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#1
DEC 11 |
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“Twisted Fate” Part One
Valhalla Cemetery
Metropolis
It was a night like any other in Valhalla Cemetery, the resting place for dozens of heroes that had given their lives throughout the decades. Each grave plot was a marker for a man or woman who had died in the struggle between good and evil. It was the ultimate sacrifice one could make in their profession. A full-sized bust or statue of each resident served as a living representation of them at their best, their fixed stone gaze seemingly challenging some unknown foe to a final confrontation. It was grim testament that many of those who resided here were all but forgotten, their final act in life becoming the only thing they were known for. Names like the Red Bee, Tomorrow Woman and the original Dove were just a few of the names that visitors to the large Metropolis cemetery barely knew and mostly ignored when they came to pay homage to the deceased heroes of heroines of today and yesterday.
At the edge of the cemetery, the section often called ‘Legacy Fields’, where the noble dead members of proud superhero lineage were buried, one grave sat seemingly out of place. The bust pictured a grim man with an odd facial tattoo in the shape of an ankh. The grizzled features and unkempt hair on the simple bust seemed to contrast starkly with the smooth and elegant memorials of fallen members of the Justice Society of America which surrounded it. A casual observer might pass by and comment that such a man didn’t belong buried beside the heroic dead of the JSA, as if the cemetery’s caretaker had made a mistake with the grave placement.
In fact, the grave did belong. Despite being largely unknown to the superheroes of Earth, the man buried in this particularly plot had been one of the last to bear the legacy of the legendary and powerful figure known as Dr. Fate. While some who met him felt he was little more than a pretender, one of several heroes that had chosen to copy an existing hero as a way of ‘making a name for himself’, those that truly knew him were aware of just how capable he was, carrying on a tradition he hadn’t asked for and bearing the brunt of numerous threats that no others had stood up to challenge. For a few remarkable years he had been the lone agent for Order and Chaos on Earth, a duty he took in stride and adapted to as best he could. While he chose to forsake ‘traditional’ heroics, he still maintained his duty as a balance on the delicate scale of Order and Chaos, helping when he could despite the cost to himself. His last act, to warn a group of strangers who barely knew him and some of who looked down on him for his alleged piracy of the legacy of Dr. Fate, inadvertently led to the creation of a new Dr. Fate, a true agent of Chaos and Order with all the powers and abilities that entailed and the reformation of the Justice Society of America, one of the oldest and most respected groups in the history of mystery men and vigilantes.
Such was the memorial to Jared Stevens, sometimes called Fate, a former treasure hunter that found himself at the precipice of supernatural forces far beyond the understanding of most mortal men and laughed in its face, refusing to let it have any control over the man he was going to be, forsaking the identity of Dr. Fate in favor of an identity he was more comfortable with.
Purgatory
In the realm of shades, where the souls of the dead reside in a plane between heaven and hell waiting for some eternal reward or punishment, one soul experienced a unique form of turmoil compared to the others. While all who resided in this land of the dead suffered in some way this one found itself plagued with strange visions and emotions.
It recognized some of what it experienced, though it didn’t know why: an encounter with a hot blonde in a bar with an invite to some kind of gathering; the feeling of being stabbed in the back by its own sword; a hasty escape to warn those that had the power to fight the ‘Dark Lord’. The shade felt a deep connection to these events, though they seemed distant,
Other experiences seemed completely foreign: a man in gold and blue using the powers of two forces in direct opposition to protect humanity from threats beyond human understanding; the same man battling beside a speedster dressed in scarlet against a female in a similar gold helmet shining like a mirror; the golden helmet from another world sitting within a large tower invisible to human sight. Why was the shade seeing these things? Why did it feel drawn to the shining golden helmet? Why was the hint of kinship with the man in gold and blue?
Further strange and alien images only further confused the shade: creatures from beyond; relics in hidden tombs and temples; men tampering with forces they had no comprehension of; threats to order and chaos alike, ones likely to go unnoticed by those that were best suited to handle them until it was already too late…
The shade swayed to and fro trying to come to grips with what it was seeing. Purgatory was a grim, featureless realm with some souls having full memories of their past lives and their former appearance, while others wandered aimlessly, having forgotten the experiences that shaped them in their lives, a brooding spectre in unlife. A soul that possessed a strong concept of duality would find itself stretched thin in this realm, divided by its twin natures or balanced perspective on life.
However, something was starting to cause old memories to return. The fragments of a human soul were being restored to this unknown shade, its memories returning. The shade began to return to its former form, one it hadn’t possessed since it had first arrived here.
