By Donovan Bertch
Originally Published in Unfading Daydream Vol. 2 #1
The fire was hotter than he expected it to be. It was an odd thought, given that he was likely about to burn to death (either that or just be done in by smoke inhalation, but beggars couldn’t be choosers). He glanced around at the scene in front of him: years of research turned to cinder as entire cabinets of documents burned around him. His vials...well, he knew which ones were worth their salt now, given that some were still intact, their liquids within boiling rapidly in the heat. Many were just plain exploding, and he vaguely felt shards of shrapnel (and whatever they were coated in) slam into his backside. Well, he assumed they did; it felt more like a pinprick at this point. With a hint of disappointment, he even noted that his favorite chair had gone up in flames.
How had it come to this?
All he wanted was a better world. It wasn’t that much to ask. Not with the power at his disposal. No. Not his now. At their disposal.
“We’re sorry it had to be this way,” they had said. “But we’ve grown bored of your follies. Your failures have delayed us for far too long. It’s time for a new order. You know how it goes.”
Then, the flames began. The doors were bolted shut. His powers were-taken? No, stolen...the crystals, their energy...gone. All of it, gone.
Just like everything and everyone else.
All this time, all this work...the people he had to betray. The creatures he had to create...this was all for a better world, right? A brighter future?
Maybe the world needed him gone for that future to come to pass.
His vision became blurred, faded. He could feel himself falling, but the heat was too overwhelming, suffocating him where he stood. Any sensation beyond that was simply drowned out.
He supposed this was it. Karma coming to collect its due. This was to be expected.
Except for the part where karma kicked down the door.
---
“We are Bladelord and the Faceless! How ya’ll doin’ tonight?!”
The roar from the crowd was deafening. The incessant rhythm of the drums pounded into Kronos’ head. He swore the silver-haired punk shrieking into the microphone was trying to give the crowd hearing loss, if the ringing in his ears was any indication.
What was he doing there?
Kronos glanced at the cheering fans next to him. They all screamed along to the band’s godawful lyrics, and wore matching clothes with some indecipherable logo on them. Is that supposed to be a head? Why is a sword sticking into it? The tall man frowned, glancing down at his dark suit jacket and slacks. He was absolutely overdressed, and it seemed like some in the crowd (judging by the whispers and stares of those around and behind him) agreed. Why didn’t anyone tell him there was some kind of dress code here?
This was a bad idea.
“-lack, do you copy? I repeat, Black, do you copy?” Kronos frowned, glancing to his right. Off in a far corner of the room, a red-gloved hand was waving up and down. Kronos sighed, putting a finger to his ear.
“I copy, Red,” Kronos grumbled, cupping a hand to his other ear to get the best sound quality possible from his communicator. Gods, was saying that going to sound strange for a while. Forever, maybe. “I’m in position.”
“Good,” Red replied, the communicator tinging her voice with a tinny tone. “I know you’re not big on these kinds of events-” Well, that was an understatement. “-but we appreciate you coming along all the same. I know this is a bit sudden for your first mission, but we need all hands on deck just in case anything happens.”
“We all know this isn’t a ‘just in case’, Red,” a high-pitched, airy voice piped up. “There’s a 97% chance of someone turning into a Devastator here. The crystal’s energy signature is clear as day-just a bit muddled in the crowd. We just have to wait for the kaboom.”
Kronos frowned. Is that what they were called? He always just called them “minions.” He supposed the populace would need a name for the damned things. And damned they were-monstrous creatures formed from the malice and hatred within human hearts, given form by a...gods, when he heard the team call them “Haet Crystals” (and oh, were they insistent on that spelling), Kronos had laughed his head clean off. They had no name-they were just crystals filled with dark energy.
Had he really been thwarted so many times by such childish whims?
Regardless, it was clear that someone here had one of the Crystals, but discerning exactly who would be difficult. Were he at his prime, Kronos could easily have found the culprit-but things were different now.
It was going to take some getting used to.
“Orange, our job is to try to prevent the kaboom,” a deeper voice rumbled through the earpiece. “If we can, then maybe we can go one day without having to check for concussions.”
“Aw, Blue, that’s no fun!” Orange whined.
“This isn’t supposed to be fun.”
