Brandon Moore was torn.  As he walked slowly down the spiral staircase that led from the living and recreational quarters of the SOLUS Foundation base to the command and tactical sections, he thought about why.  On the one hand, the hero that had asked for his help was one of Captain Superior’s Team Leaders.  The position alone demanded Brandon’s respect, and if there was anything that Brandon had an overabundance of was respect.  On the other hand, Brandon would rather take on Doctor Vahzilok single-handedly than see that particular hero.

It wasn’t that Blastion Redux was a bad guy, or that he wasn’t worthy of respect.  It was just that Brandon felt an inner pain that was almost crippling in the hero’s presence.  Blastion’s body was an identical clone of his father, Eric Moore.  In fact, that Eric Moore had been so identical to his father that Brandon had forgotten almost immediately that the body was a clone.  It had been just as easy to forget the body was shared with a Kheldian Peacebringer named Kyrbykr. 

His dad was back after being dead for years.  That was all that counted.

Not only was his dad back, but his mom, Nicole Moore – now Empathy’s Requiem – was back, too, as coincidence would have it, again with the help of a Kheldian.  She was named Apihelion, a Warshade.  In the couple of months since their return, Brandon’s life had been as close to blissful as possible.  He had the girlfriend of his dreams. Riane Vendaval was beautiful, brilliant, talented, and a really great heroine.  His parents were home, in their prime.  Cap was back.  It was starting to be like the Rikti War had never ruined his life after all.

But Fate had played them all for idiots.  Just two weeks earlier, Eric and Nicole Moore were taken from him again, in a trap laid by the Circle of Thorns for two other Foundation heroes Brandon hardly knew.  Then, Fate really twisted the dagger in his back by taking only their essences, leaving the two Kheldians floundering in control of their bodies.  Brandon knew the Kheldians weren’t to blame,, but that didn’t stop the agony, or the discomfort in their presence.

So, Empathy’s Child – Brandon’s heroic name – had turned his attention from life as he’d known it to finding out what had happened, and where his parents had gone.  Much to Riane’s and Captain Superior’s chagrin, he quit school and started taking every assignment he could find that pit him against the Circle.  When there weren’t assignments available, he took to the streets.

He wasn’t the only one.  Dalghryn – the hero whom the trap was meant to catch – had stepped up his ongoing battle with the CoT.  Jack Null – Cap’s third in command and the one that led the party which rescued the Kheldians fifteen minutes too late, had re-focused his efforts toward the same.  Kyrbykr was dedicating every waking moment to trying to find a clue to Eric and Nicole Moore’s whereabouts.  About Apihelion, Brandon had no idea.  He hadn’t seen her since the rescue.

Of all the heroes waging war on the Thorns, Brandon knew he was the one least suited for a solo compaign.  His empathy and comparatively weak energy powers weren’t meant for it.  He wasn’t about to let that stop him.  He’d gone to Serge at the Icon and the two of them had created a metallic uniform designed to protect him.  Brandon included the colors and other elements of his parents’ uniforms in the design.  He’d done this with both of his earlier uniforms, but the greens and blues he’d used were bright, hopeful.  This uniform was darker, spiked, conveying a sense of brutality.    It was his vengeance uniform, and he wanted the Circle to know it.

Brandon turned the corner into the conference room to find Blastion Redux standing in front of the four-foot computer and mission monitor.  Though his uniform was similar in design to Brandon’s, with fused metal plates and blended colors, the blues and whites of the Kheldian’s uniform were bright despite the situation.  Heroic.  Fitting, for a hero such as Brandon’s father had always been.  .

Taking a deep breath, Brandon swiped the back of his hand across his eyes.  Had Blastion Redux’s body been inhabited by Eric Moore, the young defender would have walked up to stand beside him.  As it was, he stopped on the opposite side of the big conference table, unable to be any closer to the Kheldian. 

“You asked for me, sir?”

