Supermaxx

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

A P L A Y G R O U N D

---

^{Night, later | Queens Borough, New York City}
A dozen disparate sirens screamed in the distance as the NYPD searched high-and-low for the man that attacked the 105th precinct. They wouldn't suffer someone attacking their own, especially not after everything else that had happened that week. Scott couldn't be sure what would happen if they found him, but he trusted his gut enough to know it wouldn't be good. They couldn't turn 'Spider-Man' over to the cops. Not yet, at least. He needed to find out more before he made a decision.

The three of them had managed to sneak through several backyards and parking lots to avoid capture, but they'd been cut off. Backup had been called in and there were officers swarming throughout the neighborhood. In time they'd start to scatter, but for now the mutants needed to keep their heads down and wait this out.

Scott, Jean and the Spider had found their way to a small playground located in a local park called the 'Amber Memorial Park'. Most of it was just grass and oaks, save for the parking lot at the entrance and the rundown walking path circling the edge. A stream was running downhill on the far side, a quaint little bridge covered in bike locks built over it. It wasn't particularly large, but there were lines of trees on nearly all sides so they were fairly well concealed here. A good enough place to hide out, Scott reckoned.

They'd have plenty of time to get to the truth.

"Looks like we'll be safe here," Scott called to the others, stepping away from the treeline. "For now, at least. I gave the rest of the team a call and they'll be by to pick us up in a bit. In the meantime..." He stopped walking in front of the mutant spider, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm gonna need you to start talking. Who're you and why'd you break into a police precinct?"

Jean was seated a ways away atop the jungle gym, one foot dangling down from between the bars. She was glaring daggers into 'Spider-Man', more than a little uneasy about this whole arrangement. Whoever this guy was...he wasn't like them. There was something going on in his head that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Jean Grey was a lot of things, but easily frightened certainly wasn't one of them.

'God, I hate this,' she grumbled to herself. 'Can't we just beat this guy into a pulp and be done with it?'

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

_{THE BOOK OF FATE}

Issue #1: HUMBLED

---

_{Salem Willows Park ♦ Salem, Massachusetts}

The Price of Failure

Kent Nelson had sat on that bench many a time before. Sometimes with Inza. Sometimes alone. It'd been there for quite awhile in one form or another. His favorite was the wooden one, made from the same Willows planted all 'round him, that they'd put up way back in the 18th century. This one wasn't great, he had to admit. It's deep black, wrought iron frame was sturdy, sure, but it was so uncomfortable. He hated what it did to his back.

Hell of a view, though. Hell of a view. Especially now when the sun was starting to dip underneath the water of the Ram Horn, almost like the channel was swallowing Earth's star whole. It's light cascaded across the open water like God throwing stones across a pond. They shot out in a spray of a thousand, individual tendrils of fire that reached from the horizon all the way to the stony shore. Every time Kent saw it it took his breath away. He thought he'd caught lightning in a bottle, and the next time he sat on this bench, the majesty of it would disappear. It kept, somehow. And that made it all the more special.

It'd been far too long since the last time, he realized. He couldn't even remember when the last time was. Kent felt a tinge of guilt in his chest. The only reason he'd come back was because he had nowhere else to go now that the Tower of Fate was locked to him. And he had the audacity to stain this poor bench crimson. Terrible as it might be, it didn't deserve to be bled on.

"I've lost my way, haven't I?" He muttered, followed shortly by a sigh. A painful one. That last blow he'd taken to his side must've done more damage than he initially thought. Reaching down he pulled at the dark blue material of his costume, lifting it up to reveal the mangled flesh that still clung to his side. Blood, pus and dark magic dripped down it- all of it flowing from the big, ugly mark in the center.

Arrogant. Stupid. Reckless. He should've known challenging Mordru in his own domain was folly from the start, and yet the mighty Doctor Fate did it anyway. Threw himself into the fires of Hell and expected not to get burned. Even an amateur would've had the forethought to know it was a bad idea.

"But not you, right, Kent?" Nelson laughed, only for it to transition into thundering coughing fit. "Kent Nelson, biggest moron in the Nine Realms, at your service."

