by CSyphrett, with Martin Maenza
Earth-One:
In the enchanting sunset of a spring’s eve, a silhouette of an African man graced the deck of the mighty Navy battleship. His suit, so finely crafted, whispered wealth and power, while his close-cropped beard and mustache added an air of mystery and intrigue. The sailors on board couldn’t help but steal glances at the stranger who embodied the majesty of African royalty. Some even believed that he possessed the extraordinary powers of magic, though skepticism still lingered in their hearts.
Leaning against the rail, Doctor Mist peered through his trusty binoculars, his brows furrowing as he fixated on the distant island on the shimmering horizon. Grim Island. The name alone sent shivers down his spine, for he knew the daunting task that lay before him. Sensing a presence beside him, he turned his attention to the uniformed figure standing tall, cigar smoke curling around his mouth.
“What do you expect me to do, Captain Stewart?” Doctor Mist asked, his voice a blend of curiosity and uncertainty.
Toby Stewart, a high-ranking Navy official, exhaled a cloud of swirling smoke before responding. “Gareth Gallowglass has gone nuts, my friend. We need you to go in and pull him off that forsaken rock,” he explained, his words laced with urgency. “He’s been holed up there for three long years, and we’re stumped on what else we can do.”
Doctor Mist’s confusion was etched upon his face. “Wait a minute,” he said, puzzled. “You’re telling me that a single teenage boy has defied all efforts of the U.S. Armed Forces to remove him from an isolated Pacific island for the past three years? What about his mentors, the Sentinels of Magic? Surely they could reason with the boy.”
A grave expression clouded Captain Stewart’s features as he replied, “The Sentinels were killed when the island appeared But the brass decided to keep all reports of their deaths quiet. As far as the general public is concerned, it’s classified. Come, let’s head to the briefing room, and I’ll lay the whole thing out for you.”
“Let’s do that,” agreed Mist with a nod of his head, curiosity dancing in his eyes. Together, they maneuvered through the deck, descending into the depths of the battleship’s interior. It didn’t take long before they found themselves seated before a modest table in a small briefing room. With a gentle thud, Captain Stewart placed a file folder before Doctor Mist, who wasted no time opening it, devouring the contents hungrily. Inside were photographs and classified reports, each one holding a piece of the enigma that loomed over Grim Island. When finished, he closed the folder and looked up.
“Let’s review the situation, Captain,” Doctor Mist began, summarizing the information he had just read. “The Sentinels of Magic, a formidable wartime team of adventurers, were deliberately sent to their deaths by a rogue U.S. Army major named Henry Valdemir. But the team mascot, a psychic child known as ‘Gary the Miracle Boy,’ discovered the plot and, seeking revenge, managed to break every bone in that major’s body using nothing but the power of his mind. This mascot then took over the very island where his friends all died. When the Navy was called in to handle this mess sometime later, it was quickly discovered that no force could touch the boy, thanks to the expanding mental abilities he possesses. Have I got it right?”
Stewart nodded, his brow furrowed with concern. “That’s it in a nutshell, Doc. But it’s gone beyond just dealing with the kid. He was already too powerful at twelve, and now that he’s fifteen, he’s causing havoc in the shipping routes all around this part of the ocean! The President is desperate to stop him, no matter the cost.”
“And what if we can’t?” Doctor Mist asked.
Stewart hesitated before responding. “We’ll resort to an above-ground nuclear test over the island. It’s an extreme measure, one I’m not thrilled about, but it’s our last option to get rid of him. The explosion will be high enough that he won’t be able to stop it.”
The weight of their words settled heavily in the air. Doctor Mist broke the silence. “Are you truly certain about that, Captain?”
Stewart’s silence spoke volumes.
Just then, the executive officer Bridges interjected, breaking the tense atmosphere. “Captain? We’ve got something strange heading toward us from that island!”
“Strange? What kind of strange?” Stewart inquired.
“A waterspout, sir. It just sprang up out of nowhere!” Bridges reported urgently.
Without wasting a moment, Doctor Mist rushed to the battleship’s top deck. The expensive suit he wore clung uncomfortably to his frame, a stark contrast to his traditional attire as the Emperor of Kor. In this setting, surrounded by prejudiced soldiers, it was easier for him to simply appear as a wealthy man or a king from some African nation, a guise not far from reality.
As Doctor Mist surveyed the approaching menace on the water, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. The unnaturalness of the waterspout was undeniable. He even thought he heard laughter echoing within its roar and caught a glimpse of angry eyes glaring back at him from its swirling surface.
