My name is Bentley Wittman. Most know me as the Wizard. My genius has rivaled those of the greatest minds in science. My exploits have struck fear in the hearts of men across the globe. I have defied the very laws of nature itself. I play melodies on the superstrings of existence.

Yet I still get no respect.

“Look, this is getting kind of embarrassing for us. I mean you can’t just keep hanging around here.” My former henchman actually had the gall to place his hands his hips as spoke to me. Him! A halfwit with a ninth grade education and a ghastly tattoo of a pit bull on his left bicep. They truly thought they could depose me in this humiliating fashion. That’s how little they thought of me. “We’re basically over you, man. Just, like, move on, okay?”

“Move on,” I repeated, mocking his pathetic thug’s bravado. “And how do you fools intend to make me do that exactly?”

They exchanged glances. Eyes were rolled. Feet were shuffled awkwardly. One even had the audacity to bark out a laugh. “Ah, jeez,” continued their ringleader, “is this really necessary? I don’t want to have to hurt you. I thought we explained about the graviton shields and everything else.* That means your powers are for shit here. You’re just another geek in a silly suit and we really don’t have time for it anymore.”

(See Fantastic Four v2 #10 - Al)

Meanwhile, through the 3-D battle map displayed on my helmet’s monitor, the oblong green head of my new ally bobbed into view. He was giving me a thumbs up signal from his location one story below in the basement. The graviton shields were now offline. The anti-grav generators on my suit instantly hummed back to life and their power coursed through my gauntlets.

It wasn’t until I saw the look of terror that passed over my former gang’s face that I allowed myself to smile though. For I was about to show them exactly what ‘moving on’ from the Wizard involved.

And it was guaranteed to prove very educational.

As beautifully poetic as that moment was for me, the day hadn’t started out nearly so promising. It was, in point of fact, well on the way to being another disappointment in a long bitter string of them. I’d spent most of that morning moping around my flophouse apartment dressed only in my underclothes, badly in need of a shave and a shower, feeling pathetic and wondering just how I’d gotten here.

What, I asked myself, after forty some years of life, had I truly accomplished besides an impressive incarceration record? I’m embarrassed to admit that I could only come up with one worthwhile achievement to my name and that was so very long ago.

You see, back then, I had essentially solved the preeminent problem of modern civilization before my twenty-first birthday. That’s how brilliant I used to be, still must be on some level. I had discovered the components necessary for the creation of a cheap room temperature superconductor.

Now of course to the average idiot, I realize that means nothing. But for the handful people on this planet whose skulls actually house something more worthwhile than the latest football scores or tabloid gossip, that’s big news. Because said superconductor solves the great dilemma of transportation in the era of dwindling fossil fuels. It means, in crude terms, a substance that lacks all electrical resistance thus allowing for the creation of powerful magnetic fields that can circumvent gravity.

It means cost free electrical lines, inexpensive magnetic rail trains, self-propelled hover cars, personal levitation devices and the future in all the bright shiny day-glow colors our forefathers imagined.

I did that. I solved that riddle. Twenty years ago!

Why, then, you might be asking, are the streets not filled with marvels and wonders? Because I solved the riddle while working for a tiny research company underwritten by a much larger petroleum corporation and they had a rather different take on my kind of discovery. Being young and naiveté, I was so amazed with myself that I was certain fame and wealth awaited me. I was right about the wealth part, but not the fame.

For the company had no real interest in publishing my findings. They paid me handsomely, bought the rights to the patent, had me sign all sorts of confidentiality papers, and then sent me on my merry way while they buried my findings under the metaphorical equivalent of two tons of concrete. They were, you see, making far too much money on the old technology. On fossil fuel guzzling antiques. My technology was too sudden, too radical, to be anything but dangerous to the established order and the web of powerful people who currently profited from it. Anything that was essentially free in a world run on ownership and scarcity was a spanner in the works, a live hand grenade aimed at the heart of their power.

They would keep it under wraps and, I, I would shut my mouth and cash my checks and go away forever.