“Uh, guys?” A softer voice spoke up. “You may want to-”
“In a minute, Violet,” Red replied. “Black-are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
“Of course I am,” Kronos scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well,” Orange drawled, “First missions tend to be a little weird for the new guy on the team. Devastators are scary up close! I mean, Violet ended up hiding behind me the whole time on his first mission.”
“Guys, maybe we should stop talking about this!” Violet warned, a desperate tone in his voice.
“...I think I know enough about them to not be afraid, Orange,” Kronos snapped. “Isn’t that why you brought me in?”
“Well, that’s why Red brought you in,” Blue snapped back. “Don’t think it was very democratic.”
“Guys, Black doesn’t need to prove his loyalty. We already discussed this.” Kronos’s eye twitched-of course they were on about this again. “He’s just as much a member of this team now as anyone else, and I won’t stand for-”
“Everyone, shut up! The band’s stopped!” The communicator fell silent, and Kronos finally glanced back up at the band. They were staring straight at him, as was the majority of the audience. The lead singer in particular was looking quite aggravated.
This could be going better.
“Oh, look who finally decided to join the rest of us,” the man sniped into his microphone, the audio echoing throughout the room. “Done with your phone call?”
“...yes,” Kronos eventually replied, his cold voice echoing through the quiet concert hall. “...it was very important, you see.”
“Oh. Important. I see,” the singer groused, his tone laced with venom. “Not important enough to step outside for. But important.”
“Jack,” the guitarist whispered to the vocalist, just barely picked up by his microphone. “Are you seriously doing this?”
“Important enough to not pay attention to the band you paid to see?” Jack continued, eyes locked straight on Kronos. “Or are you just here because someone bought your way in?”
“It’s nothing personal, I assure you. I...greatly enjoy your work?” Kronos offered, ignoring the cries of “Just shut up!” and “Oh, we are so dead.” from his communicator.
“What’s your favorite song of ours?” Jack asked, ignoring his bandmates horrified looks. “I’d love to know.”
And here’s where it all goes straight to hell.
Kronos adjusted his collar as Jack tapped his foot impatiently. Orange had been playing some of their music before the mission began (blathering on about owning all their albums), but Kronos had paid minimal attention. Hindsight was 20/20. He racked his brain for an answer, trying to think of the lyrics he heard from even one of their tracks. Something about death, and he heard a reference the bible? Maybe? He had to think fast. “I...I love Death’s Gospel?”
Judging by the way Jack hurled his microphone to the ground, that was not the right answer.
Something else happened in that instant though-the microphone shattered, revealing a pitch black stone hidden within its shaft. A cry from Violet burst over the communicator-
“He’s got a Haet Crystal!”
-a split second too late. Jack grabbed the crystal, holding it up for the crowd to see. “I’m sick and tired of you goddamned fakes! You’re just here because we’re cool now! You don’t care about all the work we put in, the effort we waste trying to entertain sheep like you!” The crystal glowed, black tendrils bursting forth from it and enveloping his arm. “You don’t care about our art!” Jack’s bandmates backed up as fast as humanly possible as the vocalist was covered head-to-toe in the dark masses. “You’re just some corporate shill,” he roared, his voice echoing across the room, “In your fancy suit and tie!”
Kronos pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not even wearing a-to hell with it.” He grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, tearing it off with a flourish (and ignoring the annoyed shouts from those behind him). “Everyone, prepare for battle.”
“That’s Red’s line!” Orange moaned.
“...Red?” Kronos asked through gritted teeth.
A sigh rumbled through the communicator. “Everyone, prepare for battle!”
In unison, “Right!”
Up on the stage, Jack’s bandmates had done what Kronos assumed to be the first sensible thing in their lives: run the hell away from the creature that was once their vocalist. That certainly wasn’t a sentence he ever expected to think, and yet, there it was. Surprisingly, as the panicked masses around him fled, Kronos felt-of all things-impatient. Normally the whole “tendril phase” didn’t take too long, but the stronger the hate someone felt was, the longer it took to turn them into a Devastator. And it seemed the music man had a lot of hate to go around.
Did it always take this long?
He heard footsteps-a natural thing, given the circumstances, but most of them weren’t running at the hideous beast. As the others fell in line around him, Kronos couldn’t help but scoff at the sight. The former Lord Kronos standing alongside his former enemies-and what strange foes they were. He always knew them by their colors, their costumes. He never considered that they might have names until just recently. And yet, here they were:
Jeanne, a dark-skinned woman clad in a crimson leather jacket, bright red gloves, and biker jeans.