Kyrbykr turned around, smiling Eric’s smile, speaking Eric’s words. “Brandon, thanks for comin’ down.”

“You’re not my dad, stop talking like him.” Brandon regretted the words the second they came out, but he didn’t, couldn’t, take them back.

The Kheldian paused a moment, took a deep breath, and nodded.  “No, I’m not.  And I’m not trying to be.  Your father’s inflections are soothing to the others.  I prefer using them, but if you’d rather I don’t in your presence, then I’ll try to remember not to.” 

Brandon felt his cheeks flush.  He hated that he blushed so easily, except when Riane said she thought it was cute.  He nodded and looked away from Blastion Redux, busying himself at the mission monitor.  He noticed that it was crowded with information on, and images of, Oranbega.  “You said you needed my help with a mission, sir?”

When the Kheldian sighed and stepped up to the monitor beside him, Brandon knew he shouldn’t be so cold.  It wasn’t Kyrbykr’s fault.  He was trying to get Eric Moore back.  He did seem genuine.

It just hurt.

His father’s voice broke the silence.  “I think I may have found a mage tied into the summoning of the Behemoth Lord that captured us.”  He pointed to a pulsating red circle on a map.  “His name is Basthra.  Dalghryn’s knowledge of the Circle came in pretty handy, and his friendship with Azuria gave me this break.  So I can’t take much credit.”

No credit?  Even Brandon could tell the work must have taken hours, if not days.  If only he could say something encouraging to Kyrbykr.  Something nice.  His father would have, in his place, but Brandon couldn’t think of anything. 

Before the silence become excruciating, , Blastion spoke again. “I can’t do this by myself.  Dalghryn, Swiftsilver, Api and Jack are in.  We want you there, too.”

For the first time since he’d walked into the room, Brandon didn’t hesitate.

“When do we leave?”

Brandon was exhausted, yet it was still nearly a minute until he could build up the reserves to cast his recovery aura.  He looked around at the other heroes that had formed a loose, tactical circle around him.  They’d table-topped the maneuver dozens of times, keeping the empath close to everyone and protected, but it was much more frightening when demons and possessed fanatics were trying to kill you.

It seemed as if they’d been fighting forever.  Brandon knew they had to have defeated at least a hundred minions of various types, but the hordes of the Circle just kept coming.  Brandon’s cape was torn in a half-dozen places, and his metallic uniform was dented and gashed in a dozen more.  And he was in better shape than the rest.  At least his uniform still covered everything it was supposed to.

While he could heal their injuries, there wasn’t much he could do about the damage to their costumes, and Swiftsilver’s shredded leather body suit could have easily graced the cover of Spandex Dreams – or Playboy.  He turned to check on her, while trying to ignore the exposure.  Dodging arrows from two directions, she couldn’t quite duck a ham-fisted blow from a big fire-breathing, bat-winged demon.  Staggering, she shook her head, making her long, white ponytail whip around as she slung her clawed fists defensively.  Brandon healed her, then watched for a second as she spun back into action as if she’d never slowed.  Her claws and forearms dripping blood and ichor, she stood surrounded by a thigh-deep circle of fallen enemies, slicing and gutting with a near-manic intensity. 

He ducked a smoky wave of negative energy and tried to gather enough strength to blast the Spectral Warrior that had cast it away.  Before he could deliver his own meager shot, however, one much more powerful sent the Warrior to oblivion. 

After dispatching the ghostly specter, Dalghryn snapped a small box from his belt and aimed it at Brandon, giving him a much-needed boost to his own failing health.  Before Brandon could nod his thanks, the older man twisted away from a mage-blast and smashed a second Spectral Warrior across the head with an energy-laden fist.  The ghostly creature wailed one last time, froze for a moment, and then vanished.  Dalghryn had long since stopped pulling his deadly punches and blue energy blasts and simply started blowing holes through his targets.  His white t-shirt, now tinged with red, was in even worse shape than Swiftsilver’s uniform, and his gloves were nearly as red as her claws.  But unlike Kelsey Nightbreeze, the grey pony-tailed man seemed to be taking no enjoyment from the fight.

