The Steel Ring

by R. A. Jones

  “My god,” Aman exclaimed softly. “Do you then hate me so much, so deeply, that you would willingly bury me beneath a mountain of slain innocents?”

  “I would bring down heaven itself on top of you,” the Question hissed, “if that’s what it took to bury you for once and good!”

  The crazed monk gripped his spear more tightly, seeming to sag against it as if needing its strength to remain erect.

  “Nor was it just you. I used similar tactics in an effort to eliminate all those others the mystic signs had warned me about.

  “Through my agents, a movie studio sent an actor to Australia to promote his latest banality. Others under my direction ignited the fire that should have destroyed him.

  “In Spain, where my German allies had already stirred the pot of war, I saw to it that the military command was alerted to Clay Carter’s plan to flee the country for the safety of France. I led them to believe he was actually one of the leaders of the opposition, instead of merely a lovestruck puppy.

  “In Berlin, I notified that little rat Himmler as to the presence of Natalia Nastrova, to no avail.

  “But even in the United States I was able to exert enough influence in the halls of power to have the refugee ship upon which the little witch was traveling turned away from its shores.

  “It was child’s play both to assassinate the king of Iraq and to stir the people into a murderous frenzy, with Cal Denton as the target for their growing resentment and hatred.

  “In New York, it was my men who tried again to kill both you and that ferret.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re not a very good schemer, master,” Aman said, making no effort to hide the sneer on his lips.

  “Don’t mock me, boy!” the Question screamed, swinging the shaft of his spear. The metal connected with Aman’s jaw, silencing him and snapping his head viciously to one side.

  Licking a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth, Aman glared darkly at his former mentor.

  “This is probably the first time you’ve gotten your own hands bloody, isn’t it, my once master? Always, you’ve left it to others to do the dirty work for you. That’s why you’ve always failed; it’s why you always will fail.”

  “You find it a weakness that I couldn’t bring myself to personally slay the child I helped raise to manhood?” the Question said softly, almost sadly. “Perhaps you’re right. But it’s a mistake I mean to set right tonight, I assure you.

  “Let me point out a few things to you,” the Question continued, unmindful of the icy rage in his captive’s eyes.

  “Mine is perhaps the most complex and ambitious campaign in history. I mean to do no less that re-shape the world.”

  “Re-shape it in your own image, no doubt,” Aman said.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. It only stands to reason that I would experience minor setbacks along the way.

  “But think of all that has gone right. I erased half a dozen other would-be saviors before they could manifest their powers, while you were still prancing around the globe oblivious and carefree. Six other men and women who went to their deaths without ever knowing why, or who their executioner was.

  “Then I successfully eliminated the poet Yeats and took his mystical abilities out of play.

  “The woman Earhart is gone, as is her ability to stir the people and rally them to her side.

  “In the process, I also gained possession of the first two artifacts I needed to carry out my plan. Now I have all five.

  “All that remains … is to set the plan in motion.”

  The Great Question’s right hand dipped into the folds of his robe. When it withdrew, it was holding the fifth and final mystical gem he had purloined.

  The jewel was so deep a purple as to be nearly black. Its multifaceted face caught the faint light in the chamber, reflecting back glints of onyx.

  Slowly and reverently lifting the gem, the Question moved it near a shallow indentation set in the middle of the swastika that topped his metal spear.

  When his hand was yet a few inches away from the swastika, the gem was torn from his grasp as if by a great magnet, clanging into place inside the indentation on the twisted cross.

  In that instant, the fingers of energy crackling around the swastika increased in both size and intensity. The spear hummed, nearly sang, with the rhythm of growing power.

  Gripping the spear tightly again with both hands, as if required to do so to keep that power in check, the Great Question positioned himself between Aman’s legs.

  “I spoke before of the life force that bubbles up and out of the omphala,” the Question said. “But any energy that can be used to create … can also be used to destroy.

  “That’s the function of the five gems, when utilized by an adept. They can take that power, that life enhancing energy – and transform it into its antithesis. The same force that brought forth life from nothingness … can bring death of a magnitude not seen in human history!”

  “And the spear?” Aman asked. “The swastika? What are their significance?”

  “That?” the Question chortled. “Oh, beyond its practical use as a conduit for the soon to be released energy – it is merely theatrics. It amuses me.” He looked up at the twisted emblem, cocked his head as the thrum of energy grew louder.

  “Listen to its sweet voice, Aman,” the monk gloated. “When the power channeled through its five gems reaches a crescendo, a column of mystic light will rise up from it, blaze through the statue’s torch into the night sky – then burst in a blaze of glory!

  “The wave of released energy will be directed away from here and toward New York City. On its own, it would be sufficiently powerful to blast every building within five miles of here to pulverized rubble.

  “And think how many people are in those buildings as we speak. How many are scurrying about like ants on its congested streets. All unsuspecting.

  “All soon to die.”

  “To what end?” Aman asked loudly, almost needing to shout to be heard above the rising roar filling the small chamber.