And so I did. At first I was bitter, of course, but I had no real moral qualms about my decision. I had no burning desire to deliver up my findings for the benefit of the dull-witted masses. What had they ever done to deserve such? Even those few I did try explaining my work to had no concept of what I was telling them, that’s how simple-minded and worthless your average peon is. Forget them, I thought. They deserved to be miserable. They deserved to be slaves. Meanwhile I lived a life of wealth and privilege and leisure and was the envy of all who knew me.

Until I grew bored.

For a mind such a mine, even a life of debauchery becomes a kind of punishment after awhile. No, I don’t expect you to understand. But flashy new sports cars and Riviera villas and vapid beautiful women and expensive exotic liquors and all that are so paltry when you actually hold them effortlessly in your hand. When you realize people envy and admire and will debase themselves before your things, your situation, but not you. To them I was just some foppish playboy who had cashed in on a lucky start-up tech -- as I said they couldn’t be bothered to understand details when it involved something as real as science -- and that was all. Nothing special. Just a lucky punk.

But they were wrong and I longed for something, anything, to prove it.

That’s when they appeared. It started with the Human Torch and then rapidly moved on to the others. Reed Richards and his ridiculous Fantastic Four. Colorful goofballs in outlandish outfits and impossible technology doing supposedly amazing things for the world. Garish altruistic morons, the next contemptible stage of pop-stardom. Pompous and absurd. We all laughed at them. Me especially.

But in my heart I knew. These were not morons. They were geniuses. Richards at least was my equal and moreover he had used his gifts to do something real. They had accomplished something I had failed to do with all my money. They had become genuinely great. Admired. Loved. Respected. Important.

It was a searing damnation of my own wasted life.

And so it became my quixotic quest to best him before the eyes of the world. To show myself his superior. And I failed. God, did I fail, and so many times! Yet I never felt more alive than in my attempts. For once I had a goal worthy of my talents and it prompted me to new levels of brilliance. Dusting off my old research and turning myself into the gravity defying Wingless Wizard was just the first step in a long climb. For every time the Four bested me I knew I had to become that much better.

Better and better until…

Now. Nearly broke in a shabby apartment and twenty years wasted behind me. A joke among even among my peers. Dismissed by my own lackeys even. For all my efforts, Richards probably didn’t even consider me in the same league as his main rivals. Something had obviously gone wrong.

That morning, for the first time in my life, I sincerely considered a change of direction. I could become a hero, for example, and beat Richards at his own game. I could forget all this nonsense and fashion myself into a Wall Street titan, join the true untouchable masters of the universe. I could write a tell-all and morph into a different kind of celebrity. Or I could jump out the fourth story window without bothering to put my costume on and become more intimately familiar with the realities of gravity than ever.

I even considered releasing my discovery to the public after all these years. How would they feel if I, a man they previously laughed at and despised, changed the future for the better where, for all their bombastic theatrics, the Richards of this world had failed?

Why not? Why shouldn’t I? There was more to Bentley Wittman than the Wizard after all. I could do anything. I could --

That was the moment when my ex-wife walked through the door and the first words out of her vile little mouth were, “How does a little bit of ever so nasty revenge sound, my dear?”

I was, naturally, all ears.

“Goodness, what a charming place you have here, Bentley,” my ex-wife noted with a smirk, poking the toe of her lizard skin boots into a pile of soiled laundry. “It suits you quite well, I think.”

Her real name was K’uun but she preferred the equally ludicrous codename of Salamandra. She had dragon’s blood in her veins, or at least so she claimed, although I remain highly skeptical of such claptrap myself. Whatever the truth, she did enjoy prodigious strength, energy displacing properties, and even form shifting abilities. An impressive array of talents even I must concede.

She was also, by far, one of the most relentlessly cruel creatures I had ever met. Her contempt was all encompassing, particularly when it came to me. Perhaps that’s even what attracted me to her once upon a time. I couldn’t say really. I’m no psychologist.

Whatever the case, we had married years ago and even had a child, although I’ve no idea what’s become of her now, nor does it interest me to find out. I’ve never cared for children myself.

“Not even going to offer me a cup of coffee or the like? I can understand not clearing a seat. One would clearly have to be deloused first.”

“Oh, go hang you miserable harpy,” I groaned, although I did roll off the couch long enough to find a ratty bathrobe and shove some trade journals and manuals off the kitchen counter and stools. “If this petty gloating is what you meant by revenge, then you’re even more disgusting than I recall. Besides I doubt you’re doing much better than I am.”

