after-what happened.”
The Spectre nodded. “She became human…” he said, thoughtfully. “More one of us than anything else.”
“Us?” asked Stalker.
The Spectre just smiled. “You know what I’m talking about.” He turned to examine one of the bodies scattered about the glade
Stalker looked at the dead man. He was clad in blood red power armor, its surface studded with cruel looking spikes and adorned with numerous skulls and hanging chains. The man’s broken weapon, a wicked-looking chainsword, lay broken not a few yards away.
“Chaos Space Marines,” whispered Stalker. “What-that universe-it’s sealed away! Spectre, how-”
“Exactly the thing of which I came to warn you, Stalker,” said the angel, soberly. “They should never have been here. And yet, here they are.” He sighed. “Have you heard the rumours lately?”
“Yes,” said Stalker. “The cancer. It’s real, isn’t it?” He felt a sudden sinking feeling, deep within him, as he spoke.
“It is,” replied the Spectre. “There are people out there, fighting it. And still…only now, Stalker, has this news come to the attention of those it should truly concern. It is…expanding, breaking down the walls between universes. People appear where they should not. Chaos spirals out of control. The result?” He gestured round at the scattered bodies of the Chaos Marines.
Stalker nodded, and sighed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. And now?”
“Do you know the Throne?” asked the Spectre.
“The headquarters of the Monarchy? Jackson King’s team?”
“The same. The heroes of the Multiverse have gathered there. They’re going to be planning what actions to take in the face of all this.”
“And I should go join them?” asked Stalker.
The Spectre nodded. “Yes. With all possible haste, my friend. This concerns us all.”
Stalker took a deep breath, then let it out. He turned to regard Amalthea, then stopped. He clapped a hand over his face.
“How could I have forgotten?” he asked. “Spectre.”
“Yes?”
“There will be survivors. I know there will. The Chaos Marines won’t have killed everyone. Not yet.”
“And do you consider yourself responsible for these people?” asked Hal Jordan, quietly.
“I do.” Stalker looked around. “This planet was under my protection. Had I only known-”
“You would have been there for them,” completed Jordan. “So would I, if it were me. So would I have.”
“And yet,” said Stalker quietly, “I am still responsible, Spectre. The planet is uninhabitable now-”
“And still those people need a place to live.” The Spectre looked around. “I will deal with this, Stalker. Trust me. In the meantime, you have a meeting to attend. They will be safe with me. I promise.”
Stalker nodded. His gaze fell on Amalthea’s sleeping form. “But this-I need to do this first-myself ,” he whispered. The bubble containing the Last Unicorn rose off the ground, carrying her with it.
He stared at her, through the darkening of the energy shield. So peaceful, she looked. And yet-
Stalker shook his head. “Goodbye, Spectre,” he said. “I suppose that we will meet again, eventually.”
“Eventually,” replied the Spectre. “And may it be under better circumstances.”
“Indeed,” and Stalker rose up through the smoky air, and out into space, and with him, he carried the Last Unicorn, last reminder of peace in a world gone mad.
Here he is, folks. My "OC". All I can say is, I knew exactly what I was getting into when I created him. That's all.
Good night, folks. See you some time soon.
There is more than one universe. Each begins, and within it a million million decisions are made, and each calls into existence its own myriads of quantum possibilities. Thus, at each choice, a new universe springs into being, a fresh-grown twig on the tree of time.
Each universe floats-a four-dimensional mote-part of a 196,833-dimensional hyper-colloid resembling a snowflake. The fluid in which they float is known, in those universes in which it is known, by many names. Some call it the Bleed, after its crimson colour; others call it Hypertime. Still others, who walk between universes as easily as stepping across a stream, refer to the sum of universes beyond their own simply as “Shadow”.
And in the Bleed itself-there are people. They are explorers, dreamers-superhumans, capable whether by art or instinct of traversing the higher dimensions. Like gods they soar, commanding the very fabric of reality itself. They are heroes, villains, soldiers, scientists and adventurers. Theirs is the Multiverse, and everything in it-a pure, precious gem.
