Fourteen: Like A Tomb

Located about an hour away from Phoenix, Arizona, Blue Springs had always been a quiet, suburban village–the kind of place Norman Rockwell immortalized in paintings of small town America, and Ray Bradbury wrote short stories that spoke of the magic of childhood that could be found right outside one’s front door. Its greatest appeal was that it was close to the hustle and bustle of Phoenix for fashion models, housewives, and stockbrokers who wanted to spend a day shopping in “the city,” yet it was far enough away so that Phoenix’s perceived “bad influences–” crime, drug and human trafficking, and a proliferation of homelessness–were kept at arm’s length by miles of wilderness and quaint, two-lane roads that seemed to lead everywhere but the center of town.

But, as was true with most small, populated areas–like Arkham, Massachusetts, and Castle Rock, Maine–Blue Springs had its fair share of secrets, and they were not the typical, two-old-women-gabbing-over-a-white-picket-fence kind of hushed whispers that involved penny-ante scandals about who was sleeping with whom, or what kind of double life that charming but strange young man who lived alone in the big house might be leading when he pulled the shades down at night.

These secrets were as black as the heart of Satan himself, and as chilling as the finality of a tomb.

And all their stories led back to what lay along Elm Road, that long country road just outside the village proper.

No one ever dared to talk about what was on the Road, or about the black trucks that rumbled along it in the dead of night, or about the inhuman wails that drifted into the otherwise quiet hamlet when the wind was blowing in the right direction. It was best to leave things be, the older folks often said; some things were better off not being known. Such logic seemed agreeable to the rest of the populace, so they decided, in the end, it was less stressful for them all to let the whole matter drop entirely. Thus, their minds eased, the people of Blue Springs continued to live their ordinary lives and raise their families and make their daily trips to “the city.”

And they did their best to ignore the evil that lay draped over their quaint little village like the shroud of a burial.

But unfortunately for the people of Blue Springs, their willful ignorance was not going to last much longer…

…

“Death…” Tempest repeated in a hushed whisper.

The members of the Star Legion all glanced at each other, as though hoping one amongst them might have some answer as to what could have been happening in this new world they entered, but no answers were coming forth.

“All right, people,” Grandmaster said calmly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” She looked at Astra. “Sienna, scan the area. Blue Springs is just around the bend in the road–see if you can pick up on any stray thoughts that might allow us to get a handle on the situation.”

“Want me ta take a gander from up top, see where we are?” Riven asked. Her eyes glowed yellow with her arcane power, and a green gold radiated in a bright pattern around her as she slowly rose up into the air. She was about to soar higher when Grandmaster waved her down.

Astra nodded and closed her eyes, and Grandmaster turned to her team. “Listen. I want this played by the numbers and by the facts. The last thing we need to be doing is go charging in half-cocked and dazed because we are confused and frightened, only to be doing someone a favor by conveniently walking into any traps that they may have laid out for us. Understood?”

The members of the Star Legion nodded, but they noticed Grandmaster still looked ready for a fight–her head lowered, body tensing like a dragon about to uncoil and breathe flames.

“Oh, oh, oh my God,” Astra suddenly wailed softly.

Sparks was at his lover’s side in a split second, steadying her now-trembling form as he clutched the sides of her head in agony.

Sienna! he shouted, unable to keep a note of panic from creeping into his telepathic voice as he directed his attention to her. Sienna, let it go! Whatever you are picking up on, just let it go!

“They are dying!” Astra cried, staggering back in agony. Her eyes brimmed with newfound tears. “They are slaughtering all of them and locking them up and they are dying and in so much pain…” Her voice trailed off, but her lips continued to move silently as she mouthed the words “dying” and “pain” over and over again. She blankly stared straight ahead, clearly unaware of Thomas’ gentle grip on her shoulders as he shook her softly, or even the worried expressions etched on the faces of her teammates, who had clustered around her. Whatever thoughts she had been tapping into seemed to be providing her with a vivid display of what it might be like to stare into the fiery pits of Hell.