“Well, I’m not wallowing in my own filth and feeling sorry for myself at least. When I heard you were out of prison, I expected a bit more…effort on your part. Don’t you have some kind of gang or similarly childish preoccupation?”

“They….” I frowned. “I got tired of them. I have bigger things in mind than organized crime.”

Salamandra arched a brow and then let out a laugh. It was not a pretty thing. It was jagged iron nails on brittle glass. “Don’t tell me they tossed you aside! Oh my goodness. Bentley, Bentley, Bentley…you never cease to amaze me in the depths you allow yourself to fall.”

“It’s not my fault,” I snarled. “They were ready for me! It’s just getting too…complicated these days. I mean anti-grav discs used to mean something. Now they practically spit in your face.”

“There was a time when that would have prompted you to think bigger. I’d hate to think you’re all tired out. Especially when I’ve brought you such a trump card.”

I smirked. “Well, I hope you don’t mean yourself, as that didn’t work out too well last time.” *

* (Salamandra first appeared in Fantastic Four #514 as a member of the Frightful Four. They had a villainous plan which worked out about as well as you’d expect. - Al)

“Very crass, Bentley. A man, even a small one like yourself, shouldn’t address the mother of his spawn in that manner. But, no, what I’m talking about is a short green alien with a head like a lima bean who is offering to literally open all of the doors for us.”

“I don’t follow you. And I’m in no mood for riddles.”

She sighed. “It’s no riddle. That’s literally the truth of the matter. He calls himself the Impossible Man and he has the most delightful powers. It seems nothing can harm him. His body adapts to any situation, usually violently from what I’ve seen so far. He can get us in anywhere and do almost anything. And he wants our help. Yours specifically.”

It struck me that she was being serious for once and I wracked my brain for more information. Such an alien being had had run-ins with the Fantastic Four in the past. I could recall that much from my exhaustive research on the team. But he wasn’t a gun for hire. He wasn’t even a criminal really. He was…well, I don’t know what he was exactly or why he’d come looking for me. Unless…

“He wants to reform the Frightful Four?” That’s actually what I called it. My answer to Richards gang of planetary nursemaids. I’ve never claimed to be especially creative. Salamandra used to criticize me mercilessly for my lack of cool. At least Paste-Pot Pete had never made those sorts of complaints. “But why?”

My ex-wife twirled a lock of her raven hair around her finger playfully. “Oh, he has this funny little idea that our coming together will reunite the Fantastic Four.”

“What? They’ve broken up?” I hadn’t been keeping track of the news, seeing as I was in no shape to challenge them again any time soon. I was now woefully behind on current events.

“Just the lovebirds quarreling, apparently, as old married couples are wont to do. Richards has flown the coop.* Our little green friend thinks a rampage of terror by yours truly would be just the thing to bring him back. He got the idea from a gossip rag apparently.”

* (Kind of, at least according to the tabloids. See the previous eleven issues for a clearer picture. - Al)

“I see. Are you serious with all this?”

“Deadly. And I think you see how it could possibly redound in our favor. As long as our little voluntary weapon…”

“…thinks we’re a willing part of his plan.” I nodded as I digested this information, instantly aware of all the fresh possibilities that had suddenly opened up before me. Revenge, indeed. Revenge of all kinds. “Yes, yes, I think I do see. I should like to meet this Impossible Man first to discover if what you say is true of course…”

“He’s waiting right aside, dear, along with my other new pet.”

“…then just give me one moment to get properly dressed for business.”

My ex smirked as I hurried off to the closet where my armor and equipment was drooping under a layer of dust. The Wizard was back in business, with the potential of being bigger than ever. The biggest of them all perhaps. The one who finally humbled the Fantastic Four for good!

“Oh, Lord, Bentley, I do hope you’re not still wearing that ridiculous purple helmet of yours…”

Cut to less than an hour later and half a New York City block now smoldering in perfect ruin. The abandoned storefront my former gang had been calling their headquarters was now little but a crater and even the adjacent walls of the neighboring tenements had cracked and warped inwards. I’d forgotten how genuinely fun this could be at times.

