"Good evening, gals and pals," the low, husky voice purred over the radio. "Yolanda Montez here, spending another cozy night with all our listeners between the two rivers, and thanks for letting me into your bedrooms and parlors as we say good-bye to another hard day at the office, and snuggle up tight. I've picked some sweet tunes to carry us to the witching hour here at KRZI, so sit back, have a drink on the house, and relax. First up is a rare find, to welcome the newest resident of Dos Rios. I had the pleasure of meeting this living legend last night, and here's my way of saying "looking forward to more of the same, Greg." And to show my appreciation, here he is, Greg Saunders and his Prairie Bunch, from way back in 1944, with his hit, 'Lonesome Like a Train'. To you from me, here at KRZI, where we're crazy for music."
"I'm walking 'round the house, for the last time..."Fifty small candles spread out across the large tiled floor, providing fifty small flames that illuminated the outlines imprinted into each tile. Fifty states laid into the tiled floor on which sat the lone figure, cross-legged, eyes closed, breathing so slow and even as to be almost unnoticeable. Slowly, each candle burnt out, continually dimming the chamber as the hours passed. When only one guttering flame remained alight, the man's eyes opened and focused on the visible tile. He nodded and stood, the movement stirring enough air to blow that last light out, but the man didn't care anymore. He turned and marched from the meditation chamber, into an adjoining room where two garbed mannequins stood. He dipped his head as he passed by the featureless figure draped in a facsimile of the Crimson Avenger's costume, and then stopped in front of the second. Slowly he began the ritual developed decades prior by his great-grandfather, Wing How. Each piece of clothing he wore was systematically removed and set aside, to be replaced by the ceremonial garment before him. Dull gold with a crimson starburst symbol splashed over his chest, and with a simple scarlet domino mask finally set into place, the transformation was complete. The latest in the line of Wing headed for the transportation he knew would be ready for him. The day had arrived at last. His father had fallen short of the family goal six months ago at the first reappearance, and so it had fallen to him. He would not fail, not his family and not the Crimson Avenger. Not after six decades, not after four generations of family atonement.
"You look good, Travis," the older woman at the helicopter's controls said with a smile. "The suit fits you well."
"Thank you, Maya. Let's just hope it's not all show," Wing said as he slid into his seat and fidgeted with his red gloves. "This has been too long in coming. I'm sorry Father wasn't here for this."
"You know Walter," Maya said as she directed the copter to lift off of the launch pad, "Honestly, after dropping the ball with the Soldiers' return, I'm surprised he's...you know."
"Yeah. I'm a little surprised he didn't commit suicide either. I thank God every day for that," Wing answered in a solemn, soft voice.
"Wouldn't this have been so much easier if you'd contacted any or all of the surviving Soldiers?"
"Easier isn't the purpose of this. To bring peace to my great-grandfather's spirit will take hard traveling on a difficult path. Maya, don't for a moment think we're nearing the end." Wing Travis turned to the elegant pilot at his side, eyes burning with passion, face a solemn mask otherwise. "This is just the true beginning, and the hard work lies ahead."
And the helicopter sped off into the sky.
*7*
"How about that news update, sweethearts? Just when you think you've gotten jaded with the strangeness of our world, you get reports of abandoned factories collapsing in the middle of the desert all frosted over in ice," Yolanda Montez purred with an incredulous voice. "Just makes you wonder about those reports of global warming now, doesn't it? I'm sure some perfectly mundane explanation will be uncovered, but, until then, snuggle into your blankets, turn up the volume and listen to the gentle strains of 'Ladies Choice' by the Gentry Clan, and take comfort in knowing that I'm here until the witching hour to keep your evenings warm, here on KRZI, between the two rivers."Skyman lifted up into the air, hovering near the pocked and rusted ceiling as he trained a fist on his adversary. The White Dragon looked up at the flying hero and gripped his crystalline sai tighter, the misty field around him growing denser and spreading wider, leaving rime over the broken furniture and tattered floor. Skyman released a dull red beam of energy toward the mysterious figure in white, but watched in surprise as the field of absolute cold slowed and muted the blast, and White Dragon swiped the blast aside with his weapon, shattering it like an icicle.