Tenderly, Sparks pushed away Sienna’s locks of golden fire and placed his mouth beside her ear.

Sienna, he whispered. Let it go. Please, let it go, love. He reached out to stroke her cheek, then gently turned her head so he could look her in the eyes. Come back, Sienna! Please! Please, Sienna!

It took an agonizing moment or two, but slowly, Astra’s numbed expression began to soften and her trembling muscles unclenched and relaxed–but the haunted, pained look in her eyes remained.

“Thomas. My love,” she whispered. She reached up to wipe away the tears that had slid down his cheeks.

Sparks tipped his head and Sienna planted a kiss on his face mask. Welcome back.

Sienna’s eyes sparkled. “It is good to be back, my darling.” She inhaled sharply, then gathered her strength and her thoughts. “That was…quite something.” She straightened, rose to her feet, and stepped back from her patent, then let her hand slip down to hold his.

“You all right, sugah?” Riven asked. “Y’all had us worried for a moment there.”

“I’m fine, Riven. Thank you for asking,” she replied, but the strain in her voice said otherwise. “It is just…” she inhaled. “I just was not prepared for…for so much sorrow.”

You said, ‘they are all dying,’ Sparks said. What did you mean? Are you talking about the townspeople?

From his furrowed brow, it was clear that he regretted having to press Sienna for information so soon after she had recovered from this ordeal, but it was one of those things that must be done.

“It was not the townspeople,” Astra said. She paused as she recalled the pain, then shook her head, pushing away the unpleasant sensations from her mind.

“Then who–” Cryo began to ask.

“I do not know, Jamie. When I scanned the area, I ran into…I can only describe it as a psychic tide wave. A culmination of the most powerful, the worst emotions you can imagine–fear, anger, despair, pain–created by a group of large minds nearby–at least three hundred. It was like opening a door and finding a wall of water bearing down on me, and I was drowning in it. I was not able to erect a stronger mental shield fast enough to block it before it struck me down.”

“And this was all coming from Blue Springs?” Phantasma queried,

Astra nodded. “Or some place very close to it,” she confirmed.

“All right, then,” Grandmaster said. She glanced at each one of the men and women under her command. “Same positions as before, but let’s double-time it. And be ready for anything, Star Legion.”

As they had done before, the Star Legion spread out as they moved down Elm Road of Blue Springs, but now there was a nervous energy that seemed to hang in the air around them, a static electricity that was formed of worry, anger, and yes–fear.

Grandmaster frowned as she scented her friends. Fear did have its uses in battle, she acknowledged; it kept the edge on, kept you moving, as long as you didn’t allow it to overwhelm your thinking. But fear was also a deadly distraction, especially considering the amount of danger that was involved in their line of work.

As they walked, Sparks risked a quick glance at Astra. She tried to appear stoic and serious, doing her best to focus on their job, but from the way she was chewing on her lower lip, it was clear that she was still haunted by the mental images left by the psychic assault.

We will get through this, Astra, he thought. I promise you that.

Astra looked up at him and smiled–she had “heard” him. Three words suddenly formed in his head, protected by Sienna for him alone. I love you, she said.

Love you too, she replied.

“We are on Elm Road,” Grandmaster said. “Our target is just around the next bend. Until we find out exactly what is wrong here, I don’t want us to put ourselves in danger, attracting unnecessary attention.”

“Do you want me to ‘port in and see?” Shadowstalker asked, raising his pawed hands of shadow.

Grandmaster shook her head. That was what the Teacher would do–he would have sent Shadowstalker in blind, without knowing what was ahead. But Grandmaster was not that. She would not put her friends in danger, not allow them to take any unnecessary risks.

“Not until we see what is wrong,” Grandmaster said.

“Dat means no flyin’, chére,” Gauntlet pointed out to Riven. Her head bolted up in surprise as he addressed her–the first time since their altercation in the hallway. She started to look toward him, but Gauntlet looked away. He did not care. He did not care.

