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#1
DEC 11 |
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“A First Step in the New Beginning”
The bass hits from a series of elaborate speaker systems were loud enough to entertain even the line outside. A brick and glass building that towered above an ever-growing line of bodies almost appeared to move as would a beating heart, dancing with the beat. Yellow-stained light beamed off and on at a frequency that followed each successive beat of air, and even in the line the patrons moved along to the pounding air and flashing lights like zombies possessed by some unknown desire.
They all moved in concert with one another while speaking of the mundane events each experienced through the week, only adding to the onslaught of noise pollution that carried itself for blocks. It was all fairly annoying for a young man walking down the length of the line – outside the mass of would-be patrons. A scrawny excuse for a man with bright red hair extending nearly to his shoulders, accompanying the stereotypical face full of randomly spattered freckles.
Patrons of every size and shape screamed their disapproval when he approached the bouncer at the door. The huge, almost meta-human statured man looked down at the ginger faced young man, almost admiring the depth of the bruise under his left eye. “Fall on the door knob again?” The bouncers’ voice boomed over the speakers and he even laughed a little.
The red-head laughed it off in stride. “Don't be an ass. You know I can't talk about it, she'll hear me, even over this noise.”
“Never stopped you before.”
The ginger kid shrugged, “Her mood is more sour lately than usual. At any rate, I have business.”
“What brings you to the slums, surely she could...”
“Look man, I don't ask questions, I just do as I'm told, and she says I need to deliver something to Power Ring.”
The bouncer pulled away the yellow velvet rope, “You know where the elevator is, right?”
“Yeah, same place as last week.”
The bouncer rolled his eyes. “Cute, lackey. Hit four when you're inside, you'll be frisked when you hit the floor. Try not to enjoy it; he's a bit of a phobe.”
To the disapproval of the man five paces from the front of the line, the effeminate red-head stepped into the club out of turn and disappeared into the black. Still within earshot, he could hear them complaining and he stopped to enjoy it for a moment. “Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?!” a patron screamed loudly, only to have his voice silenced and his nose broken by the bouncer everyone knew as Brutal.
“He thinks he's Jim Olsen, and unless you think you're stoned enough to tussle with his mistress I'd let him go about his business and not get in the way.”
Olsen felt like he heard fear itself quiet the crowd as a silence over took them. He smiled and continued on his way. It was the sort of attention he lived for, the quiet whispers, the pointing and the gossip. His very presence sparked gossip like the tabloids could salivate, everyone discussed his relationship with 'her', though never speaking her name…too afraid that she'll hear them; every man woman and child feared her name and Jim Olsen drank it all in.
He tugged at his bow-tie, winking in the general direction of another 'friend', the blonde woman berating a bartender to tears, and was back on course. Groups pulled away from their conversations to move for him, neither out of respect nor fear of him, but the thought of consequences if 'she' would be driven to anger. Olsen knew the real reason people averted their eyes when he was near, no one bothered with him all the same and that suited him just fine.
Jim knew it all too well; of course, he'd seen his mistress wipe family-trees from the planet in what seemed like random fits of anger; even the slightest disrespect is met with her heavy Kryptonian hand. All told, Jim loved to watch that too. The glass elevator closed between him and the crowd crawled slowly to the fourth level and opened to an armed guard wearing a kryptonite jeweled necklace. Ever paranoid, the men in the employ of Power Ring raised their guns, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. Olsen stood still only to make the process faster and didn't struggle as men and their guns covered the entry into Power Ring's suite. With both hands atop his head, Olsen chuckled, “I bet you guys get fantastic training on the art of man-handling.”
One hired gun flipped his weapon, twisting it in his hand to grasp the barrel. With a wide arc motion downward, Olsen felt the blunt force of carbon fiber and the weight of lead split his jaw. The motion forced the kid to his knees and he spit out a molar. “Please sir, may I have another?” He spoke with a genuine eagerness in his voice, looking up to the man with pleading eyes.