Walter, a lanky, tanned man with a red bandana draped across his face, pitch-black sunglasses, and a violet hat covering his features.
Effie, an orange-haired woman decked in gaudy concert memorabilia, that damned skull logo clear as day on her baseball cap.
And Nikolas, a blonde-haired, muscular man with bright blue sunglasses and a too-tight tank top.
Sweet mother of God, even their casual wear was color-coded.
“I will never understand your fashion sense,” Kronos muttered.
Effie snickered. “Says the guy in all black.”
“I believe Captain Kidd will be wanting his flag back when you’re done wearing it.”
She shrugged, tilting her cap upwards. “So, guess we know where the signal was coming from now, right Boss?”
Jeanne frowned as Jack’s form began to glow, a sigh escaping her lips. Within seconds, the light dissipated, making way for a grotesque creature made up of cables squirming around like worms, and a gigantic microphone pop filter for a head. It was as if this horrifying transformation had merely become an everyday occurrence. Which, to be fair…
“Gyahahaha! The name’s Decibel, losers!” the monster cackled. “And I’m here to perform your death march!”
“How did we miss it if it was right in front of us?” Jeanne asked, turning to Walter. “Was the microphone blocking the signal?”
“...I said, the name’s-”
“Yeah.” Walter nodded, tapping the side of his shades. The lenses opened like camera irises, the man’s gaze locked onto the creature. “I don’t know if the Organization provided a dampener or if the mic just naturally dampens the Crystal’s signature, but-”
“-they wanted to keep us busy long enough to set him off,” Nikolas muttered. He glanced sideways at Kronos with a scowl. “And look who ended up pulling the trigger.”
“Uh. Hello?”
Kronos scowled. “I’m sorry, I believe I misheard. Are you blaming me for something the team missed, Blue?”
“When did I say you were part of the team yet?” Nikolas growled.
“You insolent little-”
“Are you even listening to me?!” A screeching roar echoed through the room. The five fell to their knees, clutching their heads as feedback rang through their heads. Decibel lumbered over to them, holding a tendril above Kronos’s head. “It’s just like before! You don’t care that I’m even here! At my own damn concert!” His gaze turned to Effie, glancing over her ensemble. Kronos felt his senses return to him as the feedback lessened. “Except you. I always make time for a fan. You want any of that signed?”
Effie grinned, wobbling to her feet. “Not just yet, fuzzhead. Not till the show’s over.”
Decibel glanced at the stage. “You’re tellin’ me it isn’t?”
That was their cue.
The rest of the team rose to their feet, Jeanne at the center. She grinned like a tiger with its claws sunk straight into its prey. She held up her right arm towards the villain, who watched with what Kronos presumed was awe (given that expressions were hard to gauge from behind a giant pop filter) as a glistening garnet gemstone appeared in her hand. The others followed suit: a sapphire for Nikolas, a topaz for Effie, an amethyst for Walter, and for Kronos…
The darkest onyx he’d ever seen.
Fitting.
Decibel laughed, his disbelief clear as his voice echoed throughout the room. “You’re kidding, right? What the hell are those supposed to do to stop me?”
Jeanne’s grin widened. Kronos raised an eyebrow as the rest of the team blanched at the question. What were they so worried about-
“I thought you of all people would know it when you saw it, mic-check,” Jeanne answered. “We’re gonna kick your ass with the power of rock.”
...I should have died in that fire.
Jeanne followed up this declaration by crushing the gemstone with her bare hand, the dust erupting into a tornado that engulfed her entire form. “Let’s go, everyone!”
“Right!” Simultaneously, Walter, Effie, and Nikolas crushed their gems. For Kronos, though, the moment lasted an eternity. For Kronos, though, the moment lasted an eternity.
-—
The door clattered to the ground. A surge of color filled his vision-was that orange from the fire? It looked a lot brighter, he thought-and he became keenly aware of a weight on his arms. Muddled voices flittered in and out:
“I think he’s still alive!”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Grab his legs!”
Weakly, Kronos lifted his head. Even in the haze that clouded his eyes (his everything, really), he could see that damned red helmet jutting out from the smoke and flames. He’d seen it and its ilk enough times, the whole damned rainbow of colors always destroying his work. Always interrupting his plans. They-they were the ones who caused this to happen, weren’t they?