The helmet was sitting in his lap, those empty eye sockets glaring up at him. 'I told you so!' They seemed to scream. 'I told you how it'd end, but you went anyway, and now look what you've done to me!' The Helmet of Fate was older than anything Nelson had ever encountered. Though he'd found it in an Egyptian Tomb, even then he'd known it was far more ancient than the Pharaoh it'd been buried with. It'd spent the vast majority of its existence spotless. Shining, like polished gold. Now Kent looked down at it and saw that polish fading. He could see small cracks along the faceplate and the crown. He used think the thing was indestructible.

Just like him.

But Nobu was dying. The Lord of Order had gone silent. If it wasn't for his uneven breathing in the back of Nelson's soul, Dr. Fate would've thought him dead. But his time was running out, and when he went so too would Kent. And there was no telling when existence would join them. Could be tomorrow. Could be in a hundred thousand years. But without Nabu...Without all of the Lords of Order...

Time was going to run out eventually.

"Stupid, Nelson. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" Dr. Fate roared as he leapt up from the bench where he sat. With a great heave of his arm he chucked the Helmet of Fate, watching it sail through the air until it landed like a stone in the Ram Horn channel. Despite it's weight it didn't sink. Instead, the helm floated atop the water, refusing to flow with the current. Just sat there, staring up at the rapidly darkening sky.

"I killed us." He breathed, falling back down on that uncomfortable seat. "I killed us all."

"Death's not so bad once ya get used to it." A gruff voice, corrupted by one too many cigars over the years, called from behind Kent.

"I need your help, old friend, n' it sounds like you need mine."

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

FATE

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

---

^{_{KENT NELSON ♦ AGENT OF ORDER ♦ THE TOWER OF FATE ♦ NABU}}

♦ C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ♦

---

^{"I'm old, son. I've lived more lifetimes than most. Seen things you wouldn't believe- that nobody in their right mind would, really. Felt so much joy, love and hate that my heart can scarcely take anymore. Known pain beyond your wildest imagination. And power. Oh, what power I had. But that's all over now, isn't it? Because of my mistake. And now...now I've a choice to make. Not a hard one, though. What is one life compared to the fate of everything?"}

Kent Nelson has served as Doctor Fate since 1920, yet he's seen more than centuries of duty. Travelling across time and space alike he has done battle in the ancient past and in worlds far from our own. He has dueled Elder Things and Old Gods, walked among countless pantheons and struggled against terrors that could wipe humanity from all memory. As an Agent of Order he has served as a sentinel against the forces of Chaos- holding fast at the gates that guard all living things and never swaying from his post. In those hundred upon hundreds of years of service, time and power have slowly chipped away at Kent's humanity. Each foray into the darkest corners of the universe forces him to leave behind another piece of himself so that he might better serve Order. In his bid to protect us, Dr. Fate becomes less and less human everyday.

But it was arrogance, not humanity, that was his downfall. For as he built up his power, Dr. Fate believed he had discovered a means by which he might defeat Chaos once and for all. He attempted to confront a Lord of Chaos, the one called Mordru, and hoped to kill an aspect of Chaos. It was a foolhardy notion from the start, for the Lords of Order and Chaos are but vessels for abstract powers that have existed beyond existence, and shall continue to existence even after the death of our tiny, insignificant universe. The battle was short-lived, and Nelson's arrogance made his master, the Lord of Order known as Nabu, vulnerable. Mordru struck a mortal blow against Nabu, wounding his opposite through his connection to Dr. Fate and tipping the scales in the cosmic struggle between Order and Chaos in a way previously thought impossible.

Nabu's injury has left all agents of Order, Kent most of all, weaker and more vulnerable than ever. Even when wielding the Helmet of Fate, he is nothing compared to what he once was, and for the first time in centuries has found himself no match for old enemies like Klarion and Wotan. He finds himself in a desperate race to heal Nabu's wound and repair the balance of the cosmic scales before Chaos can consume Order in it's entirety. The fate of the universe has oft been at stake when Dr. Fate intervenes, but things have never felt so dire for Order's greatest champion.

♦ C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ♦

---

There's always been something fascinating to be about the higher concepts in comic books. One concept in particular that's always caught my imagination is the idea of godhood, and how access to unimaginable power might shape a person and their character. How having knowledge of the fundamental makeup of existence might change someone's entire perspective on existence, and whether or not such knowledge is even desirable. Dr. Fate presents a unique opportunity to explore godhood, and power, as he's both simultaneously a man and something...more.