Two minutes into the battle, once they’d all realized they were fighting for their lives, superhero conventions went out the door.  No one was being arrested.  Nothing was being teleported to hospitals.  The heroes were meeting deadly force with deadly force.  It was a side of heroism Brandon had never seen outside of the old videos of the Rikti war, a level of combat he’d only heard talked about in the halls. 

That had been roughly twenty minutes earlier.  Only twenty-minutes.  And Brandon saw no end in sight.

Realizing that he’d probably be good for another cast of his aura, Brandon took a deep breath and ran toward Blastion.  In his bright dwarf form, the mammoth Kheldian towered over all but the Circle behemoths, his growl deep and rumbling has he smashed and stomped through the Circle, trying to draw as much attention to himself as possible.   But Brandon knew that Kyrbykr was tiring just like the rest.  One well-placed shot could stun him back into human form, his father’s form, and Brandon couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing either of his parents fall, even if it was just their bodies. 

He started to shout for everyone to gather, but Kelsey was just a few feet away, and Requiem hovered close enough that the aura would reach her.  Both Jack Null and Dalghryn seemed to be holding his own.  Brandon tried to find Vigor Mortis, but couldn’t.  He hadn’t seen the mysterious scrapper for several minutes.  He’d learned early on that some scrappers tended to do that.  With a sigh, he decided that gathering wasn’t necessary.  Instead, he concentrated and let the spiraling wave of energy go.  Seconds later, the three heroes nearest him were back at full capacity and meting out as much punishment as they could.

Brandon knew that, as long as he could keep up, they could stay in the fight – heroes with 40 and 50 levels under their belt.  It was an eye-opening realization, one that Riane had been trying to convince him of since they’d been dating.  He’d have smiled if he’d had time to think about it, but he didn’t.  He felt a familiar tingling wash and turned just in time to see Jack Null turn away from him.  Having just given Brandon a much-needed boost in speed, Jack blinded a Thorn Wielder that was aiming at Empathy’s Requiem.  Requiem, in Dark Nova form, whip-cracked her long tail around and hit the Wielder with a violet-blue blast of dark light that sent him skipping across the cavern floor in a broken, unconscious heap.

It was then that one of the two Behemoth Lords leapt completely over Dalghryn, barely reacting to the close-quarters explosion of azure energy as the blaster tracked him with rapid-fire blasts.  The monster landed less than an arm’s length from Brandon.  Backpedaling frantically, choking on hot sulfurous breath, Brandon threw a knockback attack that glanced ineffectually off the monster’s knees.  A taloned fist caught him across the temple as if he’d been hit by a mace.  His vision went white, and he felt his knees buckle.  Just as he hit the cavern floor, he felt another wave of healing energy, just enough to keep him awake, though still dazed. 

Through the haze, he saw his parents, or rather the keepers of their bodies, standing over him.  They were furiously hitting the horned demon with everything they could throw at him, battling as if Brandon were their own.  He tried to get to a knee, but Apihelion pushed him back down.  He struggled to think, to focus, but all he could see was a cacophony of energies blasting at the monster and the closing circle of Circle minions – blues and violets, blacks, reds and yellows.  Energy Blastion – no, it was Blastion Redux – took an arrow in the shoulder, ignored it, and raked the press of evil with a blue blast of light energy from his eyes.  Empathy… Empathy’s Requiem… hit the monster from point blank range with a midnight purple blast of expanding energy that send a half-dozen other’s flying. 

He heard the tell-tale snickt of Kelsey’s claws the second before she somersaulted over an Energy Mage and imbedded her silver spikes to the knuckles into the demon’s back.  He saw Jack’s three holographic friends converging on the Lord while blasting imaginary torrents of energy at anything they could hit.  Still reeling, Brandon instinctively let another wave of blue recovery aura flow from him.  He followed it immediately with a healing aura.  He heard Dalghryn yell, “Good, kid!  Everyone… Nova!”

