Luna
Attilan
The Catacombs…

Karnak held the thin veil of cloth over his nose and lips as they traversed the dark, dank tunnels of the catacombs. The stench of burning flesh was overwhelming, though not quite enough to staunch the odors of urine and fecal matter. His eyes were wide at the death and destruction that they passed as he followed Avacar the Seeker through the twisting labyrinth that ran beneath the streets of Attilan. Walls had fallen and ceilings had collapsed. Small fires raged unchecked as everything not stone burned away to nothing and less. A shiver passed through him unwillingly as he began the prayer once again…

Agon, bless these souls unto your care that they might find peace and solace in your eternal embrace…

But the wide, dead eyes of the Alpha Primitives stared unmercifully in his passing, watching with accusation and disbelief. They had passed dozens on their way deeper into the depths; each mangled and broken or burned, smoldering with the residue of laser fire and scorching marks of blasters. They had been slaughtered outright by the invading force as the amalgamation of races fought their way into the bowels of the Great Refuge. Many were shot in the back, women and children as well as the males. There was no mercy, and as yet no survivors.

Karnak started at the baying of the hounds; one at first, but that one plaintive cry was soon joined by others. The mongrels had found something, hopefully his missing cousins; Triton and Crystal Amaquelin.

Karnak saw the Seeker stop up ahead at the raucous noise, so hurried forward through the militia. Avacar stood sniffing at an intersection, the way to the right leading down towards the depths along the Grand Slope, the other leading towards the shanty town of the Alphas far in the distance and dark. The hounds continued to bay as the Seeker’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring wide as he sought.

“They are near,” Avacar said holding his staff out and rigid at arm’s length. The Seeker waved his staff, motioning down the long Slope, the gradual path descending into the dim. “That way.”

The Seeker hurried on, Karnak on his heels and the militia following. All about the mongrels danced, surging forward in a maddening ballet of brute force and balance. He could hear the thudding thunder of their advance, their howls echoed by the lead scouts that had cornered their prey.

He could feel the very air about them changing, becoming moist and vacant all at once. He could feel the static discharge making his hair stand on end and the last whistling traces of wind rushing past, back up and out of the Depths. And away on the Concourse, the shifting shadows of life.

In the distance he saw the hulking shadow of the Inhuman beast, Lockjaw hovering over the golden and scarlet feminine form of Crystal Amaquelin, his second cousin, the exquisite Elemental. Nearer he saw Triton, his amphibious First Cousin holding some squirming bundle in his arms. Too, he saw a human woman and two small children, the latter looking vaguely familiar.

“I’ve got to!” Crystal was shouting, her voice sharp and near tears as he approached. She looked anxious and stricken, her one hand clutching within the folds of Lockjaw’s skin and fur the other waving madly. “Try to understand, Triton! Lockjaw can take me to Luna! I can get my baby back!”

“You cannot, Crystal!” Triton countered, his emerald scales rippling with tension. “You are needed here! The Great Refuge is under attack. Black Bolt needs us all! As your elder, I forbid-“

“You forbid?” Karnak heard the far off rumble of thunder and hurried his pace. He passed the Seeker and saw Avacar withdrawing his Weapon Absolute, preparing for his ultimate duty. Karnak placed a hand on the Seeker’s arm.

“No!” Karnak shouted, pausing to halt the Seeker’s actions. “Thy final action is not needed. We are here to find only; to seek out, not capture and return. Hold thy judgement – “

The Grand Slope erupted in a wash of golden energy. Karnak gasped, turning to face the glow and saw the shimmering forms of Lockjaw and Crystal as they faded from view, stepping through time and space alike.

“No… “

Karnak hurried forward, pausing at the group at Triton’s side as the Seeker and the militia rushed past, investigating the rubble and the gaping hole that opened to the rush of water far, far below. Breathing hard, Karnak bowed slightly to his elder. Triton nodded in turn.

“Cousin.”

“What- what has happened?” Karnak asked ignoring protocol, glancing briefly at the squirming cub of Lockjaw in his cousin’s arms. “Where has Crystal gone?”

Triton frowned. “On a fool’s errand, I fear. She is assured that Lockjaw can lead her to her daughter, Luna, despite the queer energies that envelop our homeworld, Earth. I fear for her, though my heart reaches out. I fear she shall be greatly disappointed.”

“B-but… “ Karnak sputtered. Attilan is besieged! We need her, and her gift.”

“I fear as well that we shall be gravely disappointed in that.” Triton shook his head, scratching Puppy behind his ear and turning his attention to the three Humans. Karnak looked at them fully for the first time, recognizing the male as the eld child of Reed and Susan Richards; Franklin, thus deducing that the female baby was Valeria his sister. The young woman with the shaved head he did not know, nor care. She was not one of the Earth’s Marvels and thus beneath his notice.

“We must hie to the Throne Room,” Triton said, “and with haste. This woman is Guardian to the Richards progeny and has grave news concerning the state of the world, Earth. Black Bolt must be told.”

Karnak looked down towards the receding light, into the Depths as the Seeker and militia secured the passage, then glanced to the Human woman and her charges. She looked rattled and shaken, on the verge of despair, and young Franklin looked no better. Only the babe, Valeria seemed ignorant of the horrors that escalated about them, gooing obliviously. Karnak nodded.

“As you will, cousin.”

With a final glance back, Triton sighed, then moved, hurrying up the Slope. Karnak followed, crossing in the Five Points; Body, Mind, Soul, Life and Heart, and whispering prayers to Agon…

AND A CHILD…

A Fourth Reich Tie-In

By Curtis Fernlund

Luna
Attilan
The Grand Plaza…

“It’s madness! You can’t do this!”