The former shade, now in a familiar male shape, looked around and realized where it was. It remembered its name and wondered what had happened to cause this change. How long had it wandered without realizing who it…who HE….was?
With only seconds to consider this, the restored soul felt an odd tugging, not in anyone direction but one that felt almost…outward, like an attempt to break free.
In a blink of an eye, the former shade disappeared, the souls of the dead nearby barely taking notice at the exit of a single soul in a realm of countless billions doomed to maintain a silent vigil for an unknown period of time.
Valhalla Cemetery
Metropolis
Rotting hands broke through to the surface, touching the outside world for the first time in over a year. The revenant soon had both hands free and pushed itself out of the cemetery plot, finally free of its former sleeping place.
Leaning on a nearby grave marker, the living corpse attempted to catch its breath after the strain of busting out of its coffin, but soon realized its lungs were not up to the task; it either couldn’t breathe or didn’t need to.
“What happened to me?” the creature said in a raspy, corrupted tone. It looked over its hands, illuminated by the full moon in the sky. Its skin was pallid and white, its muscles withered and its clothes were dirty from digging itself out of the grave. The living corpse was male, though it could only barely be recognized as such were anyone to see him.
He remembered being ambushed by a powerful Lord of Chaos. He had died but managed to warn someone before succumbing to his words, a fatal stab wound from his own golden knife once forged from a powerful mystical artifact.
The corpse looked down on the grave marker it was leaning on and noticed the bust on top. He recognized the face, though he could guess that he didn’t look quite like that now. He read the name, ‘Jared Stevens a.k.a. Fate’, and realized he really had just crawled out of his own grave.
“You’ve seen better days, Jared,” he grimly said to the bust of himself while sleeking back the withered hair on his scalp, “but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers; I could still be in there,” he finished, indicating the hole that led back to his coffin.
The corpse formerly known as Jared Stevens leaned back against his tombstone and looked up at the night sky, marveling at how beautiful it looked; he hadn’t seen a tapestry of stars in a very long time and it was something he felt he needed to appreciate more often.
Staring into the void of space, Jared thought about those he’d left behind, friends like Arnold Burnsteel, his best friend and part-time conspiracy nut. Arn had practically pushed him into entering the ‘mystic super-hero’ game and seemed to have more fun with it than Jared had. Then, when Arn had to go on the run in order to help a group of misfits similar to how he’d helped Jared, his little sister Vera had found herself drafted as Jared’s confidant, replacing her absent brother.
Nothing had ever happened between the two of them and Jared couldn’t help but hate himself for that. Jared had kept Vera at a distance, one of several he chose to push away rather than bring into his ‘circle’, an association which seemed to get smaller and smaller as time went on. Vera was a good gal, but if she stuck with Jared she was likely to end up hating him, just like Jared’s ex-wife, Holly.
Holly Marsh had met Jared when they were both young but, by the time they were adults, she had wanted nothing to do with him. They briefly reconciled but it didn’t last; there were too many bad memories of when her husband’s illegal activities spilled over into her life, not to mention the mystic mayhem that his role as Fate inevitably caused.
Charnelle of the Firelodge, another woman in his life, was at least familiar with the stranger side. She was a demon from a dimension called the Dreadlands, the last of a tribe of geomancers that worked with Jared to avenge her people early in his career as a balance for Order and Chaos. They’d fought side-by-side numerous times and she’d taught him a few tricks, including how to pass through ‘spatial tangents’ as a form of teleportation, but eventually Charnelle went her own way and Jared wondered what she’d been up to since they last spoke.
Some of his former associates, like the mystical defender Sentinel, his former father-in-law and paranormal debunker Dr. Gabriel Marsh, former childhood friend turned drug kingpin turned Mesoamerican avatar Ricky Contrares, and government spook Talbot Cantrip would rather see him dead or quietly go away, and Jared didn’t think too highly of them either. There were others, including the various unscrupulous individuals he worked with or for in his job as a tomb raider and treasure seeker, but they didn’t come to mind as easily as Jared still felt a bit scatterbrained.
As his focus returned, helped by the realization of his former life, brutal death and unexpected return from the grave, Jared felt a slim connection to the mystic abilities he had once possessed in life. One of the last powers he’d used, the ability to physically transport himself to where fate deemed it necessary for him to be, a variation on his ‘spatial tangent hopping’ ability, immediately sprung to mind. He’d last used it to transport himself to the funeral of Wesley Dodds, where the former members of the Justice Society had assembled. Jared remembered being invited, yet had turned down the invitation, feeling he didn’t really have any reason to be there. An unexpected attack by Mordru the Dark Lord caused him to instinctively go for help, the only help as decided by fate capable of combating the threat.