“Oh, for Christ's sake,” the gunman swore, grabbing the pale youth and jerking him to his feet. The others kept their eyes on Olsen as the brave one dragged him through the foyer. Dizzy, Olsen looked up from the floor and his vision fell upon a masked man dressed head to toe in form fitting yellow and black. It wasn't quite leather or any other fabric he was familiar with, but something else, something that looked almost unreal.
Power Rig didn't budge from his seat on a large leather couch with a woman on each side of him cling to his arms and writhing around his body with their hands. From behind the yellow domino mask Olsen could swear to watch his eyes follow their hands. “What do you want?” he asked with a palpable disinterest in his voice.
Olsen climbed to his feet and, taking notice of the guards' interest, he tried to smooth out the cheap shirt and straighten the orange and black bow-tie. “Mistress sent me to petition your services.”
“No can do. I've got all the entertainment I need. I don't need that masochist bullshit in my life.”
Olsen smirked. “You flatter yourself.”
The ring on his right hand shimmered with a dirty yellow glint. “Watch it, boy; don't give me an excuse for her to find a new chew toy. You're only protected from the peons downstairs; take a second to remember to whom you're speaking.”
“Apologies.” His soulless eyes fell to the floor.
“So, you're woman has a job for me?”
Olsen’s eyes leapt open and jump from the floor. “No sir, you misunderstand my role here!”
Power Rings' laughter was the sort that never left his chest or throat. “No, I know all about the twisted garbage you two do, I think the whole world knows. Either way, it's fun to watch you squirm.”
With a snap of his fingers the two girls climbed off the couch and the guards escorted them out. “CSA Business,” Power Ring told the man that struck Olsen down in the elevator, “which means it's none of yours.”
Olsen waited until the room was clear before he uttered another word, “The job has a few details.”
“I'm sure, what does it pay?”
The patsy fumbled inside his pockets to fish out a meticulously folded piece of paper and read it aloud. “The target she wants you to hit is,” he pauses a moment to clear his throat, “Grundy.”
Power Rings' face was devoid expression, the yellow mask hiding even the slightest reaction from Jim Olsen. “Interesting. I take it they finally heeded Wayne's advice about the Underground?”
Olsen shrugged. “I couldn't say, the Master hasn't told me...”
“What the hell, you mean it's not just you and Superwoman? Look, kid…what does it pay? Just tell me and get yourself out of my club.”
“Standard rate if you make him run into hiding. Five times your usual if you bring Grundy's head to Mistress.” Olsen laid the paper on a table to his left.
“Fifteen million to kill Grundy; seems like a sweetheart deal…what's the catch?”
The red-headed messenger boy shrugged. “I'm doing as I'm told. It doesn't please the mistress to tell me details.”
“You're a sick kid, Olsen.” Power Ring paid little attention to Superwoman's weasel and instead snatched the folded note and examined it. “Fifteen million.” The words rattled around his brain for a moment. “Tell your boss we have a deal, now get the hell out of my establishment.”
Olsen didn't argue, turning on his heels and making haste to the elevator and the entertainment on the main floor. He stepped out onto the floor and the night was too far gone for the drunken patrons to pay him any mind, though a friendly face walked quickly to this side but he knows it's not just for a simple hello. She was a pretty blonde, athletic and far too beautiful to give Jim Olsen the time of day.
“You're slummin' today, Jimmy-boy.”
He blushed, his pale skin making it keenly obvious even in the near black room. “I’mn the job tonight; had business upstairs.”
The sexy blonde rubbed a leather finger down the front of his face and he kissed the slender finger as it lingered too long over his dry lips. “Now, now,” she said with a cruel smile. “You're working; you shouldn't be tempted so easily.” She watched as his eyes dipped to the ground. “That's a good slave. Now run home to tell mommy what you've done for her.”
“You won't tell, will you?” he asks, pitifully. “Temptress Kyle, I implore you.”
Selina Kyle purrs and the black slit in her yellow eyes tighten when an idea strikes her for another day. “Perhaps, since you implore me so.”
