FIRE!

Part 25

by DarkMark

One entire ward in Dallas's Parkland Hospital had to be kept under heavy security. That wasn't surprising, as one of the X-Men had to have an emergency operation. The surgery had been successful and Toshiro Yoshida would soon regain full use of the arm in which he had been shot. But not today.

Instead, the Japanese mutant sat stoically in bed, his wounded arm in a sling, out of costume, and spoke with Havok and Cyclops.
"I'm very proud of you, Shiro," said Alex. "You came through this battle even after taking a bullet, and you obeyed orders and let the Monolith live."

"One only hopes that this action proves to be the right one," Yoshida replied. "If he regains his power and uses it to crush and destroy anew, we will all remember the choice we made, and wonder."

"No, Shiro," said Cyclops. "We'll remember, but we won't wonder. We're X-Men, not assassins. We don't play judge, jury, or God. Just cops 'n' robbers." He smiled, gently. Despite himself, he was beginning to like the new X-Man he figured he'd like least.

"Understood," said Toshiro, shifting a bit in bed. "The one lesson a samurai learns above all is to obey his shogun. Each of you, and Xavier, may serve as my shogun."

"Thanks, Shiro," Havok said, standing with one foot on a plastic chair and massaging his temples. "I'll always remember that."

"What of our adversaries?"

Cyclops said, "We've handed them over to the Army and FEMA. They've got them in some Tony Stark restraining gizmos now. Can't send 'em back to Ryker's just yet, but we'll figure something out. Or FEMA will, most likely."

Toshiro said, "What of the war, Scott?"

The man with the visor shifted a bit uneasily. "We've been asked to provide help when we can. But I don't think it's right to throw the team into battle so quickly after our last fight. We need at least 24 hours of down time, unless it really looks like we're required at once. SHIELD is sending some branch agents to guard you for the week. We'll make out all right, Shiro."

"I have no doubt of that, after what I have seen." Toshiro stuck out his good hand, and Scott Summers took it for a shake. Alex did the same a few moments later. "Will you be returning to the mansion today?"

"No," said Scott. "Tonight we stay in Dallas. Tomorrow we'll either go home or hit the battlefield again. Tonight, we need the rest."

"What of the Silver Surfer? They say that he has begun rampaging up and down the East Coast."

Alex looked at his brother, then gave Sunfire an honest answer. "What good do you think we'd do against him?"

Toshiro tilted his head curiously, looking at Havok. "The point is not what we can do against him. The point is that we do something."

Havok sighed. "Point, as usual, well taken. But Scott's and my decision stands, Shiro. Now get some rest."

"Cyclops? Havok? Cyclops?"

The three of them heard the words a scant second before Marvel Girl threw open the door to the hospital room. A guard was behind her as an escort. The redheaded telepath in the yellow mask and green miniskirt costume looked more than tense to Scott, more than agitated. This time, she looked downright scared.

He moved to take her by the arms. "Calm down, honey, and give me the information. What's happened?"

"Nothing I can verify," said Jean Grey, careful not to call her husband by his real name in front of the guard. "But that's just it. I tried to send a mental call to the Professor, to let him know how things had gone, the surgery and everything—and----he isn't there."

"He isn't there?" Havok echoed Jean's words. In his bed, Toshiro was alert and still, as action-ready as they'd ever seen him.

"I can't reach him," said Marvel Girl. "I tried the phone, nothing. Either he's been moved, or moved himself, or—"

Cyclops rapped, "We're going back to headquarters and we're going now. Get the team together with a mental summons."

"Double that for my team," said Havok, tersely. "But somebody needs to call Duncan. Tell Magnetica to do that. He can get there before any of us can. Tell him to bring a police escort and an ambulance. And tell him who he might be facing."

Jean sighed and nodded, almost too spent with emotion and battle to speak. Amos Fred Duncan was the X-Men's FBI liaison. He was in the New York area and would indeed be able to render aid to Professor X before any of them could arrive. Provided, of course, Xavier was in the mansion.

"Sunfire," said Havok, turning towards the hospital bed. He tried to speak, but only managed silence for a few seconds. Finally, he said, "We'll keep you posted. Let's go."

And, with the silent blessing of Toshiro Yoshida, they went.

-M-

If Agatha Harkness thought that letting Franklin Richards watch his parents and friends in battle, she gave no sign. The little boy knew what the Fantastic Four did for a living. Reed Richards had made it clear to him as soon as Franklin could understand: they fought bad men, and they saved the planet. This they did on a regular basis.

Franklin was very proud of his father.

The cameras which witnessed the action were mounted somewhere on the Fantasticar. Every few seconds they would switch perspective automatically. It wasn't as good as a human cameraman could do, but it was a workable compromise.

"Aunt Agatha, what're they doin' now?" demanded Franklin, stabbing his finger at the screen. "What're they doin' now?"

In a kindly tone, the only one she ever seemed to use, Agatha said, "They are fighting for their lives, dear."

Reed Richards, in battle with a host of foes, had thrown a metal sphere into the Sandman's grainy mass. Somehow, it magnetized his sandy molecules and rearranged them into a ball, incapable of motion on its own, no matter how Flint Marko strove to resist. In the time that Richards had thrown it, he had been blasted by the Wizard's wonder gloves when the latter swooped down from the skies above. The Human Torch had taken time out from his own pitched battle to nail the Wizard with a fireball. But there were still so many, many foes.

