Written by Travis Hiltz
Featuring: Vandal Savage
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"Past is Prologue"The hunters were lost for five days before Vandal Adg decided to eat his companion.
A full belly made things tolerable, but no less clearer or closer to his prey. The original hunting party had been five. One had not survived the hunt and loaded down with boar meat, the surviving quartet returned to the village of the Blood tribe. Only to find their home deserted. Angry shouting and several broken huts later, Vandal settled down and began to think. Mostly thoughts of grisly revenge on whoever had dared to take his wives, his children and, his tribe. They left one young hunter behind to guard and begin repairs on the village in preparation for their triumphant return. Vandal and his two followers set out, following the tracks left by the attackers and their captives into the surrounding forest. The two other surviving hunters were younger then Vandal Adg, and like so many in the village, quickly bowed to his fierce leadership. They trekked through the woods, following the tracks, until the trees thinned out and the trio found themselves moving into the plains, farther from the village then any hunters or scouts had wandered before. It was then that the tracks grew fainter. Several hours later, far from shelter or any familiar landmarks, the tracks disappeared on the rocky ground. The sun was setting and there was nothing to give them shelter from the elements and whatever predators or rival hunters might be roaming nearby. Vandal ground his teeth, and stomped back and forth across the path. The two young hunters held back, knowing from experience to allow the older man to vent his anger, rather then risk giving him a target for it. After several minutes, Vandal ceased his raging, and breathing like a bellows sank down onto his haunches and peered at the faint hints of a trail. The outburst over, he was now back under control and channeling his anger. He was eager to find someone or thing to direct it at. He made out faint prints, the bare feet of his tribesmen. Mixed in with them were some other footprints, wider and deeper then those of the prisoners. They were easier to spot. There were several other tracks, long and smooth, like a gouge in the dirt that trailed along with the others. It was unlike any tracks Vandal had seen before. He could not think of any animal that could make it. Perhaps an enormous snake…? He grunted, unsure what he was chasing, but unwilling to let any enemy take what was his. Straightening up, he raised a hand to shade his eyes as he peered off towards the darkening horizon. If the trail cut across the plains it had to be leading towards the distant mountains. “We must cross the plains.” He grunted, not even bothering to look if his tribesmen were following. They paused, unhappy with the idea, but not enough to challenge the bigger man and they then began to follow. The trio trudged along until full dark, then found a scattering of large rocks for a rough shelter and made a fire of dried grasses. They spent an uncomfortable, unrestful night, as they could hear and feel strange predators circling curiously around these new arrivals. The next day was just as bad. Spotting faint glimpses of yet more predators possibly saber tooth. Prey was scare. They managed to trap a few small rodents; stumbled across some tubers and finished off the little bit of dried meat left. Water was scarce. Upon waking on the third morning, they discovered no trace of the young hunter they’d posted as sentry, but some drag marks and droplets of blood. Vandal merely frowned in annoyance, gathered their meager supplies and continued on his way. Three days later, their supplies were down to whatever bugs and edible plants they could scavenge. Vandal grew more sullen and irritable with each step; his already listless companion fell further behind, mostly from hunger and exhaustion, but partly from not wishing to be within arms reach of an angry Vandal Adg. On the fifth day, the grassland gave way to dry, rocky barrens. Vandal Adg growled deep in his throat, frustration building to anger. He could be a patient man if needed, but only when he had a target, a known opponent. This was becoming an endless chase after a faceless foe with no sign where it would end. Any other man would accept the hopelessness of this situation, but Vandal was also not much of a long-term thinker. Planning for the future was not his strong point. His focus was on what he wanted to accomplish now. He glared at the stony plain, then down at his quickly diminishing supplies and finally to his weakening companion and a vague idea began to form. By the next morning he had managed to unburden himself of his companion as well as restock his food