Shaking his head, he frowned. Merde, how pathetic he was now. Back in his days with Eventide, nobody would have ever dared to see him, the King of Hearts, like this–forlorn and lovesick.

Gauntlet did not care. If she wanted to be this way, then he would let her have it. If she didn’t want him around, then he wouldn’t be. Gauntlet was not Riven’s friend, and he would not be anything more.

But you think she is your mate, a voice told him, knifing into his thoughts. That makes her special.

So what if she might be his mate? Just because he had a suspicion of it, it did not mean it was true. The mating bond was an evolutionary thing to deviants, as a way to have stronger offspring. So what if it was considered to be something sacred to deviants? After all, she was just another femme–and an untouchable one at that.

What difference did it make that he thought she was beautiful? That she was amazing? There had to be so many girls out there just like her, with those fathomless green eyes, the same wit and humor tinged with shyness, the same iron core…obviously, he hadn’t been thinking straight when he said those ridiculously sweet words to her. It had to have been the moment. And he had always been a romantic, non? It was the best way to charm those filles.

Gauntlet took a deep breath and ran his hand through his auburn hair. No more. He had never said such things to anyone before, and it did not matter. All he had was himself. He would not brood and ruminate on this–no, there was nothing to brood and ruminate on, because he did not care.

Seemingly oblivious to Gauntlet’s inner turmoil, Riven stepped next to him, clasped her yellow-clad hand against the side of one cheek and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Is that a fact, sugah?” she said sarcastically. “Why, suh,” she cooed in an excessively sweet imitation of a stereotypical southern belle, “Ah simply don’t know what Ah’d do if a big strong man such as yourself wasn’t around to protect li’l ol’ me.” She lowered her hands and frowned at him.

“Knock it off, you two,” Grandmaster said to them, gazing worriedly at the pair. She quickly decided to deal with that later. “Everyone, spread out. Cryo, you’ve got the point.”

Sienna nodded and moved forward. Grandmaster crouched low and stepped lightly along the edges of the road. There was a moment in time when she had been trained in Japanese martial arts by Shadowstalker, and he taught her various stealth and fighting techniques. She relied on those methods now as the Star Legion took their positions behind her, creating a triangular formation as they followed her.

“Holy Throne,” Cryo breathed as he reached ahead of them. “Star Legion, you have got to come see this.”

The ice wielder was standing a few yards ahead, where the road curved toward a gravel path that was supposed to lead to the center of town. The Star Legion jogged up to join the point man–

–and stopped dead in their tracks.

“What in the name of the Throne…” Grandmaster whispered, her voice trailing off. Her eyes were widening in shock.

There was a collection of about a dozen or so wooden bunk houses surrounded by a twenty-foot-high chain-link fence, the top of which was swathed in lethal razor-wire that hummed with electricity. Thirty-foot guard towers were spaced out ten yards apart, their searchlights continuously sweeping across the mud-splattered ground, theri uniformed occupants walking in a slow circled circuit across the muddy grounds between the cement-and-steel parapets, formidable-looking weapons clutched in their hands.

“Oh, no,” Phantasma moaned softly. Riven gasped, clearly stunned by this unexpected sight. Beside her, Gauntlet said nothing, any sarcastic remark he might have been about to make lodged in his throat.

“Bozhe moi,” Shadowstalker uttered, his dark eyes flashing with silver in the moonlight.

As for Grandmaster…well, Grandmaster had been trapped in one of these, her body broken down and tortured before being healed back and broken down again. It was the type of horrifying, nauseating sight that one could never completely wipe away from the mind’s eye after witnessing it, no matter how much time had passed. She growled softly.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Gauntlet finally asked. “Dat looks like some kinda military installation.”

“That isn’t a soldier base, Ash,” Grandmaster said, and when she spoke, it was like peals of thunder cracked across the night sky. “It’s a death camp.”

…

Life is cruel. Life is harsh. And life is the only thing I have left.