Jimmy-boy smiles with a large, toothy grin and turns to walk out. He stumbles through partial conversations but could always feel Selina's feline eyes watching him. He turned just before reaching the exit and took one look back just to confirm the cat-eyed beauty's gaze. He was rewarded with a faux kiss blown through the air in his general direction.
The cold night air smacked his face the moment the doors opened. He tightly gripped his chest and, with a slight shiver passing through him, he walked several blocks west. Turning into an alley his attention falls to a tall man in his mid-thirties, half bathed in the shadows from the two buildings between them. HIs green blazer and purple tie were a dead giveaway but, even still, the question mark lapel pin drove the point home that much more.
Olsen's face was pale as another sudden fear washed over him, knowing the sort of death that awaited him the moment his betrayal was suspected. “I hope you understand the position I put myself in for this.”
The man dressed in green leaned in on a green-topped cane in the shape of another question mark at the hilt. He wore no emotion on his face as he studied the shivering lesser man before him. Quizmaster, the leader of the Justice Underground, laughed slightly at Olsen's point. “I hope, in turn, my presence here, standing in the sewage of the beasts’ belly, put your mind at ease finally and teaches you the seriousness of our position, Olsen.”
Olsen tried to wet his throat and simply shook his head. “What makes you think Owlman hasn't seen this event?”
“Like you said before, it's already his plan; you're just the monkey wrench. I'm the only man alive ever to outsmart him. Trust me…he'll never see this coming.
His fingers twitched and over-active brain filled with worry fired on all cylinders. Olsen's' face was washed over, pale as the thoughts of ramifications spun 'round in his head. Fearing his soft leather shoes, Quizmaster backed away several paces just before the young man wretched in the alley. “Calm down, Jimmy. It'll be over soon and you'll show her – you'll have your revenge.”
Olsen's' face finally tightened when a question entered his brain. “You're not doing this to free me from her. I'm not worth it, what do you get from this, where do you benefit?”
A white handkerchief fluttered in the air, floating the small distance between Olsen and Quizmaster. Jim Olsen picked it from the air and wiped the acidic juices from his face. “Why, Jimmy…the most powerful weapon in the known universe of course. The power ring.”
Moments ago, the yellow and black adorned man watched the submissive lackey leave his club. As soon as Olsen was far from sight, Power Ring turned his attention to the paper, unfolded it and sitting it on the cocktail table. “Fifteen million is a very nice round number; I could turn a nice little profit with that investment.”
“You're a fool.”
The sound of disappointment rattled across the man's skull. He quickly checked the faces of the security staff and, at the sight of their confusion, Power Ring knew he was the only man to hear that voice. “Go screw, Volthoom. I don't want to hear it.”
“If you want to survive, you would do well to listen.”
Power Ring laughed. “And isn't that what got the guy before me killed? Listening to you? Sorry, I think I'll pass.”
He pulled his mask away, stretching the muscles in his face to cure the discomfort, and returned to the paper. Rummaging through a list of possibilities in his mind those fifteen million dollars would make possible, Power Ring became excited at the almost unlimited projects to accomplish. “You're pathetic,” Volthoom said. “Aren't there more important things than your money?”
Power Ring pushed away the thought of his disapproving power broker and entered an expansive closet at the rear of his suite. He ran his fingers across the suit jackets, letting his skin take in the feeling of the fabrics, especially the silk ties and stops at the cufflinks. Gold and onyx were organized by shape and weight inside a cedar box, hand-carved by a master wood-worker, but in the middle a single eight karat diamond stood and shimmered in the sparse light if only to contrast the other dark colors. Piece by piece, he took from their hangers a tailor made article of clothing and slipped them on, his body almost devoured in the designer black accessorized with yellow and gold. Stepping in front of the full length mirror kept on the inside of his closet door, he stood and smiled at himself while he posed. “Hector, m'boy, you've done it again.”
With an unashamed smirk of vanity, the man once unknown by the pitiful moniker his parents offered him after birth moved coolly to the elevator, where his servant awaited. “A reason to celebrate today, Lord Hammond?”