The monster began to stagger.  Blastion and Requiem slipped their arms under Brandon’s and pulled him back just as the older blaster’s explosive blast rocked the cavern.  Once the dust settled, the only creatures left standing worked under the banner of the SOLUS sunburst. 

“You OK, kid?”

Though the question was Dalghryn’s, all their eyes were on him.

He smiled weakly and nodded.  “That was incredible.  You were all awesome.”

He looked around at the heroes, trying to decide who needed healing first, just in time to see Kelsey casually tucking a torn flap of midnight blue leather into place over a rather ragged cut where women didn’t typically get ragged cuts.  Flushing, he healed her quickly before just letting the group have another generic dose. 

“So were you, Brandon.” The voice was his father’s, as was the first smile he saw.  The next was his mother’s.  He suddenly felt tears start to well up, but unlike before, they had no anger with them.  He opened his mouth to talk, when a craggy voice that sounded as old as time stopped him cold.

“Quite impressive, little heroes…”

The SOLUS heroes turned as one toward the sound of the voice.  Standing just inside the cavernous room from a western tunnel was Basthra, resplendent in dark red, voluminous robes and a tall, spired hat, all of silk embroidered in some kind of runic symbols.  Just behind him was the biggest demon Brandon had ever seen.  He’d heard of the Envoys before, but as with so much that had taken place in the previous twenty-five minutes, the reality was another matter entirely.  Behind the mage and the monster were dozens, if not hundreds, of Circle demons, specters, minions and lieutenants.

Basthra’s smile was cold and humorless.  “...It is too bad you will not survive long enough to brag.”

“Cease your useless verbal posturing.  We will not be deterred by empty threats.” 

Brandon looked at Empathy’s Requiem, as did all the others.  Her voice may have been his mother’s, but the words were all Apihelion’s.  As they watched, she tensed and then converted back into to her squid-like, Dark Nova form, with a cavern-shaking explosion of violet light, then hovered toward the ceiling.  When she continued speaking, her voice was several octaves higher, a fluting trill.  The tone, however, had lost nothing of its cold command.

“Tell us how to retrieve our humans, and we will leave you peacefully.  Fail, and you will be the first to fall.”

While everyone’s eyes shifted from the female Kheldian back to the Magus, Blastion Redux followed her lead, transforming back into his Bright Dwarf form with an equally ear-splitting blast of blue-white.  He stepped up beneath the Warshade.  Unlike hers, his voice was baritone, gravelly, and foreboding.  “…and, in your case, ‘fall’ means ‘die.’”

Brandon heard the tell-tale snikt of Swiftsilver’s claws as she stepped up beside Blastion, and Dalghryn hovered to a position halfway between his lover and Requiem. 

Jack opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something, then muttered so that only Brandon could hear, “I’m not exactly sure when I lost control, but here we go.”  With a quick gesture, he re-created his muscular holographic pets at the same time that Brandon quietly let another wave of blue recovery aura wash over them all. 

Basthra’s laugh sounded like crumbling parchment.  “’Useless verbal posturing.’  I will remember that the next time I am faced with a similar gathering of fools.  But, because you have made such a valiant effort, I will answer your question before you die.” 

Brandon tried to look inconspicuous while he increased Dalghryn’s fortitude. 

“We have no idea what happened during the experiment with the Kheldians.  We were simply trying to make some small use of the failed effort to lure the Portal-Wielder to us.  They were supposed to have been teleported to an alternate dimension.  It was a failed test.  Perhaps the human essences were spirited away while the rest remained.”  He looked pointedly at Dalghryn.  “Now that you have brought the one we really wanted to us, we may just find out.”  His gaze swept from the human blaster to the Envoy.  “Now – capture the Portal-Wielder and kill the rest.”