“Was this little detour really necessary Bentley? These men were hardly more than common street trash. I fail to see the point of coming here…”

“A needful bit of housecleaning,” I explained, stepping around the battered body of one of my ex-employees. “I feel more like myself now.”

“And how wonderful for you! Perhaps we can get on with things though? I‘m sure this is very entertaining for you but I should like to see a profit before we attract the attention of the Avengers or some other unwanted nuisance.”

I reluctantly conceded her point, and this just as the rubbery form of Impossible Man bounded into view again, putting a final dampener to my enjoyment of the moment. I felt an almost impulsive need to swat him, like the noisome insect he somewhat resembled, but held myself in check. He already seemed to be displeased enough.

“I have to agree! I definitely have to agree! We seem to be wasting time! All this carnage and the Fantastic Four hasn’t even showed up yet! All we got was them…”

He said the last with a derisive gesture towards the two police cruisers that had made the mistake of interfering with us. The first car Salamandra had reduced to a smoldering pile of melted refuse while, for practice and my own amusement, I had levitated the engine block of the second through its hood before letting my ex unleash her new pet on it. The monster was currently worrying the bumper like a chew toy while the occupants screamed and likely wet themselves in terror. She called it Fido although I believe its actual name was the rather boringly literal Dragonman. It seemed to respond to her every whim without the need for oral instruction. A useful slave and one that even lent some credence to her unlikely dragon’s blood story.

“I thought you said you could help me!” the green creature continued with a huff, hopping about my feet as though someone had wound a crank on his back. “Maybe I should have just went to Dr. Doom instead. He doesn’t fool around…”

I ignored that dig and instead put on my silkiest voice. “I understand your impatience and what’s more you’re absolutely right. This was too small, beneath the notice of our…mutual friends. So we need to think on a grander scale. We should take the fight to them. In fact, right to their doorstep, I’m thinking.”

“You mean attack their home base?” He gave a giddy clap of his hands. “Oh, boy, yes, that would do it! What proper heroes wouldn’t put aside their differences and rush to stop their sworn foes from busting into their headquarters and stealing all their secrets? We are going to try to steal all their secrets?”

I smiled, imagining not for the first time the god-like technology that must be housed within the Baxter Building. Enough to make my ex several fortunes on the black market and enough to make me, well, just about anything I pleased. “Only if you think that might help the cause….”

“Would it ever! By golly, you are good at this! This will rally them for sure! What a perfect arch-villain you are!”

A modest bow served as my ever so humble reply. “I must concede, I am somewhat gifted in that regard, my little friend.”

As he would very soon find out.

The Baxter Building. A monument to the fundamental unfairness of the universe. It was here that Richards and his beloved clan lived out their celebrated existence, housed within an imposing pedestal of steel and glass in the very heart of the city. A modern day Parthenon at which the plebes stared up in unabashed awe and wonder at their betters. They genuinely thought of them as titans. Benevolent gods.

Had anyone ever viewed me in such a manner? I knew in my heart the answer was no. No one had ever seen me as anything more than a man. Not as the gifted scientist Bentley Wittman, not even as the Wizard. The closest I ever came was the fear I sometimes glimpsed in their eyes when demonstrating my superior powers. When threatening their lives and revealing the underlying flimsiness of the illusions of safety and comfort they ensconced themselves in.

In a proper time, in a proper place, it might have been me who they worshipped. I may have even proved a kindly god in those circumstances. But that wasn’t our world. Here I was cast in the role of villain and so if it was fear alone they would respect me for then I would gladly give life to their most harrowing nightmares.

And I would use their own gods’ tools to do it.

“Lost in your own grandiosity again Bentley? We had best do something before we draw a crowd…”

Gawkers had already started gathering around us as we floated along the street. They remained at a cautious distance but had already begun pointing their cameras at us and snapping photographs. I didn’t mind that. I didn’t begrudge an audience.

“Very well. Take us inside my little friend…”

Impossible Man nodded and leapt down from my anti-grav platform. He waved at the watchers-on, smiled for the press, and then proceeded to walk straight through the front door. The fireworks began immediately. One security system after another was triggered in rapid succession, bombarding the detected intruder with an array of advanced weaponry. Lasers, radiation, heat, cold, knockout gas, hallucinogens, optic illusions, compact explosives, rubber bullets, high frequency sonics, and even a recorded message in Richards own insufferable voice explaining the legal ramifications of breaking and entering, down to a dry recitation of the relevant penal code.