If there was one truism in this detainee camp, it was that. Life was what you tried to hang onto as long as possible in those rare moments between beatsings, and the dead were the lucky ones–lucky enough to have escaped their torment.

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Teresa Ailosos had learned that lesson a long time ago, at the end of a guard’s truncheon, or the boot heel of a matron, or from the fist of one of the savage prisoners that were allowed to mix with–and terrorize–a general population consisting mainly of writers, musicians, and an odd politician or two. Sentenced to life imprisonment, their powers were negated by neural inhibitor collar that “rewired” the brain’s synapses’ so they were unable to use the mental “on-switch” that activated their powers, and they were more than willing to vent their frustrations on the “normals” who cowered in their presence.

Teresa had tried to do something about the situation when she first arrived, but that selfless dedication to helping others had soon been beaten out of her, along with two teeth and a pint or two of blood. And for each day she spent here–she’d lost count of the exact number–there was always someone more eager to take advantage of any opportunity to provide her with a refresher course on the perils of getting involved in other people’s business.

After all, it was often said that one teaches by repetition.

Life had not always been this bad for Teresa Ailoso. By the time she turned twenty-five, she seemed to have it all: an Air Force captaincy, a modest apartment in Manhattan, even her first stable relationship in years.

But then, one day…something happened to her. Teresa frowned in thought as she struggled against this gaping dark hole in her mind. Why can’t I remember? she questioned herself. Why can’t I?

Just as always, whenever she contemplated this, she had tried to breathe in and out and think around the blazing terror and the growing urge to clutch her head into her hands and scream.

Someone had hurt her: stolen a part of her soul, torn her heart open and shattered her spirit. She wanted to remember, but she couldn’t.

During nights like this, it felt like she had the ability to see through a thousand eyes. Bakers and accountants, store owners and police officers, teachers and soldiers and kings–ordinary and extraordinary, she lived their lives every night. Every life except for her own.

Her fall from grace did not take long after…whatever had happened to her. In the span of a day, Teresa had lost her rank, her apartment, her short-time boyfriend…and her freedom. It still horrified her, knowing how quickly the foundations of her life had been shaken apart. She still shuddered whenever her thoughts flashed back to the fact that she was once a decorated officer, a respected member of her community, a woman deeply in love; the next, she was just another nameless victim–attacked in her hospital room by a half-dozen men in black suits, drugged, tossed in the back of a nondescript van, and presented with the horrific opportunity to experience first-hand what life was like in this camp.

Whatever family she had left, she later learned, had been told that she had committed suicide, choosing to hang herself rather than face up the shame she had brought them by her dishonorable discharge. Her “ashes” had been left on her parents’ doorstep in the middle of the might, so they’d be sure to find them when they went to take out the trash.

Teresa still shuddered in fear when her thoughts flashed back to the first few days following her abduction from the hospital: the crippling beats, the maggot-infested food ,the psychological torture that added to the blackouts in her mind. But thankfully, when enough new “guests” had arrived to momentarily sate a seemingly endless hunger for doling out abuse, the guards and the once-powered prisoners grew tired of using her as a punching bag and went hunting for fresher game. She knew that it wouldn’t last forever, of course–even a grown child would go back and play with an old toy, just for old times’ sake–but she considered each day they left her alone a blessing.

Now one year later, she was twenty-six but looked fifty-six, her smooth complexion and bright attitude replaced by callused skin and a bitter cynicism. There were streaks of gray in her blonde hair, and her pale blue eyes always seemed to be bloodshot–brought on by a severe lack of sleep, no doubt. But that was to be expected in a place where death could come swiftly, silently, as silent as a dagger to the belly or as loud as a shrill whistle when trying to breathe through a shattered windpipe. Such was the life as a detainee in the Eternity Corporation’s detention camp.