In this re-imagining of Fate, Nelson has lost himself in the mantle of Dr. Fate. His connection to his own mortality has been severed by a hundred years of impossible power and a personal relationship with literal deities. Knowing the answers to our greatest mysteries has soured Kent to mankind. He's seen the worst of us over and over and over again, and his constant duty to protect them has made him very tired. The near-death of a Lord of Order and the loss of much of his power will tear him down from on-high and force him to confront how power has changed him, and how being Fate for so long has caused Kent to lose his way. This is the harshest wake-up call he's ever going to get, and he's going to get the chance to decide just how important his humanity is to him.

♦ C H A R A C T E R N O T E S ♦

---

_{▼ S E A S O N O N E S U P P O R T I N G C A S T
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}

♦ Jim Corrigan
^{Detective and (occasional) Host of the Spectre}

♦ Mitchell Shelly
^{AKA Resurrection Man, Superhero}

♦ Amy Winston
^{Exiled Princess of House Amethyst, teenager}

♦ Linda Strauss
^{Nurse, single mother}

♦ Eric Strauss
^{Student, 10 year old}

♦ Nabu
^{Lord of Order}

_{▼ S E A S O N O N E A N T A G O N I S T S
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}

♦ Klarion
^{Witchboy, mischievous and occasionally cruel}

♦ Fin Fang Foom
^Dragon

♦ Etrigan
^{Rhyming demon whose dreams drive men mad}

♦ Wotan
^{Immortal sorcerer and nemesis of Dr. Fate}

♦ Mordru
^{Lord of Chaos}

♦ S A M P L E P O S T ♦

---

_{THE BOOK OF FATE}

Issue #1: HUMBLED

---

_{Salem Willows Park ♦ Salem, Massachusetts}

The Price of Failure

Kent Nelson had sat on that bench many a time before. Sometimes with Inza. Sometimes alone. It'd been there for quite awhile in one form or another. His favorite was the wooden one, made from the same Willows planted all 'round him, that they'd put up way back in the 18th century. This one wasn't great, he had to admit. It's deep black, wrought iron frame was sturdy, sure, but it was so uncomfortable. He hated what it did to his back.

Hell of a view, though. Hell of a view. Especially now when the sun was starting to dip underneath the water of the Ram Horn, almost like the channel was swallowing Earth's star whole. It's light cascaded across the open water like God throwing stones across a pond. They shot out in a spray of a thousand, individual tendrils of fire that reached from the horizon all the way to the stony shore. Every time Kent saw it it took his breath away. He thought he'd caught lightning in a bottle, and the next time he sat on this bench, the majesty of it would disappear. It kept, somehow. And that made it all the more special.

It'd been far too long since the last time, he realized. He couldn't even remember when the last time was. Kent felt a tinge of guilt in his chest. The only reason he'd come back was because he had nowhere else to go now that the Tower of Fate was locked to him. And he had the audacity to stain this poor bench crimson. Terrible as it might be, it didn't deserve to be bled on.

"I've lost my way, haven't I?" He muttered, followed shortly by a sigh. A painful one. That last blow he'd taken to his side must've done more damage than he initially thought. Reaching down he pulled at the dark blue material of his costume, lifting it up to reveal the mangled flesh that still clung to his side. Blood, pus and dark magic dripped down it- all of it flowing from the big, ugly mark in the center.

Arrogant. Stupid. Reckless. He should've known challenging Mordru in his own domain was folly from the start, and yet the mighty Doctor Fate did it anyway. Threw himself into the fires of Hell and expected not to get burned. Even an amateur would've had the forethought to know it was a bad idea.

"But not you, right, Kent?" Nelson laughed, only for it to transition into thundering coughing fit. "Kent Nelson, biggest moron in the Nine Realms, at your service."

The helmet was sitting in his lap, those empty eye sockets glaring up at him. 'I told you so!' They seemed to scream. 'I told you how it'd end, but you went anyway, and now look what you've done to me!' The Helmet of Fate was older than anything Nelson had ever encountered. Though he'd found it in an Egyptian Tomb, even then he'd known it was far more ancient than the Pharaoh it'd been buried with. It'd spent the vast majority of its existence spotless. Shining, like polished gold. Now Kent looked down at it and saw that polish fading. He could see small cracks along the faceplate and the crown. He used think the thing was indestructible.