It was an impressive display. Forcing one’s way into the Baxter Building was at least several magnitudes more difficult than busting into Fort Knox or waltzing through the Pentagon for a quick look around. The defenses were state of the art -- more than state of the art, in fact, cutting edge, the sort of weaponry thought to only exist in the wet dreams of the world’s militaries. It was enough to give even the most powerful people on this planet second thought, since that’s exactly who the Fantastic Four dealt with on a daily basis.

I myself had tried gaining entry more than once. I had even built an exact replica of the Baxter Building in a remote location in the Sierra Desert years ago just in order to better plan my attack. It took me the better part of a year to perfect, and things still went to pieces in the end. Their headquarters was all but impregnable.

And it took my alien friend less than ten minutes to circumvent it.

“That was fun,” he announced, waving us inside. “I especially liked that psionic immobilizer at the end! I bet that was Kree in origin. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever evolved three whole brains at once! But I guess it’s over already. I thought there’d be more to it frankly.”

“Aw, heck, that was just the opening act, kiddo. You haven’t even got a load of the main event yet. Sheesh, ain’t you people ever heard of knocking?”

The Thing. Ben Grimm. A man possessed of a grotesquely deformed body made from unidentifiable, nearly indestructible rock with a strength to rival the Hulk. He was standing with his trunk-like arms crossed, shaking his round head forlornly. Cocky. They always are.

My ex reacted first, grabbing an exposed length of pipe left over from our explosive entry, and hammering it over his head. He merely sighed as it bent in two. “C’mon, lady, you know how I hate to hit the dames…” He then plinked her with his thumb and forefinger, in the same arrogant manner one might flick a flea, sending her careening back down the entry hall. Dragonman reacted with a snarl, launching himself into the Thing’s body, hurling both through the nearest wall and temporarily out of sight.

That left just me and the team’s youngest member, who had rushed in from a side room to assist his outnumbered friend. The lower half of his body was already lit up like a roman candle but his face was still human enough to convey his mocking expression.

“Oh, man, the Wizard? Really? How lame can you get. I almost thought we were in trouble there for a second.”

I really do hate these people.

The Human Torch, as they oh-so-cleverly call him, is probably the weakest member of the team and even then practically unbeatable in most scenarios. That is especially true in the open air where his powers somehow inexplicably grant him flight, making him the equivalent of a rocket propelled flame thrower. That was his natural element.

Fortunately we weren’t in it now. He was facing me inside his own home base, restraining his ability to cut loose with his powers. A hero can’t risk setting fire to his own home, especially with his family’s own support staff inside and a gathering crowd of gapers outdoors. He was also lacking his accustomed backup support as the Richards had yet to show themselves -- lending some credence to what the alien was saying about their team being fractured -- and his power of flight was as much a hindrance as a help in these closed confines.

Of course he also experienced enough to realize all these things himself and adapt. I moved to take advantage before he could decide upon a new tactic, forming a low gravitational just beneath him, propelling him into the ceiling with a painful grunt. I followed by directing his limp body into the nearest wall, sending lines of fracture along the reinforced windows. He dropped to the floor like a sack of dumbbells. While still struggling to regain his feet, I shifted gravity fields on him yet again, increasing the weight of the upper floor on its support beams well past the breaking point. With a resonant crack, the ceiling crashed down on the Torch’s head in a cloud of debris.

Meanwhile the Thing was already back in play, having apparently dealt with the Dragonman easily enough. My ex was still sitting where she’d fell, holding her head with one hand and moaning uselessly. Fortunately I didn’t need them anyways.

Our trump card was still in play.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” the monster yelled, his arm disappearing up to the elbow as he landed a blow on our alien ally, only to find its body now the gooey consistency of hot rubber. The Thing struggled to free himself and the more he did so, the more entangled he became. “Why the heck are you helping these clowns, Imp?”