supply to get him across the desolate stretch. While the big cats prowled the grasslands, it was the raptors, horse-sized reptiles, and the last remnants of the mighty dinosaurs that had once ruled the planet that prowled the stony plain. By the time he reached the other side, Vandal sported several new scars, a lizard-skin belt, and a full belly. The barrens eventually gave way to rocky hills and tracks seemed fresher, as though the caravan of prisoners had encountered its own set of difficulties and been slowed down. The ground grew rockier and there were stretches where there were no tracks. He went down into a narrow valley before he spotted more. The tracks were sporadic, but showed the path the caravan was following. Vandal paused several paces within a narrow passage amongst the boulders. He looked up, studying the steep rock walls. They were dotted with indentations, most barely deep enough to qualify as shelves, let alone caves, but enough to draw Vandal’s attention and suspicion. Things were quiet, nothing but the wind through the valley and the occasional tumbling bit of gravel. A few more steps and another mini-avalanche of dirt and pebbles and Vandal halted and pressed his body flat against the stonewall. His body was statue still, only his eyes moving as he scanned his surroundings. He caught a flicker of shadow up the wall and then his nostrils flared. He quietly turned and began to scale the wall, his knuckles white as he struggled upwards, using the minute hand and foot holds the wall provided. Twenty feet up he rested upon a thin ridge barely four inches wide. Vandal closed his eyes, steadying himself against the rough stone wall. Someone or something lurked within the nearest cave. He could hear its attempt to quiet its labored breathing. Vandal braced himself and then quickly waved his muscular arm in front of the opening. A figure lunged awkwardly out of the cave, its massive form scrapping against the narrow opening. He was another hunter, like Vandal. He was big; barrel-chested, bow-legged, thick arms. Not as tall as Vandal, but broad and massive enough to give the impression he was just as large. He sported no facial hair on his lantern jaw and no garments save a ragged loincloth around his hips. He swung a crude, wooden club; Vandal dodged, then grabbed a handful of the others’ greasy, shoulder-length black hair and pulled the burly attacker off balance, sending him tumbling down into the ravine. He bounced off the far wall and then landed with a meaty thud, raising a good-sized cloud of dust. Vandal climbed down, hoping the other man stayed alive long enough to give him information, but wouldn’t shed a tear if he had shattered his thick skull. The heavyset hunter lay sprawled on the gravel, alive but knocked senseless. He breathed, snorted in dirt and then flopped about coughing. Vandal kicked his club out of reach and then planted a calloused heel on the other man’s bull neck. “Tell me your tribe and why I shouldn’t gut you like a hog,” Vandal growled. The other hunter answered but was rendered unintelligible by having his face mashed into the dirt. Vandal moved and then helped the other turn over with several encouraging kicks. He spent several seconds struggling to catch his breath. “I…hnn…Java,” He muttered, wincing. “Tribe totem is black bull.” Vandal nodded, stepping back from Java but keeping his knife in his hand. He knew of the tribe, had crossed paths and slain several of their hunters, when they’d encountered each other in the wild. They were strong as their tribe’s totem, but more ape-like then Vandal’s own people. “Why are you here?” He asked. “Hunting party not came back,” Java muttered, struggling to sit up. “Went to look. Found tracks…tracks I know and some I not…” “My tribe was taken,” Vandal said, nodding again. He sheathed his knife and then leaned against the rock wall, across from Java, his muscular arms crossed. “What makes the strange track…the long one, not made by feet?” “Not know,” Java grunted. He shook his head and then winced, rubbing his hand through his hair and encountering tender spots. “Could not catch up until reach rocks. See…uh…shine…like sunlight on the water.” Java shrugged and slumped back against the stone. Vandal frowned in thought. It sounded like his quarry was near, but not knowing what made those strange tracks concerned him. He cursed his fellow tribesmen for being so weak and stupid as to get themselves enslaved. “I want my tribe back.” He said, gruffly. “We could do this together.” Java, sensing that to say no had a good chance of leaving him lying in a puddle of his own blood, nodded his agreement with the idea of a partnership. Java got slowly to his feet and retrieved his only possession, his club. He and Vandal made their way through the narrow