Just like him.

But Nobu was dying. The Lord of Order had gone silent. If it wasn't for his uneven breathing in the back of Nelson's soul, Dr. Fate would've thought him dead. But his time was running out, and when he went so too would Kent. And there was no telling when existence would join them. Could be tomorrow. Could be in a hundred thousand years. But without Nabu...Without all of the Lords of Order...

Time was going to run out eventually.

"Stupid, Nelson. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" Dr. Fate roared as he leapt up from the bench where he sat. With a great heave of his arm he chucked the Helmet of Fate, watching it sail through the air until it landed like a stone in the Ram Horn channel. Despite it's weight it didn't sink. Instead, the helm floated atop the water, refusing to flow with the current. Just sat there, staring up at the rapidly darkening sky.

"I killed us." He breathed, falling back down on that uncomfortable seat. "I killed us all."

"Death's not so bad once ya get used to it." A gruff voice, corrupted by one too many cigars over the years, called from behind Kent.

"I need your help, old friend, n' it sounds like you need mine."

♦ P O S T C A T L O G ♦

---

THE BOOK OF FATE

♦ Issue #1 - Humbled
♦ Issue #2 - Contractually Obligated
♦ Issue #3 - Arbitration Clause
♦ Issue #4 - Dinner Bell

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

---

^{_{KENT NELSON ♦ AGENT OF ORDER ♦ THE TOWER OF FATE ♦ NABU}}

♦ C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ♦

---

^{"I'm old, son. I've lived more lifetimes than most. Seen things you wouldn't believe- that nobody in their right mind would, really. Felt so much joy, love and hate that my heart can scarcely take anymore. Known pain beyond your wildest imagination. And power. Oh, what power I had. But that's all over now, isn't it? Because of my mistake. And now...now I've a choice to make. Not a hard one, though. What is one life compared to the fate of everything?"}

Kent Nelson has served as Doctor Fate since 1920, yet he's seen more than centuries of duty. Travelling across time and space alike he has done battle in the ancient past and in worlds far from our own. He has dueled Elder Things and Old Gods, walked among countless pantheons and struggled against terrors that could wipe humanity from all memory. As an Agent of Order he has served as a sentinel against the forces of Chaos- holding fast at the gates that guard all living things and never swaying from his post. In those hundred upon hundreds of years of service, time and power have slowly chipped away at Kent's humanity. Each foray into the darkest corners of the universe forces him to leave behind another piece of himself so that he might better serve Order. In his bid to protect us, Dr. Fate becomes less and less human everyday.

But it was arrogance, not humanity, that was his downfall. For as he built up his power, Dr. Fate believed he had discovered a means by which he might defeat Chaos once and for all. He attempted to confront a Lord of Chaos, the one called Mordru, and hoped to kill an aspect of Chaos. It was a foolhardy notion from the start, for the Lords of Order and Chaos are but vessels for abstract powers that have existed beyond existence, and shall continue to existence even after the death of our tiny, insignificant universe. The battle was short-lived, and Nelson's arrogance made his master, the Lord of Order known as Nabu, vulnerable. Mordru struck a mortal blow against Nabu, wounding his opposite through his connection to Dr. Fate and tipping the scales in the cosmic struggle between Order and Chaos in a way previously thought impossible.

Nabu's injury has left all agents of Order, Kent most of all, weaker and more vulnerable than ever. Even when wielding the Helmet of Fate, he is nothing compared to what he once was, and for the first time in centuries has found himself no match for old enemies like Klarion and Wotan. He finds himself in a desperate race to heal Nabu's wound and repair the balance of the cosmic scales before Chaos can consume Order in it's entirety. The fate of the universe has oft been at stake when Dr. Fate intervenes, but things have never felt so dire for Order's greatest champion.

♦ C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ♦

---

There's always been something fascinating to be about the higher concepts in comic books. One concept in particular that's always caught my imagination is the idea of godhood, and how access to unimaginable power might shape a person and their character. How having knowledge of the fundamental makeup of existence might change someone's entire perspective on existence, and whether or not such knowledge is even desirable. Dr. Fate presents a unique opportunity to explore godhood, and power, as he's both simultaneously a man and something...more.