Blackagar Boltagon, ruler of all the Inhumans and the Great Refuge ignored the wailing protestations of his cousin and wife as he stared skyward at the armada of ships that stood in formation over his land. It was a ragtag fleet comprised of warships from a dozen races at least. He saw Kree Dreadnoughts flying in formation with Skrull Saucers and Shi’ar Raptors. In the distance he saw a Mechanoid Mothership, its blocky technology bristling and sparking as though on fire. In between he saw smaller craft from lesser races as well as the singular warriors that were deemed space worthy; Shatterstar soldiers of the Kree, Armenian Shock Troops, Shi’ar Warbirds, and robotic Sentries to name just a few. The invading force was many and diverse. Left unchecked, Attilan was doomed.

“Blackagar… please… “

Medusalith Amaquelin Bolt grabbed at his arm, clutching, pleading… Black Bolt glanced at his wife with sympathy, his gray eyes sad and betraying tears as he then took a long final look at his wife and love. He regretted the many years of unrequited love, when he had to play the cold and distant monarch for the sake of their people. He looked unto her and saw their son, feeling the lump in his throat at the pleasant times now lost and fading memories. He wanted to speak, to assure his wife, to comfort his love, but of course he could not. His merest whisper could level all of Attilan, causing great devastation and killing all within the envelope that held the Great Refuge apart from the cold and forbidding Lunar atmosphere. He wanted to whisper ‘I love you’, but instead simply motioned with his hands and fingers, knowing that she would understand.

“Agon… Please… “ Medusa said, dropping to her knees in defeat and despair, her scarlet tresses swirling limply, mirroring her emotions. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded again, her voice cracking with anxiety, but Black Bolt ignored her pleas, knowing his duty and what had to be done.

Explosions rippled in the distance. Blackagar saw the Tower of Ages crumble and fall behind the skyline of Attilan. A moment later he felt the ground tremble and knew that Gorgon was holding the line against the invaders. Giving his all. How could Black Bolt, Monarch of the Inhumans do any less?

He stepped away from Medusa, ignoring her as she clung to him.

“Blackagar!” she whined and he bit his lip, closing his eyes, his fingers flickering for her silence.

Black Bolt took a deep, silent breath, trying to calm, to cleanse both body and mind as he stared skyward again, sighting his target. The Kree were in command, driving the others. The Imperial Dreadnought was his goal. He would make them regret their invasion… their assault on his land and home. They would pay for the destruction and the innocent lives taken away.

He spread his arms, letting the stellar winds catch the membranes of gossamer beneath, his wings expanding with the breath, raising him up and above. Attilan spread about him, pristine towers and dazzling minarets rising amidst the smoke and rubble of war. He could hear the collective shouts, the cries of agony as his people fell before the invading forces, the armada of aliens that sought to dominate and subjugate and slay. He would stand for it no longer.

The Inhumans had fought long and hard, had suffered many hardships for their independence. He would never surrender to the Kree, nor any other race that sought to dominate them. He would fight to the final drop of his spilled blood, his dying gasp of breath to retain the freedom of his people, those that he loved.

He gained speed, flying ever higher, his glider wings riding the air currents and updrafts in a crisscross, zigzag effort to soar. He needed the speed to pierce the envelope of atmosphere and then to go beyond. He needed to breech the gap of cold, hard space to attack the Kree ship set high in orbit. To crash through and confront them head on, as monarch and Inhuman alike. He was not immortal. He was not indestructible or invulnerable as so many of the Earth’s Marvels were. He was just a man…

With a gift and a dream…

Luna 
Attilan
The Royal Palace
The Hall of Hearing…

“Doomed! We’re doomed!” Enod, the Grand Vizier to the Court of Blackagar Boltagon shouted, his colorful, shining robes a flurry behind as he stalked the length of those assembled. He waved his staff of office, gesticulating wildly as he spat and fumed, daring any to speak up or dissuade. “We should surrender now, while we still have the chance. The Kree will be merciful!”

“Be silent, rabble rouser!” Iridia shouted against the Vizier’s whining display. She winced as she stepped sternly forward, her exquisite wings expanding and sending pain through her body, the scored mark of blaster fire black and moldering on her delicate treasures. Still, she pressed on.

“You would turn our people against out liege, Black Bolt who has suffered much in our name and cause – “

“Silence mockery,” the Vizier said with a wave of his staff of office. “You are the last who should speak here in council. How many rules and scriptures did ‘our liege’ ignore to expose you to the Terrigen Mists, crone? You are abomination! How many others languish in misery whilst you soar the skies above Attilan?”

BOOM!

“You see? Retribution comes!”

Enod, the Grand Vizier strode forward as though to strike Iridia with his staff. She cringed, awaiting the blow that would probably slay her, her wings burned and damaged as she had flown to save Aero, then to warn the Great Refuge, too late. She raised her arms…

She opened her eyes when the blow did not come, gasping to see Triton holding the Vizier’s arm in check while Karnak crouched beside her, reaching out in comfort.

“Iridia. Are you harmed?”

Iridia looked up into Karnak’s eyes and saw true concern there, worry for her condition. “No, Lord Karnak. Ashamed, not injured.”

“You presume much, Vizier,” they both heard Triton say, foreign rage ravaging his voice. Looking up they saw that the amphibious Inhuman held Enod’s wrist easily in check, the sea-born pressure of his strength forcing the Vizier to his knees. Enod’s staff dropped from his limp hand and clattered on the immaculate tiles of the Hearing Hall, echoing loudly along the acoustics.