Brandon had no idea where he came from, but Vigor Mortis stepped from the shadows from behind the other heroes.  “It seems you’ve made an error, Magus.”  Even though his face was bathed in the flickering light from an eldritch torch, his eyes still glowed a bright, hellish red.

The Magus raised a brow.  “And, what makes you think that one hero, more or less, makes a diffckk…”

Dangling six feet from the cavern floor by his neck, Basthra’s eyes bulged.  He clawed ineffectually at the telephone pole-sized forearm and the thick, black talons that crushed his throat.   The demon’s deep, rumbling voice made Blastion’s seem high-pitched.  “Enough!  You will bring ruin on us all, you incompetent fool!”

The robed rank and file of the Circle of Thorns nearest to the scene looked from their leader to the demon in obvious confusion, confusion that got worse as swarms of spectral creatures flew passed the human zealotry and took positions around the Envoy.  Screams and sounds of chaos echoed through the passage as lesser demons and hellish lords pushed their way to the front.  In moments, the crowd had parted into two groups facing each other in tense anticipation – the minions of the Circle of Thorns and the hell-spawned creatures they had summoned. 

Save the Envoy, none of them were paying the heroes any mind.

The huge, horned demon lord held the, now unconscious, Basthra high over his head and looked across the cavern at the heroes.   His molten red eyes seemed to bore through Brandon as they swept across the group.  For a moment, and only a moment, they met Vigor’s glowing eyes.  The moment was broken as the Envoy hurled the unconscious Magus across the cave so that he bounced a couple of times and landed in a broken heap at Blastion’s feet.

“Glean what you can from his mind, heroes, then leave, before you die, too.”

With that, he roared, and the masses of hellish creatures attacked the Circle of Thorns.  The Envoy turned back towards the heroes, looking directly at Vigor, “I am no servant.  You should consider this a measure of good favor on our behalf.  I expect it to be remembered,” the demon growled. 

Vigor’s only response was a slow nod, and the winged creature turned and charged into the ensuing melee.

For a split second, they all looked at each other, then Blastion scooped Basthra up, turned, and picked a tunnel.  Letting the damage dealers take the lead, Brandon fell behind, running beside Jack in the rear.  Though he didn’t think anyone else noticed, he saw Swiftsilver looking at Vigor.  It wasn’t her bare flesh that got his attention this time, but her eyes.  If suspicion had ever found a home, it was in those eyes.

But, Jack Null, flanked by the holographic pets, interrupted Brandon’s thought as he spoke to no one in particular.  “Does anyone have any idea what just happened here?”

Brandon sat at the conference table with Riane on one side and Kyrbykr on the other.  Apihelion stood behind them.  They were both in their human forms, the forms of his parents.  Riane kept one of his hands occupied in hers under the table, while he used the other to sip a Dr. Pepper.  They made small talk, waiting for Captain Superior, Azure Noir, and Jack, who had taken Basthra to Sister Psyche and Azuria at the M.A.G.I. high-security detention facility.

Showered and dressed, Dalghryn and Kelsey sat beside each other at one end of the table.  Vigor Mortis sat at the other.  Of the mission team, only the two Kheldians still wore their uniforms, though they, too, had taken time to freshen up first.  Everyone else had logged off mission readiness and opted for off-duty casual. 

Though the atmosphere was mostly relaxed, tension linked Swiftsilver and Vigor like a titanium cable.  Unfortunately, there hadn’t been much to do about that.  It was obvious that Kelsey suspected Vigor of something.  But, Brandon had to admit, Swiftsilver seemed to suspect everyone of something sometimes.  She caught him looking at her and smiled a smile that seemed completely opposite the tension.  He smiled back, feeling his face flush, and turned to Dalghryn.

“Ah… Dalghryn… um… Why did the Magus call you “The Portal-Wielder?”

Dalghryn waved at Techno-9, Kid Komet, and Stephanie Hart as they all walked into the room, then pushed his wet ponytail back off his shoulder and sipped his drink.  The two males waved back.  Stephanie nodded and then leaned against the wall as if she owned it. 