In this re-imagining of Fate, Nelson has lost himself in the mantle of Dr. Fate. His connection to his own mortality has been severed by a hundred years of impossible power and a personal relationship with literal deities. Knowing the answers to our greatest mysteries has soured Kent to mankind. He's seen the worst of us over and over and over again, and his constant duty to protect them has made him very tired. The near-death of a Lord of Order and the loss of much of his power will tear him down from on-high and force him to confront how power has changed him, and how being Fate for so long has caused Kent to lose his way. This is the harshest wake-up call he's ever going to get, and he's going to get the chance to decide just how important his humanity is to him.

♦ C H A R A C T E R N O T E S ♦

---

_{▼ S E A S O N O N E S U P P O R T I N G C A S T
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}

♦ Jim Corrigan
^{Detective and (occasional) Host of the Spectre}

♦ Mitchell Shelly
^{AKA Resurrection Man, Superhero}

♦ Amy Winston
^{Exiled Princess of House Amethyst, teenager}

♦ Linda Strauss
^{Nurse, single mother}

♦ Eric Strauss
^{Student, 10 year old}

♦ Nabu
^{Lord of Order}

_{▼ S E A S O N O N E A N T A G O N I S T S
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔}}

♦ Klarion
^{Witchboy, mischievous and occasionally cruel}

♦ Fin Fang Foom
^Dragon

♦ Etrigan
^{Rhyming demon whose dreams drive men mad}

♦ Wotan
^{Immortal sorcerer and nemesis of Dr. Fate}

♦ Mordru
^{Lord of Chaos}

♦ S A M P L E P O S T ♦

---

_{THE BOOK OF FATE}

Issue #1: HUMBLED

---

_{Salem Willows Park ♦ Salem, Massachusetts}

The Price of Failure

Kent Nelson had sat on that bench many a time before. Sometimes with Inza. Sometimes alone. It'd been there for quite awhile in one form or another. His favorite was the wooden one, made from the same Willows planted all 'round him, that they'd put up way back in the 18th century. This one wasn't great, he had to admit. It's deep black, wrought iron frame was sturdy, sure, but it was so uncomfortable. He hated what it did to his back.

Hell of a view, though. Hell of a view. Especially now when the sun was starting to dip underneath the water of the Ram Horn, almost like the channel was swallowing Earth's star whole. It's light cascaded across the open water like God throwing stones across a pond. They shot out in a spray of a thousand, individual tendrils of fire that reached from the horizon all the way to the stony shore. Every time Kent saw it it took his breath away. He thought he'd caught lightning in a bottle, and the next time he sat on this bench, the majesty of it would disappear. It kept, somehow. And that made it all the more special.

It'd been far too long since the last time, he realized. He couldn't even remember when the last time was. Kent felt a tinge of guilt in his chest. The only reason he'd come back was because he had nowhere else to go now that the Tower of Fate was locked to him. And he had the audacity to stain this poor bench crimson. Terrible as it might be, it didn't deserve to be bled on.

"I've lost my way, haven't I?" He muttered, followed shortly by a sigh. A painful one. That last blow he'd taken to his side must've done more damage than he initially thought. Reaching down he pulled at the dark blue material of his costume, lifting it up to reveal the mangled flesh that still clung to his side. Blood, pus and dark magic dripped down it- all of it flowing from the big, ugly mark in the center.

Arrogant. Stupid. Reckless. He should've known challenging Mordru in his own domain was folly from the start, and yet the mighty Doctor Fate did it anyway. Threw himself into the fires of Hell and expected not to get burned. Even an amateur would've had the forethought to know it was a bad idea.

"But not you, right, Kent?" Nelson laughed, only for it to transition into thundering coughing fit. "Kent Nelson, biggest moron in the Nine Realms, at your service."

The helmet was sitting in his lap, those empty eye sockets glaring up at him. 'I told you so!' They seemed to scream. 'I told you how it'd end, but you went anyway, and now look what you've done to me!' The Helmet of Fate was older than anything Nelson had ever encountered. Though he'd found it in an Egyptian Tomb, even then he'd known it was far more ancient than the Pharaoh it'd been buried with. It'd spent the vast majority of its existence spotless. Shining, like polished gold. Now Kent looked down at it and saw that polish fading. He could see small cracks along the faceplate and the crown. He used think the thing was indestructible.

Just like him.