At the wall at which what most would refer to as “realspace” intersected the higher dimensions, in a minor capillary of one of a hundred thousand tributaries to a lesser Bleed-stream, itself a tiny tributary of one of the great Bleed-channels coursing across the Multiverse, there stood a man. He was of average height, black hair brushed straight back from a round, Asiatic face, well-honed muscles tensed beneath black, skin-tight quantum armor. A cape of purest white flapped from his shoulders.
The man concentrated for a moment, focusing his will against the barrier that separated him from his destination. In front of him, a portal opened. Beyond could be seen pure blackness, interspersed with stars. The man paused a moment, a smile of anticipation on his lips. In a way, he was going home. Beyond the portal, he knew, he would find friends. He would find peace. Most of all, he would find refuge, and rest-a time to heal, and forget, for a while, the hundred secret wars in which he had fought.
He gathered himself, and stepped through.
He felt the cold of vacuum envelop him as he emerged in orbit around the planet. Smiling, he realigned himself, facing the planet in preparation for re-entry-and stopped short. The smile vanished, to be replaced by an expression of incredulous shock.
Below him, making its way across the planet’s surface like a hungry mold, an immense cloud of black smoke billowed.
The flying man floated above the planet watching this, a look of dismay and grief slowly stealing across his face. Inside his eyes, several very specialized cells within his optic nerve came to life. Abruptly, he found himself viewing the scene in the infra-red spectrum. A chill hand clenched around his gut as he saw the heat of a million forest fires twinkling like a horde of malevolent glowworms crawling across the surface of a continent.
“No,” the man whispered, the sound spiraling off into nothingness in the vacuum of space. With a sudden effort, he dived, riding gravitation’s pull down into the churning clouds.
Down he fell, the atmosphere around him glowing from the heat of his re-entry. A thunderous shockwave slapped aside the choking clouds of smoke and smashed the flames below into quiescence as he passed.
A brilliant beam of light, glittering as it ionized the surrounding air, stabbed up towards the man. He swerved, the beam going wide as the gunner overcompensated for the sudden motion. Ahead of him, an immense titan of metal and pulsating, alien flesh loomed. The man howled, clenching his fists above his head. A black shell of quantum energy sprang into existence about him. With a thunderous crash, he met the armor head on. The heavy plasteel crumpled under the impact. As he shot through the interior and out the other side, the immense backplate crumpling outward under the assault, the great machine toppled backwards, the force of its fall shaking the earth itself and knocking the tiny figures that scurried about it off their feet.
Onward the man flew. Gradually, he slowed, until he found himself hovering over what had once been a verdant wood. Numbly, he stared at the destruction laid out before him. Great swathes had been burned through the trees with some sort of energy weapon. Others lay piled in great heaps, as if tossed by a careless giant.
The man’s hands clenched into fists as he surveyed the carnage. About the soot-covered ground were strewn the bodies of many animals, the former inhabitants of the wood.
Several of them looked as if they had not died quickly.
Quickly, the man looked around. A flash of white under a fallen tree caught his attention. His cape billowed in the hot wind as he descended to the forest floor. Slowly, he made his way across the burned ground to where the tree lay.
Lying under the trunk, eyes staring wide from the terror of its final moments, was a unicorn. The man knelt by the creature’s head, placing a hand upon its blood-spattered neck. Still beautiful, he thought, even in death. They were beauty exemplified, the unicorns-beauty and wonder and imagination made flesh.
At least, they had been. This wood had been their haunt-the last refuge of an ancient race in a new age-and more. He remembered the animals-how the unicorns’ presence had seemed to attract them, infuse new life into them, so that, in better days, every tree seemed to have had a creature living beside, in or around it. Now…
Rage flared in the caped man’s heart as he looked upon the still, broken form that had once been one of the multiverse’s most beautiful creatures. Gently, he closed the dead unicorn’s eyes, then stood up.