  “To my ends!” the Question declared. “An inexplicable catastrophe of that magnitude, the loss of lives and property, will pull all of America’s attention and resources inward. It would have neither the desire, the will nor the ability to take a hand in the war that will soon engulf the rest of the world.”

  The lama raised his eyes to gaze into the ball of energy swelling around the end of the spear. Lights of every color within the visible spectrum danced to his tune.

  “At least,” he said, “such was my initial objective.” He again lowered his gaze toward his prisoner.

  “Now … I hope for much more.”

  Aman’s expression showed his puzzlement, causing the Question to chuckle.

  “That’s piqued your curiosity, hasn’t it?”

  “No more so than any of your other mad ravings.”

  “I think otherwise,” the Question replied. Aman knew nothing would stop the monk from revealing the full scope of his machinations. And he needed every second he could buy, for his restraints had barely begun to loosen, strive though he might against them.

  “Within just the last twenty-four hours,” the Question said, “while I was awaiting the delivery of the fourth gem, I was still continuing to pore over every last line of obscure and forgotten lore having to do with the artifacts.

  “That’s when and how I discovered there was a sixth focal point for the same unworldly energies that filled the gems. When added to the power already inherent in the five jewels, the energy wave then released would increase the force of the ensuing blast tenfold.

  “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what the result would be, Aman – but I will.

  “It will be as if a small sun had exploded. The destructive wave it generates will incinerate most of the northeastern seaboard of the United States in under a minute.

  “Where once stood Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Washington DC – now there will be nothing but a blackened, smo
ldering crater.

  “Tens of millions of people will die in an instant, and the seat of government will be destroyed.

  “In one decisive move, America’s threat to me will be eliminated, and it will be left to darkness and anarchy!”

  Aman was overwhelmed by the sheer and utter madness of the monk, astounded by the scope and audacity of his scheme – and fearful that it could very well succeed.

  “This sixth source of eldritch energy of which you speak,” he wondered aloud. “What could possibly be even more horrendous than the power you claim is already contained within the jewels?”

  “So, the teacher still knows a little more than the pupil, eh?” the Question said. “Though truth be told, you always were a bit … slow.

  “Remember, back in the grotto, when I told you it was actually a good thing that I had failed to kill you?”

  He chuckled once more as he saw the light of realization dawning in his captive’s eyes.

  “You’re finally catching on,” he taunted. “What do you think is the other power source, ‘Amazing Man’?”

  Not waiting for any reply, the Great Question raised the blazing spear overhead – and plunged its jagged end straight into the bound Aman’s chest!

  CHAPTER XLIII

  Aman screamed in shock and pain as the spear effortlessly penetrated his tough hide. His body arched upward, nearly bending in half before falling back flat on the floor, looking almost like a helpless insect pinned to a board.

  Spasms gripped all his muscles and he began to twitch and convulse uncontrollably, restrained in his movements only by the metal bands holding down his limbs.

  His facial features twisted horribly. Fighting to hold his head steady, he gazed down in terror at the spot where the spear stood out from his torso. Strangely, no blood bubbled out of the wound.

  Instead, thin tentacles of glowing ectoplasm seemed to be sprouting upward from the ragged hole. As they rose, they began to spiral around and up the shaft of the spear, like mystical vines.

  Converging at the spot where the swastika was welded to the shaft, the bands of energy began to leap randomly back and forth between the five otherworldly gems.

  The Great Question started laughing maniacally, though the sound of it was barely audible above the rising noise level as the power contained within his metal staff began to build and build.

  When critical mass was reached, no more than minutes away, that energy would be released upward in a raging stream through the tip of the statue’s torch before bursting outward with explosive intensity.

  “Very soon, now,” the Question declared, leaning over his former pupil, reveling at the agony writ clearly on his face.

  “And there’s nothing you or your newfound friends can do to stop it!”

  “Nothing?” replied a sepulchral voice that seemed to issue forth from Aman – but was not spoken by him.

  The Question leaned down closer, then recoiled back slightly. As he watched in disbelief, the seemingly impossible happened.

  A third eye suddenly appeared in the middle of Aman’s forehead.

  A split second later, a powerful explosion rocked the base of the statue.

  “What the devil?” the Question shouted.

  “I believe that would be Aman’s ‘newfound friends’,” the ghostly voice coming from inside the captive hero replied.

  From within the third eye set in Aman’s forehead, a cone of softly swirling light erupted upward.

  Tiny motes of light particles began to spin off from the inner walls of the cone, coalescing into the small, shimmering image of a man.

  An image of the sorcerer called the Eye.

  Feeling disturbingly stifled beneath his concealing hood, the Question hissed hatefully at the sight of the old mage.

  “I should have known from the very beginning that you were behind this mischief, Question,” the image of the Eye said sadly.

  “Maybe you’re getting feeble-minded,” the Question said.

  “Maybe so,” the Eye replied, refusing to rise to the bait. “I’d had my suspicions, of course – thankfully, only a few men are capable of such atrocities as you are contemplating.