But Nobu was dying. The Lord of Order had gone silent. If it wasn't for his uneven breathing in the back of Nelson's soul, Dr. Fate would've thought him dead. But his time was running out, and when he went so too would Kent. And there was no telling when existence would join them. Could be tomorrow. Could be in a hundred thousand years. But without Nabu...Without all of the Lords of Order...

Time was going to run out eventually.

"Stupid, Nelson. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" Dr. Fate roared as he leapt up from the bench where he sat. With a great heave of his arm he chucked the Helmet of Fate, watching it sail through the air until it landed like a stone in the Ram Horn channel. Despite it's weight it didn't sink. Instead, the helm floated atop the water, refusing to flow with the current. Just sat there, staring up at the rapidly darkening sky.

"I killed us." He breathed, falling back down on that uncomfortable seat. "I killed us all."

"Death's not so bad once ya get used to it." A gruff voice, corrupted by one too many cigars over the years, called from behind Kent.

"I need your help, old friend, n' it sounds like you need mine."

♦ P O S T C A T L O G ♦

---

THE BOOK OF FATE

♦ Issue #1 - Humbled

Superboy's Shitty Characters

_{THE BOOK OF FATE}

Issue #1: HUMBLED

---

_{Salem Willows Park ♦ Salem, Massachusetts}

The Price of Failure

Kent Nelson had sat on that bench many a time before. Sometimes with Inza. Sometimes alone. It'd been there for quite awhile in one form or another. His favorite was the wooden one, made from the same Willows planted all 'round him, that they'd put up way back in the 18th century. This one wasn't great, he had to admit. It's deep black, wrought iron frame was sturdy, sure, but it was so uncomfortable. He hated what it did to his back.

Hell of a view, though. Hell of a view. Especially now when the sun was starting to dip underneath the water of the Ram Horn, almost like the channel was swallowing Earth's star whole. It's light cascaded across the open water like God throwing stones across a pond. They shot out in a spray of a thousand, individual tendrils of fire that reached from the horizon all the way to the stony shore. Every time Kent saw it it took his breath away. He thought he'd caught lightning in a bottle, and the next time he sat on this bench, the majesty of it would disappear. It kept, somehow. And that made it all the more special.

It'd been far too long since the last time, he realized. He couldn't even remember when the last time was. Kent felt a tinge of guilt in his chest. The only reason he'd come back was because he had nowhere else to go now that the Tower of Fate was locked to him. And he had the audacity to stain this poor bench crimson. Terrible as it might be, it didn't deserve to be bled on.

"I've lost my way, haven't I?" He muttered, followed shortly by a sigh. A painful one. That last blow he'd taken to his side must've done more damage than he initially thought. Reaching down he pulled at the dark blue material of his costume, lifting it up to reveal the mangled flesh that still clung to his side. Blood, pus and dark magic dripped down it- all of it flowing from the big, ugly mark in the center.

Arrogant. Stupid. Reckless. He should've known challenging Mordru in his own domain was folly from the start, and yet the mighty Doctor Fate did it anyway. Threw himself into the fires of Hell and expected not to get burned. Even an amateur would've had the forethought to know it was a bad idea.

"But not you, right, Kent?" Nelson laughed, only for it to transition into thundering coughing fit. "Kent Nelson, biggest moron in the Nine Realms, at your service."

The helmet was sitting in his lap, those empty eye sockets glaring up at him. 'I told you so!' They seemed to scream. 'I told you how it'd end, but you went anyway, and now look what you've done to me!' The Helmet of Fate was older than anything Nelson had ever encountered. Though he'd found it in an Egyptian Tomb, even then he'd known it was far more ancient than the Pharaoh it'd been buried with. It'd spent the vast majority of its existence spotless. Shining, like polished gold. Now Kent looked down at it and saw that polish fading. He could see small cracks along the faceplate and the crown. He used think the thing was indestructible.

Just like him.

But Nobu was dying. The Lord of Order had gone silent. If it wasn't for his uneven breathing in the back of Nelson's soul, Dr. Fate would've thought him dead. But his time was running out, and when he went so too would Kent. And there was no telling when existence would join them. Could be tomorrow. Could be in a hundred thousand years. But without Nabu...Without all of the Lords of Order...

Time was going to run out eventually.