valley, reaching an open area, littered with scattered boulders. They crept forward, using a boulder for shelter and peered over it. The path sloped down, into a wide bowl of a valley. There was a village built around a strange metal structure, like an enormous mushroom at its center. Dozens of tiny figures moved about. “We go when dark…?” Java suggested. “We won’t get far, moving all those people at night.” Vandal interrupted. “Tired of waiting. Come.” He got up and he and Java made their way down into the valley, moving from boulder to boulder. A narrow trail snaked along, the two big men squeezing between the boulders single file. “What are they doing?” Vandal asked his forehead wrinkled in thought. “Digging…?” Java grunted. “For what?” Vandal muttered. “Rocks? Food?” “Who are those others?” Java asked. Scattered among the dozens of tribesmen were strange beings, they appeared to be men, but were clad, instead of in fur or tanned hides, but rather full bodysuits of a shiny red and black material. They wore full helmets and carried red staffs. Vandal was distracted by a faint noise behind them. He glanced over at his companion, but Java seemed oblivious. Making no sign that he was aware of whatever was moving amongst the rocks, Vandal stealthily slid his stone knife out of his belt. He shifted his posture, appearing more cramped than anything else and then, with no warning, sprang backwards. He turned, leapt over a nearby boulder and came down hard upon the young hunter who had been sneaking up on the duo. He was young, more boy then man, and had some of the heavy-settness of Java’s people, but had the straight back and broad shoulders of Vandal’s. His hair was black and shaggy and he was clad in a loincloth and wore a polished arrowhead on a leather thong around his neck. The young hunter dropped his spear when Vandal landed on him. Within seconds, Vandal had the younger man pinned and his knife pressed against his throat. “Stop!” Java said, laying a heavy hand on Vandal’s shoulder. “I know him.” Vandal looked over at Java, obviously skeptical of a recommendation from the burly ape-man. He turned back to the younger man. “Your name, boy?” He asked, darkly. “Gnarrk,” The youngster replied, his eyes burning with sullen anger. Vandal paused, unsure if that was the hunter’s actual name or merely a noise he made because he was pressing his knife too tightly against the boy’s throat. Vandal loosened his grip, but kept his knife pressed against the others flesh. “Why are you following us?” He asked in a tone that implied Gnarrck’s life depended on the answer. “Not you,” Gnarrk replied through gritted teeth. “Tarla.” “What?” “Gnarrk is of the Tree tribe.” Java explained. “He has a woman.” Vandal nodded, slid his knife back into his belt and got to his feet. He understood they were outnumbered and any help was needed. He returned to his previous watching post, leaving Java to help the youth to his feet and try and explain what was happening. “We cannot attack,” Vandal said, once they’d joined him at the rock. “If we sneak in, we may be able to free the slaves…” The afternoon grew cloudy, and so Vandal decided they wouldn’t wait until night to move. Staying within the rocky border of the valley, the trio made their way around it, until they found a spot close to the tower. There were few slaves or guards, but several large metal structures to provide cover. The closer they got the stranger it all looked to the three cavemen. The structures were staggeringly large blocks of metal. At a time when a metal spear tip was a treasure beyond price, these two-story monoliths were awe-inspiring. Vandal rested his hand against one and felt a vibration through his palm. Gnarrk his large hands and feet finding holds on the metal blocks soon made his way to the top and peered across the remaining space. “Don’t let them see you…!” Java hissed after him, fearful of the massive structures and anxiously staying close to Vandal. After several minutes, Gnarrk climbed back down. Vandal merely turned towards him. “There is a place with a wall around it, where the slaves are herded,” The younger man explained. “The guards are moving into the…big…uh…tower…it looks like there is a…moat around it.” Vandal nodded, stroking his beard in thought. He then turned and strode off, the other two jogging to keep up with him. They stopped at the last structure. There was an open space of fifty yards between them and the walled slave pen. Java and Gnarrk peeked around the structure, studying the fence and the few remaining guards. Vandal instead focused his gaze upon the looming metal tower. “There are few guards,” Gnarrk muttered. “We can use that pile of dirt to reach the top of the wall…” They glanced over at Vandal; you came out of his distraction to look at the wall