Jared knew that he could have just as easily gotten himself to a hospital, could have kept himself from dying, but he knew that by then it would have been too late. He either had time to live and see Mordru succeed, or he had time to make sure Mordru was defeated. He’d made the right choice.
Something about the spell he’d used back then made Jared realize just what he needed to do. Rather than sit in a cemetery gazing at his navel, he could just as easily depend on the magic of fate to guide his way, transporting himself to some unknown place, a site where he would learn why he had returned. He focused on this thought, the picture becoming clear in his mind’s eye, thus activating the spell.
In an instant a golden portal appeared and Jared Stevens stepped through, taking the first step in his new lease on life…or unlife as the case may be.
The Tower of Fate
Salem, Massachusetts
The portal opened up in front of a large stone tower, and Jared looked around trying to find his bearings.
Jared recognized the structure, or at least the rebuilt remains, as the Tower of Fate. It was the former sanctum of Kent and Inza Nelson, the last two mortals to bear the name Dr. Fate before Jared found himself taking their place, though in a less than traditional sense. His first visit was a kidnapping undertaken by the Nelson couple, their attempt to retrieve the Fate Arcana, the three powerful relics which gave Dr. Fate his…her…ITS power. Jared has ‘acquired’ the Helmet of Nabu, the Amulet of Osiris and the Cloak of Destiny in Cairo when the three artifacts mysteriously appeared in Egypt after not being seen in decades. Jared was in the process of delivering them to a buyer with deep pockets when the elderly couple, who somehow had become separated from the Doctor Fate persona as a result of a harrowing battle, shanghaied him and started him down the road as a mystical protector of Earth. That first encounter left the Tower destroyed, but here it sat rebuilt and seemingly brand new. Had Jared’s return somehow restored the Tower or was the new master of the Tower of Fate responsible for Jared’s resurrection?
Jared also noticed the faint illusion spell shielding the tower, an enchantment designed to keep it hidden from those that might wander nearby. It seemed that despite his death he still possessed some of his original powers, including the ability to see through any illusion be it mystical or mundane. Unfortunately, this power didn’t allow him to see a way in, as there didn’t appear to be any obvious doors or windows leading inside.
Jared stepped up to the tower and touched one of the large stones that went together to form the wall and felt his fingers pass through it. He removed his decayed hand and examined it to see if anyone appeared out of place. It looked all right, or at least as good as a decayed human hand is likely to look, so he stuck his hand back in, attempting to feel how far he could go through. Jared couldn’t help but notice that passing through the wall felt like shoving his hand through a wall of pudding.
When he felt his hand touch air on the other side he stepped through completely, speculating on what might be on the other side. The wall wasn’t an illusion, or he’d have been able to see past it. Perhaps it was some kind of portal spell designed to only let certain people move through freely. If so, how was Jared allowed to walk into the former abode of Doctor Fate? Did his status as a former agent of order and chaos somehow get him on the guest list? Or was it his immunity to magic, the same ability that forced Mordru to kill Jared with his own enchanted dagger rather than use his own powers, that made him able to step unrestricted into the sanctum of one of the most powerful mages on Earth?
Once inside, Jared took in the seemingly MC Escher-inspired interior. Stairs led to upside down or sideways to various-sized doors as a small river flowed through, up, down and around the floor and walkways, ignoring the laws of gravity. Some of the walls showed a strange star pattern that reminded Jared of some of the few constellations he was familiar with, while others showed moving murals of animals and people going about their days.
Thinking about the Escher-reference, Jared remembered that most of Escher’s best known graphic art didn’t come about until the 1940s or beyond. Jared’s limited knowledge of the original Dr. Fate, Kent Nelson, suggested that he’d been active since at least the late 1930s. Had Kent Nelson met MC Escher? Had the Tower of Fate somehow inspired some of Escher’s greatest work? Jared temporarily ignored this theory and refocused his mind at the matter at hand. There were multiple paths sat before him and something had drawn him here, and it could be anywhere within the labyrinthine Tower.
Jared attempted to focus once more on where he was supposed to go. Randomly opening doors or wandering down paths you shouldn’t inside the Tower of Fate was a sure-fire way to either get yourself killed, accidentally release one of the myriad threats that were likely still contained in the rebuilt Tower, or worse if some of the theories were to be believed. Jared wasn’t sure how thing were likely to get any worse than being a walking corpse with limited access to his original powers, but he wasn’t interested in taking such foolhardy chances.