The Thing, having been saved from becoming a glue-sculpture of the Trapster's gun by the intervention of Sue Richards's force shield, was using the Trapster as a body flail against the enemy. They were going down like tenpins before his assault, and Sue was shoving a squadron of villains along with an invisible force-wall.

That just accounted for the Fantastic Four themselves. Their allies, the Inhumans, Daredevil, and the Black Widow, were all giving good account of themselves. But it was difficult. Karnak was confounded by the Red Ghost, who phased out of material existence whenever the martial artist from Attilan tried to land a blow. Daredevil found himself hard-pressed to match muscle and athletic ability against Kraven the Hunter, who was still seething that he had been unable to kill Spider-Man in this venture and was willing to spill the Man Without Fear's blood just to make himself feel better. Crystal, with her mastery of natural elements, was dueling the Plantman, master of vegetative life, and holding her own.

To her credit, Medusa was taking on all of the Terrible Trio, by name Yogi Dakor, Harry Philips, and Bull Brogin, and using her hair to defeat them all without breaking much of a sweat. Black Bolt was having problems in aerial battle, trying to tag either of the two Vultures with his molecular blasts and dodging bursts from ray-weapons the pair had been given by the Wizard. Gorgon was facing off against the Gladiator and the Red Ghost's three super-apes, having stepped before the man with the whirling blades before he could get to Daredevil and upsetting him with a concrete-cracking stamp of his hoof. The Black Widow had stunned the Hate-Monger with her Widow's Bite before the mysterious villain could employ his hate-ray. But she took an impact-vibration from the Shocker's gimmicked fists that knocked her off her feet and almost rendered her unconscious. And nobody seemed to know what Diablo was doing, but they knew enough to get out of the way whenever he lobbed one of his deadly alchemical vials.

It was chaos.

Several gimmicks Reed had brought along to use in their favor had been neutralized by the Wizard and Dr. Octopus. Right now, Doc Ock was wrapping several of his tentacles around the Thing's throat and squeezing with the power of a hundred boa constrictors. Ben Grimm grabbed several of Octopus's metallic arms with both hands and heaved, throwing Ock overhead. But the leader of the Sinister Six used two of his arms to cushion his fall, and kept on squeezing. The Beetle covered Ben's face with his sucker-fingers and cut off what air the Thing still had coming to him.

A second later, both villains had to let loose. The Torch's fiery assault from above didn't leave them much choice.

But both of them were still up, and still fighting.

That was the case, at least, when the lot of heroes and villains heard an amplified voice nearby.

"MRS. RICHARDS. DEPLOY YOUR FORCE FIELD AROUND YOURSELF AND YOUR ALLIES. REPEAT. DEPLOY YOUR FORCE FIELD AROUND YOURSELF AND YOUR ALLIES. NOW."

Reed, standing beside Sue, noticed her astonishment. It only took him a second to process the necessary information. He said, "Sue. Surround every one of us you can. Our side and theirs. Now."

Without a word, the Invisible Girl deployed her force field. It couldn't be seen. It only existed as a set of energy waves generated by her mind. But it was tangible, and it was well-nigh impenetrable as long as she kept her concentration focused. She extended it in the form of a dome over herself, the rest of the Fantastic Four, the Inhumans, Daredevil, the Black Widow, and as many of the enemy as she could. Most of them seemed to be as surprised as she was.

The two Vultures were still outside the field. The Wizard, flying by the power of his anti-grav disc, guessed what was happening, turned white underneath his helmet, and turned up his disc's power all the way. He was barely able to breathe the air at the level he ascended to when he slowed himself to a stop.

The ones below that were outside of Sue's field wouldn't be so fortunate.

By choice or chance, the Hate-Monger wasn't within its bounds. He tried aiming his hate-ray at the collection of heroes and villains inside the force-field. But he seemed, for some reason, unsteady on his feet. He swayed, pitched forward, landed hard on his face, and didn't move. He didn't even breathe. His hate-ray was within reach of his splayed fingers, but they wouldn't be reaching for anything again.

The two Vultures clawed at their throats and spiraled towards Earth, slamming onto the top of the field and lying there with disturbing expressions on their faces and eyes that were still open, in ghastly fashion. Even Kraven the Hunter did nothing but stand there, trying to be stolid about the matter. Mysterio restrained his vapors, the Eel and Shocker kept their shocks to themselves. The Red Ghost calmed his team of Super-Apes. The Beetle, the Plantman, the Asbestos Man, and all the rest stood and watched what was happening to those not lucky enough to be inside the shield.

The latter included the members of the Terrible Trio. Handsome Harry Phillips looked anything but handsome as he sprawled on the tarmac, his face registering horror as his last expression. Bull Brogin lay flat on his back. It was hard to see his face, and just as well they couldn't. Yogi Dakor fell off his hovering carpet and lay with an arm over his face, his turban falling off and rolling for a little way before coming to rest.

"Good god," said Johnny Storm, standing without much concern near the Trapster. "What in the hell is happening?"