“My cousin and Lord forgave you your trespasses, Enod, yet still you follow the misguided teachings of Maximus the Mad. Where does your loyalty lie?”

Enod was about to speak when he glanced past Triton, staring at his charges; the Humans. “My loyalty should not be in question. I do not bring outsiders into the Palace Royale. I do not harbor the kith and kin of the Great Beast- he who killed the brother of Black Bolt!”

Iridia heard a collective gasp from the courtesans as all eyes turned to the three Humans standing in the Grand Arch. She did not know the female, nor the babe, but the boy childe was obviously the get of Richards and savior of Attilan many times over. “No… “ she said, but the chamber erupted in shouts of shock and anger as Triton; gentle level Triton grasped Enod about the throat and lifted him from the floor. Legs kicking wildly, Enod gasped for breath.

“Scum…” Triton snarled, tightening his grip on Enod’s throat. “Foul profiteer. Attilan stands on the brink and you would sully the name of one who has given his all time and again to save our land? Benjamin Grimm is a mortal, a Human, but he knows more of life and love than you will ever know. He slew thy master because Mad Maximus hid behind the skirts of a babe!”

“Lord Triton!” Iridia screamed.

“Cousin!” Karnak shouted, leaping forward and grabbing the Aquatic’s arm. “Hold thy rage. It’s not for you to decide.”

Triton seethed as Enod squirmed at arm’s length, his mouth gaping, eyes pleading mercy. Silence filled the Great Hall, deafening…

Triton sagged, lowering Enod to the floor.. The Aquatic hung his head as the Vizier gasped for breath, prying at the hand still locked about his throat. “You’re right…

“It is not my place as a Blood Royale of Attilan to second guess my liege and lord, Black Bolt, King of all the Great Refuge…”

SNAP!

“But it is my right and duty as a citizen of Attilan to seek out traitors that would sell our freedom to the invading Kree, and mete out justice as I see fit, as it was written long ago!”

A cheer rose up from the assemblage as Triton released the limp form of Enod, letting it fall to the floor like a broken doll. Triton breathed deeply, looking down on the traitor In their midst, a threat no longer.

“Rise up,” he whispered. “Rise up and defend your home, Attilan. Drive the invaders back!”

The assembled screamed their approval!

Luna 
Attilan
The Path of Heroes…

Gorgon screamed, stamping his foot in a fit of rage. There were more screams added to his own as an almost visible seismic wave radiated outwards from where his hoofed foot struck the ancient stone path. Walls shook and wavered as masonry fell in crumbling heaps, great clouds of dust rising and roiling in the generated atmosphere of the Blue Area of the Moon. Great gouts of fire rose towards the stars and water spewed in bursting fountains of spray. Buildings fell and monuments toppled.

People died.

If he felt remorse at the loss of life, his face did not show it. It was twisted in rage, anger crackling like a star in his dark eyes as he surged forward into the ranks of the invading forces. They were Shi’ar this time; thin-boned and light despite their war armor. His strength was more than enough to break them as he plodded forward, almost every step a reminder of his heritage and power.

Light flared above him. The sky was almost aflame with laser bursts and blaster fire as the winged Shi’ar fought beak and claw with the more avian Inhumans overhead. And beyond, death rained in the form of plasma bolts and fiery discharge from the invading armada of ships threatening to capture the Great Refuge for their own goals, or apparently wipe it from their path. Neither would happen as long as Gorgon drew breath, so he had sworn.

He tried to ignore the dead, tried not to look at the dying, the injured as he struggled forward with the forces under his command. There were so many though. Kinsmen, Alpha Primitives, common citizens mingled and mangled with Shi’ar and Kree and Skrull, other races he had never seen before. Lady Death was running naked through the streets of Attilan, and Gorgon knew that many more would feel her cold kiss before this night was done.

And therein lay his rage. Senseless, wanton death, at least soaking the hands of the invaders. For what? The people of Attilan were protecting their homeland – again – but the invading forces were mindless drones, ravaging the Great Refuge on the command of higher forces based on a strange emanation from the planet of his birth. Granted the Earth had produced monstrosities over the ages; the mutant Apocalypse, the Dark Phoenix, Adam Warlock, the Hulk, Doom…

Gorgon could understand their terror, but he could not sympathize.

The slaughter of innocents was unacceptable, on either side.

“Arrrgh!” Gorgon shouted as fire erupted in his shoulder. He grabbed at the burning wound unconsciously, his hand igniting and blistering as the crackling plasma discharge spread with his touch. He cursed himself for letting his thoughts wander, his gaze sweeping the rubble-strewn path ahead for the latest threat.

He saw the Mechanoid; foul sentient machine towering over the dwindling ranks of armored Shi’ar. Light flashed a steady, staccato pulse as shoulder mounted guns fired plasma bolts into his militia with a cold, efficient rhythm. Gorgon heard the shouts and screams all around him as his people died from the monstrosity’s calculated assault. Laser fire replied, and more of the Shi’ar warriors fell, but the robot given life seemed impervious, lumbering forward, over and through his allies, ignorant or uncaring of the damage it was doing to its own ranks.

Gorgon shouted his rage. His vision blurred blood red as he charged forward, hooves hammering, crushing everything in his path. Thin bones shattered under his stride even as alien armor crumpled and warped. The screams clotted his hearing, the roar of his own blood surging in his ears as he cut a swath through the invaders. Fire scorched his side, seared his arm, and scarred his legs. He ignored the pain, blotted out the weariness and exhaustion as anger drove him forward.