Power Ring simply nodded at the use of his family name. “Tonight, Harold, we'll enjoy ourselves. Tomorrow I deliver a blow to the pitiful underground resistance to which they'll never recover.”
“Very good, sir,” the man simply said as the elevators closed.
It was barely dawn before the music stopped, an hour after that before his escorts began to tire and shirk their duties and, as the mortals surrendered their desires to sleep, Hector Hammond looked down upon them. Their bodies spent and unusable, he cast aside all but the usual brunette. “Harold,” he called to the reluctant servant, “see to it that Carole finds herself in bed. Oh, and don't forget the golden rule.”
“I won't,” the man sheepishly spoke. “What of the others?”
He looked behind and shrugged. “Take one for yourself and have Garnder dispose of the rest, but don't doddle; I need this place ready for my victory as soon as I return!”
Harold bowed before the vain man and stepped away, taking his master's concubine in his arms, yet averting his eyes from her naked flesh. Without so much as a blanket to cover the exhausted woman, the servant vanished behind the tinted glass elevator.
Hammond peered into the horizon from his balcony wearing only his yellow ring – his namesake – and a towel to cover himself from the elements, he stood on his balcony almost surveying the city that cowered before him, the citizenry that come willingly to the slaughterhouse if only as a pitiful attempt to appease their god. With a commanding thought, the ring came to life with a flash of yellow that might blind anyone close by, and in an instant he was covered head-to-toe in the black and yellow uniform made famous by every news outlet and gossip column on the planet. Hector Hammond melted away as the mask covered his face and, with a bright flash, Power Ring was airborne!
He hardly felt gravity pull on his as he moved through the sky. If he cared about the physics behind his motion he might stop to think why, but there was only one thing on his mind and, oddly enough, it was Cleveland. His target was reported to be in negotiation with the heart clinic there; some do-gooder crusade to heal the sick and dying, which was such a wasteful expenditure of time and power. The trip from York was only minutes long and as the stream of yellow light slowed it became somehow solid. The energy form coalesced into something remotely human shaped then quickly the light was replaced by physical matter and, finally, flesh.
Power Ring dropped two feet onto the searing tar roof and stepped to the ledge of the building. The skyline worked too hard to be impressive but in the daytime only the sight of dirt brown water from Lake Eerie and the haze of an over-active industrial center kept the city as it always had been: a burden. An every-flowing river of energy kept Power Ring's body – and his air supply – untainted from the industrial pollution that slowly killed the citizenry below him.
He commanded the ring to search the city limits for Grundy's activity, the artificial intelligence inside doing as it was commanded but ultimately returned the query with no response to its master's question. It wasn't like Grundy to keep a low profile but with a deeper probe it shouldn't be hard to locate the only dead man with brain activity. But, after twenty minutes, the ring came up empty. “Useless,” Power Ring spat.
“Your accusation is baseless, your creativity is limited and your effectiveness is an utter disappointment.”
Power Ring sighed as the power broker's voice boomed across his mind and he pushed away the invading voice. Benefactor or not, the constant nagging was always more cumbersome than useful. However, it was the price to pay for the ring, but Volthoom – the being behind the rings' power – didn't count on Hammond's latent telepathy being as formidable at keeping his interference to a minimum. “Ring, continue search. Subject: Solomon Grundy.”
“What are you planning?”
The voice returned and Power Ring groaned out loud. “See, this is why I could never get married, I already have to deal with a nagging voice in my head, constantly questioning me.” He laughed at his own humor, trying to make light of the annoyance he felt inside his mind. “If I can't find the do-gooder, Volthoom, then I'll have to do the next best thing.”
“And that is?”
Power Ring searched the skyline, his eyes falling upon several buildings that looked tempting to test his theory, his thoughts commanding his ring to come to life. “I'll make him come to me.”