"Strange things happen at zero degrees Kelvin," White Dragon commented as he stepped back warily and gazed up at Skyman. "I'll be curious to see what those strange things do to that fancy new suit of yours." With that, he nimbly flipped back, away from the crime-fighter and down a hallway, the mist filling it and turning him into a pale silhouette.
Sylvester Pemberton stared after his foe and then dropped down from the ceiling to pursue him. He grit his teeth as he entered the hallway and the field of misty, icy air gripped him like a thousand wicked needles. "Word of advice from a veteran?" Sylvester called down as he tried to fire off another blast of energy, only to see it scattered on its way to the target, and then dispatched by another icicle-like blade.
"What is that, sir?" he His white-clad foe asked as he jumped forward, hitting one wall, bounced from it to the opposite wall, and then back to the first again as he closed the gap with the star-spangled hero.
"Never give up more of your power source than you need to," Skyman said as he gave a burst of speed and somersaulted over the forward-springing White Dragon, with a graceful dodge of the sais. "I know your power source is mystical in nature now. That's an edge."
"Is it now? How do you determine that?" White Dragon asked as he landed hard at the entrance to the corridor, and spun back to face his opponent.
"There's no science that can reach absolute zero, and I've been playing a ton of catch up. If it were out there, I'd have read it, I'm sure," Skyman answered smugly as he started to fly back at White Dragon, ready to engage in melee combat with his energy blasts as useless as they seemed. "So it has to be magic."
"Very astute, sir. I applaud you in your defeat," White Dragon replied as he took a step back and smiled serenely. Skyman didn't even get a chance to ask; he only got to open his mouth and then heard the creaking and groaning all around him. Each of White Dragon's jumps had struck a" key support that had been turned brittle by the icy field even now slowing his own perceptions down. "I will be able to tell my mistress that you are indeed the Star-Spangled Kid, the genuine article. I bid you adieu, until we meet again." White Dragon bowed low, his body growing indistinct as it blended into the icy fog chill mist surrounding him while the hall way collapsed in on itself, and with this central area going down, the rest of the dilapidated structure quickly followed, tons of concrete and rusted metal rushing down onto Sylvester Pemberton with a vengeance.
*7*
"So the Las Vegas authorities have reported standing down the report about the Red Dragon in the city, which must be a comfort to all of the people headed there to lose their money," Yolanda's husky, rich voice joked in its hushed level. "Because there's a big difference between giving your money over to a man in a red suit when he’s holding a deck of cards rather than a big blowtorch. Guess keeping gambling out from between the two rivers has its benefits, doesn't it, my dears? More money for our own pockets. And speaking of money, let's snuggle up close together as the midnight hour creeps closer and listen to Wildfire tell us about the "Ballad of Forty Dollars", here on KRZI, where we're crazy for music.""It's an honor to have you here with us at the Red Rock Casino, Mr. Knight, sir," said the well-dressed man as he stepped from the main doors to greet the Shining Knight. "Truly an honor!" he added as he clasped Sir Arthur's hand in both of his and shook heartily.
"Well met indeed," the Knight replied as he looked around at the on-lookers that gathered to stare at him and his winged horse. "Though it is more properly Sir Justin, or Shining Knight, if you please."
"Of course, of course," the casino manager answered with that obsequious smile. "Please, right this way if you would. We have an excellent buffet, if you'd like to eat after your trip, and the valet will see to your ride."
The young man in the red jacket stared at the passing manager and then glanced back at the huge, spirited animal. Victory spread his wings and snorted, staring back.
"My steed can tend to himself, sirrah, and I have no need of repast, though I thank you for your hospitality," Sir Justin said as the pair entered the ornate main foyer. "What news is there of the knave who would threaten this establishment? This Red Dragon?"