He leaped even as the huge Mechanoid adjusted, sensing his threat. The plasma cannons shifted, their flickering bursts peppering the Inhuman as he flew, lashing out, kicking as his body flared with ionic fire. He felt the slightest resistance with impact, the hollow echo of stressed and rending metal…

The Mechanoid exploded in a fiery blaze of burning and twisted shrapnel, spewing outwards in every direction. The force of the explosion was blinding, throwing the limp and ravaged body of Gorgon skyward like a rag doll. He flew helplessly, tumbling and turning, finally landing in a heap amidst the broken bodies of the Shi’ar invaders.

Gorgon moaned, agony slicing through his side and making his body shudder with the effort. He could not feel his legs and something jagged and wet protruded from his ribs. Every breath was painful and ragged as he listened to the sounds of war; death and wailing moving on.

“Milord!”

Gorgon winced as he tried to turn his head, pain stabbing him in his back. He saw Pharel, a young Lupine loping forward through the rubble with an exotic grace. He seemed to be moving slowly though, as though swimming the misty waterways of a dream…

“Agon,” the boy gasped as he looked down, his amber eyes wide with fear. Gorgon wondered why.

Then the boy knelt smoothly, swinging his Healer’s bag to the fore. Too young and gentile to fight, the youth had volunteered to heal where he could. “Rest easy, Lord,” the boy whispered, his countenance shifting from fear to determined. The slight fur on his face was matted down with sweat, or blood? Gorgon wondered.

“Help… “ Gorgon’s voice betrayed him, crackling and rasping, sounding wet. “Help… others.”

He saw the Healer frown, swallowing. “There are no others, milord.”

Gorgon slumped, his body seeming to sag and deflate with despair. Even that was agony. Was he dying? It did not matter.

He had failed. Failed his liege, his people, but especially his land that he loved.

He stared skyward, watching the strange ballet of light and fire playing out overhead, ignoring the boy’s efforts, his hands on his body. Awaiting death. Welcoming her embrace.

And the sky exploded; a dazzling display of cascading golden energy that slowly faded to black.

The Void Above…

He ignored the cold, the icy touch of the void of space withering his skin as it scratched and scarred, trying to clutch at his heart. He could feel his flesh cracking, blood boiling away from his exposed face. His eyes burned in the freezing nothingness that surrounded him. His ears screamed in the blessed silence, ironically the one place he might speak freely, yet no one would hear.

Momentum propelled him forward, his gaze blurring but locked on his goal. The Imperial Dreadnought loomed ever larger with each thudding beat of his tortured heart. Laser fire streamed past, a lattice of cold light, crisscrossing bolts of energy trying to halt him. He was too small, too fast. Too determined and too close now to be stopped. He ignored the danger, his destination within his reach.

Black Bolt swept up within the atmospheric field of force and into the wide maw of the docking bay. He landed gently, kneeling both with pain and stealth, his eyes scanning the vast chamber for threat even as his body adjusted. He was shivering from the cold, blood trailing from his cracked and blistered skin. It took tremendous force of will not to gasp as the touch of the void left its mark and took its toll for crossing.

Not so far away a fire raged out of control despite the flurry and scurry of Kree garbed in pressure suits desperately spraying the flaming hulk of a mangled star fighter within the conflagration. They had not seen his arrival, or simply ignored him for the greater threat. He knew that the Kree would void the chamber of atmosphere if the blazing hulk could not be contained. From the sight and scene, he knew he had little time, and he had to go deeper into the starship Dreadnought.

He saw others in the huge hold; Kree technicians by the look, moving frantically about their business. He ignored them as he ignored his pain, rising on shaking legs that he forced to move, then churn and run. Leaping, arms outstretched his wings billowed wide once more catching the artificial currents of air sweeping through the vast chamber. He sensed more than heard the strange thrumming echo, the electronic and mechanical heartbeat of the hulking ship. The screams and shouts of alarm as the technicians saw him were slight whispers within the roar cascading through his shattered, bleeding ears. He ignored the now familiar flicker of energy beams flashing past as he swept through the room, momentum and great strength smashing through the heavy doors that blocked his path.

He paused within, the barrier having slowed his assault, dropping him to the floor once more. A wide, bright hallway beckoned, littered with blue-skinned Kree blocking his path. Three lay dead at his feet from his entrance, the imploding door. The rest stood transfixed in shock and terror, momentarily frozen as they stared at his intrusion. Black Bolt charged forward even as the shouting began…

Luna
Attilan
The Grand Plaza…

Medusalith Amaquelin Bolt stared skyward, tears making her violet eyes glisten, reflecting the flashing, flickering lights that illuminated the sky. She had watched as the man she loved had stepped away. Watched as her husband rose into that dazzling display, determined and without fear. Watched as her Liege and Lord had dwindled with distance, the jet of his attire finally disappearing within the black void beyond.

And still she watched, prayers whispering past her lips, her hands locked together above her heart. Scarlet tresses swirled about her, empathic of her anxiety, showing her fear and concern. Her hope that her husband would survive, and for the sake of the land they loved, succeed.

She ignored the sounds of War, his dark, bloody horse thundering in the distance. The apocalyptic riders were one of the few myths that the Inhumans shared with their more mortal, distant relatives, the Humans. Their religions were wrong for the people of the Great Refuge, as wrong as those of the Kree, their other forbears. Their myths and legends always seemed driven by fear and wrath. They preached peace and love, yet kowtowed to the whims of vicious and vengeful gods. Thus and as in most things, the Inhumans trod a different path. Still, the imagery of the Four Horsemen seemed apropos and somehow fitting in a grand way, and many Inhumans used that image to explain away their woes. And truth, War and Lady Death walked the streets of Attilan this day, with Famine and Pestilence waiting impatiently on the horizon.