Yellow energy streaked across the sky, crawling across like cloudless lightning. Clouds formed after the fact, blotting out the sun and turning the midday into night as the only light to give the people below any reason to see was the streaks of yellow bolts that struck down from the heavens. From his rooftop center, Power Ring commanded the sky to do his bidding, directing lightning from the heavens and tossing it to the earth below as if he were an angry Zeus and, like a god with too much power at his disposal, Power Ring's voice filled the sky. “Grundy! You can end this misery! Show yourself!”
Fires raged as windows near him exploded and gutted the buildings, bodies and furniture alike flung into the streets from high stories and the mess spattered the streets. For long moments the yellow lightning streaked across the sky with no sign of the rich payday that Power Ring sought. Still standing on the rooftop as though it were his personal Olympus, Power Ring's hands filled with energy that was all too easy to hurl down onto the mortals below, and as he watched the ants scatter a sickening thought gave his mind purpose.
For all but a single spot in the sky, the clouds blotted out the sun, but then a perfect circular clearing parted the clouds. Using the clouds as its border, the same yellow energy that formed the clouds and the lightning in Power Rings hands formed something else far more terrifying…and, like the ants that ran for the very lives from the child with a magnifying glass, Power Ring watched as the inhabitants of Cleveland burned in the focused sunlight brought down by his mind's creation.
As he enjoyed the plight of the innocents he killed, he felt something of a strange cold fall over his body. He could see the breath escape his mouth as steam and he instantly knew he was not alone. “I hear you're looking for someone, mate.”
His eyes fell upon a man, his face hidden behind a wide brimmed hat as though he came from the European frontier, matching the British tone of his voice, and the guns that hanged from either hip were the dead giveaway on the man's identity. “Captain Cold,” Power Ring laughed at the sight of the cowboy turned vigilante. “Making good use of Owlman's property, I see.” The pistols that hung from his hips felt quite at home to the man and he said nothing in return. Instead he simply stared ahead before unholstering the weapons and pointed them both at Power Ring. “You're no match...”
“Oh, mate, don't get me wrong. I don't plan to be the guy that does you in.”
Captain Cold, the formal title he gleamed from the stint in the British army, fired a blast from the weapons and rolled away from Power Ring's immediate reach. The blast of cold was barely enough to knock his footing back but little more than enough to make him stumble backward a few inches. Power Ring laughed off the meaningless effort. “You're joking, right?”
From under the abused Stetson, Captain Cold smirked, standing in the line of sight of Power Ring and still not a bead of sweat formed on the man's brow. “It's all a matter of a plan, nothin' more.”
The rooftop rumbled like quaking earth and Power Ring smiled, only taking a moment to glance to the side to see the target recover from a long leap from the building across the way. The gray skin and white hair of a man more massive than a human should stood defiant and left Power Ring between himself and Captain Cold. “Where're the rest of your mongrels?”
Sir Solomon Grundy, knighted by the King of England himself for acts to save humanity from itself, stood defiant to the man that would be his next killer. A dead man, yet somehow living; though some might call him a zombie, the well-spoken English gentleman took it all in stride. With his hands on his hips he projected his voice at Power Ring, “I'm here! Stop this madness!”
Power Ring smiled. “But of course, now that I have your attention.”
The wind picked up and pushed every man on the roof nearly off their feet. Power Ring lifted into the air to rise above that sort of limitation, not needing the ground to support him. High in the sky, the clouds of black and yellow energy fought against another force for their very survival, white lighting and yellow filled the sky and, over the course of a moment or two, the true Mother Nature prevailed in battle above. A female voice filled the sky like thunder. “You foolish man!” A white-hot flash of light jaunted from the sky in a forked streak of lightning. It bounded and gathered form faster than the explosion of thunder that announced its presence and, stepping from a smoldering mess left atop the roof, a flesh and blood woman walked calmly forward as steam rose from her shoulders as her flesh cooled to the ambient temperature of the air. “Foolish man…you dare tempt nature's wrath?”
Caught on three sides, Power Ring's spun slowly as he hovered several feet in the air, keeping an eye on all of them. “Weather Witch…and here I thought you were a solo act.”