No. Kronos couldn’t lie to himself anymore. This was all his own damn doing.
-—
This was a bad idea.
—-
But then, if this was his just reward...
“Why?” he croaked, the smoke parting slightly as more heads turned to face him. “You should just…” He coughed, trying desperately to ignore the smoke filling his lungs. “Why didn’t you let me die?”
The room was silent, save for the sound of crumbling pillars and the roaring fire. Then, the red mask turned to him.
-—
It had to be.
-—
“Why would we?”
His eyes widened.
“What?”
“Why would we?” the figure repeated. “We’re heroes. We save people in need. It’s as simple as that.”
“...” Kronos began to laugh, weakly as he clung to the last vestiges of consciousness he had.
“You think this is funny?” A gruff voice chimed in.
“To think…” His laughter continued, as his breath came in short gasps. “To think that I’d owe my life to you, of all people...there has to be a motive. There must be.”
-—
There’s no way that he-
-—
The figure in the red mask chuckled as Kronos’s vision finally began to slip into full darkness. “Well...you’re not entirely wrong. We do have a motive of sorts.”
“And what-” A cough. A laugh. A mix of the two. “-would that be?”
The red mask spoke the last words Kronos would hear for a good while. They were plain, simple, and to the point.
“Honestly? You don’t deserve to die like this. Plus, we think you’d make a good hero. Simple as that.”
-—
-would miss his second chance like this.
With a roar, Kronos shattered his gem, letting the whirlwind overtake him. He could feel the dust from the crushed gemstone, carried by the wind, crystallizing on his body as he crossed his arms. A deafening shatter filled his ears as Kronos felt the weight of his new armor (and, he noted with some trepidation, a snug bodysuit) fall upon him. The man’s vision blurred for a moment as a mask appeared on his face. In an instant, the mask’s visor lit up bright with a surprisingly technological display.
He really would have to ask them how they did that.
Once the wind dissipated, he could more fully see his new look: a dark black bodysuit with similar armor plating, accented with the tiniest hints of white and gold. A cape unfurled from his shoulders, giving his outfit a long-coat like appearance. His “mask” was a full-body helmet, with a silver visor and an onyx stone smack dab in the center of the “forehead.”
He looked ridiculous.
Luckily for him, so did his companions. They all had come out of the whirlwind in ostentatious poses, not exactly the kind designed to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies. Well, no matter. It was time to take down the-
“Burning justice!” Red held a hand out in front of her, clenching her fingers into a fist. “Ruby Red!”
...oh. Oh, no.
“Cold justice!” Blue put a hand to his mask, leaning his head back slightly while still peering out towards Decibel. “Sapphire Blue!”
How’d he forget about this? These damned fools did this stupid roll call every time they fought him! It should have been obvious that this was coming up. No one prepared him with his own little epithet, though-was this some kind of test? To come up with one? No. No, he would not be a part of this inanity.
“Energetic justice!” Orange proceeded to give the monster a double peace sign (But why?! He’s the enemy!), clearly grinning behind her helmet. “Topaz Orange!”
There were limits that needed to be drawn in life. This was one of those. Kronos was willing to give up his previous life to make the world a truly better place, to fight alongside those he called enemies for the safety of all life. But he would not perform this stupid, idiotic-
“Steely justice.” Violet stretched out his hand, waggling his finger in a “tut-tut” motion. “Amethyst Violet!”
...who the hell was he kidding?
“Dark justice!” Black uncrossed his arms, holding one in front of him and one behind him like a martial artist ready to strike. “Onyx Black!”
He could just barely hear Orange shout out “That’s what I’m talking about!” as Decibel chose that moment to let out a monstrous growl.
“Just who are you people, anyway?!”
“Haven’t you heard?” Red asked. “We are…”
Wait, was she expecting them all to say it at once? Black scoffed. Such theatrics. Then again, he wasn’t one to talk. He supposed he’d follow along.
The others made their final poses, and Kronos deigned to follow suit, settling on pulling his cape around his shoulders, and letting it fly loose with a powerful swing. A loud cry came from the group, echoing through the room:
“Crystal Striker Five!”
Behind his mask, Kronos sighed. This was his life now. Showy heroics. Ridiculous costumes. Insufferable teammates.
Teammates.
He smiled. It was no real matter of consequence. He’d get used to it eventually.
But this next part was going to be very cathartic, he was sure.