She continued her vigil, watching in silence as the flagship of the invading armada hung in orbit above the capitol. Waiting for a sign that she knew would mean the end, to the war hopefully, but more likely that of her Liege and love.

And her own life of course. Perhaps not at first, and not physically, but Medusa knew that when Blackagar died, she would die as well. Her shattered heart would still beat, but with a different passion and just as fierce. Rage would replace sorrow, and wrath would drive her unto death. And she would embrace the Dark Lady willingly, with as many at her side as she could take.

“Medusa!”

Medusalith Amaquelin Bolt started from her reveries, annoyed at the intrusion. She turned, her gaze icy cold as she saw her brethren entering the plaza, Karnak leading the way. Behind him she saw the missing Triton and the ache in her heart eased slightly to see him safe. Too she saw young Franklin Richards at the front of a veritable mob of citizenry and her brows knitted in wonder.

How was he here? She thought. Had the Fantastic Four come to save the Great Refuge again?

But no. A quick glance showed that the azure jewel of the Earth still wavered and rippled, engulfed in strange energies that none of Attilan’s greatest scientists could define. And looking back again she saw Debra Bernard, her body ravaged and pale staggering along with the aid of a small dwarven Inhuman with black, beady eyes and the face of a pig. And she carried the younger child of Reed and Susan Richards, Valeria.

Karnak ran to her side as Triton waved the mob to a halt before following. His visage was dark and turned with an anger that she thought never to see in his emerald face. She wondered briefly what might have happened to cause such a change in her usually gentle cousin, but then dismissed the thought. Death and War of course.

“Cousin,” Karnak said, breathing hard as he reached out to touch her arm then paused, locking eyes. Did he see the fires raging within her, the storm churning in her heart and soul? He licked his lips, looking away as he spoke-

“Grave tidings from Earth, Medusa. The guardian of the Richards’ progeny was delivered unto us by Lockjaw, along with young Franklin and his sister. They speak of a harsh and changed world, under the thumb of one of its vilest villains.”

“Doom,” Medusa said with a certainty. “Then he is the cause of all of this. His evil machinations have brought the wrath of the Kree and Skrull, the Shi’ar and all the other races down upon us. We should have known.” Medusa spat, her hair swirling and swishing wildly in tune with her rage.

“No, cousin,” Triton interjected, and Medusa took a step back despite her own anger, at his. She had never heard his voice so possessed. “Not Doom but one with far darker delusions and a blacker, colder heart if he has one at all.” Triton sighed, sagging but a moment before shaking away the despair that she knew struggled with his anger for control. Then he stood tall again and gestured that the three Humans should approach.

Medusa stared at the thin, quaking form of the young woman she had met briefly on her last sojourn to Earth and the Baxter Building. She had gone to retrieve her sister, Crystal from the ranks of the Fantastic Four but had become embroiled within the mad plots of the Wizard once again. She had almost died but for the faith and determination of her friends, and the courage of this young woman, a mere mortal steeped against staggering odds at the time. Debra Bernard.

She had saved them all that day, but now she was the one who appeared to need salvation. Her head was shaved to a barren stubble and her once unblemished skin was marred and bruised. She wore little more than tattered rags, and Medusa gasped to see a strange tattoo etched into her forearm as she shifted the baby, Valeria; numbers and a code of bars. Medusa looked up, meeting the woman’s fearful gaze and knew immediately the truth.

“The Red Skull,” she whispered, and Debra Bernard could only nod as the sky suddenly filled with a golden radiance…

The Imperial Flagship
Karadan…

He had held his tongue against the searing pain as the laser burst had burned into his thigh. He had not shouted his anger or frustration at the senseless battle he had been forced to wage as he fought his way, step by step into the very heart of the Dreadnought. He had killed wantonly and with abandon any that dared step in his way. And he would kill again before he was through. It was war, after all.

He knew that the Kree soldiers that blocked his path over and over were fighting for their own lives, just as he fought for the salvation of his people. Anger spurred him forward, but tempered with regret with every foe he put down. These were his enemy, true, but they were fodder, misguided soldiers and cogs in the vast Kree Empire’s war machine simply doing what they were trained to do. He knew that they all might have families somewhere just as he did, and lives beyond the despot they so mindlessly served. They laughed perhaps, maybe loved. He could not care, but he could regret, a fraction of a thought that he would take to his death.

He was bloody and battered, limping now as he made his way down what he hoped was the last corridor. His raiment was tattered and torn, his glider wings long shredded in the fierce struggle to drive ever deeper into the ship. He staggered and limped, every step a new exploration of pain. Blood streaked his face, his skin ripped and cracked from exposure to the void. But still he stalked forward.

Rounding a corner he saw two more soldiers standing at the end of the corridor. Blue skinned Kree, armored in finely detailed silver and armed with long energy lances. Guards that immediately took a defensive stance against his approach. One shouted something in guttural Kree tongue, no doubt ordering Black Bolt to halt. Blackagar smiled. Even if he understood, he would not stop now, so close to his goal ripped from the death gasp of a dying soldier begging for mercy of a swift death, which Black Bolt had happily granted.

Easing his weight off of his wounded leg, Black Bolt leaped forward. His fist slammed into the guard that had spoken even as the other smashed his lance against the Inhuman’s back. He ignored the pain again as he hammered into the decorated helm of his target, his blows smashing the thick metal into the flesh beneath, crushing the skull.