After about a minute of meditation, the mystical tug, the same force that had wrenched his from purgatory and drawn him here, was present once more. Jared looked to see where it drew him and it led toward one of the far, seemingly endless, hallways. Jared tried to see if he could teleport directly to the location and bypass the hallway, but to no effect. It seemed the same mystic wards that opened up Jared’s portal just outside the Tower also prevented him from teleporting from within. It looked like he would have the walk.
Jared took a step and prepared for what might happen, though it was possible, considering his current state, that anything he encountered was just as likely to be shocked at the sight of him as he was likely to be by it.
Inner Sanctum of the Tower of Fate
Salem, Massachusetts
The hallway led to a set of wooden double doors fastened by iron hinges with no door handles. Jared reluctantly pushed on the doors, half-expecting to be thrown back by some mystical safeguard despite his former magical immunity but saw them harmlessly swing open.
Behind the doors sat a treasure trove of mystical artifacts lined on tall shelves. Some of the items Jared recognized from his days as a tomb robber, others he had read about in archeology books, but the vast majority of the pieces were unknown and alien, possibly originating from dimensions far beyond the mortal plane of existence. A large bookcase, filled with tomes made from unusual materials and bearing names usually unpronounceable by a human, stood near the center next to a comfortable reading chair in front of a large stone fireplace. Any three items inside the room would have been enough to set Jared up for life during his days as a treasure hunter, but that was before he had became aware of the darker forces at work…before Fate played its hand.
Jared barely had time to take in the full contents of the room before his attention became fixed on one item in particular…a shining gold helmet sat apart from the other items, atop an ornate pedestal near the fireplace. Jared instantly recognized it as the Helmet of Nabu, one of the Fate Arcana, and a direct link to Nabu, the ancient Lord of Order and a former Egyptian sorcerer from the time of the Pharaohs. Jared remembered previously reshaping the helmet into a long golden knife, a set of throwing ankhs and a bracer with Nabu’s assistance, but there it sat, reformed into it’s original shape, a symbol of the power of Dr. Fate. Why was it here, unguarded? Was Jared meant to find it? Had the Tower rebuilt itself in preparation for his arrival and now sat to present him with the Helmet of Nabu as a gift?
Jared cautiously approached, feeling an odd connection to the Helmet. Was it responsible for bringing him back to life? Jared looked down at the gleaming helmet and noticed his reflection in its golden surface. Jared wretched back in response. What he’d seen had shocked him, particularly odd considering he KNEW he was some sort of undead. Still, the actual sight disgusted him. His skin was white and pallid, his hair withered, his eyes sunken and empty. Even the former ankh mark on his face was no longer there, the old burn destroyed by the decomposing flesh on his face.
Jared was angry. At first he’d been oddly comfortable with his state; somehow being alive helped him look past the current condition of his body, but now he couldn’t help but be pissed off that some cruel force decided to bring him back to life, a cruel mockery of what he once had.
As if reacting to Jared’s mental state, the helmet began to glow, attracting Jared’s attention. The former Fate bathed in the warm light produced by the helmet and reached out his hand. Something was comforting about the luminescence.
As soon as Jared touched it, a mystical shockwave hit his body while ignoring the rest of the contents of the room. The power of the helmet seemed to temporarily engulf him as Jared felt his body transform; his skin went flush, the flesh around his stab wound knitted itself back together and even his lungs began to move again. HE COULD BREATHE AGAIN!!!
Almost as soon as the effect arrived, it was gone once more and Jared collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, a sweet sensation as he felt his lungs go to work for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.
Jared looked up at the no longer glowing Helmet and look at his reflection once more. Where there had once been dead flesh now stood a living body. His hair was its former cropped cut complete with the red streak in his black hair. His right arm felt good as new, having been broken in his first battle with a demon, forcing him to wrap it in the Cloak of Destiny as a bandage only to learn about the cloak’s healing capability the hard way. Unfortunately, the inconspicuous red ankh mark over his right eye face had also returned, still a reminder of the Amulet of Anubis shattering in front of him and scarring his face long ago.
As if by instinct, Jared picked up the helmet and turned it around. Placing it over his head, he felt the rush of power, the power of Dr. Fate, flow through his body. He was able to perceive the entire contents of the Tower, all the strange portals and doorways and where they led, the enchantments that kept dark forces contained and warded the sanctum from attack, even the wards that prevented one from teleporting inside. He could sense it all and felt fully in control, as if the Tower itself were an extension of his own body, able to control, alter, or bypass any area of the tower at will.
Jared didn’t want to be here anymore, uncomfortable with the stuffy atmosphere of the Tower despite the large horde of artifacts and relics surrounding him. His body had returned to life, and with it the same exhaustion that all mortal bodies are accustomed to, even those with incredible mystic powers. He felt like it was about to collapse due to lack of rest, possibly a side-effect of the restoration of his body. If he was going to rest, Jared knew he didn’t want to do it surrounded by the life’s work of his predecessors, an unfamiliar environment that left him feeling on edge despite his mental connection with the Helmet of Nabu.