The Thing spoke up. "It's gas, Torchy. Somebody's using gas against us."

The Gladiator said, in a hollow voice, "Were you behind this, Richards? Was this your idea?"

Reed Richards turned towards Daredevil's foe. "Never in my worst dreams. I'm not a murderer, Gladiator. Can you say the same?"

"So far," said the Gladiator. It didn't come off as much of a joke.

Dr. Octopus, his mechanical arms hanging limply, said, "This goes beyond anything I ever imagined. They wanted to kill us all. It's indescribable."

"Oh, yeah," said the Torch. "Like that wasn't what you and yours were always trying to do to us?"

"Button it, kid," said the Eel. "We might have wanted to off you, but we ain't mass murderers. Not like this. My God."

Crystal had her head hidden in her hands as she knelt on the tarmac. Medusa and the Black Widow were by her side to comfort her. Daredevil kept watch by radar sense on Black Bolt, whose posture indicated extreme rage. If he broke free, there was no telling what would happen to them all. Thankfully, Karnak and Triton came to him, explained that giving way to rage would expose them all to the gas, and calmed him somewhat. Matt Murdock breathed a bit more easily.

Nobody was fighting. There didn't seem to be any point to it, anymore.

Now men in uniforms were coming onto the field. They were clad in all-covering garments of white. There were sophisticated gas masks on their face, and they held modified rifles of some sort in their gloved hands. They were only a small squad, no more than twelve or so. One of them knelt down, opened a small black case, and extracted a canister. He held it overhead for several seconds. Then he pulled it back down, twisted something, observed the result, and nodded to a white-garbed soldier beside him. The soldier gave a thumb's-up signal to whoever was watching on the perimeter.

Sue Richards was holding tight to her husband's arm. "The government. Our government. Using gas against...against us. Reed..."

"I know, Sue," said Reed. "Hold fast. Don't let the field down yet. No matter what, don't let it down."

"I will kill them," said Kraven, almost softly. "As God is my witness, I will kill them all."

Daredevil spoke up. "Don't be a fool, Kraven. Those aren't super-heroes or cops out there. Those are soldiers. Very special soldiers. They aren't under any orders to take you alive. Mess with them, and you'll wind up with more lead in your body than calcium."

"I can evade them."

"Are you stupid enough to try?"

Kraven had nothing to say to that.

Now other soldiers were coming onto the field. They weren't wearing masks or protective clothing. They relieved the white-suited squad, but their armament looked, if anything, even more deadly. One of them raised a bullhorn to his lips. "MRS. RICHARDS. YOU MAY RELEASE YOUR FORCE FIELD. THE DANGER IS PAST. BUT I MUST ADVISE EVERYONE OF YOU NOT TO MOVE. ANYONE MAKING A THREATENING MOTION WILL BE FIRED UPON. REPEAT, WE WILL FIRE UPON ANYONE MAKING A THREATENING MOTION. THANK YOU."

"What the hell are we supposed to do?" snapped the Plantman. "Say 'You're welcome'?"

"You're supposed to close your mouth and sit tight," said Medusa in a nasty tone, still by her frightened sister.

Reed Richards nodded to his wife. Sue Storm Richards dissipated the invisible energy field and held her breath until she couldn't hold it any longer. Thankfully, the next breath she took didn't kill her.

The bodies of the dead villains were being zipped into body bags and removed with efficiency. The soldiers moved with equal efficiency among the superhuman personnel, distinguishing friend from foe and disarming the latter (except for Dr. Octopus, who literally couldn't be disarmed). Triton and Karnak still stood beside a seething Black Bolt. Medusa had Crystal in her arms, and the Torch was going to their side.

"No, Johnny," said Medusa. "Not right now."

"I'm her man, Medusa," said Johnny Storm. "Let me talk to her."

"She doesn't want to talk to anyone just now," said the woman with the six-foot hair. "Go."

"I won't."

"Johnny." The voice was that of Sue Richards, now. The Torch looked in her direction and saw his sister looking on, almost ashen-faced, very grim, but commanding. Swearing under his breath, Johnny Storm turned and walked away for a short distance.

"Mr. Grimm," said one of the soldiers. "I'm assuming that ball of sand is the Sandman, correct?"

"What if it is?" rumbled the Thing.

"Well. We'd appreciate your help in loading him onto a truck."

"Ain't doing nothing. Not for you. Do it yourself." The Thing turned on his heel and put distance between him and the soldier.

Medusa, now standing beside Black Bolt, spoke up. "My liege, Black Bolt, wishes me to speak for him. He feels that this is...a dishonorable situation...unworthy of his alliance...and he wishes us to withdraw. Therefore..."

"No!" Reed Richards stretched his hand clear across the field to lay it on Black Bolt's shoulder. "Old friend, I'm going to need you here for a few more moments. I'm just as disgusted as you are...more so, if that's possible. But if we don't stand together...something a lot worse can happen. Please, Black Bolt. For my sake, stand with us."

"Mr. Richards, I must–" one of the soldiers began.

"Shut up!" yelled the Invisible Girl. Johnny and the Thing both whirled to look at her in astonishment.