Another blow across his shoulders and energy danced about his body, shocking and numbing. Black Bolt grit his teeth and turned, his left arm cleaving the air as his rigid fist chopped through the offending weapon. Energy spewed forth, burning both monarch and guardian as the lance exploded in sparks and flame. The Guardian screamed as Black Bolt slammed the heel of his palm into the man’s helm, shoving him through the very door that he had been guarding.

The guard fell dead, sprawled on the floor and Black Bolt ignored him, moving on though stepping over. His gaze swept the room; another vast chamber whose walls were crammed with electronics the like of which the Inhuman king had never seen. There was no furniture, no trappings of any sort save a waist high railing set as a perimeter against the wide monitor screen that dominated the far wall. Black Bolt stared at the swirling, lumpy green mass that appeared on the screen, serpent like tentacles writhing above the massive face and beady black eyes tinged with gold. Its wide, grinning lips parted…

“Come in.”

The monstrosity laughed, its voice reverberating through speakers strategically placed about the chamber. Black Bolt could feel the vibrations, though he could not hear the actual words. Still, he entered, stepping up to the rail and looking at the huge, green, misshapen face that was a computer generated representation of the conglomeration of the greatest minds in Kree history. Called Supremor, it was the emperor, the dictator that controlled the Kree Empire. A collection of memory and thought gained sentience over the ages; the Supreme Intelligence.

“Welcome, child,” it said, the echoes making Black Bolt’s skin tingle, “get of my creators and ancestors. Come to surrender in person?”

Black Bolt said nothing, his face hard and grim as he raised his hands, his fingers flicking.

“Ah,” the Supremor responded, the word appearing on screen. “Deafened by the rigors of space. I watched your approach, and my sensors recorded your advancement through the flagship. Most impressive, but then I’ve always admired your strength. You would have made a fine general in my legions had you simply complied years ago.”

Black Bolt gestured: “The Kree/Skrull War; another useless battle. Why do you covet my people this time?”

The Supreme Intelligence smirked. “Ronan’s idea, actually. Majestrix Lilandra first brought the strange emanations coming from Earth to the attention of our collective. Having been obsessed with the eradication of the Phoenix force, she was obviously hysterical. The energies are far different, but of course only I know that. They resemble the essence of the mad god Thanos, thus I deduce that the Cosmic Cube has been employed. I cannot fathom the source, whichever Human has gained mastery of Sol III, but does that truly matter? High time this entire system was eliminated, and all of its Marvels with it. A figurative thorn in my CGI side for far too many years.

“The collective is taking your precious Attilan as a base camp to launch the assault on Earth. You and your people are stepping stones along that path, or minor obstacles if you prefer. The Alliance does not care if you and yours live or die. Their concern is eliminating the recurring threat of Earth and the monstrosities that it seems to regularly produce. The entire system of Sol is like a virus that threatens to infect the universe. You and yours can survive the purge, however. Surrender now and I shall show mercy.”

Black Bolt stared at the thing wriggling on the wide computer screen. It was supposed to be clinical and emotionless, but he could see the arrogance as it smiled, conceited and superior in its own mind. His people were nothing to this creature, ‘stepping stones’ it had said. It did not care a whit what fell before its machinations, so long as its goals were achieved. A cold, heartless machine that controlled a force beyond reckoning.

Black Bolt hung his head, his thoughts awhirl. Thoughts of his people struggling to survive and dying by the score in the attempt. He thought of the Earth, the world of his birth and those there that he called friends; the Fantastic Four, the Avengers, the X-Men. He thought of his family, Maximus, his brother driven mad by the death of their parents years before.

He thought of Medusa, and the son that they had lost, and there in his course became clear.

He looked up, his gray eyes cold and defiant as he stared at the image of the Supremor. His lips parted as he envisioned his wife, his cousin and love. He imagined her as he took a breath, finally whispering the words that he could never say in her presence…

“I love you.”

Earth
Washington DC- AKA New Berlin
The Red House…

Johann Schmidt woke with a start. Something had just happened at the edge of his sphere of influence. Something monumental and with enough force to tickle the fringes of sensation.

He had been dozing in the Oval Office, the seat of his power, dreaming of his latest encounter with Doom. His latest torture of the King of the Gypsies had been to recreate his scarred face in pristine beauty, then to burn the flesh away, or peel it off, or slash it beyond recognition over and over until the vaunted and vainglorious monarch of Latveria was screaming in rage and agony. It had been glorious and satisfying. Almost as satisfying as making Rogers crawl. Almost…

But now something had distracted his contented reveries. An abrasion in his world, his universe, some aberration on the edge of the reality that he had created with the cube; his Fourth Reich. Not the Avengers, as they still uselessly struggled, not so far away. Not the Fantastic Four, as he had eliminated them. The Mutants perhaps? But no, this was something else.

Schmidt stood, stepping casually to the wide, arching windows and out onto the balcony that overlooked the Great Lawn. He saw his armies patrolling in the wee hours, search lights setting the deserted streets aglow. He looked to the Washington Monument, alight and congested with Swastikas. He looked to the monuments beyond, memorials to Jefferson and Lincoln, still standing but desecrated to instill despair. He looked to the stars…

He saw the flitting lights about the Moon, sparkles of starlight that moved of their own volition, too quickly to be natural. Space ships?

He reached out, his essence expanding on the cosmic tide stretching into space. Immediately he ‘saw’ what was happening and Schmidt frowned. He had been lax in omniscience and the mongrel alien dogs were scratching at his door.