A bolt of lightning crackled through the dark sky, striking the ship with a crescendo of thunder. Doctor Mist gazed at the wreckage, his eyes filled with concern. “It has to be the boy’s doing,” he muttered, his voice heavy with regret. Reluctantly, he raised a hand and began reciting an ancient incantation, using only the smallest fraction of his vast power. Although he possessed the ability to wield magic, Doctor Mist despised its use, fearing it might tempt him into the kind of tyranny he had once displayed centuries ago, and was ordinarily unwilling to intervene directly. If it were any other situation, he would have dispatched his agents far and wide to handle the matter. But in this instance, he wouldn’t have been able to gather them fast enough, and he knew of none as powerful as they needed to be for this mission.
With a resolute clap of his hands, the ancient mystic unleashed a silent wave of energy toward the swirling waterspout, forcing the sea to calm and the wind to shift away from the troubled ship. A hint of pride washed over him, knowing he had protected the vessel.
Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a tiny figure emerging from the waterspout even as it collapsed into a brief rainfall. What’s this? Doctor Mist thought, squinting his eyes as he spotted the small creature hovering above the Pacific Ocean. “There’s the culprit,” he whispered fiercely, his gaze locked on the mischievous spirit. Ignoring his discomfort and damp clothing, he focused his formidable mental prowess on the elemental.
The creature, gesticulating wildly, attempted to summon someone to its side but was met with disappointment. It glanced toward Doctor Mist, its eyes filled with anger, before shaking its tiny fist in defiance.
A flash of amusement crossed Doctor Mist’s face as he held out his hand. “Come to me!” he commanded, his voice laced with authority.
The spirit floated toward him, landing delicately in the palm of his hand. Both creatures stared at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. After a tense moment, the spirit broke the silence with a screech that resembled nails on a chalkboard. “Release me, mortal scum!” it spat with contempt.
Doctor Mist maintained his composure, cool and collected. “Answer my questions, and perhaps I will consider it,” he replied calmly, wiping the water from his face with a handkerchief. He awaited the spirit’s decision, his gaze unwavering.
Reluctantly, the pale creature muttered in a sullen tone, “What do you want to know?”
A small smile curved Doctor Mist’s lips. “Let’s begin with the basics. Who are you and why did you attempt to sink this ship, the Defiant?” he inquired, his voice steady. “Then we can delve into matters beyond this strange island and the actions of a troubled young boy. How does that sound?”
The spirit hesitated for a moment before asking, “Do I even have a choice?”
Doctor Mist’s response was swift and resolute. “No.”
***
Earth-X:
Margo the Magician instinctively raised her hands as a defensive measure. Emerging from the dense fog, skeletal figures donned in tattered pirate attire approached in a haunting procession, each with a rusted weapon firmly in hand. Their blades effortlessly tore through mailboxes and lampposts along their path, causing Margo to take a step back in order to maintain a safe distance.
“Well, well,” Margo remarked, sizing up her adversaries, “looks like you boys mean some serious business. But let me tell you, I’m no delicate flower that you can simply trample over!” She made a slashing motion with her hand, directing an invisible force in front of her.
As if struck by an unseen blow, the lead pirate disintegrated into a cacophony of shattering bones that echoed against the asphalt. The remaining revenants redirected their eyeless gaze toward the defiant maiden, radiating a palpable fury. Behind them, the fog swelled, threatening to engulf her.
I hadn’t counted on that! she thought, realizing that she could not let herself be encircled. She assessed her limited options. If they manage to surround me, I’d be hard-pressed to defend myself! And even if they aren’t able to see me through the fog, I wouldn’t be able to see them in order to retaliate, either!
With one hand raised, a single finger conjured a flickering flame. “How’s about we play some ball, boys?” she challenged, launching the fiery sphere into the spectral fog, igniting it with her magic. The mist transformed into a blazing inferno that stretched all the way to the Pacific. The skeletal pirates thrashed and ignited within the flames. “Back to Davey Jones’ locker with you knaves!”
Waiting for the fog to dissipate, Margo proceeded toward the waterfront. Those skeletal sailors could easily be part of an Axis plot, she contemplated, although I can’t fathom where Hitler and his cronies could have acquired such mystical powers. The Thule Society has been strangely silent lately. Yet, these ghoulish figures emitted a foreboding aura that surpassed the German forces. Gazing out into the bay, she mentally scanned for the direction she needed to travel.