"Stupid, Nelson. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" Dr. Fate roared as he leapt up from the bench where he sat. With a great heave of his arm he chucked the Helmet of Fate, watching it sail through the air until it landed like a stone in the Ram Horn channel. Despite it's weight it didn't sink. Instead, the helm floated atop the water, refusing to flow with the current. Just sat there, staring up at the rapidly darkening sky.

"I killed us." He breathed, falling back down on that uncomfortable seat. "I killed us all."

"Death's not so bad once ya get used to it." A gruff voice, corrupted by one too many cigars over the years, called from behind Kent.

"I need your help, old friend, n' it sounds like you need mine."

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

L O N G I S L A N D

---

^{Night | Queens Borough, New York City}
“You better take your boyfriend and leave, lady, because I’m Spider-Man, and you just made me mad. I’m summoning the spiders. Thousands of them, hundreds of thousands of them! Because I’m Spider-Man!”

"He is not my- shit, that's a lot of spiders-"

The crash left Scott's head pounding. Every sound he heard was amplified a thousand fold, echoing like thunder over and over in the front of his skull. Painful, obnoxious, hard to ignore. Made it difficult to know what was going on just from sound alone, and it wasn't like he could see anything. It took a great deal of effort to keep his eyes clamped shut to avoid accidentally pasting the Spider guy all over the road with a sidelong glance.

It sounded like Jean and the other mutant were squaring off, now. She was threatening to tear him open like a tin can if he didn't surrender, and he was planning to...swarm them with spiders, which was apparently something he could do. 'Spider-Man' made some sense in that case. Summers wasn't sure which of them would win that fight. He'd like to think Jean could pull it off, though he was understandably a little biased.

But that wasn't the point.

"Wait!" Scott called, holding out a hand in the general direction of their voices. This whole bein' blind thing was really inconvenient. "Jean, can you get me my-"

He didn't have to finish before he heard his ruby-red visors skid across the asphalt and smack up against his free hand. Shaky fingers wrapped around the glasses and slipped them back onto his mask and around his head until he heard the two back pieces click together. He was finally able to see again- red filter or no, it was better than nothing. "Thanks."

And he could see that they'd done a number on this street already. Xavier's old convertible was laying in a heap on some poor family's frontyard, and Jean had decided to make matters worse by tearing up their fence to use as projectiles. Not the best look for the team after that disaster in Bayville.

"Alright, listen," Summers sighed, trying to drag himself to his feet while he talked, "you don't know us. We don't know you. I figure you've got some issues if you're attacking police stations in the dead of night. But so far as I know you didn't kill anybody in there, so...you're not fully gone. But you hear that, right?" He motioned to the air, cocking his head to the side. The roar of sirens was creeping a little close for comfort. "That's the sound of a lot of really angry cops coming this way. Guys with guns who probably won't stop to talk, if you catch my drift."

"But we can help you. We're the X-Men. Helping mutants out of tough spots is sort of our thing."

Jean didn't drop her guard. She still kept her barrage of fence pickets floating right above her head, ready to throw them into Spider-Man's face if he so much as twitched wrong. "I don't know about this." She muttered to Scott, bouncing anxiously on the balls of her feet. "This guy, I don't think he's-"

Summers held a hand out toward her. He knew she'd give him hell for it later, but right now wasn't the time to argue about it. "I'd rather not have to knock you out to save your life. Don't make this harder than it already is."

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

what

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

I dab on all of you

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

A B A N D ON E D S T E E L W O R K S

---

^{Night | Unknown, Somewhere in Connecticut}

The sound of crunching metal caused Clayton Burr to jolt awake. Dark splotches filled his vision for the first few disorientating seconds of consciousness. Blinking them away, Burr still couldn't quite tell where he was- shadows fell over most of his surroundings. A few overhead lights flickered a distance away, each flash revealing more of the room. The concrete floor was covered in broken glass, dirt, and discarded trash. The room itself was massive, taking up quite a few stories up and extending for at least hundreds of feet in every direction. All that distance was broken up by rows and rows of gargantuan, complex machinery whose purpose was entirely unknown to Clay.

He tried to bring his hands up to rub his eyes, only to find them bound together by something cold, hard, and sharp. His feet were dangling underneath him and he couldn't seem to find the floor no matter how far he stretched down. Something was suspending him in the air, though try as he might, he couldn't find a chain or rope attached to his person, and there didn't appear to be anything solid hoisting him up.