After another few seconds, Black Bolt took Medusa by the shoulders and looked at her. Then Medusa turned to the others. "Black Bolt wishes me to say that he will stay, for the sake of Reed Richards and our other friends. But he warns you...we all warn you...that we will tolerate no more killing. On either side."

Dr. Octopus chuckled. Twirling the end of one arm jauntily, he said, "Politics indeed makes strange bedfellows. But none as strange as ourselves, eh, Richards?"

Reed looked at him in disgust. "Save it, Octopus. I can't condone even you being murdered."

"Nice to note your concern," Octopus replied.

One of the soldiers, apparently the commander, stepped up to talk with Mr. Fantastic. "Mr. Richards? Lieut. Don Barsolo." He stuck out his hand for a shake. Reed pointedly kept his arms folded. Barsolo continued, "We don't propose to kill anyone else here. The situation is currently under control. All we want to do is take the outlaws into custody, process them, and turn them back over to the authorities. That's all."

"Yeah, process us!" said the Eel. "Like maybe through a gas chamber, or a firing squad? And then crematories? Process us like you processed the Vultures? How about it, heroes? You gonna stand by for murder?"

"No."

Daredevil was the speaker this time, and he strode up to Reed and the lieutenant, billy club in hand. "That is one thing we absolutely will not stand for. American law, American justice, is not represented by mass murder. Not even of super-criminals. Make a move on them, soldier, and you'll fight us all together. Me first. That's a promise."

Looking at him, Natasha Romanoff had never been so proud of her lover. Matt Murdock was the kind of American she had imagined the country being populated by, when she defected. This squalid scene had the feel of a Stalinist massacre, no matter who wore the uniforms. But thank God there were others in different uniforms to stand against them. "I stand with him," she declared. "If this land is to stand for something better than tyranny, let it do so now."

"This isn't tyranny!" proclaimed Lieutenant Barsolo. "This isn't murder, dammit! We neutralized some super-powered thugs who were out to kill you people, and this is your response to us?"

The Thing snapped, "You didn't neutralize nobody, Charlie. You murdered 'em. Know the difference?"

"We don't have time for this right now," said Barsolo. "If you would, Mr. Richards, please tell your team and associates to move to the side, over there. We need to finish our assignment."

"On the contrary, Lieutenant," said Reed Richards, coldly. "This is exactly the time for this action. When the time of greatest pragmatism faces us, it is the time for the greatest morality and ethics. The only way our opponents will leave today is in our custody. Otherwise, you'll fight us all."

There was silence across the field for a long moment. Then Barsolo said, "That's it, then?"

"That's it," confirmed Reed.

Johnny Storm smiled, ready to break into flame at a moment's notice, and prouder to stand by Reed today then when they first faced Galactus. He glanced at Sue, saw tears in her eyes, and figured that she duplicated his feelings in spades.

The lieutenant sighed. "All right, then. We wait. We'll just wait."

"For what?" asked Johnny.

Barsolo shot him a nasty look. "I'm going to get in touch with my superiors. I warn you, I doubt very much they give a flying damn about the Fantastic Four."

"That makes us square, chum," said Ben Grimm. "That's about the way we feel about them."

"You tell 'em, Orange Crush!" yelled the Asbestos Man, and then shut up, embarrassed with himself.

Somebody must have been about to say something more. All of it was being heard, and most of it was being seen, by Agatha Harkness and Franklin Richards. If something else had been said, they would have been able to hear it. The Fantasticar's monitor system ensured that.

They heard something else.

A sound that was like unto the very air being scorched, of something with great energy and potential impact, accompanied by a hideous yellow glow. It probably wasn't exactly like a stunted comet. But it happened so fast, not even Franklin or Agatha could have described it.

Certainly the others on the field couldn't.

A blast of yellow energy struck the tarmac, and an explosion of incredible force filled the area.

The echoing of its sound took a long time to fade, and the smoke and debris which accompanied it were still enveloping the field. The noise had almost been deafening. But it had faded enough for the sound of a distinctive pair of boots to be heard, walking through the area.

Boots which clanked with a certain metal sound.

And when the smoke cleared enough to let them see who the walker was, neither Agatha nor Franklin were surprised to see Dr. Doom.

-M-

The battle was taken to the Avengers almost before they could emerge from the Quinjets. For once, the great conglomeration of heroes was facing a superior force in numbers, possibly in power as well, and it was tough to rally. Nonetheless, they met the challenge.

With the power of the Mandarin to coordinate them all, the Masters of Evil attacked.

The Whizzer and Whirlwind made a double-pronged attack on Quicksilver, overwhelming him. Wanda attempted to help with a hex, but was zapped almost unconscious by the Enchantress's magic. The Executioner and Hyperion were both ganging up on Thor and treating him to some awesome punishment. Sif plowed in with her sword swinging, but the beam of Dr. Spectrum lifted her off the ground and kept her there. Without flight powers, Sif seemed helplessly caught.

Hawkeye loosed a shaft at Spectrum, but it bounced off a shield of force. As he did so, Clint was tackled from the side by the blue-and-black clad Nighthawk, who bore him to the ground and fitted his hands around his throat. "Pity Captain America isn't here," remarked the Squadron member. "But I'll take what I can get."