and then back to his companions. He nodded his approval and the trio set off. The jogged quickly across the open space, ducking down behind the mound of dirt, Gnarrck and Java then realized Vandal was not with them and that they had been spotted. The two hunters shared a glance, then weapons in hand they staggered up the pile of dirt and gravel and over the wall, into the slave’s living area… Vandal let the other two get a good lead and then he altered his course, heading for the tower, rather then the slave village. Their efforts would draw away the guards and hopefully keep them busy while he investigated what he believed was an opening in the tower. Having a tribe at his command again would be nice, but there was something more going on here, Vandal wasn’t entirely sure what but he knew it involved weapons and power and that got his attention. Maybe his two new companions and his tribe would pay a heavy price but if he could get possession of even some of the huge amounts of metal and weapons here, then acquiring a new tribe would be a small effort. The bridge that was the only way to cross the moat was a single slab of metal, no thicker then a finger, yet Vandal felt no give when he stepped on it. Despite, his own enhanced strength and healing abilities, he believed in no gods, but even he was faintly awed and anxious at what kind of creatures dwelt within. Glancing down, he saw that the moat was filled, not with water, but rather a strange substance that, while blue like water, boiled and rolled like lava. It seemed to seep out of a large wooden tube that stretched out to where the captives had been digging. Vandal reached the tower and quickly found the outline of a door. His fingers could get no grip. He was struggling with the door, when suddenly it opened and a trio of helmeted guards marched out. They seemed as surprised to see the massive bearded hunter, as he was to see them. Vandal recovered quicker and within seconds his knife was buried in the chest of one and he had snapped the neck of a second. Now armed with one of the shiny red staffs, he drove the third one back with a rain of blows. Once the two combatants were inside, Vandal hurled the staff like a spear. It blazed briefly with blue energy when it struck the guard, who spasimed and collapsed to the metal floor, the front of his tunic singed and smoking. Puzzled, Vandal picked up one of the fallen staffs and nearly shot himself in the face when his finger pressed a stub on it. An arc of blue energy shot past his head, singeing hair. He nearly dropped the staff, but after several moments of thought, realized he had in his possession a remarkable weapon and smiled savagely. He stalked the corridors of the tower, encountering several other guards and brutally dispatching them. A door slid open in the wall and a massive metal creature rolled out. Its torso was similar to that of a man, its shoulders broad and its over-sized hands each had three stubby fingers. Its head was a blank metal sphere. Below the creature’s waist was a thick pillar that ended in a metal wheel, explaining the weird print that had acompanioned Vandal’s captured tribe. Shaking off his surprise, Vandal swung the staff, shattering it against the broad chest of the creature. Vandal halted, again surprised. While, he was peering at the broken piece of the staff, a large metal hand clamped onto his wrist and lifted him up until the primitive hunter’s feet no longer touched the metal floor. Much as he kicked and struggled, the metal creature slowly turned and carried Vandal down the corridor. They soon reached an enormous round chamber with a raised platform in the center. The room was ringed with blocks of metal full of blinking lights. Two figures sat of metal thrones on the center platform. One was clad in red and black, like the guards: a black bodysuit, with red thigh high boots, long gloves, thin bands criss-crossed his chest and a cape that draped down to the floor. His cowl was red with a black faceplate. “Would you look at this?” He said, leaning forward, chin on fist. “No matter when you go, no matter how far back, there’s always a clever one that causes trouble.” The other figure, a woman, in a yellow tunic with red leggings, wrist bands and headband holding her mane of ebony hair in place stood to gaze thoughtfully down on the caveman. “Too clever,” She muttered, arms crossed. “Him sneaking in, just as the workers attempt to escape…? Trouble…trouble we don’t need.” “Olanda, you worry too much.” “Probably, Extant, because you don’t worry nearly enough.” She chided. “These delays keep us in one time zone too long and my father will track us down. We need fuel for the chrono-tower.” “Well, we execute Conan here and a couple of the more uppity workers very publicly and that should motivate