Lying in her bunk in one of the “girls dormitories,” as they were known–as though anyone would mistake the drafty wooden structures as though it were some kind of college campus apartment complex–Teresa tossed fitfully, unable to sleep. She stared up at the crisscross of wooden beams and uncoiled her aching body. Two and a half months in this camp, and her health was not improving after she was just ripped out from the intensive care unit in the hospital under a “Jane Doe” alias. Her stomach ached fiercely, blood trickled from an open wound from between her thighs, her bladder felt like it was going to explode, and she was just starting to run a fever; more than likely, there had been some kind of bacteria in the water–possibly a some kind of experiment, if the whispers she heard flitting around the camp were true–and her body was demanding she do something now to purge it from her system. Teresa clenched her teeth and tried her best to ignore the pain coursing through her, but the fetal position in which she had drawn herself was as tight as it was ever going to be, and that brought no relief.

There was no way around it: she needed fresh air and she really, really needed to go to the bathroom.

Slowly uncoiling her body, Teresa slid out from under the coarse blanket that covered her body and unsteadily rose to her feet. A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her–she could taste a river of bile burning up its way to her throat–but she fought the sensation as hard as she could and ordered herself to take small steps forward. It responded to a small degree, and she quietly shuffled across the rough wooden floor in threadbare slippers. She glanced around the darkened room surreptitiously, but none of the other female prisoners seemed to have heard her movements–nor did any of them seem to be exhibiting any sign of the pain that forced her to walk doubled-over. Teresa swore under her breath; she’d probably been used as an unwitting test subject–again–for some new strain of virus for which the Eternity Corporation was experimenting with. That would make three in the last two months alone. Not for the first time, she wondered if there were any real uses for the bugs, or whether her jailers were just trying to discover what it would take to finally kill her.

“Better men than you have tried, jerkface,” she muttered to an imaginary scientist, just before another river of bile tried to force its way through her lips.

Moving to the front door of the bunkhouse, Teresa paused to look around. Prisoners were not allowed out of the dormitories after “lights-out,” no matter what the reason was. But the white-hot knifes of pain that pierced her gut insisted that she had to take the chance. Teresa scanned the area from the dorm to the bathroom once more to make certain there was no one around, then she set off for her steel salvation.

Unfortunately, she did not check around the corner of the bunkhouse…

…

Grandmaster bared her teeth and glared menacingly at the camp. After a moment, she tore her gaze away and turned toward the Star Legion. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at her friends. “We’re all going in there–but working together, as a team. Understood?”

“What’s the plan, boss?” Riven asked.

“Information first,” Grandmaster said, pointing to Phantasma and Gauntlet. “Betta and Ash and I–us three are the stealth experts. We are going to get inside the camp, get a read on the situation and a lay of the land, then come right back. Then we can form a strategy once we have gotten a handle on what is going on.”

Astra tilted her head back and breathed in, then gasped in surprise.

“What is it? Do you have something?” Cryo asked.

“I sense a familiar presence,” Astra replied. “If it is really her–” She jerked her head toward the center of the camp “–then this is either very good or very bad.”

“Den let’s go see what it is,” Gauntlet said.

“I will maintain a telepathic link with you three,” Astra responded. “If there is any trouble, give a shout and we’ll come running.”

Phantasma took a step between Gauntlet and Grandmaster and placed her hands on both their shoulders.

“Ready, Legionnaires?” Grandmaster asked.

“Do it,” Phantasma said stiffly.

And with a burst of red light and an imposition of air, they were gone.

“What do we do now?” Riven wondered.

Sparks glanced at the wry southern Legionnaire. Now we wait, he replied.

…

Teresa Ailosos was just stepping away from the lavatory, grateful for having the opportunity to take care of herself and regaining the ability to stand erect, when a callused hand clamped over her mouth; before she could pull away, a powerful arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

“Don’t make a sound,” a coarse, male voice whispered in her ear. Teresa recoiled from the mingled stench of cheap alcohol and tobacco that seemed to explode from her mouth. Twisting her head to one side, she caught a glimpse of dark-green fabric and shiny brass buttons.

It was one of the guards.