That was when the Black Panther pulled him off from behind and shook him like a rag. "You shall take nothing, scum, least of all the life of a friend." Nighthawk tried to kick or slug backward, but the Panther was too strong and too well-positioned. Hawkeye, regaining his breath, got to his feet and unloaded a haymaker on Nighthawk's jaw. Two more like it put their foe out. T'Challa let him fall to the asphalt.

"Thanks, Panth," said Hawkeye in a hoarse voice. "Owe ya one."

"We shall each owe each other, and all the rest, many more before the day is through," predicted the Panther. "To our friends, Hawkeye."

The strategy that Clint had discussed on the way there had been abandoned. Right now, the Avengers were doing their best to survive. Ant-Man and the Wasp were trying to bedevil the villains with their insect allies, but it just wasn't enough. The Melter trained his weapon on both Quinjets and turned them into molten metal. For once, the heroes were glad that Iron Man wasn't there.

But the Masters of Evil were at full strength, and beyond. Power Man, the heir apparent of the long-lost Wonder Man, was storming onto the field of battle, leading the Living Laser, the Swordsman, and the Man-Ape, all late alumni of the Lethal Legion, another anti-Avengers group.
Hawkeye tensed, looking at them. He'd fought the Swordsman before, beaten him time and again. But every time, he knew he was looking at the man who had, when Clint Barton was a young man, almost killed him.

A few weeks ago, the Swordsman was an Avenger once more. Now, here he was on the other side.

That was when the man with the blade caught Hawkeye's eye, lifted his blade, aimed it at Power Man, and let loose a burst of electrical energy that dropped the villain in his tracks.

"Sword!" Hawkeye was astonished enough to hesitate nocking an arrow to his bow. Without pausing, the Swordsman slammed the flat of his blade against the head of the Living Laser, knocking him cold. He tore the Laser's wrist-weapons off his arms, rendering his former ally helpless.

A second later, the Swordsman bounded up to Hawkeye. "You seem a bit confused, Barton," he noted.

"Yeah, ya might say that," allowed Hawkeye. "How come you're changing sides more often than Russia?"

The Swordsman didn't smile. "I changed sides the last time when I fought side-by-side with you against those monsters from Olympus. Being a super-villain never paid off for me, Clint. Being an Avenger...well, that reminded me of something from a long, long time ago. I know there's a lot of bad history between us. For right now...need a friend?"

Hawkeye almost fired back a quick answer. Then he remembered his own days as an outlaw and Communist dupe, and how, once, the Black Knight had infiltrated the Masters of Evil in much the same way that the Swordsman had done. A decision had to be made.

"You're in," said Hawkeye.

The masked man smiled. "Good. Then let's see if the other Masters don't kill me!"

The others had their hands full. Thor was holding his own against Hyperion and the Executioner, but only by a sliver. The powerful muscles of both villains, combined with Hyperion's searing atomic vision, were taking their toll on the mightiest Avenger. When one well-placed blow from the Squadron Sinister's muscleman put Thor in a daze, Skurge the Asgardian laughed briefly in triumph.

"Hold him there," ordered the Executioner, and hefted his battle-axe.

"I take no orders from you," groused Hyperion, but pinned Thor's arms nonetheless.

As the Executioner's weapon came down, neither of them was paying much attention to a sound like a great popped balloon, not far behind them. Killing the god of thunder took priority over everything else. They didn't feel they had much to fear from rank and file super-heroes, anyway.

Then a hurled golden mace struck the Executioner's blade and shattered it to flinders. All Skurge ended up hitting Thor with was the haft. It had been quite a while since Skurge was dumbfounded, but that occurrence managed it.

On the tail of that, a burly, half-naked figure rocketed into the three of them before Hyperion could manage more than, "Look out!" In a trice, the new arrival had grabbed both villains and knocked their heads together with the force of a couple of colliding locomotives.

Thor shook off his daze and, with a start, recognized his new aide. "Hercules!" he cried, getting to his feet again. "By Odin's great spear Gyungnir, what—"

"Let me explain as we fight, Thor," said Hercules, smiling, as he pasted Hyperion on the jaw. "It shall make it that much more pleasant."

"Indeed," said Thor, and got into the fray again, pulling the Executioner away from his friend and slamming an uppercut into Skurge, just below his metal mask-helmet. The blow put the enemy away. Like a chopped life-tree, the Executioner fell and stayed down.

Hyperion seethed with hatred and frustration, searing Hercules with his deadly vision, trying to get at his throat or kick him in a sensitive spot. For answer, the Olympian god of strength held his foe in one hand, drew back the other in a fist, and then shot the latter forward as if it had been launched from a missile pad. It connected with Hyperion's jaw, producing a satisfying smack, and propelled the super-villain backwards for a good number of yards. He didn't get up, either.

Thor clasped Hercules's hand, tightly. "'Fore we rejoin the battle, I give thanks to the Lion of Olympus."

"And I, to the son of Odin," replied Hercules. "To a fellow Avenger."

"Well said. But, verily, I thought not to see you so soon after our last meeting."

"Aye, and well you might not," conceded Hercules. "But think not that my father Zeus and I go ignorant of your doings on Earth. After seeing yon battle in the scrying-pool, I demanded the right to come to your aid. With what you and your allies did for us most recently, 'tis only meet."