the rest.” Vandal hung in the metal guard’s grip, baffled by most of the words the two spoke, but understanding enough to know they were the rulers, perhaps even gods, and that his companions had apparently bungled the attack on the slave village. His mind raced, trying to take in every part of his surroundings and figure what could be used to his advantage. “I could help you.” He suggested in a sullen growl. “Well, look at that! A complete sentence!” Extant exclaimed. “You are just special on every level, my friend.” “Why would you help us?” Olanda asked, stepping off the platform, a disk that appeared to be made of energy appeared beneath her feet and she glided down until she floated, eye to eye with the primitive hunter. “I don’t want to die.” Vandal simply stated. “You took my tribe, so the workers know me…will listen.” He squirmed, twisting his captured arm and grimaced in exaggerated pain. Olanda nodded, tapped her wristband and the metal guard opened his hand and dropped Vandal to the metal floor. Vandal immediately leapt and was on the floating disk, a hand clamped onto the young woman’s throat. Extant leapt to his feet hands out and crackling with energy. “Let her go Tarzan,” He shouted. “Or I’ll…!” Vandal tightened his grip. “Or…?” He asked grimly. Extant fumed and his hands crackled, but he was obviously stymied. “Wha-what do…uh…you…hnn…want…?” Olanda struggled to gasp. “Who are you?” Vandal asked. “Where are you from?” “You are two seconds away from being a pile of ash and want to interrogate us…?” Extant growled. “Extant…shut…up…!” Olanda muttered in a harsh whisper. “Are you really going to explain chrono-mechanics to this ape…?!” Extant exclaimed. “I think I chose the wrong one to choke,” Vandal muttered, loosening his grip enough for her to breathe. “Talk to me.” “I am Olanda,” She said, sounding calmer then you would believe her situation would allow. “We come from…uh…very far away. I wished to flee my father’s kingdom…Extant helped me. We became stranded here and…um…gathered workers to help us dig up the…uh…fuel…element…” “The blue lava?” Vandal prompted. “The smart ones are always trouble,” Extant muttered, surly. “Next time, we kill them first.” “You say you can help us?” Olanda asked. “How?” “Not killing you.” Vandal replied. “Point to Flintstone,” Extant shrugged. He then tapped at a section of one of the straps on his chest. “You are not helping us because you are a kind soul,” Olanda said. “I can see that in your eyes. What do you want?” “My tribe back. “He said. “And some of the metal and weapons to make them stronger.” Vandal had other ideas, but did not think his wish to beat Extant to death or his more impulsive thoughts concerning the woman in his grip would be met with approval. “How do we know we could trust you?” She asked. The large man threw back his head and laughed. It was a sound nearly as disturbing as his threats. He then released his hold on Olanda and leaped down to the ground. Surrounded by incomprehensible technology and an army of enemies, Vandal gave the air of being the one in charge or at least the one feeling the least threatened of the three. Extant seethed with anger and Olanda was unsure about her feelings concerning the primitive hunter. “Well, just as a token of our being new best friends,” Extant said, gesturing toward a wall. “Let’s sweeten the pot…!” A door slid open and two more of the one-wheeled metal creatures entered, accompanied by a half dozen guards. Between the metal hulks was a larger version of Olanda’s disk, upon which were Java and Gnarrk, frozen in jagged chunks of oddly blue ice. “Behave and you can have your friends back,” Extant explained. “In the meantime, we’ll just hold on to them.” Vandal smiled grimly. He mentally weighed the idea of informing the man in red and black that his newest treasure was worthless, as well as deciding that the weapons he sought were not worth letting Extant remain unbloodied. He had spent weeks tracking his tribe, desperate, miserable weeks and all that frustration and rage had found the perfect target. Vandal swung his arm, striking the nearest guard in the throat. As the man crumpled, Vandal grabbed his staff, swung it to stagger two more guards and then thumbed the stud on its side. He then threw the staff, like a javelin, at the masked man. Extant raised his hand, ready to blast the staff to ash, quickly followed by doing the same to his new ally. The end of the staff flickered with blue energy. When it came in contact with the energy from Extant’s glove there was a massive flare, sending the caped figure stumbling backwards. As soon as he threw the staff, Vandal was on the move, dodging guards, violently obtaining another staff, leaping from the metal floor to Olanda’s disk to the main pedestal. He viciously jammed