“When it suits me, I am whatever I wish to be.” She stared down the man wearing the yellow power ring, her raven black hair swaying in a wind that only encircled her body. “Surrender the ring and you may live another day.”
He glanced down at the two men and the woman beneath him and laughed aloud at their demands. “You want this?” he said as he raised his fist to show the tiny object that commanded such power. It shined and obeyed the unheard thoughts of his mind as yellow globs of energy unfolded from the air itself, an unnatural expression of solid light split into many more copies of itself. After seven more appeared they stopped their mitosis and began to form appendages and almost human form. “I'm afraid you're going to have go through them first.”
Not slowly the shapes gathered themselves into something more concrete – horned creatures, partially humanoid but also animalistic as well. There soulless eyes greeting their targets and, though they glowed yellow as an artificial form of life emanating from the mind of Power Ring, they moved all on their own and not dependent upon their creator or one another.
Captain Cold tipped his hat at Power Ring as though it were some show from a worthwhile adversary, and raised his weapons toward the bull-like creature nearest him. “Energy,” he laughed, “is only as good as its motion.” He aimed – not very carefully – and blasted the bull man square in the chest. It screamed in agony and the yellow creature stared back with anger in its eyes as the cold from the weapon in the human's hand ended its short-lived life. “Now,” Captain Cold smirked, “you want to play some more or would you like us to finish what we came here to do?”
The constructs vanished from the land of the living and Power Ring turned into his own mind. “I told you, take heed or your survival will not be long for this world.”
“Cold, you think that that was all my power?” he asked as his vision fell upon the most powerful in their number. His eyes filled yellow as energy streamed from the orbs like a flowing faucet of power and the woman in their number screamed in agony. “You want to see what I can do? Do you want to feel my wrath, woman!”
Within the span of a though the woman was brought to her knees, her mouth gaping wide as she screamed; flowing from her mouth like her voice was a constant hue of yellow light that shined like a lamp. A beacon of energy jumped out of her lips, her eyes and both ears and overcame the limits her body could contain and the Weather Witch exploded. Flesh, bone and blood flew in all directions as Power Ring simply panted, only showing the smallest hint of blood dripping out of his nose as he simply surveyed the destruction. “Now, you were saying, Cold?”
They hadn't time to mourn their friend. Grundy tightened his fists. “This ends.” The living dead-man spoke under his breath but still loudly enough to be heard.
Cold raised his weapons and fired successively into the air, though Power Ring quickly dodged the negative energy blast. His body airborne, he glided through the air effortlessly and constantly evaded the blasts from Cold's stolen weaponry. Grundy on the other hand lifted a heat pump from its bolted foundation and tossed it, smashing against the yellow energy field that surrounded Power Ring. The master of the yellow energy laughed it off, shrugging the machinery down off his back. “Is this all you can manage?”
Power Ring hovered in the air, his chest glowing in synch with his beating heart. “You enter dangerous territory,” the voice warned inside Power Ring's mind, to which he ignored yet again.
A heavy blast of yellow burned in the sky bright enough to challenge the sun, striking the roof with a might that sheared off the top story of the building whole. Captain Cold leapt from the roof, barely catching grip of a fire escape on the building next door while Grundy simply stood by and took the pain. “Fight me like a man!” he called to the man in the sky. “Come down here and face me, coward!”
Power Ring smirked. “Have it your way.”
His feet touch the ground, recovering from the drop as his fingers began to glow with a golden hue, tightening into a fist as his entire arm began glowing with an unstoppable energy. “This is dangerous, flee while you can.”
“I'm not a coward,” Power Ring muttered under his breath to the voice that continued to invade his mind.
“Takes a big man with a lot of power to rain misery down on the weak and defenseless.” The British voice of the man who died over Dover in World War Two overpowered that of the ring wielder. “That is a weakness, old boy, to be tempted and seduced as the power wields you.”
Power Ring listened as the dead-living man rambled on with yet another do-gooder speech. His kind were all alike, all words no action. “You want to know what real power is like? Do you want to know what I would do without restraint?” the black eyes behind his yellow mask scowled. If there was anything Power Ring knew about killing dead things it was that there were always two options. The first one really wasn’t fun as it required getting too close and it was usually too messy…but the second…Fire was the much better alternative.