Thor nodded. Only weeks ago, he and the total assembly of Avengers had saved the denizens of Olympus from a spell that had turned them all to living crystal, and thwarted Ares's plans to invade Earth, as well as rescuing an amnesiac Hercules. He nodded to the skies, where Dr. Spectrum still held Sif prisoner. "Think you we might alter that?"

"I think we might," answered Hercules, and went to pick up his golden mace.

Seconds later, said mace caromed off Dr. Spectrum's head, while Thor's hurled hammer knocked the power prism from his hand and almost shattered the bones in his fingers. He cried out in pain, unable to concentrate on his falling prism, and fell along with it. So did Sif, but she made a better landing. Once on the tarmac, she drew in a deep breath of relief, and then lashed out with her sword against the power prism. It failed to shatter.

"Sif!" called Thor, rushing towards her. "Waste not thy strength. Doubt I that anyone less than Odin could sunder yon gem."

"You, Thor, did not have the misfortune of being squeezed nigh to death by the thing," huffed Sif. "But I shall stay my hand."

Hercules grinned. "Verily, same Sif. If thou ever tirest of life on Earth or Asgard, ask me for a recommendation to Hippolyta's troops."

"We have battle enough on this plane," Sif said. "I greet thee, friend Hercules, but let us return to work."

Smiling, Hercules flexed his muscles. "In the words of Hawkeye, 'Thou canst say that again.'"

The three gods sprinted off to help their fellows.

The Enchantress was blasting away at the rest of the Avengers with her spells, backed by the Mandarin's powerful ten rings. The Titanium Man was beginning a rampage among the heroes, with potentially fatal results. The Radioactive Man threw deadly bolts of green energy, daring anyone to come within his range. As little as he liked working with his green-suited countryman, the Crimson Dynamo backed his fellows with electric bolts of terrific power.

The Tumbler looked out on the assemblage and found it almost good. "They'll have 'em all dead before I can get to 'em," he groused. "I won't get to waste a one of 'em."

He was attacked from behind by a huge grey wolf.

"Perhaps you should try wasting Red Wolf!" came the voice of the wolf's master.

Pinned down as he was with the wolf's jaws only inches from his throat, the Tumbler barely had the ability to see his human assailant. The man was apparently an Indian from his skin color, and, since he was bare-chested, enough of that was on display. His head was covered by a mask made from a wolf's head, with the animal's pelt serving as a cape. His pants were standard superhero issue, but his shoes looked more like moccasins. In his hand was a feathered spear.

"Call off your dog," begged the Tumbler, in a voice slightly over a whisper. "Please, call off your dog."

"Lobo is a wolf."

"All right, then, wolf! Call him off, okay? I don't even know you, pal. We got no grudge going here."

"Be perfectly still, and my brother Lobo will not harm you."

"Got it." The Tumbler relaxed, and the wolf above him lay down on top of him and started licking his paws.

Red Wolf ambled up, swung the end of his spear, and tagged the Tumbler hard in the side of the head. The villain obligingly went unconscious.

"Come, Lobo," directed the Indian hero. "Many more battles must be won this night before we count coup." The wolf got up from the unconscious Tumbler and trotted off beside his master, ready for the next fight.

Tonight, even if the Avengers who had helped him fell, Red Wolf would fall beside them.

As the heroes tried to rally against the assault of the enemies, another new arrival made his presence known. It was hard to miss him. The Black Knight, brandishing his Ebony Blade, swooped down from the skies on the wings of Aragorn, his flying white horse. "In the name of Camelot, Avengers Assemble!" he cried, only a second or two before his black sword ripped a furrow across the chestplate of the Titanium Man. Wiring and motors inside were severed and sparked. The terrible rays fired from the Russian villain's hands sputtered out. Cursing in his native tongue, the Dynamo loosed a powerful bolt at the man and the horse that brought them both down.

It was a little late.

Hercules somersaulted into the action, leapt at their towering foe, grabbed the jagged edges of the severed metal, and pulled hard in separate directions. The Titanium Man's great armor was peeled off his chest like the skin of an onion. Below, mottled grey and blue flesh testified to how much abuse, both from Soviet scientists and from battles with Iron Man, the titanium titan had suffered.

"Enow," said Hercules, and dealt him a blow against his green-helmeted jaw that stretched out the Titanium Man with a terrific bang as he fell.

Thor and Sif were right behind him. The Mandarin was angrily directing a disintegrator beam from one of his rings at the Olympian. With a quick but accurate toss, Thor placed his uru hammer Mjolnir between the two of them at just the right moment to ward off the villain's deadly beam.

"Thor," snarled the Oriental. "You, I'll kill." His hand was raised for a deadly multi-ring blast at the Avenger from Asgard.

Tight-lipped, Thor sprinted at the Mandarin before his hammer could even return to him, grasped the villain's two hands before he could even trigger his ring-beams, and forced them to the Mandarin's face, ring-jewels pointed directly at their wielder. "Strike now, Mandarin," advised Thor. "None shall stay thee from using thy deadly beams."

"Damn you," rasped the Mandarin. His feet were dangling several inches off the ground. Worse, Thor's grip was tightening. But Mjolnir the hammer was returning to Thor, and the thunder god had to let one of the Mandarin's hands go in order to grasp it. The Master of Evil thrust his beringed knuckles into Thor's face.