the end of the staff into Extant’s groin and then swung it upwards, striking him across the temple. As soon as he hit the floor, Vandal had a knee on his chest and a hand on his throat. “Stop!” Olanda shouted, recovering her voice after the whirlwind of violence. “Why are you doing this?” “I am no dog to wait for scraps,” Vandal growled, speaking to the woman, but peering into the face of his fallen rival. “Everything I have, I have taken. I know not if you are gods, men or creatures of magic and I do not care. I will have what is yours and I will carve my own kingdom out with it.” Despite the distance, Olanda’s hand went involuntarily to her bruised throat. “The histories are true,” She breathed. “He is not a man, but a monster…destroy him!” She gestured the guards forward, while tapping at her wristband to summon more and soon as she had, astride her disk, fled the chamber. Vandal turned his head, to watch her escape, a grim smile on his lips. He could appreciate anyone as cold blooded and practical as himself, as well as any woman who put up a chase. Despite his dire situation, the hunter was much looking forward to his next encounter with Olanda. But, he had other matters to attend to first. With a casual gesture, he snapped Extant’s neck, retrieved his staff, drew his stone knife and flung himself enthusiastically into the mass of guards and metal war machines. As more guards poured in the slaves that had managed to escape during Java and Gnarrk’s attack joined them and the chaos increased. Vandal waded through the battle, reveling in the freedom to slaughter at will. He kept enough focus to remember not to kill any of his tribesmen, if it could be helped, but he felt no need to look after anyone else. He could fight and kill as he wished. He worked his way across the room, slashing, striking, kicking, biting and clubbing. By the time he reached the frozen forms of his two companions, Vandal was smeared with blood, his flesh decorated by several dozen cuts and a multitude of bruises. He’d broken his staff, and jabbed the jagged stump into the groin of the nearest guard, drove his knife through the faceplate of the next attacker and then grabbed two and slammed their heads together. He exhaled, spat on a broken metal creature and ran a hand through his beard, which was growing stiff and sticky with blood. Vandal Adg peered at the two frozen cave men and frowned. It was not a fate he would have wished upon anyone, but Vandal thought both men idiots and was content to be rid of them. A blow between his shoulder blades brought him out of his ponderings and he spun and drove a fist into the attackers solar plexus. As the guard collapsed, Vandal grabbed his staff. He then leapt onto the floating disk, squatting down between the two frozen hunters. This allowed him a moments rest as well as a chance to survey the battlefield. The other cavemen were fighting fiercely, but were obviously losing, outnumbered and out weaponed, it was only a matter of time. Vandal frowned, as he could no longer just revel in the slaughter, but must also plan strategy or at least an escape route. A pair of the metal, wheeled creatures pushed their way through the crowd, obviously coming his way. Running never crossed his mind; Vandal glanced about, looking for the needed weapon to use against them. He wedged his body between the two frozen cavemen and pushed. They moved slowly, grating sparks from the energy disk as they went. Gritting his teeth, cords of muscle standing out in his straining arms and legs, the bearded man was able to topple Java’s block just as the metal guards reached him. They went down with a screech and sparks as their metal bodies bent and tore. Vandal leapt down, scooped up a severed metal arm and used it and his staff to beat his way through the combatants to the raised platform in the center of the room. By the time he got there, he’d broken both weapons, as well as three of his fingers, several ribs and his right eye was sealed shut with drying blood. He then stubbed his toe kicking Extants’ body out of his way. Vandal slumped onto one of thrones. He peered at the wide armrests with their baffling array of brightly pulsing buttons. Some part of his brain understood they were not decorative, but he had no idea how they worked or what they did. Having reached that conclusion, there was only one course of action for him to take. Vandal stood up and brutally drove the staff down on one of the armrests. As soon as he felt the hard substance start to crack, he pressed the firing stud. The results were impressive. A geyser of energy shot upwards, sending Vandal flying backwards. The damaged throne smoked and sparked and all around the chamber, wall panels blew out, lights flickered sporadically and a rumbling went through the metal