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MARVEL 2000 PRESENTS... "SIEGE OF MAGIC"
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The Story Thus Far: Earth has been invaded by the mystical city of
Joseph Chapman had just barely made his peace with God as a white light crashed through the bridge of his ship, washed over him…and simply kept on going. Chapman blinked several times, and scanned the bridge. His people were fine, and equally baffled. “Sir, the city… it’s gone!” The Bridge crew gaped at the monitors, seeing that where there had once been a majestic floating city, was nothing but empty air and sand. “Sit-rep, now!” Chapman barked, quickly recovering from his near death experience, “is there any debris? Any clue where they went? And what’s Excalibur’s status?” “No remains that we can detect or see, sir. However, the HERMES team reports that Excalibur was safely extracted.” “What about Dr. Strange’s team?” “We’re fine,” Dr. Strange said from behind Chapman. To his credit, the Director of Excalibur managed not to jump out of his skin, but just barely, “the other members of my impromptu coven are resting at home as we speak.” Chapman breathed a sigh of relief, “What can you tell me about what happened?” Dr. Strange hesitated, then said, “Amid all their poor spells, there was one well crafted trap. I do not think it was a coincidence.” Chapman slumped in his chair, “God, how do I even begin to explain this to the Security Council?” United Nations Security Council “The operation against Darkstorm and his people was executed almost flawlessly,” Chapman said with an even smile, “we had a spot of luck here and there, but I would chalk our victory up to our reorganization that enabled Excalibur’s main force to focus on the assault while the Stealth team enabled us slip behind their lines, and prevent their army from organizing.” “Are you certain there was no negotiating with this…Darkstorm?” asked the French Council member, “your efforts in that regard seem wanting.” “I am and I was,” Chapman replied, “Darkstorm’s society held us responsible for something our world had no part in, for something that was actually the fault of his own culture. Since I knew I would be unable to change their minds, I thought it best to strike first.” “You say the operation was a complete success, then can you explain what that flash of light was following the end of operations?” inquired the British Security Council member, “that thing was seen for hundreds of miles around! God only knows how many accidents it caused!” “According to our paranormal, that was simply reality sealing up the hole created by Darkstorm’s people when they traveled to our reality,” Chapman explained, “luckily, the energy was directed at a minor sub-plain that happens to exist parallel to our reality. He thinks it was because of a slipstream residual effect, but says that it was ultimately harmless.” Chapman did his best to look sincere as the Security Council mulled over his techno-babble (or was it magic babble?) explanation. While it was nothing more than hog wash, Chapman sounded far better than ‘It’s magic, we can’t/don’t have to explain it’. “This entire mission seems to have been executed in a very sloppy manner,” observed the Chinese representative, “you used remote control drones to sell a position you did not have, you used weapons of mass destruction unprovoked and…”
“The emergencies Excalibur was created for, are rarely
clean,” Chapman countered, “I’m thankful for
Chapman observed how the Security members squirmed in their chairs. Funding was always going to be an issue for Excalibur, but Chapman knew when to pick his battles. Egotism in the afterglow of victory often bred contempt and if one wasn’t careful, secret enemies. “However, our accomplishments speak for themselves. We rescued all the hostages, we repelled an invading army and took virtually no collateral damage. Superhuman operations are by their nature messy, but this operation went as close to perfect as we had any right to hope.” “One last question before we finish,” stated the American Representative, “Darkstorm and his people, are they dead?” Chapman mulled over his response carefully. He wanted to remind these people that, without a body, all the evidence in the world didn’t mean a damn thing. Unless you confirmed the kill, all the science in the world was useless. But he knew what they wanted to hear. “I’m confident that Darkstorm is dead,” Chapman replied, but he knew enough to leave himself a loophole, “but we’ll remain on alert regardless. Until we have any manner of confirmation, it would be unwise to count Darkstorm out.” Avalon Scarlet Scarab stared at the sunrise as it peaked out over the horizon. The day’s cold air didn’t much affect him, but the Egyptian hero shivered anyway. “Umm, penny for your thoughts?” Scarlet Scarab turned his head to acknowledge Silverclaw. “Aren’t you cold?” Scarab asked instinctively, before he realized just how judgmental it sounded. “Actually, I rarely get cold for whatever reason,” Silverclaw shrugged. Given that she was wearing a one piece ceremonial outfit that had no legs or sleeves, she was accustomed to the question, “I’m just a little concerned. You’ve been walking around the base in a haze for a while now. Do you want to talk about it?” Truth be told, the Egyptian hero really didn’t want to. In his home country, he was constantly pressured to express his opinion in one form or another for the advantage of the political leaders, and it got to the point that Scarlet Scarab cherished any shred of privacy he could find. But at the same time, he didn’t want to refuse honest, heartfelt concern. “I’m just thinking about our battle in Faylin. During the fight, I absorbed too much power. When I unleashed it at Darkstorm, I missed and…” Scarlet Scarab drew in a heavy breath. Silverclaw remembered that fairly well. It was pretty hard to miss a teammate single handily paving a smoldering highway, even in a pitched battle. “…and I don’t know how many I killed,” Scarab finished. “You didn’t mean for that to happen!” Silverclaw defended, “we didn’t start the fight!” “Actually…” “Okay, we hit them first because we knew they wouldn’t listen to reason,” Silverclaw amended, “and it wasn’t like we were trying to hit innocent people. What happened was just…” “Collateral damage?” Scarlet Scarab finished. “I was trying to think of a kinder expression, but yeah,” Silverclaw shifted uncomfortably. “I understand, and I actually agree,” Scarlet Scarab sighed, “but I know far too many people who’ve been on the other side of ‘collateral damage’ to ever be comfortable on this side of it.”
