FSE

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5

Norma Cossette had lived in tiny Barton Lake, Kansas since she was a squealing infant. The now matronly raccoon went through twelve years of school in that small town, then fifty-three more working job after job, dreaming of bigger places and of a life that existed outside the 500 people that had watched her grow. Sure, their community had been and was tight-knit; the flatlands and barren fields that extended for hundreds of miles all around the town made sure of that. Barton Lake was their oasis, so why leave? Norma used to find that question insulting. She'd had every reason to want to leave. She'd wanted more out of life. Still did. She'd been married and divorced three times (to men who'd all been present in her graduation line), had children with each who never bothered to phone or write. She'd been a good mother, a kind one, but her jubilant demeanor had done nothing but fade to grey and leave bags under her eyes. Now, her life revolved around bacon and eggs, cups of coffee and sweet iced tea and making customers feel at home.

Her life, for the past fifteen years, was waitressing at Barton Country Cookin'. Those big dreams of hers were doused by reality after kid number three, and she was just trying to make a living on her own. Retirement was a possibility, as death is a certainty. But, honestly, she enjoyed her work. She made folks smile, and that made her days all the more enjoyable. Everyone loved her, and she knew everyone and loved them, too.

"Here you go, Larry," Norma said as she poured some coffee for a wrinkled old hare in chambray, his notched ears spilling out of the back of a sun-bleached trucker's cap.

"Thankee, Norma," he said with a bucktoothed grin.

"Those eggs and steak will be out soon."

Larry nodded and sipped his coffee while Norma glided around the floor with a dancer's grace, her ringed tail bobbing behind her. She picked up dirty dishes and balanced them on her saggy but sturdy arms, refilled more coffee mugs and elicited more smiles, and then she slipped into the back and sat down her load on a stainless steel table beside the ovens and an industrial sized deep fryer. Max, the cook, was bobbing his enormous head and scrambling eggs while a banjo twanged and diddled from the radio next to his station. The Rottweiler was just a baby to Norma, twenty-eight years old, but he had the robust figure of a man twice his age and the raccoon loved him like a son. He'd joined the restaurant crew six years ago, working his way up from dishwasher to head chef. He had resolve and positive inclination, good morals and friendliness abound. Norma didn't understand what he was still doing working a mediocre job for mediocre pay, but--many times--Max had wondered the same thing about her.

The big dog glanced sideways and grinned. Norma popped her back with a twist and a grunt and Max's smile quivered. He turned down the oven, wiped his greasy paws off on his greasy apron, and yanked two milk crates from a shelf at his back. He sat them atop one another next to the table where Norma had deposited her dishes.

"Take a rest, Norm. You're runnin' yerself ragged."

The old raccoon sat but she didn't look happy about it. She smoothed the apron over her flower patterned blouse, grunting and shifting her weight as her wide rear end rested uncomfortably on the crates. She rolled her eyes at Max.

"What?" The dog, his black fur shimmering under the buzzing lights overhead, returned to his station. He chopped the eggs up with the edge of his spatula. "As much as you don't like to realize, you are gettin' on in years. I mean," he flicked one of his floppy ears, "I can hear yer knees poppin' from back here most days."

Norma flicked a paw toward Max's radio. "With that bluegrass mess playin' loud all the time, I doubt you can hear anything at all."

"T'aint loud at all, Norma. Hell, it's ambience at best."

"Language, mister."

The Rottweiler chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry, mam."

Norma laughed. She loved to sit and watch Max cook, because it wasn't just cooking for him; it was an art. He loved doing it, and that was evident in the customer's constant positivity to his food. They couldn't get enough of it. He plopped a thick steak onto the grill and Norma savored the delicious smell and sound it made when it hit. She closed her eyes and got lost in the sizzling.

"Norma!"

She jerked and nearly fell from her crate chair. Her fur stood on end. "What, what!?"

Max was laughing, his big shoulders bouncing. The eggs and steak were gone. She looked to her right and found the food all plated and ready to go.

"You drifted off there. Out for a solid..." He glanced at his watch, nestled on another table amongst cans of spices. "Hmm, seven minutes. New record."

"Lord have mercy!" Norma wobbled and stood, rubbing her backside where the crates had left a diamond pattern in her khakis. She glared and shook a finger at Max. "Why didn't you wake me up? Goodness gracious!"