Striding away, he swept his cape away from his side with his left arm, revealing a katana sheathed at his hip. With one smooth motion, he drew the weapon, the blade glowing eerie blue in the smoke-obscured sunlight. From the back of his throat emerged a low, animalistic growl. Whoever had done this-for whatever purpose-they would pay. Senses beyond human knowledge probed the wood around him, searching for a sign-any sign-of those who’d perpetrated this atrocity.
Microfusion reactors glowed brightly to quantum-enhanced senses. He could see them now, bounding along effortlessly, parahuman muscles and the hyper-advanced actuators of suits of powered armor propelling them swiftly across the broken ground.
And then, he saw her. Stumbling ahead of the pursuing forms, tottering on legs barely able to support her. A unicorn, blood shining bright red against her white fur. As he watched, her legs gave way, spilling her onto the ash-covered ground.
The man surged forward, left hand glowing with barely restrained energy. A shield of dark energy sprang into being, covering the body of the fallen unicorn. Sprinting forward with inhumanly long strides, the man charged headlong at the first of the howling attackers.
A heavy sword, its edge lined with dozens of buzzing, razor sharp teeth, swung down at the man’s unprotected head. With a savage motion, the caped man swept his own blade round. There was a sound of metal scraping on metal, and the attacker’s arm, along with the sleeve of powered armor in which it had been clad, spun away. A second later, the caped man’s left fist crunched through his breastplate and out through his back. The caped man stood there for a moment, holding his opponent high above his head. Then, with a convulsive jerk, he flung the dying man into the face of his nearest comrade.
Somewhere in the wood, a gun chattered out its message of death. The man turned, a dark barrier materializing out of the thin air to intercept the bullets in their path. As the barrier faded, he swept his arm forward and let forth a blast of black energy in the direction from which the firing had come. A brilliant flash of light lit the woods, as the deadly blast breached the containment fields of the gunman’s armor.
Howling a battle cry of his own, the caped man charged, spearing the armored men with blasts of energy, his sword and fists flashing with deadly force through plasteel armor and flesh alike. Body parts flew as he slashed wildly at the attacking men, cursing and spitting all the while.
The next thing he knew, he was standing over the body of the last of his opponents, howling to the skies. About him were strewn the bodies of the rest of the armored men, broken by the force of his furious assault. He looked around, then collapsed to his knees. A bitter laugh forced itself through his lips. A berserk episode. How long had it been since he’d last lost control of himself? He remembered a day long ago, surrounded by orcs at the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Then, as now, the rage had taken hold of him, and he’d lashed out with fist and sword and superhuman power, scattering both enemies and the men with whom he had marched in fear.
In the heat of the rage, his powers had overtaken him once more, and he’d found himself flung beyond time and space yet again, only to find himself…
Here. He’d woken, lying in the wood, and as he woke, he’d found a peace that had eluded him for many years. All gone now, he thought, as he got to his feet. He’d had many happy memories here, and found a friend when he’d thought he would remain forever alone. All gone now.
Sheathing his sword, he made his way over to where the fallen unicorn lay. As he neared, his eyes widened in recognition, and he quickened his pace. Dissipating the shield he knelt over the fallen body.
“A-amalthea?” he whispered.
The unicorn’s eyes opened. Her chest heaved as she took a ragged breath.
“No,” said the man. “Don’t. You’re injured. Don’t strain yourself.”
“Stalker,” whispered the unicorn. The corner of her mouth seemed to rise in approximation of a human smile.
“I’m here, Amalthea,” replied Stalker. “It’s all right now. You’re safe. I’ll get you away from here-get you healing-”
A single tear trickled from the corner of Amalthea’s eye. She was special that way, the man knew-the only unicorn able to cry.
“My people,” she said, in a broken voice. “They’re dead, Stalker. They killed my people. All of them. I’m the last one. The Last Unicorn…” Her voice trailed off.