The room was ninety by fifty feet wide, and littered with bulls-eyes. On the ceiling was a glorified laser projector, and just below it was a round anti-gravity platform. Commando strapped himself in, and activated the firing range. The platform raised six feet into the air, and then lurched ninety degrees to the side while the laser projector on the ceiling dotted a bulls-eye on the far wall. Commando aimed his custom modified Desert Eagles (because five pounds of gun wasn’t enough for him) and picked the target off with ease. The platform underneath his feet spun him around again, and now he was upside down with three more bulls-eyes to hit. Commando picked them off with ease. Commando went about his target practice for ten minutes, and enjoyed every second of it when he suddenly sensed something appear as if out of nowhere.
Guishen, an experienced Chinese Internal Security agent, slapped the bullet aside with his short sword and scored his own bulls-eye. “Next time you walk into a firing range like that, I’ll put a bullet through your eyes on principle,” Commando huffed. “My apologies, Francis-Chan,” Guishen said with a polite smile. “I know the difference between Japanese prefixes too, Chinaman,” Commando added, “if you got a reason for being here, out with it. Otherwise, get lost or become a target.” “I…was wondering if you could provide some career advice, actually” Guishen replied. Commando chuckled, “Two jokes in a row. Who said the Chinese don’t have a sense of humor?” “I’m very serious,” Guishen stated, “as much as I respect Excalibur, I would prefer to be in my homeland, performing my duty. Yet I have been assigned here, for being too effective at home, I fear.” “What’s that got to do with me?” “According to my sources, you have managed to influence your assignments within your government,” Guishen stated, “I would, respectfully, like to know how.” “What, you think that Excalibur is a choice assignment?” Commando smirked. “No, it isn’t,” Guishen replied, “but I also know that you are not seeking a ‘choice’ assignment. The only time I’ve seen you put forth any actual effort is in combat. I also know that you are only serving because you want to, not because you’re currently enlisted.” “One of the perks of serving the army for over two decades,” Commando observed, “don’t think it’d help you much.” “Still…” “Look kid,” Commando stood up a little straighter, “I don’t think you fully understand. I choose my assignments for a combination of reasons. We’re both in the dog house as far as our respective institutions are concerned. Only I got twenty years of results behind me, more than a few friends and my father’s name to back me up. And I still get the crap black ops jobs. You’re in the same boat as I am, but with a lot less holding you up.” “I…see.” “Sorry kid,” Commando activated the anti-gravity platform again, “you want a career like mine? Screw up, let people down. They’ll revoke your seat at the Big Kids table and let you play in the mud all you want. Think you can do that?” Silence was the only response. “That’s what I thought.” Persona Grata sat across from her poisonous teammate, Shiva, notepad in hand. As a condition of serving on Excalibur’s Stealth Team, Persona Grata insisted on being continue to offer psychiatric treatment to members of Excalibur who needed it. And Shiva, inches away from being a full blown sociopath in Persona’s opinion, needed it like a fish needed water. The blue skinned woman was sitting on the edge of her chair, sharpening a dagger while she laced it with a deadly nerve toxin. She’d been doing this for nearly five minutes, and if Persona Grata were made of flesh and blood, she’d a little intimidated. But as a person of metal and plastic, poison was just another liquid to her and knives weren’t that scary when you had no arteries. “Something you’d like to talk about?” “No, just another sociopath working with her weapons,” Shiva replied. Persona Grata rolled her eyes. There wasn’t much in the way of papers written on dealing with meta-human assassins (usually because those few who were caught and forced to attend sessions then killed the therapist), but the Sentient LMD held out hope that her patient could be rehabilitated. “So, you’re not upset that we left behind Cessilia and her people?” Persona Grata asked. Shiva stopped her sharpening for a second, before she shrugged indifferently, “Not my problem, is it?” “I’ll take that as a yes. Might I ask why?” “It’s just not right, to leave people like, people whose only crime was speaking out,” Shiva growled, “besides, I know how dangerous it is to stab those sort of people in the back.” Chapman leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on his desk. Almost as an afterthought, he reached to the side and activated a small alien devise he’d picked up in his Hellfire Club days. It created a null field around his office that made it impossible for any data to get in or out. Though the improvised battery lasted only ten minutes, it created a zone of silence so effective that not even an atomic blast could be heard just one office over. “Alright Dr. Strange, give it to me straight. What happened?” “Apparently, in all of Faylin, there is actually someone who understands magic and its consequences,” Dr. Strange started, “when I was disassembling the dimensional anchor that allowed them to reach our reality, I stumbled over a hat would best be described as a tripwire. It literally changed every other spell it came into contact with, and unmoored the anchor.” “A