“You’re a pretty one,” the guard continued in a low whisper. “A lot better lookin’ than some of the others they bring in here. Blonde hair and blue eyes…I always liked those types of girls. I don’t know how I missed you before, but we can always make up for lost time…”

Teresa’s eyes widened in fear. As the guard started to pull her back to the lavatory, she twisted violently, trying to pull away, digging her heels into the muddy soil to slow their progress, but her burning fever and roiling stomach had drained away most of her strength. In desperation, legs flailing wildly, she raised one foot, then drove her heel into the top of his booted foot, just below the ankle, with all her might. Thankfully, it had the desired effect: the guard yelped in pain and loosened his grip just enough for her to tear herself away from him. Teresa spun around quickly and lashed out with her hands clasped together, throwing her strongest punch. She was lucky: the blow caught him across the nose–his low moaning caused by the injured foot leapt a few notes in volume to a high-pitch shriek when delicate bones shattered.

Teresa turned and started to run, but the man was still quick enough to lash out with his injured foot, catching her just below the right knee with the steel toe of his boot. She cried out in agony and crashed to the ground.

The pain was blinding; multicolored stars of light danced before her eyes, making it difficult to focus on the guard as he hobbled toward her. Teeth bared, the lower half of his face smeared with blood and mucus, he reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, savagely yanking her to her knees.

“Forget about gettin’ to know each other better, baby,” he hissed. “Now I’m just gonna kill you.” His free hand dropped to the wide brown utility belt around his waist, and moonlight glinted along the serrated edge of a foot-like knife as it was pulled from its leather sheath.

Teresa closed her eyes. She knew that, even if one of the guards, or even another prisoner, happened to stumble upon this, no one would try to help her. That’s just how things were done here: it was every person for themselves. Trembling, she waited for the end as his blade sang toward her.

But surprisingly, it never came.

A new sound reached her eyes, a noise not unlike that caused by the spark of fire–that clear sharp crackle of flames being ignited.

The guard moaned. She started, not knowing what to make of this, yet afraid to look to find out. However, curiosity got the best of her and she slowly opened her eyes.

Her attacker was standing in front of her, but his head was tilted back and scorched with a black handprint, as though he were looking at the night sky instead of his intended victim. He also seemed to be standing off-balance, as though he were about to collapse.

“Who–” he whispered in a strangled voice. Then there was a brilliant flash of light, and the guard collapsed, face-first, onto the muddy field.

“You okay, chére?” a smooth, husky voice asked. Teresa’s gaze flicked wider and shifted from the unconscious guard to the person standing behind them: his attacker, obviously. She was lithe, with muscles shifting beneath her colorful costume, like one might expect to see from a performer in the circus. To her surprise, there was no trace of whatever weapon she had used to dispose of the human trash lying in front of her.

“Who are–” she began to whisper.

“Mon Dieu, Grand Maître,” interjected the same voice from the darkness. “Was doin’ dat really necessary?”

The woman he called “Grandmaster” turned to someone she could not see, and frowned at him.

“Yes, it was,” she said simply. “You know how I feel about men like him. But he is alive–just knocked out–and hopefully not going to hurt anyone else.”

Her two companions stepped forward from the shadows, and Teresa had to fight the overwhelming urge to run and hide. One was a teenage girl, no more than sixteen, perhaps, with a mask covering her mouth and a gold-and-blue bodysuit; the man was handsome and lithe, clad in a red battlesuit with blue pants and a long silver trench coat covering his costume.

“W-who are you people?” Teresa whispered.

Grandmaster turned to face her and tilted her head with a quizzical expression on her face. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

Teresa started. She had not been expecting that kind of reaction. From the tone of voice and the way she was staring at her in total confusion, it seemed evident that this young woman expected Teresa to recognize her. Teresa stared back at her, then at the other two, as a tangle of emotions coursed through her. She did not recognize the man or the teenager, but this girl seemed to be familiar.

I do know these people, she realized in shock. How this might be so, she didn’t have the faintest idea, but if she could just talk to them a little more…

“I…I am so sorry. I wish I could help you,” Teresa said slowly. “And look–it’s not that I’m ungrateful for what you’ve done for me–” she nodded toward the unconscious guard “–It’s just that I don’t remember meeting you–any of you–even though you do seem familiar.”