He suddenly felt cold steel across his throat. "Aye, take thy shot," commented Sif, from behind him. "See how thou'lt be served."

Tensely, the Mandarin said, "Avengers have a code against killing."

"Indeed?" Sif feigned surprise. "Didst thou think that Sif was an Avenger? More fool thou!"

The next thing the Mandarin saw was five tremendous knuckles, backed by a wrist clad in a red and black band, crashing into his jaw. After that, he saw nothing.

"My thanks, fair Sif," said Thor, as he loosed his grip on the Mandarin's other wrist and let their foe fall to the asphalt.

"T'was little, beloved," smiled Sif. "But much more remains before we can claim victor's spoils."

"Verily," agreed Thor, and, with some effort, he tore the rings from the Mandarin's fingers and stowed them in a pocket of his red cape. Then he and Sif rejoined Hercules and went looking for more battle.

Elsewhere, the Scarlet Witch was engaged in a deadly standoff with the Enchantress. Her hex power was shielding her from the Asgardian sorceress's might, but the bolt of power from her red-gloved hands was barely holding back the villainess's yellow-hued blast of magic energy. The heartless beauty in the green costume smiled. The Witch was the only Avenger woman who qualified as a warrior, and her death would be satisfying indeed.

She saw fear in the Witch's eyes, along with her resolve, and that was enough. The Enchantress muttered another spell to redouble the power flow from her hands...

...and abruptly felt something ethereal transfixing her stomach.

A yellow-gloved fist was protruding from her abdomen, even though she felt no pain from it. She swiveled her head to look into a familiar red-colored face.

"You!" she snapped at the Vision.

"I," agreed the android Avenger, and solidified his arm to a great degree.

The Enchantress's eyes went wide in pain and shock. She diverted mystic energy into her body, beginning an outflow that blasted the Vision as well. His form was wreathed in orange energy-fire. The Vision's face, always dour, looked more grim than ever.

The Scarlet Witch, no longer beset by the Enchantress's bolts, panted and loosed another hex-bolt of her own that staggered the villainess. The Vision hardened his arm once again. The Enchantress cried out and kept upping her own energy-attack.

It was an endurance contest, and the Vision had no doubt that the sorceress would destroy him if he faltered. So he did not falter.

Despite the Enchantress's power reacting against every atom of his artificial being, he brought the density of his arm up to an unheard-of degree. So much so that the asphalt beneath his feet began to crack with his weight.

Overextending herself, Wanda bedeviled the Enchantress with bolt after bolt. The blonde demi-goddess screamed in pain and looked with venom upon the Scarlet Witch. "You, next," she vowed.

Struggling to hold himself together, the Vision said, "Wrong answer," and powered up his density with every iota of strength left to him.

White energy leaped from the Enchantress's mouth, out of her hands like bolts of lightning, out of her eyes like pale lasers. It was impossible to tell whether or not she was screaming, cursing, or even remaining silent.

The only thing that was definite was that she slipped off the Vision's arm, her midsection physically undamaged, and fell insensate to the asphalt.

The Vision almost followed her there. He slumped over her unconscious form, on knees and elbows over her, and seemed to have no power to rise. Wanda ran to him and grasped him by the arm. "Vision, you're hurt!"

"I will survive," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Not without help," declared the Scarlet Witch, and tried to pull him to his feet. It was like trying to uproot a mountain. "Get yourself lighter."

"More than I can manage at this moment," the Vision asserted. "Were I to fall directly down at this moment, I would crush the Enchantress to jelly."

"Not such a bad idea," said Wanda, the sweat staining the underarms of her pink leotard. "But you can do it, Vish. Come on, just give it a try."

"No," said another figure who stepped onto the scene. "Just stand there and let me kill you."

The Radioactive Man pointed his hands, ready to burn them both to ash.

Before he could manage that, a blue-white comet hit him from the side, knocked him sprawling, landed at least fifty more blows to his head and wherever else it chose to strike him, and rendered him a glowing, unconscious heap lying face up.

"Pietro," the Witch said, approvingly. "Nice save. Although..."

Quicksilver slowed enough for them to see him clearly. He was bruised, bleeding slightly, and very, very tired.

"Oh, Pietro," said Wanda, going to her brother. "What happened?"

"I had to fight the Whizzer and Whirlwind at the same time," rasped Quicksilver. "Difficult. But, with help, prevailed."

"Who?" asked the Vision, attempting with some effort to stand.

For answer, two ant-sized figures crawled from beneath Pietro's shirt collar. "Us," answered the Ant-Man, in a voice amplified by his helmet to make it audible.

"In other words, Henry Pym, aka Ant-Man and three more aliases, and his ball and chain, the wonderful Wasp," said Janet Van Dyne, flying beside him. "We figured he needed a hand."

Quicksilver coughed. "They used their insect friends to attack the other two. Stung them, bit them, undermined the ground beneath them. It was just enough for me to recover from their combined assault. Plus, they both seemed to lose their balance."

"Chalk that up to Jan and I getting inside their masks and messing around in their inner ears," Hank Pym explained. "It ruined their sense of balance long enough for Pietro to counterattack. Of course, we had to ask him not to hit them on the ears."