domino effect.” “Exactly. It is my belief that it created a series of events and released the anchor. The light we saw was a dimensional equivalent of a sonic boom. Every rushed to fill the void it left, and…” “And no boom, Doctor,” Chapman finished, “why was that?” “I would like to believe luck, but…” “You don’t believe in it.” “Actually, I know for a fact luck exists and have spoken to several deities that can influence it,” Dr. Strange corrected, “but no, in this instance, I do not believe in luck. They tell me you are well read Chapman. Tell me, do you know the story of Hernán Cortés?” “I do indeed,” Chapman replied, “he came to the ‘New World’ with only an army of hundreds and conquered a nation of thousands. And one of the first things he did…” “Was set fire to his boats so that his army could not flee hope to Spain,” Dr. Strange finished. “Misdirection. Isn’t that the first rule of magic?” Dr. Strange snorted derisively, “For stage magicians, yes. I fear we’ve not heard the last of Darkstorm.” “As it so happens, that’s not what worries me, Doctor.” “Oh?” “Tell me, what was that bright light we saw, when the anchor gave way? It covered several countries before flittering out.” “Oh, that,” Dr. Strange nodded, “from what I can tell, Darkstorm’s people tore a hole in reality itself to reach our dimension, one that directly connected their reality to ours. When the connection was severed, reality returning to its natural state created…ripples, for lack of a better term. The release of energy was enormous, frighteningly staggering even. It should have destroyed our world, and I’m certain it destroyed theirs.” “I see.” “I share your sympathy for the lives lost,” Dr. Strange said, “but I wouldn’t worry. Our world is now safe.” “Not hardly,” Chapman snorted, “figures you’d miss it. No offense, Doctor.” “Miss what?” Strange asked with a raised eye brow. “So reality snapped back into shape on both sides of their little portal, released a tsunami of energy and all we got was a light show?” Chapman stated, “just where the bloody hell did all that power go?” Elsewhere “Amazing, isn’t it?” Lord Darkstorm stood side by side with his brother, Red Knight, stood in the bowels of Faylin. They were standing in a cavern filled with crystal structures, glowing an emerald green. “This cave was created for storing our lost magic, and in our hour of greatest need, saved our city from destruction!” “Forgive me if I am unimpressed,” Red Knight replied in a somber tone, “our city has been devastated, our world lost…” “But we will rebuild,” Darkstorm pressed his hand against a crystal, the feeling of power was almost intoxicating, “we are twenty million strong, our magic is replenished and we are united. We will punish those who destroyed our world and make a new, stronger one!” “…and it will still not replace the one we lost,” Red Knight countered. “We will remember our lost world as he forge a new one,” Darkstorm assured him, “we have survived, and grown stronger than we have been for a hundred generations. In time, we will take a new world, and avenge ourselves on all who have wronged us!”
Danny Vincent sat in front of Chapman’s desk, one leg over the other. Most of the time, the young spy made it a point to keep a smirk off his face, no matter how justified its presence upon his handsome features. But today, he thought nothing of it. His team had effectively sabotaged an entire people and crippled their ability to fight back. If that didn’t entitle someone to appear a little cocky, what did? “Do you know why I’ve asked you here?” Danny knew better than to say ‘To offer congratulations’. No matter how well deserved, superiors were always conservative with praise. Short of accomplishing a miracle, the best anyone could really hope for was a ‘Good job, now here’s the next mission’. Looking cocky was one thing, acting was another. “To prep Excalibur’s next mission, I assumed,” Junta replied in a neutral voice. “After a fashion,” replied Chapman, “I trust you’re aware of the Devil’s Island Incident?” Junta nodded. The disastrous mission was one of the reasons why his team existed. “We’ve rounded up most of the criminals involved,” Chapman stated, “but some have eluded us. Blighter goes by the name of Night Strike. He killed a member of Excalibur. I cannot…will not… tolerate that.” Junta said nothing. An experienced operative, he knew that sometimes losing a man in the field was unavoidable. But in his opinion, too many law enforcement agencies saw it as an unforgivable sin as opposed to an occupational hazard. From there, it all too often escalated into a pointless war. But wanting to keep his job, Danny kept his own counsel. “But at the same time, the United Nations has begun to express concern about excessive force…” Danny rubbed his temple, “I know where this is going…” “It gets better,” Chapman smiled, “Night Strike is the leader of a Genoshian black-ops team that’s refused to disarm and accept amnesty.” “And the last thing we need is a terrorist team from a previous administration causing problems for the one the United Nations installed,” Junta was well versed in the way of avoiding scandal. When you installed a new government, the last thing you want was to be reminded of the old one. Unless you were stringing them along, of course. “Exactly. The powers that be want this handled quickly, quietly and effectively,” Chapman stated, “so you and your team are going to bring them in. Consider it your trial by fire.”
  
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