Sir Justin, the Shining Knight, had seen many amazing places since he was first hurtled away from Camelot, and especially since arriving a half-year ago in the present, but this was very different to him. Truly grand and, at the same time, gaudy, extravagant and even cheap in its way, the casino rattled his senses and sensibilities. He was reminded of many of the excesses of landed gentry from his home time, those families too long steeped in self-righteous entitlement.
"Straight to business, eh? I can respect that, Sir Justin," the manager said, snapping the warrior from his reverie. He led Sir Justin past rows of slot machines well-attended by patrons, and then around busy card tables where piles of stakes moved back and forth. "I'm pleased to say, we've gotten some info that has helped stem our concerns for the casino's money and property, as well as the safety of our customers." He glanced up at the tall man's face and then quickly looked away. "It's been a...ah, a relief, it has."
"And this information? What is the nature of it?" the Shining Knight asked as he watched the manager lead him to a door marked 'conference room'. He then noticed the manager's hand shake slightly as it reached for the knob. He placed his own strong, callused hand on the manager's shoulder to pause him, and looked down into the man's eyes. "I find, during my course on this world and pushed further and further down the river of time, that Merlin's advice becomes increasingly important. He said once that lying is the worst sin. When a person lies, he told me once, he murders some part of the world."
The manager stared up at the knight, and swallowed hard, wiped at his brow, then shook heavily. "If...if I...were to trick you...that is, bring you into this room...he promised not to rob us, or...or worse...and with the patrons...all these people..."
Sir Justin's mouth drew into a thin line of determination and he nodded tersely. "Well then, sirrah, open the door and spring this ambush. If the varlet holds true to his word, I too will see that none here come to harm."
The manager closed his eyes, and turned the knob and released his breath long and slow in time to the opening of the door. Sir Justin stepped into the darkened room, and forced himself to keep his hand from the hilt of his sword. Nothing could alert his foe that he knew the plan, that the manager had let it slip. As the door closed behind him, the Shining Knight caught a dull red glow on the far side of the room. Then It flared into brilliance with a roar, and flames crashed over his golden mail.
"That is
so awesome!" Red Dragon stepped out from the shadows, the heated nozzle at his shoulder leaving a curled wreath of smoke around his head. "Just like Gramps always described it!"
The Shining Knight felt the heat redden his face, and he grunted while the armor kept him safe from worse damage. He drew his sword and leveled it at his foe, but found he could say nothing as the heat had momentarily stolen his voice.
"Whoa there, Nellie!" Red Dragon said. He raised his hands up and open and he took a quick step back, staring at the point of the blade. "Listen, let's not turn this into a fight, okay? That's not the point of this meeting, after all."
"You are truly kin to my old foe?" Justin demanded to know as he took a step forward now.
"Yup. He told me all about your run-ins. Said he was sad to see you up and vanish," Red Dragon answered as he kept his hands held out. "He was always saying that a strong rivalry is what shoots a person to the big-time in our little community. He could have become an Ultra-Humanite or a Brain Wave, but you disappeared, and all the other masks were taken and he just became an also-ran. Kinda sad really."
"You spout gibberish," Shining Knight said in return. "And it matters not. Surrender peaceably, or prepare to defend yourself as I mete out justice!"
"We're not here to fight, I said. You're not listening," Red Dragon explained as he lowered his hands now and leaned against a chair.
"You are here to steal from this establishment. I will not permit it!"
"Nope. That's not it either."
"Then, pray tell, explain yourself."
"I'm here, as in meeting you here 'here', to see if you're really him, and you are, and that's great!" Dragon clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully. "You're here to confront me as planned by the boss. And I'm here, as in here at the casino, to keep
you from Blue Valley."
"Why would you wish to draw me awa..." Justin's voice trailed off as his eyes grew wide.