“We mean you no harm, chére,” the man said.

Grandmaster took a step forward; Teresa immediately moved backwards. The Grandmaster looked surprised by her behavior. She paused and held her hands palm-up to show she meant no harm. Then she exchanged a long look with her two companions. The teenager frowned.

“First this camp appears,” she said. “Now, an old friend–er, rival, enemy, opponent–wait, that’s not right either. Protector? Frenemy? Oh, ally–that’s a good word,” the girl decided. “She does not remember us…” Her voice trailed off and the three of them all stood silently, as though they were listening to a conversation only they could hear.

“Aaahh, this is crazy,” the girl said. Teresa froze as the girl stepped forward. “Teresa, it’s us. The Star Legion. Your allies? You don’t remember Manhattan or the plane crash or anything like that?”

Teresa shook her head. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

The man sighed. “Well, dis is bad,” he commented.

The one they called Grandmaster inhaled sharply, her whole body suddenly tensing. Sheaths of red and orange flickered around her as she stared at the center of the camp. “It’s about to get a whole lot worse…”

Following the direction of Grandmaster’s steely gaze, Teresa looked over her shoulder–just in time to see a pair of armed guards–one male, one female, both with rifles slung over their shoulders–turning the corner of the bunkhouse. The duo came to an abrupt halt, started by the unexpected appearance of a prisoner breaking curfew, an unconscious guard, and three outsiders.

“DON’T MOVE!” the male guard ordered. The female guard quickly unslung her weapon, bringing it to bear on them. Teresa turned back to the costumed individuals, just to see what they were going to do about this problem, and her jaw dropped in shock as she saw flames dance on Grandmaster’s skin, making her appearance mystical and otherworldly as it took on a shape that resembled a cross between a phoenix and a dragon.

Now, at last, she knew how she attacked the guard.

The realization that such weapons had to be sheathed within the skin of bare arms, however, only made her stomach problems resurface.

…

In the woods on the far side of Elm Road, Astra turned to Sparks, her face filled with worry.

“Trouble,” she said simply.

Pull them back, Sparks ordered. Tell them to grab Teresa and get them out of there right now!

“Teresa?” Riven whispered, her eyes widening in shock. “Teresa Ailoso?”

Astra nodded at him and her brow knit in concentration as she telepathically conveyed the message. She knew, though, that it was too late for their teammates to escape without a fight…

…

“No!” Phantasma said fiercely. “No more, Grandmaster! I’ve got this!”

And with that statement, her form became as incorporeal as a ghost, only to become solid again a moment later as she charged at the male guard, who looked more than a little surprised at the girl who could become a ghost.

“Devil child–” he began to whisper.

“That’s right,” Phantasma said, and a black-gloved fist lashed out, catching the man across the left temple. Knocked senseless, the guard stumbled back into his partner. Out of reflex, the woman’s finger tightened on the trigger of her rifle; the gun rang out three times, the shots ricocheting through Phantasma as she willed herself intangible again.

Deviants, Teresa realized with a jolt. But were they friend or foe?

The reaction to the gunfire was immediate. Around the camp, an ear-piercing alarm began to screech. Searchlights that had originally been sweeping the camp as part of their routine computerized programming now started swiveling in the direction of the altercation. Before Teresa and the costumed people could take cover, they found themselves awash in the beams of the purest, whitest lights.

“Oh, great,” Teresa muttered sarcastically. “That’s just…great…”

…

In the woods on the far side of Elm Road, Astra turned to her teammates, her face filled with worry.

“Trouble,” she said simply.

From the outside, the Star Legion watched as the camp came to life–dogs began barking, armored soldiers poured out of barracks, and every light in the compound snapped on, illuminating the camp with the intensity of daylight.

Sparks turned to the team. All right, people, he transmitted. It is a little ahead of schedule, but we have a camp to liberate.