"What the hell is this?" Burr breathed, trying to make sense of it all. Last he could remember he was enjoying a late dinner with his wife, Marilyn. The cook had prepared an especially delicious main course of truffle tagliolini, and they'd even broken out the Domaine de la Romanée-Conti to celebrate the company's record-breaking earnings for that year. He...he remembered the power going out, too, right before they'd gotten to dessert. They'd just sent Mr. Brackett and the security team to investigate when someone broke down the front door and-

Well, he couldn't remember anything after that.

"This-" A voice suddenly called out from the darkness, just loud enough to be heard over the constant, methodical clanging of metal against metal. "This is a reckoning, Mr. Burr." A man, not young but not quite old, and with a hard to place accent. He was speaking from somewhere in the room beyond Clayton's vision, but it didn't take more than a couple of seconds of thought for it to dawn on Burr.

"You're him." Clayton rasped.

"There are many hims out in the world. You'll have to be more specific than that."

"You killed my son." Burr suddenly snapped, the rage overtaking any fear he'd felt before. "I've spent a lot of money trying to find you, n' you come right to me? You're real fucking stupid, pal, I'll tell ya that much."

His threatening words were met only with a laugh. A surprisingly light and mirthful one, lacking the harshness one would expect from an unrepent murderer. The bashing, metallic ringing came to a close, and silence fell over the rundown factory for several seconds. Then came the footsteps, and a pair of dirt-caked work boots appeared in the low light. They moved forward across the floor, bringing with them a similarly dusty pair of Levis, an old maroon shirt and the unassuming man that wore them. "That's funny. I've spent a great deal of time and effort trying to find you, too. Your son told me that you'd have the names I was looking for."

"What names?"

"Of your co-conspirators, of course," His captor spoke casually, pacing forward with his hands resting behind his back. Dressed as a working man though he was, his stride was almost regal. His diction that of an educated, well-read man. "You sold Roxxon's excess oil to the tyrants, yet those ships carried so much more on them. Weapons. Mercenaries. Lab equipment and construction materials. And those...curious little collars they use to keep my people under their heel. Does any of this sound familiar?"

Burr shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Genosha. Despite the sanctions, Roxxon's been doing business with Genosha's oligarchs under the table."

"I don't know anything about that!" He protested. "Roxxon- it's a big company, lotta moving parts-"

"If you intended to keep this a secret then keeping a ledger was quite the oversight." The stranger interrupted, bringing his hands around from behind his back. Clutched within them was a black book bound with leather. Unlabeled though it was, Burr recognized it immediately. This guy was serious- whoever he was.

Clayton's mouth went dry as he struggled against the strange binds that kept him suspended in the air. "Alright, f-fine. Ya caught me. But I'on't have any names for you. These ain't the type of guys that hand you a business card. They, y'know, they know how to cover their tracks."

"A trait you unfortunately lacked the foresight to mimic." His captor chuckled. "Despite that lapse in judgement, though, I know you're not stupid. This isn't the sort of operation a stupid man can run and get away with for so long. You wouldn't be working with strangers you knew nothing about. That's far, far too risky, no." He said with a finger pointed up toward Clayton. "You did your research into them, didn't you? You may not have gone far enough to get names, but...you have information I can use."

"And who the fuck are you?" Clayton let out a dogged laugh. "This ain't the kinda place the Feds would use. You a cape, like ol' Wonder Bra?"

The other man went silent and still. Stopped his pacing to stare up at Burr, a cool, indifferent sort of hate leaking from his steelish eyes. Clayton thought his blood mind flash freeze if he held his captor's gaze for a second too long and was forced to avert his own. Then, without his captor so much as twitching a finger, Burr felt a great pressure clamp down on both of his wrists, like some gargantuan thing had taken hold of each and was planning to snap them in two like twigs. Burr let out a agonized scream, the pain so monumental he hadn't even noticed that he was descending toward the ground.

"You took that luxury away from me." He spoke in a low tone, calm, yet with something terrible bubbling just underneath the surface. Something begging to be let out. "She and others like her had the luxury to be born in a place like this, where their gifts are seen as just that. Somewhere men like you haven't gotten your claws in yet. No, no. I can't afford heroism. My name is Erik, and I...I am fruit of your labor. And you're going to tell me everything I want to know."