  “But it was only hours ago that I confirmed those suspicions. At the same time I discovered the role poor young Aman would be expected to play in your pitiable psychodrama. With that came the certainty that at some point you would need to take him captive, in order to facilitate your plan.

  “Once I was armed with that knowledge, it seemed only prudent to devise a counter plan of my own, just in case.

  “So it was that I took Aman aside before he and the others set out for Louisiana. Unknown to him, I used that opportunity to implant a tiny fraction of my own occult powers within him.

  “When the others returned with the news of his disappearance, all I had to do was activate that spark of myself nestled within him. It served as a homing beacon that would lead my colleagues straight to him – and thus, straight to you.”

  “You call a magician’s parlor trick like that a plan, you old fool?” the Question snarled. “All you’ve done is given yourself a front row seat to the end!”

  Swiveling his head, the Question barked a command to one of the uniformed minions who had been standing – cowering, actually – as silent witness to what had transpired here.

  “Get down below,” the lama commanded. “Pass this order along: You and the others are to stop our attackers at any cost. I either want all of them dead – or all of you!”

  The para-soldier snapped to attention in acknowledgment of the order, then turned to scurry down the narrow staircase leading out of the torch.

  The Question watched him go before returning his attention to the wriggling Aman. With sadistic fervor, he viciously shoved the point of the spear even deeper into the captive’s innards, delighting at the moan of pain escaping from between clenched teeth.

  His eyes widened with delight as he saw the image of the Eye flicker and vanish from view, as did the third eye in Aman’s forehead.

  “Those costumed clowns you chose over me will have to fight their way through a small army,” he said to Aman.

  “And even if, by some miracle, they succeed in doing so – it will by then be far too late.

  “All you accomplished, boy, by bringing them here – is guarantee that they’ll be among the first to die!”

  CHAPTER XLIV

  “Stop!” Man of War shouted.

  Iron Skull, left arm raised and poised to fire another missile, looked at him quizzically.

  “Think, dammit!” Man of War roared. “We’ll be the most hated men in America if we knock down the blessed Statue of Liberty!”

  Iron Skull looked at the wispy column of smoke rising from the small crater his missile had left in the ground not thirty feet from the base of the statue. Several gray-clad soldiers, his actual targets, lie wounded or dead around the crater.

  Even though more soldiers were spilling out of the statue’s interior and charging toward them, the metal man could see the validity of his companion’s concerns.

  He turned back toward Man of War, shrugged his shoulders by way of apology, mentally closed the missile port in his arm, and then raced forward to meet the advancing enemy.

  Ferret let out a loud whoop, his own version of a rebel yell, and leaped to join him. Man of War, Fantom and the Witch did likewise.

  Near the shore of Bedloe Island, bobbing up and down in the gentle swells of the Atlantic, sat the long, powerful speedboat that had transported them to the site. Standing by the wheel was its pilot, Zona Henderson.

  She was concerned for all of them, naturally. But her deepest worry, her greatest fear, was for the safety of Amazing Man. Not for the first time, she fought back the urge to leap overboard and jump into the battle starting to rage.

  A noise as of a howling wind rose above the sound of the sea. Casting her gaze upward, Zona saw flashes of light erupting from the torch section of the statue.

  She couldn’t be certain
in the dark, but it even appeared to her as if the outer skin of the torch was quivering, rippling as if being pounded by forceful concussions.

  She ducked down as the whistle of a bullet passing near her ear split the air.

  The first rank of soldiers in the service of the Great Question had all dropped to one knee and unleashed a volley of rifle fire.

  Most of the bullets missed their intended targets, who were zigging and zagging even as they progressed forward. Iron Skull made no such elusive moves, but the bullets that struck him went screaming off into the sky.

  A solid shadow appeared in the midst of the soldiers. Fantom grabbed a soldier by the head, breaking his neck with a single twist.

  As other soldiers opened fire on him, he seemed to disappear. The bullets still found targets – among the soldiers’ own numbers. Men screamed in pain as blood spurted from limbs, bodies and heads.

  Fantom next appeared behind an officer who was waving his pistol frantically while shouting orders. Fantom grabbed his wrist, jerking his arm down and causing him to involuntarily snap off a round. The bullet bore into the spine of another soldier, dropping him in his tracks.

  Fantom pivoted, pulling the officer with him as he spun in a tight circle. This made the officer now the target of a volley of bullets intended for the Fantom. The man screamed and jumped as at least four rounds tore into him. He fell lifelessly out of Fantom’s grip.

  By this point, Fantom’s comrades had reached the main body of soldiers, diving into their midst.

  The Witch scooped up a fallen rifle, lifting it and holding it parallel to the ground in both hands. The kinetic energy within her flowed out in a rush through her palms. The rifle virtually exploded, sending out a spray of bullets, shards of metal and splinters of wood.

  The projectiles spewed into the ranks of the Question’s troops, shredding through bone, muscle and tissue. Howls of pain split the night.

  Then the Witch herself screamed, horrified. Only in the most general sense was she able to aim shards loosened by her powers – which was not a problem so long as only enemies were in front of her.