"Yup. That's the look Gramps told me to expect. We're not gonna fight here, because I shoot flames and people will get hurt, and you--" He was cut off as the door tore open and the Shining Knight raced out of the room toward his horse. "Yeah, that's right," Dragon finished saying to no one. "--have to save your woman."
*7*
"I'm afraid the time has come for our nightly affair to draw to a close, sweet listeners," Yolanda said in a wistful, velvet tone. "Midnight's arrived, and I leave you in the gentle hands of Darrin after dark, but, before I do, one last song, and a second tribute to our new resident, as Greg Saunders gives us a sweet solo outing with ‘Two Hours Down’ to send us on our way. It's been such a wonderful time with all of you, and I hope to share more evening magic tomorrow at 8. Until then, keep your radios tuned to KRZI...and sweet dreams."Pat Dugan steered the pick-up truck into the driveway, set it to park and switched off the engine. He gave a sigh and plucked his briefcase off of the passenger seat, resting it on his lap instead. For several minutes he dwelt on any number of topics roiling in his head: the lack of communication from Syl after taking off on his extended flight test; this idea of founding their own company; the upcoming visit with Danette and Justin.
"Enough daydreams," Pat muttered and got out of the truck. He stepped up to the back porch, fished for the house key amidst the thick collection on his ring, and then looked up at the door.
"'Bout freakin' time ya showed," the strange woman with the purple and maroon hair said bitterly. Her arms were folded over her chest, a foot tapping heavily on the old wood slats of the porch. "Ya have any clue how long I've been waitin'?"
"Who are you?" Pat stared hard at the young woman in her black vest and deep red half-shirt, short leather mini-skirt and maroon hose, and the clunky combat boots. "Should I know you?"
"You better believe you should know me," the woman replied as she examined Pat Dugan in return, in his worn pants and rumpled blue shirt. "I'm Haley Craemer. My mother was Jacqueline. Her mother was Merry. Merry Pemberton to you. Ring any bells...
Grandpa?"
Pat's briefcase crashed to the porch, the only noise to be heard for several minutes.
Finally, Pat began to reach his arms out to grab the woman up in a big hug, eyes misted in excitement and emotion.
"No, I don't think so, Pat," the woman declared as she pushed a finger into his broad chest to stop his advance. "You vanished. You left us Craemer women alone, through a lot of really hard times, and I'm not here for a family reunion. You ain't family to me. I got precisely
one use for you, and one only, and that's it!"
"Haley?" He looked confused, hurt and saw the anger in her young eyes. "Don't you know what happened? Don't you understand, it wasn't my idea. Let me explain. Give me a chance."
"You want a chance? You got one thing I want, so use that chance wisely."
"What is it?"
"I want in on the whole mask-and-tights set, and
you are gonna make it happen. You get to make with the intro, got it?"
*7*
"C'mon, hurry it up, will ya?" The burly man glanced around anxiously as he waited for the next heavy bag to get passed to him. "We been at this too long as it is."
"Get off my back already," snapped the lean and tired looking man inside the freight car. "We're going as fast as we can. Blame your boss for wanting so much product at once. Waitin' 'til the last minute to bring the junk makes this all his fault."
"You gonna say that to his face, or just talk trash behind his back?" The big man grunted as he slapped another of the sacks onto the flatbed. His partner, up on the truck, took the sack and loaded it securely.
The gaunt man in the railroad car snorted and shoved another sack forward. "You gonna whine to your boss about
our boss? I mean, really? I'd like to see that." He laughed. "That's the last one, you whining sack of--"
"Last one? That means all the junk is in the trunk?" The husky voice came from above them. They looked up to see La Garra, the orange-gold bodysuit rising up against the starry black night. "Good to hear, because I only want to do this once." She tossed a Molotov cocktail. The flickering fuse caused them all to watch it sail through the darkness and crash into the sacks of fertilizer that hid many kilos of illegal drugs. In seconds, the entire flatbed was burning away, as the burly man's partner struck the ground, narrowly avoiding the flames. "Job well done," the vigilante said in a satisfied voice as she leaped from the roof of the freight car.