“I’m not! I mean, I am, but it’s for your own good! Don’t you see, a super villain team-up of this magnitude means you’ve got to get the whole family back together. You‘ll never beat us on your own. It’s all part of my plan!”

The Thing continued to flail fruitlessly against the viscous mass that was swallowing him. “The heck are you even talking about you goofy maniac?!”

“I’m trying to help you,” my little weapon complained, pitiably. One could almost feel sorry for his good intentions, applied with such witless abandon to what were soon to be disastrous results. Fortunately I am not given over to such feelings myself. I merely take advantage of them.

“Yes,” I noted with a triumphant smile, drawing close enough to connect several of my anti-grav discs to the Thing’s torso while he was still immobile. They were turned to full power only in reverse, sending him smashing through the floor and deep into the lower levels of the complex a mile or more below us.

“We’re helping you.”

Could victory be so simple?

Apparently, it could. Two hours had lapsed since we took the Baxter Building and we were still in control. The Thing and the Human Torch were secure in one of Richards holding cells and I had managed to get a number of the security systems up and running again. Thus far no one had attempted entry, although a few of the lesser hero types had been spotted loitering outside along with swarms of reporters. We had the reputation of the Fantastic Four to thank for that as much as our own, I suspect. Anyone who could take them on directly was considered well behind the abilities of any team outside of the Avengers.

We were, at least for awhile, free to do as we pleased in the world’s biggest toy store.

“Still no sign of the woman, Bentley.”

“Yes, well, she’s the Invisible Woman, isn’t she? That’s how that works.”

My ex gave me a sour look and muttered something about not liking it before continuing on with her work. She was gathering together a number of containers I’d already identified as holding highly valuable weapons grade material. For all her superior talk, my Salamandra remains a petty-minded crook at heart. Here we were in the heart of the Baxter Building and she was thinking in terms of price tags and a quick escape out the backdoor.

I, however, was thinking on a much grander scale.

“I don’t understand it. I don’t understand it at all! They still haven’t showed up.”

Our little green ally had grown restless. He’d expected our assault to draw the Richards back together and for things to end in a mindless brawl, with his reunited heroes as the winners and us the bruised and battered losers. All things back to status quo for his favoritest couple. Admittedly, a scenario not without some precedent. That things hadn’t quite worked out that way yet was proving rather stressful for him. It was curious to realize that a being of pure possibility, of an endlessly mutable physiognomy, should himself be so resistant to change.

Either way, I realized it was growing time to rid ourselves of him before he could become a nuisance.

“Yes and I think I’ve discovered the reason our plan has failed to produce the desired results. Reed Richards is not on this planet. According to the Baxter Building’s main computer, he’s not even in this dimension.” I had already managed to break Richards encryption codes all on my own and had downloaded a copy of his files onto my helmet’s CPU. The difficulty level was surprisingly low. I truly am a genius. “Our heroic paterfamilias probably has no idea what’s happening here. If someone were to go to the Negative Zone and inform him…”

The creature bobbed its pointy head in rapid agreement. “Of course! But who…”

“Well, as the architect of this clever plan it seems only right that you should go. I’d volunteer myself but someone needs to operate the gate. I think I understand the basic principles of how it works, enough so that I can get it running for you…”

“So I’ll inform Mr. Fantastic and you - “

“- will keep things simmering until you get back.”

It was decided then. Following the instructions I’d downloaded from Richards files I managed to get the machine going, while the trusting creature climbed into the air tight chamber where it was activated. “Are you sure you guys will be okay without me though?” he squeaked over the intercom as anti-matter began to swirl around him.

“Oh, I think we’ll manage,” I replied just as the alien vanished from sight. He did not reappear.

Alone at last and now firmly in charge.

“Sometimes I think you enjoy yourself too much, my dear,” Salamandra whispered in my ear with an affectionate purr. I could only smile in agreement as I used my gravitational power to flatten the gate and all of its related components into a hard metal ball no larger than a cantaloupe, trapping the alien and Richards and whoever else had been foolish enough to venture through it permanently in the Negative Zone. “Too true, too true…”

Tossing it over one shoulder, I then glanced around the sprawling design laboratories and vast storehouses of Reed Richards’s home.

“…and I’ve barely even scratched the surface.”

Next: The final chapter.