"Would've messed my hairdo something awful," quipped Jan. "Dare I say the tide may be turning?"

"An inaccurate statement at present," said the Vision, "given that a number of our foes are still active. It would be erroneous to presume victory before all are done. Especially given the fact that reinforcements have appeared in previous battles, by space-warp."

"Feeling better now, Vish?" Wanda asked. As she said it, Hank and Jan noticed the look of distaste on Quicksilver's face. But they said nothing.

The Vision finally stood without assistance. "I am functional. My density is finally restored to normal, within a .09999716 parameter. Shall we—"

Their conversation was interrupted by the noise of a Quinjet streaking in from the east, which quickly landed and disgorged its crew. Hogun, Fandral, Balder, Hildegarde, and Volstagg.

Ant-Man turned to the Vision. "What was that you were saying about reinforcements, Vish?"

"The Wasp's statement nears 90.75 percent accuracy," said the Vision. "Let us finish this up."

-M-

SHIELD had set up temporary shop in a branch office in New Jersey. There was no keeping it secret, given the circumstances, and Nick Fury really didn't give a damn about that at the moment.

A couple of agents had made contact with him and Val before they had gotten away from Nick's apartment in New York and given them the news of Fury's reinstatement. Val had expected Nick to cut loose with a string of expletives that would have made the football players in his LeRoi Neiman print cower in fear. Instead, he just said, "Take us back," and they had.

Most of Fury's inner circle of agents had survived the Heli-Carrier disaster. Even Clay Quatermain was still hanging in there. One of the ESP Division, though, was comatose. The casualty and injury rate were still considerable. Fury had gotten used to coping with such things during the Big One, but never hardened himself to accept it as a cost of his deadly business.

One of the first things he'd asked the pair of agents was, "What about Strange and his boys?"

"You mean the Defenders, sir?" said one of the courier agents.

"No, I mean Sidney Strange and his kazoo orchestra," snapped Fury. "Of course I mean the Defenders! What happened to 'em?"

"They said they were going to track down the Silver Surfer and they left," reported the other courier. "We haven't been in contact with them since."

"You didn't think of giving any of them a talkie? Or a tracer?"

"No, sir. Wasn't my job."

"Soldier–" Nick began, chomping his Cheroot and pointing his black-gloved finger at the man.

"Nick." Val lay her hand on his right shoulder. "He's right. There is no way we could get them to take on a tracer or a communicator against their wills."

Fury was silent. Then he asked for a telephone and had arranged the move for SHIELD to New Jersey.

Now he was trying to coordinate nationwide ops and information and praying Dick Nixon didn't change his mind a second time. Val, Dum Dum, Jimmy, Gabe, and a lamed Sitwell were in his presence as he roamed through the building, trying to catch up with the latest on what seemed like a score of fronts.

Another courier ran up with a phone. "It's for you, sir. Highest priority. Scrambled."

"Who is it?" asked Fury, as he took the phone.

"Coded as Iron Man, sir," the courier replied.

"Iron Man?" echoed Dum Dum Dugan. Fury took the phone without a word and turned it on.

"Fury," he said.

"Nick, this is Iron Man." Fury had heard the Avenger in tense times, but he seemed even more pressured now than in the Skrull-Kree War. "Big information."

"Say it," said Fury.

"Here's what the Fire is," said Iron Man. In two words, he told him.

Fury swore in awe. Val involuntarily backed away. Gabe, Dum Dum, and Jasper flashed back to times like the Betatron Bomb incident, or the HYDRA Death Spore crisis. He seemed to be reacting in much the same way today.

"Who's got it?" said Fury, all business.

"I'll give you the name," said Iron Man, "if you'll hook me up with your ESP boys and tell me where I can find him."

"One of 'em's down," Fury said, "but you can have the other two. Give me the name, Shellhead."

"Gary Gilbert," said Iron Man. "Alias—and I'm pretty sure of this—Firebrand."

-M-

PARKER

The way it was, Dr. Strange didn't know where I lived. So he sent me to his place in Greenwich, and it took me a couple of hours to get home. Actually, it wouldn't have mattered if it'd only been five minutes.

I changed clothes in my favorite alleyway, but when I got closer to my house, the old Spidey Sense started going off like a call to battle stations. Didn't bother with the lock on the door; I just flat-handed the thing open. The repair bill would have to go on our monthly rent statement.

There was nobody inside. Not Gwen, not May, not anybody. I thought for a minute Gwen had left me. There was a note, on typing paper, right on top of the coffee table in the front room that would seem to have confirmed that.

That is, until I read it.

It said that my daughter was in safe hands, but my wife was in anything but. And if I ever wanted to see her again, I'd have to come to the top of the Brooklyn Bridge to get her. The last sentence read, "It'll be a pleasure to see you for one last time, Spider-Man." And it was signed, "The Green Goblin."

I stripped out of my clothes so fast they must've burned up with friction. I was out of the attic window in nothing flat, back in my Spider-Man suit, web-vials fresh and filled, and on my way to the Bridge by web-line.

Everything I saw seemed to be tinged in red.

The red of blood, maybe.

Or, perhaps, the red of Fire.

To be continued...