And the Inhumans. How could he have forgotten them?

He had been negligent in his omnipotence. A mistake that he would rectify.

In truth, he longed for the diversion.

Godhood could be tedious at times…

Luna
Attilan
The Royal Palace
Outside the Main Gate…

Ronan the Accuser stared skyward, watching as the golden shower of light faded away. The Karadan had exploded without warning, utterly, and with enough force to take the neighboring ships of the armada with it. Three Shi’ar Raptors had exploded in succession, along with two Skrull Saucers and almost a score of smaller vessels, Kree warships among them. The abrupt destruction had cut the invading force by a third easily, and he could only imagine the resultant mayhem and confusion that followed.

They had lost connection with the Supreme Intelligence, at least for a time, and probably the Shi’ar and Skrull hierarchy as well. Ronan imagined that the surviving ships were even now frantically calling to reestablish contact with their superiors, safe and sound within their own empires, trying to regroup in the face of catastrophe.

But what had happened? He and his forces stood on the brink, one final obstacle blocking their path from victory. The huge golden doors of the Inhuman’s Royal Palace loomed above him, locked and closed but not impossible to breach. Within moments they would be within the walls of the palace and the Royal Family would be dead, the Inhumans under heel at last.

What had happened?

Interesting…

Ronan turned to face the Rigellian Recorder that had dogged his every step throughout the invasion, making inane and generic observations all along. “What?”

This unit detected a spike in sonic variance before Kree Dreadnought: Karadan exploded. Records show no reference to sonic weaponry in that ship’s class files. Explanation required.

“Black Bolt,” the Shi’ar avian general Melute’e said, confirming Ronan’s suspicions. “The Inhuman king attacked the armada’s flagship, most successfully I might add. How many ships, Recorder?”

Twenty-three greater craft destroyed according to visual displays and intercepted communications. An additional seventeen crippled beyond maintenance and fourteen undergoing repair. Seventy-three fighter class craft destroyed. One hundred twenty-six crippled in varied capacity and awaiting repair. Loss of life: Kree; 2048, Shi’ar; 1852, Skrull –

“Enough!”

Ronan the Accuser seethed. His hands twisted, fists gripping his Universal Weapon as he fumed. He would mourn, but later. Right now he was in charge, and he had to end this.

“What now, Accuser?” Quarrg the Skrull scientist assigned to his entourage said with a sneer. The creature did not even blink at the loss of his people, rather chose to slip the dagger in and twist. “What shall we do in face of this adversity, Kree man? Hie back with our tails between our legs? Run back to our empires and let the Terrans run rampant again, unchecked and – “

Ronan swept his Universal Weapon in a wide arch, ignoring the many phases of power to simply smash the head into the arrogant face of the hated Skrull. Quarrg did not even have time to scream as his skull crushed, caving in with the impact. Ronan twirled the weapon, flicking blood and gray matter away as he faced his forces.

“We press on!” he shouted, gesturing at the locked gates before him. “Beyond these doors lies victory. We shall crush the Inhuman half-breeds and take their ‘Great Refuge’! Then we move against the Earth!”

Oh, really?

Ronan the Accuser quailed as a wave of fear washed through his body. He had been trained from birth to ignore emotion, to be just, sure and strong in the implementation of his office, yet the rough, gravelly voice shocked him to the very core of his being and made him falter.

He looked up in awe at the huge being that towered over them all. It seemed clothed in gaudy military garb, slick and pristine black and gray. It stood a thousand feet high, its misshapen crimson skull well beyond the artificial atmosphere of the Moon’s Blue Area. It clenched a filtered cigarette between stark white teeth as eyes gazed from dark, hollowed sockets, contemplating.

And who are you, mongrel alien cur, to decide the fate of any in my sway?

“I – “ Ronan cleared his throat, his blue skin darkening as his voice caught in his throat. “I am Ronan, the Accuser, and I claim this satellite, this city for the greater glory of the Kree Empire!”

The creature chuckled. Ronan knew that it must be a projection. There were gargantuan races in the galaxy, but they were acclimated to their worlds. Remove them and they died swiftly, crushed under their own weight. This apparition had to be an image, but it seemed so real.

An Accuser? I’ve heard of you, Kree, and not been impressed. You bore me in fact. You should leave. Leave my Moon, and my domain.

“We shall not!” Ronan shouted, furious now. He would not back down before any Marvel. “If you are the cause of the energy emanating from Earth, then we shall destroy – “

Oh, shut up.

The apparition waved its hand and suddenly Ronan was back on Kree-Lar, on his knees and vacating his stomach on the floor of the Grand Chamber of the Supreme Intelligence, that entity looming in the background. Ronan retched, then finally looked up at that smug image staring down at him.

“I told you so,” the Supremor said, then started to laugh…

Luna
Attilan
The Grand Plaza…

Debra Bernard cringed, staring up at the mammoth image of the Red Skull that towered over the Great Refuge. It was an image that she knew well. That vicious face had become embedded in her mind’s eye over the years. Years spent toiling at drudgery for the glory of the Reich. Years spent feeling the lash of her Overseers, cold, hard men that seemed vaguely familiar, Guardsmen that cared nothing for the chattel they drove.

She had grown up in the Rookeries, the slums that had once been Brooklyn, now a sprawling complex of wattle and daub plasterboard buildings that housed dozens in cramped quarters with no plumbing or electricity, and all too often not even a window. She had slaved for her mother doing chores until she had been old enough to join the work force and finally earn her keep. Then she had been sent to the factories where she stood for fifteen hours a day, seven days a week placing washers on the nub of a piece of machinery scrolling by on a conveyor belt. At day’s end she had earned one mark fifty, bringing home a paper script emblazoned with the image of Der Fuhrer and a copper coin, both of which she gave to her mother.