"Get her!" the gaunt man cried to his two companions who'd been unloading the vehicle. They charged forward with savage snarls, but it didn't matter. La Garra had the edge, and she wouldn't let it go. Her feet landed on the large man's shoulders and forced him to the ground, his jaw cracking hard on the packed earth. Not that she noticed, because without losing a second, she had backflipped off of him and sailed through the air like the home-made bomb she had just thrown. With equally devastating effect, she tore into the charging gangsters, clawed hands gripping their heads, and drove them back down into the floor of the freight car. The moment her feet touched down, she started to spin spun around, her strong outstretched arm sliced through the air and caught the gaunt man in the throat.
Only when she heard that final thud did she slow. She stood up and wiped her hands, nodded her head and turned back to the truck. "Maldición!" she cursed as she saw the fifth man, the one on the truck, dart off and hop onto a motorbike. She raced after him, but when she heard the engine start up, she knew he was gone. "So close to a clean sweep! Cocky, cocky, cocky," she chastised herself.
Her eyes watched the rear light of the bike retreat into the darkness for a short distance, when a dark shape pulled out from behind a corner. A large pickup truck backed up into the path of the escaping drug dealer, the motorbike crumpling up against reinforced walls and the rider hurtled up over the flatbed and folded up into a messy heap on the far side. La Garra dashed toward the new arrival, eyes narrowed, fists clenched as she watched the driver side door open up.
"Howdy, miss!" Greg Saunders called out, and tipped his hat politely to the woman. "Fancy meetin' you out here. Good to see my nick-of-time skill is intact."
"You showed." La Garra sounded shocked as she stopped before the elder cowboy.
"You left me enough messages on your show, and I'm guessing that food prep kid in my kitchen is kinfolk?" Greg answered with a grin as he walked around the truck and checked on the unconscious criminal.
"I don't even know why I did," La Garra admitted. "But I guess I wanted to meet up with you again. Not that I need the help or anything," she added forcefully.
"That seems mighty clear to me, for sure. Let me just say again, little lady, you got some sweet moves," Greg said approvingly. "The Claw. Good name, and you got a great look. If you don't mind an old Soldier sayin' so, that is."
"Gracias," La Garra murmured as she looked away.
"I want to help."
"I said I don't need your help, Vigilante," she said sharply.
"Didn't say you needed it. Said I wanted to, and I think you do want the help. I'm done. I'm old, and getting softer by the day," he said with a rueful grin and slap of his beefy flank. "My friends though, they ain't so old, and they're getting the show back on the road. I can see it happening, and they're gonna want my help."
"I'm not a team player. I'm only interested in protecting Dos Rios," La Garra said as she put her hands on her hips.
"I know. I appreciate that. But I got a deal for you." He put a hand up to stop her next protest and walked to the back of his truck. "You're good, very good, and only gonna get better,
if you let me give you some pointers, and if you work with my buddies from time to time."
"You said a deal, Mr. Saunders," La Garra said with a curious glance at the tarp on his truck that he was untying. "That implies you give me something for letting you into my life, for dragging me from away from mi territorio."
"Oh yeah. I got something. Some people might call it a bribe." He pulled the tarp off with flourish to reveal a heavy-bodied motorcycle, powerful-looking, burnt orange paint recently applied. "Me? I'd call it a...bribe. I got money. And friends with talents. And that means gear, miss."
Yolanda Montez's eyes lit up under her cat-like mask as she looked at the hulking cycle on the truck. She leaped up next to it and let her fingers slide lovingly over the handle-bars. "You mean it?"
"Pat built it for me a couple of weeks after we got back. That and the truck. Truck I'm keeping, too useful for ranching," he said with a chuckle. "The bike? Yeah, I'm serious. So?"
She straddled the seat like a lover and sounded like she purred as she looked back at him. "Greg, sir, let's give this whole mentor thing a try."