“It’s a long story.  I used to be able to pull up a trans-dimensional portal – a long time ago.  That’s why the Circle brought me here in the first place, figurin’ they could use it for somethin’.  But I can’t any more.  They just can’t get it through their thick skulls.”  He smiled slightly.  “Which is why I kick their butts every chance I get.”

“Maybe they think you still have the ability within you.  Maybe you do.  Which would make them correct, to a point.  Perhaps you might consider the possibility that the problem isn’t in ‘their thick skulls.’

Kelsey’s gaze slewed to Vigor,  “Yes....perhaps we should consider the possibility, too, that the problem is...elsewhere.”

If the note of accusation in Kelsey’s tone hadn’t been obvious, the cold fury in her eyes made it clear just ‘elsewhere’ she thought the problem might be.  Both Techno-9 and Kid Komet froze in mid-sip, having no clue what was going on.  Brandon realized that he had done the same.  The difference was, Brandon had just seen how fast she could move with those claws...

Vigor, however, neither looked away, froze or flinched.  He shifted slightly, meeting the woman’s eyes.  His reply was low, calm and deliberate.  “No evil came from my actions or was loosed on the world tonight.  I’m afraid that’s the only comfort I can give to your concerns.”

What Kelsey might have said was interrupted by the arrival of Captain Superior, Azure Noir, and Jack Null.  None of them looked terribly happy.

Brandon looked from the dueling scrappers to the three SOLUS leaders, then to Riane.  She squeezed his hand at the same time that he felt another hand on his shoulder.  It was his father’s. 

Kyrbykyr broke the silence.  “Was Sister Psyche able to find anything out?”

“Yes, and no,”  Cap said. “Basthra was telling the truth about what he said.  They do not know what happened.  They used spells they had scribed based on their knowledge of Dalghryn.  Basthra was not surprised that they did not work as planned.”

Brandon bowed his head.  He wasn’t going to cry, not with Riane here, not with everyone watching. 

As if reading his mind, though, Riane slipped closer to him, pulling his hand onto her lap.  Kyrbykr hadn’t let go of his shoulder.  It may have been his imagination, but he thought even reserved Apihelion stepped a little closer, too.  He looked over at Dalghryn and saw that he was rubbing his temples.  So was Jack, and he didn’t even get headaches.  Brandon thought about all the blame that no one should have been responsible for.  The words were out of his mouth before he thought about them.

“Would everyone stop it!”

He grabbed Kyr’s hand and looked back over his shoulder at Api.  “It isn’t your fault.”  He looked at Dalghryn and Jack.  “It isn’t your fault.”  He turned on Cap.  “And, it isn’t your fault, sir.”

Now, everyone was looking at him.

“You think Mom and Dad would want this?  Everyone blaming themselves?  Me, turning my uniform into some spiky, ‘Dark Empathy’s Child’ thing, Kyr and Api – the ones that brought them both back to begin with – acting as if it’s all their fault, Dalghryn and Kelsey thinking they should have died or something instead, Jack acting like he failed because he didn’t get there in time… Uncle Cap re-living the war…”

No one could see that he was probably almost breaking Riane’s hand.  He took a deep breath.  “Well, they wouldn’t want it!  They’d both be telling me to get rid of the spikes.  Dad’d be telling you all to shut up.  Mom would be wanting to make you all better.”  Try though he would, he couldn’t stop the quiver in his voice.  “They’re not here.  But, I am.  It’s not anyone’s fault.  So… so… Shut up, and…get better!  They were doing their job, together.  And that’s where they are right now… together.”

A tear finally cut loose and trickled down his cheek.  “You’ll find them…We’ll find them.  But if somehow we don’t…”  He gently pulled his hand from Riane’s and stood up.  “…well, we had them back for a little while, and this time we’ll know they’re…” His voice cracked.  “...together.”

Then, before their mouths could close, he flew from the room so no one could see him cry.

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