floor. Many of the combatants from both sides halted and glanced around, anxiously. The metal guards began moving spasmodically, striking randomly at enemy and ally alike. Some of their blows missed combatants and struck the banks of machinery, causing more smoke, energy flares and fires. Soon the focus of most of the people in the room became escape, rather then fighting: the metal guards struck several down. Others were trampled. Olanda sped through the corridors, hearing the increasing sound of combat and having to maneuver to dodge invading cavemen. She soon reached another chamber. This one contained an enormous green plastic cube attached to banks of computers by numerous wires and plastic tubing. She leapt down from her disk, tapped a control on her wristband and the cube slid open on her approach. Inside was a futuristic control room, all done in white plastic. Olanda settled into the pilot’s chair and frantically adjusted controls. Lights blinked and the cube hummed. They might not have mined enough of the blue lava to power the whole tower, but it appeared there was more then enough for her chrono-cube to flee this time period. She exhaled in relief and sat back in her chair. Then the cube shuddered and Olanda gripped the armrests tightly to keep from being tossed out. All the monitors flashed and then froze and none of her frantic adjustments would alter them. Sighing and frowning in resolved dread, she exited the cube. The room was deadly silent. As she made her way along the corridors, she found herself back at the throne room. She’d passed robots; guards and cavemen along the way, all frozen in place, like a collection of bizarre statues. Even the intermittent fires were frozen in mid-flicker. The occupants were also frozen in place, with one exception. An older man, slight of build and sporting a neatly trimmed black beard. He wore an outfit similar to Olanda’s, except his tunic and boots were red, his leggings and bulky belt yellow. He sported a red skullcap. He stood on a disk of energy and was consulting an old-fashioned pocket watch, when Olanda entered the chamber. Her father had found her. “Well, this is a bit of shambles,” Epoch, the self-titled ‘Lord of time’ muttered sternly, looking up at his daughter. “Not enough the damage you caused to the time stream, but you dragged that reprobate Extant along with you and…Vandal Savage, truly daughter…?” “I didn’t realize…” She began, shyly. “I thought, when I recognized him… at this point in his history…that…uh…” “That you could bend the man that invented cannibalism to your will?” Epoch asked, raising one eyebrow. “Your brothers are headstrong and rebellious, but I expected better from you.” “I…I just…” “Not to mention you’ve so polluted the time stream around this time period that you’ve rendered the anti-chronium here unusable. Luckily, I’ve discovered another source in the late 1800’s…” “What are you going to do?” Olanda asked, hesitantly. “What will happen…to me?” “You are coming home,” Her father said. “After we’ve seen to this mess.” He tucked his watch into a pouch on his belt and extracted a thin metal object that resembled a silver pen. He clicked several controls and a larger version of Olanda’s green cube appeared, hovering above the devastated throne platform. It hummed and there was bright flash of green energy. When it faded the cube was gone, as were the metal sentinels, the uniformed guards, the tower and all traces of the makeshift mining camp. All that remained was several dozen stunned cavemen, some rubble and the two blocks of frozen blue containing Java and Gnarrk. The cavemen stumbled about, eventually joining together by tribe and wandering away from the valley. Gnarrck’s tribe rigged a rough wagon to carry him along with them. Java’s tribe was not overly fond of him and so was content to leave him behind. As all this was happening, no one gave much attention to a mound of dirt right by where the thrones had been. Vandal Adg pushed himself up out of the pile of Earth. His mouth tasted of dirt and dried blood, his body was a mass of rapidly healing scars and he was still clutching one the plastic battle staffs. He limped over to Java and sat with his back against the frozen caveman. “Finally found a use for you,” He muttered, leaning back. He looked across the valley. All that was to be seen were bodies, rubble and a few stunned, lost souls with no tribe to return to and no idea where to go. Which, to Vandal’s mind meant he would not starve and could also satiate other hungers denied him by Olandas’ sudden departure. If one staff remained behind, there would be others for the finding, and those lost souls that weren’t used to slack his hunger and lust would make tolerable workers and soldiers. “It’s a start,” He said, with a grim smile. |