It was only last year that she had been transferred and placed in charge of two children from the Nursery. They were good kids; the boy aged somewhere between four and forty it seemed sometimes, the girl just a babe in arms. She loved them instantly, and cared for them as best she could. Franklin and Valeria, her two new best friends.

But something had changed. Something had happened as soon as she had touched the boy. Her mind had swirled, shifting, and strange thoughts had entered her head. She seemed to remember a different life revolving around the two children. There was fire and rain, rock and wind, a proud eagle hovering over all…

Debra stared at the Skull, cowering and knowing that he had come for her. When the huge dog had appeared she had felt that first sensation of trepidation. She knew it was bad news, but Franklin had surged forward with a child’s trust, petting the big dog with one hand while he clutched Debra’s hand with the other. In her arms, Valeria cooed and gurgled obliviously.

“Lockjaw!” he had said, almost crying, and the beast had simply belched, unmoved.

And then the world had crackled with a golden hue, fading away.

And she had arrived here, terrified and alone, on the Moon?

Debra stared up at the towering, looming figure of the Fuhrer and cowered, clutching the baby Valeria to her hip and biting her lip, waiting for punishment to fall like the Sword of Damocles.

The Inhumans… the Skull said, leering, his voice booming. He placed the long, black cigarette filter to his lips and took a drag, exhaling wisps of blue smoke into the void.How did I miss you?

No matter. Easily rectified.

The Red Skull raised his massive hand, ready to pass judgement. Debra Bernard looked to the gathered Inhumans; the fish man, the woman with the hair, the little monk, hoping that none of them would be stupid enough to contest Der Fuhrer’s will. She almost pissed herself when Franklin broke her grip and surged forward…

“No!” Franklin shouted, standing defiantly and looking up at the Skull.

“Frankee,” Debra called out with a hoarse whimper, reaching for her charge.

Eh? the Skull said, looking down and seeming confused. Who is this gnat?

“Frank,” Debra said, pleading for him to return and shut up.

“Where’s my Mommy, red face?” Franklin shouted and Debra cringed, looking up. The Skull stared down in disbelief.

Who are you, boy? Why can’t I see you clearly?

Debra gasped as the Inhumans charged forward. The fish man ran right up and started punching the Red Skull’s foot. The little monk started chopping at his ankle with Karate. The woman’s hair swept up, wrapping about his leg. Were they insane?

She saw the Skull chuckle. With a flick of ash from his cigarette the three Inhumans turned to glass; frozen crystalline statues caught in the act of revolution. Debra gasped as the Skull shifted his foot, shattering them, a million shards, slivers of glass fluttering and sparkling in the lesser gravity of the Moon, floating to the pristine stone floor. Debra screamed…

Ahh…

Debra saw the Skull shift his attention to her. His eyes glowed slightly and she felt the tattoo sizzle on her arm. Valeria shifted uneasily in her grip.

Bernard. A nice Jew name. This I understand. Mongrels rut in packs. But how did you get on the Moon, Juden?

“Leave her ‘lone!” Franklin shouted, stepping to the fore again. Debra tried to grab him, hold him back but he shrugged her off. He raised a clenched fist and shook it at the image of the Skull; a tiny David before a gargantuan Goliath. “Leave her ‘lone an’ bring my Mommy back!”

The huge figure of the Red Skull squatted down, smoke from the broken city swirling about him. The great crimson skull cocked as eyes peered from the hollow sockets.

Who are you, child? Why can’t I see you? You’re just a blur…

The Skull reached out tentatively, a finger extended. Debra Bernard gasped as Franklin’s body crackled with energy. His eyes sparked with a surging, pulsing golden glow as he looked up at the Red Skull. The crimson bone above seemed bleached, almost ashen.

What!?!

The Skull’s eyes were wide in hollow sockets as he reared his massive frame back. Energy erupted in a storm about the son of Reed and Susan Richards, crackling, exploding upwards, and engulfing the Red Skull…

“I WANT MY MOMMY!” Debra heard Franklin scream.

And the world went away…

To be continued?

A Word From the Author…

To be continued? Therein lies the question…

But the answer will have to come from one of you as this IS my last issue of the Fantastic Four, here at Marvel: Omega! Gasps? Shudders? Shouts of dismay? I doubt it, what with my recent infrequent posts (two stories in two years I think) I doubt anyone’s even reading anymore…

Regardless, it’s been a blast! I want to thank Dino and Ryan first off for giving me MUCH leeway with the characters, trying my best to redefine them and their little piece of the Marvel Omega World. Too, I’d like to thank Derrick and all the other writers that allowed the use of their characters in one hell of a fun crossover that let me pit my Thing against the Incredible Hulk, and a good chunk of Marvel assembled. Much, much fun!

So after nineteen issues and twenty-one stories (not counting the related Marvel Two-In-One Mini), I finally don my hat and light a menthol and move down the hall to another cubicle…

That’s right! I’m not leaving Omega, just shifting gears. I’ll be back soon, writing the Ever-Lovin, Blue-eyed Thing in a series that you will either Love or Hate. There will be no middle ground. Be here or be considered part of the Conspiracy!

Lastly, thank you, the readers for sticking with me. Like I said, it’s been a blast writing FF, and I hope you’ll all come back for the next phase. Coming soon to a monitor near you…

Curt Fernlund
4-12-09