*7*
Keith Beacham lay there on the dirty wood floor as blood leaked from his body and his eyes stared up at the corrugated steel roof. His body was heavy like lead as life ebbed out from several holes torn into his flesh. Each inhalation struggled harder to push against his heavy chest, and filled his lungs less and less. This was how his redemption was going to end, and he gave a small sob.
He'd always been a loser, a two-bit crook who got picked for the team only when a fall guy would be needed. He never even had a dream of the big score to keep him at the racket, he just knew no other reason to live better. So he picked at garbage jobs, and did a few months at a time in prison, and then found some studio apartment to share with the roaches and rats before stumbling into another petty crime.
Then the Spider struck.
Gleaming costume, cocky grin, sure aim, but out of his element. He was a harsh force on the streets, but Keith had provided the Spider with a name and then with help, and the archer did something he'd never done before, and Keith had never had done for him: he gave the low-rent con a second chance.
Keith coughed up bloody phlegm, and he remembered how he turned himself around. It was hardly a storybook moment. It was small steps, but it worked. Keith found something he was good at, and got a job doing it and earned his employer's trust and respect. He found a nice place that he didn't have to share with multi-legged vermin. He even found a girl.
Sally. He sobbed again and coughed harder and felt his fingers jerk like they'd been shocked. She actually liked him. Maybe more than liked.
"S-sorry...Sally..." His voice was raspy, and barely audible. The killers, they'd used him...he tried to do good again. He tried to get the Spider again. Stop them. Save the day. But they knew. It was their plan. It was what they wanted. And then the one in the metal shot him up. Left him bleeding his redemption uselessly away on the floor while they hid and waited for Spider. Red started to blur the edges of his vision now. Crept in closer, driving the rusted, tattered, dirty world he lay in away. Crimson color all he could see, and Keith knew that after the crimson would come the black.
No, Keith Beacham. Not for you. Not yet. Not if you wish otherwise. Keith sniffed, deriding himself. Hearing voices now, how stupid. Just die already.
You don't want to die yet. You want justice, you want vengeance. You need this moment. Seize it. His head rolled to one side, and he saw the crimson curtain part and reveal a Colt .45 automatic so close to his hand. Something tickled the back of his neck and he rolled his head the other way, and saw a second one, close to his other hand.
Redemption. Justice. Vengeance. Your time on this world is nearly done, but first, a chance to show Sally, and Spider, and all the others that you were here. His fingers stretched out, touched the grips of the guns, achingly tugged them into his reach. His hands curled around each one, and the pain stopped. His breathing grew easier, his eyes became clearer, and his body felt strong.
"Where the hell is this red smoke coming from?" The blue-skinned woman pulled up from the prone archer and looked around, fear clutching her heart. Her four allies also looked startled. The attack on the hero had been much tougher than expected. First, it wasn't the Spider, but the Green Arrow, and that had them much more worried. But, as they gained the upper hand on the archer, another person entered the battle. He'd called himself Wing, and seemed to be there for Green Arrow, though the archer was equally surprised. Like a whirlwind, Wing proved himself a masterful martial artist. But numbers and powers still gave the Hangmen their chance to regain the upper hand.
Shock Trauma struggled to shake off the pain in his head from Wing's last blow, while the armored weapons master Killjoy struggled to clear his projectile weapons of the green shafts clogging them. Provoke had managed to get enough mental control of Wing to drive him into Stranglehold's grip though, and now the massive powerhouse was crushing his victim’s ribs, while Breathtaker gave Oliver Queen the last kiss he would know. That was until the crimson mist filled the room and chilled the flesh of the Hangmen, and filled their hearts with fear.
"Holy crap, the boss was right," Stranglehold muttered as she dropped Wing and stared at the figure that stepped out from the heavy smoke. Blood stained his chest like a grotesque starburst, and the crimson smoke hung off his shoulders like a cloak, but there could be no doubt that this was the man their employer expected to lure out of hiding.
Wing coughed and struggled to stand and smiled grimly at the arrival. "Welcome, my friend!"