Stalker stood silent. The Last Unicorn. Amalthea had been that once, the lone member of her species at large in an unfriendly world. She had searched long and hard to find the brothers and sisters whom she knew to be hidden from her, and finally she had found them. Now, through a cruel twist of Fate, she was well truly the Last Unicorn once more.
Amalthea opened her eyes again. “Let me die, Stalker.” The pain in her voice was almost heartbreaking. Stalker’s vision suddenly clouded. He blinked, and realised that he too had tears in his eyes.
“No,” he said, though as the word left his mouth he immediately knew it was the wrong thing. “Don’t die, Amalthea. You’re not alone. I’m still here with you. Please, don’t leave me.” Tears fell from his own eyes, landing and beading on the unicorn’s ash-stained white fur.
He heard a sound behind him. He whirled, recreating the shield he’d placed over Amalthea’s fallen body as he did so. The katana whistled from it’s sheath, tracing a glittering arc through the smoky air as he brought it round-
-and with barely an inch to spare, pulled the blow before it could touch the man standing before him.
He was tall, wrapped in a long green cloak and hood, out of which stared a chalk white face covered by a domino mask. An eerie green flame burned upon his chest.
Stalker stood, his face almost as white as that of the man in front of him. Then he sank to his knees, the blade falling to the ground as he did so.
He recognized the man-knew of him from a reputation that spanned the multiverse. He’d been a superhero once-the greatest of a universe-spanning corps of space policemen. Then, he’d fallen, stealing for himself the combined power of the Guardians of the Universe, ancient sponsors of the corps of which he had been a part. Attempting to rewrite history to erase the destruction of his home city, he had been brought low by a host of heroes, only to escape, still possessed of immense power. Then, barely a year later, he had died, sacrificing himself to destroy a creature consuming Earth’s sun.
Hal Jordan had died a hero, and when the position of the host of the Angel of Vengeance had fallen open, he had stepped in, wresting control of the entity from the fallen angel who had taken it over, then remaking it. Where once there had been the Green Lantern of Earth, and later the villain known as Parallax, there was now the Spectre, Angel of Redemption.
“You are Stalker,” said the Spectre, the winds of the ages seeming to whisper around his words as he spoke.
Stalker just stared. For a few moments, there was silence. Then, he collapsed, great, heaving sobs coursing through his body.
“They’re gone. All of them,” he sobbed.
Jordan knelt down beside him. His eyes narrowed behind his mask as he regarded the sobbing man.
“You loved this place,” he said, placing a hand upon Stalker’s shoulder. It was not a question.
Stalker gulped. “Yes-yes,” he said, passing a hand over his face. He picked his sword up from where it lay on the ground, sliding it back into its sheath. “You know?” he asked, staring at his clenched fist.
“Of all people, Stalker, I should know.” The Spectre’s voice was gentle.
Stalker looked at him. “My…apologies,” he said, slowly, getting to his feet. He knew the stories of Hal Jordan’s fall. The Green Lantern had lost almost everything he loved in the destruction of Coast City, many universes away. In the end, it had driven him mad.
“Don’t be,” replied the Spectre. His gaze fell upon Amalthea.
Tiredly, almost laboriously, the unicorn opened her eyes once more. “I…” she began.
Gently, Hal Jordan smoothed a tangled lock of her mane. “Be still, Daughter of the Presence,” he whispered.
Amalthea’s eyes closed again. “Let me die,” she said, in a voice that came near breaking Stalker’s heart.
“No,” replied the Spectre. “Death is not the answer. Live.”
“Please,” Amalthea pleaded.
Stalker looked from one to the other, a hundred emotions coursing through him as they spoke. “Spectre-” he began.