A thought filled Jared’s head as he thought about where else he’d rather be…home…his apartment in Boston, the one he’d moved into after vacating his ex-wife’s old place. It was difficult to hold on. His mind wanted to rest and he was fading fast.
Jared felt the helmet temporarily remove the anti-teleportation wards within the Tower as it opened up a portal in reaction to Jared’s thoughts. Without hesitation, Jared stepped through.
Vera Burnsteel’s apartment
Boston, Massachusetts
It was another Monday night for Vera as she sat at her computer after a long day at work and she had a fresh load of updates to add to the online database. An associate in South America had emailed her an alleged map to a lost Incan city while another had sent her a translation of a recently unearthed scroll said to possess some of the mystical teachings of the Greek philosopher Aedesius.
The database had started as the brainchild of her brother, Arnold, a useful tool to help his friend Jared in his ‘work’. Drawing from a variety of websites, scanned texts, contributions from users, independent study and other sources, the database became a useful reference for a wide variety of occult history, strange phenomenon, conspiracy theories and other paranormal potpourri. The Webmaster could easily search through the thousands of records and notes on the site, and users with an authorized account still had limited access to the records but were allowed to contribute to the site and, pending verification of the authenticity of their contributions, gain greater access to the information stored there.
Shortly after her divorce when she temporarily went to stay with her brother, Arn unexpectedly began a lengthy road trip with a band of misfits he and Jared had rescued from a government lab. Vera then ended up the proprietor of the occult database and Jared’s ‘hotline’ for instant occult information. It wasn’t until later that others started requesting access to the full database, leading Vera to act as a sometime consultant to members of the mystical underground and various paranormal enthusiasts. For a nominal fee paid to a Paypal account which Arn set up originally, Vera was able to supplement her income significantly by answering calls, emails and instant messages from clients.
Of course, despite the increase in income, Vera still kept her dayjob. She didn’t want her life to be consumed by the paranormal and conspiratorial like her brother. She still wanted to maintain some concept of being…well…mundane. In fact, she only modified the database once a week despite a slight overflow of update emails she had in her Inbox.
Besides, ever since Jared disappeared, it just wasn’t the same. She enjoyed working with him, sort of like being the Girl Friday to his occult Sam Spade. She even found herself wondering if something was developing between the two of them, something more than just a friendly working relationship.
Unfortunately by then he seemed to fall off the face of the planet. Some of her contacts heard chatter about a shift in the forces of chaos and order, whatever that meant, and soon after a new Dr. Fate appeared using a variation of Jared’s powers and name. At first, Vera had thought Jared had simply changed his appearance, taken a new lease on life, but Vera later confirmed, both through her brother and others, that Jared had died.
Once she almost bought a plane ticket to Metropolis just so she could visit his grave and say something…anything that might make the loss easier to deal with, but she quickly decided against it. Hearing that he was dead and seeing that he was dead were two different things. By not going, it still felt like there was still a part of him alive in the world somewhere.
Even if few others remembered Jared, she would. He was an amazing man, unlike any other she’d met before. It was a shame there weren’t as many like him. Vera recalled how she always had this same mental debate once a month as the keystrokes on her keyboard set a steady rhythm, almost like piano music.
The keyboard symphony was broken by a loud knocking on the door to her apartment or, more accurately, the door to her brother’s apartment, where she’d been living ever since her brother started his endless music tour. Vera quickly went for the handgun she kept for protection that she kept in a locked desk drawer. She didn’t normally have visitors this late and the streets of Boston were filled with people quick to prey on the unwary.
The knocking continued as Vera cautiously approached the door. She unbolted the door and quietly opened it, keeping the firearm hidden by the door and pointed downward. Aside from a few trips to the shooting range, she’d never had to fire it before and if one of her neighbors was making a late-night call for some reason she didn’t want to shock them by coming to the door armed.
The last thing she expected to see was a gasping with a golden helmet tucked under his arm. It took Vera only an instant to recognize the man as Jared Stevens, alive and in the flesh, complete with the trademark ankh tattoo on his face
“Vera…sorry to…come by…so late,” Jared gasped. He looked dead on his feet, as if he hadn’t slept in days, “but…someone else…is living in my apartment…and…”
Whatever else he was going to say was quickly cut off as Jared collapsed to the ground in the middle of the hallway, entering a badly needed slumber his body wasn’t likely to awaken from for several hours.
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To Be Continued...
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