The scarlet-cloaked man stepped forward and fired his guns, expertly aiming at each of the paid killers. Bullets tore into them, ripping bloody holes in the criminals, cries of shock and pain as they dropped one by one.
Green Arrow rolled onto his elbow and stared at the surprising turn of the combat. He shook his head and looked at Wing and then the Hangmen as they were gunned down. "Last time I do a favor for a dead man," Ollie muttered. He glanced at Wing and added, "Loosy, you got a lot of 'splainin' to do."
"Wing," the Crimson Avenger said at long last as the roar of the guns fell quiet. "It is good to see you my friend. I will see you again, and soon."
"Lee, don't go!" Wing Travis said as he staggered to the long lost Soldier of Victory. "Stay!"
"I can't. Justice has been met, vengeance claimed. Other voices cry for me." The red smoke again flooded the room and then slowly dissipated, leaving Wing standing over the dead body of Keith Beacham. A peaceful smile on the petty con's face.
"Geez, every one of these guys is alive," Green Arrow muttered as he checked on the Hangmen. "They're bad off, they're really bad off. But...they're alive. That's just..." His voice trailed off and he turned back toward Wing. "What the hell is all of this about?"
"The Crimson Avenger has returned to us." Wing reverently closed Keith's eyes and then stood to face the archer. "The Seven Soldiers must be made aware of this. The Spider is lost to us, so I have to ask a huge favor of you, Green Arrow."
Ollie rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I've got important business in..." Again his voice trailed off as he looked around. "Y'know, this is just too weird to skip out now. Okay. 'Cause of Spider, and for Vigilante. But don't get any fancy ideas. This is just short-term. Got it, Short Stuff?"
"Stuff is a different Soldier, Green Arrow," Wing answered with a sly smile as he headed out of the building.
*7*
Victory swooped down from the sky, flanks sweating and wings flapping hard as he raced to the scene below. The Shining Knight leaped from the saddle before his steed could touch down, sword drawn in an eyeblink, his tense gaze sweeping over the landscape.
Blue Valley Community College's quad looked like a battlefield, only because it had been one just a short while earlier. Flames licked at a tree, a low brick wall lay in broken chunks scattered over scorched paths and torn grass. Police and campus security attempted to secure the scene and tend to the bystanders, shellshocked students that clutched ripped papers and tattered books with haunted looks, some angry and many others crying.
"Mr. Arthur!" cried one young African-American woman who dashed over to the Knight and hugged him tightly. "Mr. Arthur, you're here! Thank God!"
"Aye, Janine, I am here," he replied in a soft voice, his body stiff from the overly-familiar embrace, but he let one of his strong arms try to comfort her in return. "What has transpired here? Pray, tell me where my wife is if you can!"
"Dann and I, and a couple of the other girls, we...we were headed to class, and this guy, he popped up out of...who knows where, but he was all blue and had some gold lizard or something on his chest, and he threw this lightning bolt at Dann." She looked up at Sir Justin now and shook. "A lightning bolt, just throws it at her!" Her voice was thick and raw as she told the story, and pointed to various places on the quad that involved the battle. "He was awful, Mr. Arthur, just vicious! He kept throwing that lightning at all of us, and Dann, she tried to block them, she tried so hard to keep us safe, and it wore her out, because then he just blasted her, and took her down so hard."
Justin grew more tense now, his eyes showing a flicker of fear as he looked over the battle, his mind's eye playing the images out as the family friend explained it to him. "Danette?"
"He said something about getting her ready for something, and scooped her up and ran off with her. I...I think she was alive."
He nodded and clutched the hilt of his sword. Red Dragon had wanted him out of the way, and he knew why now. A Blue Dragon. A dragon had made off with his wife. "Fear not, Janine. No dragon will keep my love away from me! No number of dragons can possibly turn me back!" He turned toward Victory and started to march toward his steed, but his mind slowly began to ask the obvious question: where had the dragons taken Danette?
And why?