“No. I’m sorry.” The Spectre placed one gloved hand on Amalthea’s neck. A strange green glow spread from beneath his palm across the snow-white fur. As soon as it had come, the glow vanished, and Amalthea lay there, the great wounds torn in her side gone. Her chest rose and fell evenly, her eyes closed. In the arms of Stalker and the Angel of Redemption and Wrath, the Last Unicorn slept.
“You live, Amalthea. A universe of great things awaits you, as it does us all. Walk into the light.”
Gently, Stalker laid Amalthea’s head back on the ground. “She is the last of her kind, Spectre. How-”
“-will she live?” asked the Spectre. “It won’t be easy. I suppose-she will manage, just like she did, all those years ago. Be there for her.” He patted Stalker on the shoulder.
Stalker nodded, and concentrated. Once more, a bubble of pure energy formed over Amalthea’s sleeping form. “She was never properly one of them, you know. Not after-what happened.”
The Spectre nodded. “She became human…” he said, thoughtfully. “More one of us than anything else.”
“Us?” asked Stalker.
The Spectre just smiled. “You know what I’m talking about.” He turned to examine one of the bodies scattered about the glade
Stalker looked at the dead man. He was clad in blood red power armor, its surface studded with cruel looking spikes and adorned with numerous skulls and hanging chains. The man’s broken weapon, a wicked-looking chainsword, lay broken not a few yards away.
“Chaos Space Marines,” whispered Stalker. “What-that universe-it’s sealed away! Spectre, how-”
“Exactly the thing of which I came to warn you, Stalker,” said the angel, soberly. “They should never have been here. And yet, here they are.” He sighed. “Have you heard the rumours lately?”
“Yes,” said Stalker. “The cancer. It’s real, isn’t it?” He felt a sudden sinking feeling, deep within him, as he spoke.
“It is,” replied the Spectre. “There are people out there, fighting it. And still…only now, Stalker, has this news come to the attention of those it should truly concern. It is…expanding, breaking down the walls between universes. People appear where they should not. Chaos spirals out of control. The result?” He gestured round at the scattered bodies of the Chaos Marines.
Stalker nodded, and sighed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. And now?”
“Do you know the Throne?” asked the Spectre.
“The headquarters of the Monarchy? Jackson King’s team?”
“The same. The heroes of the Multiverse have gathered there. They’re going to be planning what actions to take in the face of all this.”
“And I should go join them?” asked Stalker.
The Spectre nodded. “Yes. With all possible haste, my friend. This concerns us all.”
Stalker took a deep breath, then let it out. He turned to regard Amalthea, then stopped. He clapped a hand over his face.
“How could I have forgotten?” he asked. “Spectre.”
“Yes?”
“There will be survivors. I know there will. The Chaos Marines won’t have killed everyone. Not yet.”
“And do you consider yourself responsible for these people?” asked Hal Jordan, quietly.
“I do.” Stalker looked around. “This planet was under my protection. Had I only known-”
“You would have been there for them,” completed Jordan. “So would I, if it were me. So would I have.”
“And yet,” said Stalker quietly, “I am still responsible, Spectre. The planet is uninhabitable now-”
“And still those people need a place to live.” The Spectre looked around. “I will deal with this, Stalker. Trust me. In the meantime, you have a meeting to attend. They will be safe with me. I promise.”
Stalker nodded. His gaze fell on Amalthea’s sleeping form. “But this-I need to do this first-myself ,” he whispered. The bubble containing the Last Unicorn rose off the ground, carrying her with it.
He stared at her, through the darkening of the energy shield. So peaceful, she looked. And yet-
Stalker shook his head. “Goodbye, Spectre,” he said. “I suppose that we will meet again, eventually.”
“Eventually,” replied the Spectre. “And may it be under better circumstances.”
“Indeed,” and Stalker rose up through the smoky air, and out into space, and with him, he carried the Last Unicorn, last reminder of peace in a world gone mad.
Here he is, folks. My "OC". All I can say is, I knew exactly what I was getting into when I created him. That's all.
Good night, folks. See you some time soon.