Grundy’s voice howled at the instant he learned what a lack of restraint truly was, his flesh melting away as yellow and orange flames consumed his mostly gray dead skin, the flesh and fat melting away like a candle before eating away at the tremendous muscle that somehow continued to live beyond its natural life. “Restraint was not setting you on fire the moment I saw you. Hope you lived well, monster.” He spoke with a glib sense of darkness oozing from his voice as a protective bubble formed around the fifteen million dollar head of Sir Solomon Grundy.
The crumpled mass of dead flesh, still hot with embers that floated down from the light breeze fluttered all around Power Ring like fireflies that flew during the day. It stank, a horrible gastric smell of rotten food let loose by his bursting bowels that too soon caught fire and burned. “Grundy!” The strongly British voice of his compatriot roared through the air as Captain Cold climbed from the ledge of the building too late to help his friend and brought to aim the cold gun his working arm was able to lift – the other broken from his previous fall. Unsure of the setting, Cold fired and it nearly knocked him off his feet.
The force blast of negative energy flew across the air, freezing the liquid vapors in the air as the freezing blast forced its way to the intended target, hitting Power Ring center in the chest and he was only saved from death as his force shield halted the inertia. “That’s it? Really?” Power Ring gloated
With his feet planted firmly, Cold turned up the setting on the weapon even as he felt the gun reaching its critical mass and frostbite began setting into his fingers, but he still held on. Death for one of them was sure to follow and Captain Cold was sure it would be his.
“You’re not strong enough for this,” the voice in Power Ring’s head warned.
“Then make me stronger!” Power Ring returned. “Stop your incessant nagging and get this done!”
“Enough.” Volthoom, the voice inside the ring and Hammond’s mind, boomed. “The power is not some toy for you to make yourself wealthy using. You are unworthy.”
The smell of ozone crackled in the air. “I told you to flee,” Volthoom warned again, “ but you never listen to those above your station in life. Prepare yourself…for tonight you meet your maker.”
The yellow field around his body began to wane. “No! Volthoom, this isn’t the deal!”
“Sadly, you did not live up to your end. Good-bye Hector, it was my mistake to think you could handle this world, but I thrust too much upon you.”
White hot, almost invisible to the naked eye, an energy blast struck down onto the roof again, striking Power Ring dead center, splitting his body down the middle and searing the pieces before they could fall apart. “I’m not finished yet” a woman’s voice boomed within the thunder and a ball of lightning formed at the center of the man’s body and flew out at all angles. Electricity and thunder roared across the sky as the ashes of Hector Hammond fluttered in the soft breeze. Standing in the place where he once stood a woman – of sorts – stood. A shapely form of white hot electricity, incapable of moving beyond that form, remained.
“Weather Witch?” asked Captain Cold. “Lady, you were dead?”
“My body, yes, for now.” She spoke calmly as though it happened before. “I will return to a physical form in due time.
He nodded and lifted the Stetson off the ground and dusted the ashes that covered it, tjen Captain Cold took a knee. “All this,” he muttered and held the yellow ring between his thumb and forefinger, “for such a little thing?”
“Little, yes,” a voice sounded like an angry god, “but you misunderstand the purpose of it. Neither of you are any good to me. Though my host is dead, the power continues on!”
It burned through the gloved hand of Captain Cold, laughing at the smell of flesh burnt. Hovering in the air for several moments, Volthoom said, “We shall meet again soon, though be fortunate that your actions freed me from my one prison so I shall give you the benefit of the doubt when my new host meets you. Farewell…for now.”
The shiny ring fluttered in the sky under its own power, Captain Cold and Weather Witch watching as it shot into the sky, burning a hole in the acrid haze of Cleveland’s skyline. “I think we just unleashed a much bigger problem on ourselves.”
Weather Witch stood by in awe. “Agreed.”
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The End...
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