Once she honed in on her destination, the young woman reached down into the ocean, cupping a handful of water. She poured it onto the ground slowly, forming a nearly perfect circle. With her finger, she traced a line around its edge, fully containing the water within that circumference. Perfect, Margo thought, satisfied that her spell had taken hold.
Beneath her poised exterior, Margo the Magician stepped into the water puddle with a calm and confident demeanor. In an instant, she vanished from sight, sinking into the depths of the pool. As her top hat vanished into nothingness behind her, the puddle began to shrink until only a minuscule droplet remained. In the blink of an eye, even that drop faded away.
Moments later, Margo emerged from the ocean, stepping onto a large rock, completely unaffected by her sudden trip through the watery realm. Where am I now? she wondered, surveying the remainder of the island towering above her. She collected a handful of water and flung it into the air, the droplets transforming into a misty staircase that ascended away from the tumultuous waves crashing against the rocky shore.
“Up I go!” Margo declared resolutely, embarking on her vertical ascent.
***
Earth-Four:
In the depths of the night, Yarko the Great made certain that all the shadow warriors had vanished before finally reaching his destination. He navigated into a dimly illuminated cellar within a modest building, just one among his numerous properties scattered across the globe. To uncover the origin of these haunting creatures, he required a moment of meditation. Over the past ten years and beyond, he had amassed a significant number of adversaries, ranging from the Devil to Death itself. Now, he must ascertain the roots of these entities to retaliate against their source.
Kneeling on a threadbare mat, Yarko placed his weathered hands upon his furrowed brow, his mind drifting into a state of intense concentration. As he focused his thoughts on the relentless battle he had fought against the shadow warriors, he made contact with the familiar spirit of an ancient Egyptian Prince, resonating deep within the folds of his consciousness.
“Hello, my son,” echoed the spirit’s voice, traveling from a distant realm. “What trouble has lured you into its snare this time?”
Yarko spared no time in revealing the predicament at hand. “O Prince Amentep, a breed of shadow demons has descended upon us, setting aflame the heart of Chinatown. I beseech you, enlighten me with the source of this inexplicable evil so that swift action may be taken.”
With an otherworldly grace, the spirit imparted its knowledge. “What you seek lies within the far reaches of the west, within the embrace of the Pacific Ocean. Something is brewing there, my dear Yarko.”
Without hesitation, the mystic offered a reverent bow. “I shall embark upon this journey promptly, guided by your wisdom and boundless strength. I am indebted to you, Invincible One.” And with that, the spirit’s presence faded into silence, leaving Yarko alone in the dim cellar.
Shaking off the remnants of his mystical encounter, Yarko took to his feet and ascended the steps, returning to the world above. He knew the task ahead required careful preparation, for only then could he venture forth toward the origin of this nefarious disturbance. Trusting in his keen instincts, Yarko understood that the resolution of this problem rested solely upon his capable shoulders.
***
Earth-Two:
As Doctor Occult held up the Symbol of the Seven, a small wave rippled out from the disc, signaling the presence of others in the park. He observed as the vampires scattered in a frenzy, their fear palpable in the air. Thoughts raced through Occult’s mind, contemplating whether he should pursue them immediately or find the source from which they were emerging.
I should track them down, he mused to himself, his voice filled with determination. But before that, I must discover where they originate from. Occult knew that thwarting them at the point of origin would provide him ample time to chase them down later. Perhaps Rose, his trusted companion, would be willing to lend a hand. Two heads were indeed better than one in situations like these.
Focusing his attention on the Symbol of the Seven, his crimson talisman of power, Occult could sense it pulling him toward the west. Something ominous out in the ocean, and it’s growing stronger with each passing moment! It was clear to him that this force sought to extend its reach into the world.
A frown etched onto Doctor Occult’s face as he realized the dire situation. Doctor Fate was long retired, the Spectre had vanished years ago, and even the Justice Society of America had disbanded recently. (*) The responsibility to face this emerging threat now fell upon his shoulders.
[(*) Editor’s note: See “The Defeat of the Justice Society,” Adventure Comics #466 (November-December, 1976).]
I pray that I am making the right choice, Occult thought, his voice tinged with doubt. I can only hope that I’m not leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Gathering his resolve, he stepped into the astral plane and traversed the bizarre dimension, journeying instantly to the shores of Hawaii.
Taking another bearing with the Symbol of the Seven, Occult swiftly stepped through the astral plane once more, this time arriving in Sydney, Australia. Without nary a glance, he then took a third leap to arrive at his ultimate destination.
“Ah, the joys of magical triangulation,” he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.