Max held up his beefy paws. "Take it easy! I watched the dining room for you! Everybody's fine. Only got one new customer, and he only wanted some coffee. Nothin' to worry 'bout. I took care of him."

Norma popped the dog in his tucked stomach and he giggled while retreating back a few steps. She picked up the tray of food. "Don't let me fall asleep at work, honey. Lord knows, one day I might not wake up, and I don't want to pass on here of all places."

Max frowned and crossed his arms. He peered somberly through the order window. "Don't say that."

"It's the truth." She started off but paused. "Is it Clyde? Did you get him his paper, too?"

The Rottweiler cocked an eyebrow at the raccoon, thought, and then shook his head. "No, it ain't Clyde. New fella' I ain't never seen before. A kid, really. He's at the bar."

She grinned. Once in a blue moon a new face would appear in the restaurant, and those new faces lit a fire in her. They were proof that the outside world existed. "Well, you know how I love meeting new folks. Is he a nice young man?"

Max shrugged. "Quiet. Kinda rough lookin'. Maybe thirteen."

Norma turned toward the dog, frowning. "Thirteen? By himself?"

"Mmhmm. So far as I can tell."

"Drinkin' coffee! Lord, he's too young for that mess."

Norma shot out through the double doors with her arsenal of foodstuffs, and Max just sighed. He watched the kid sitting at the bar like he had been since he'd arrived. He saw Norma, anxious to say hello, glance at him while she delivered the orders.

He was little thing, a grey fox, with the backpack he'd lugged in sitting in another stool next to him. His paws were wrapped tentatively around his coffee mug, head on the bar top, eyes swimming as he watched the steam rising from his drink. That red hair of his was a mess, and his clothes (a baggy old green hoodie and some jeans, worn out sneakers) looked like they'd been pulled out of a donation box. His feet didn't even touch the ground. They floated still in midair, much like his tail, lifeless at his back. He'd take a sip of his coffee every so often then lay his head back down. Max noticed how the other folks in the restaurant were watching the kid, too. Every eye seemed to be on him. Max wondered where his parents were. He looked so lonely and sad. Defeated. He made Max uneasy for some reason. He hadn't even wanted cream and sugar for his coffee.

Norma finished delivering her orders, sat the empty tray down on the counter behind the bar, and went to greet the young fox. The raccoon put on her friendliest, most pleasant smile and leaned on the bar in front of the boy. His eyes slowly turned up to her; they were a beautiful hazel and flecked with gold. So gorgeous, she thought. Familiar. His ears flicked, but he didn't raise his head. He didn't smile back.

"Hi, sweetheart. How're you doin' today?"

"Okay," the boy whispered distantly.

Norma tilted her head to the side. Her brow beetled as the fox's gaze settled onto his coffee mug again and his expression became glazed. Up close, she saw that he was trembling. She saw how skinny he was beneath those baggy, ratty clothes. Her heart ached for him. Her motherly instincts kicked in and commanded "take care of this child."

"You sure all that caffeine is good for you, baby? I can get you some milk and somethin' to eat. You need some meat on those bones a'yours."

The fox looked at Norma again. There was yearning in his sparkling eyes. Eagerness. Deep sadness. He shifted his coffee mug on the bar top, fingers curled tightly around it and through the handle like it was his only anchor holding him to life.

"I...I don't have any more money."

"Oh, honey," Norma cooed. The only things she could think was that this boy had run away from home, or perhaps he was lost. Maybe someone had dropped him off and abandoned him. God knows, she'd seen it before. Barton Lake was in the middle of nowhere. They didn't even have a police station. They relied on aid from Great Bend when it was needed, and the city was thirty or so miles away. Folks liked to take advantage of the Barton's seclusion. She leaned down closer to the boy, a knot forming in her throat. "Are you okay? Why are you out here all by yourself now?"

The boy didn't say anything. He just bit down on his bottom lip and looked away. His stomach growled viciously. Norma waited for him to speak but he didn't show any sign of opening up. He didn't trust her. She'd have to fix that.

"I'll tell you what, baby..." The fox's ears flicked as Norma reached beneath the counter and pulled out a menu, sitting it gently down beside the boy's mug. She tapped it with a stiff finger. "You order whatever you like, alright? On the house."

"R...really?" The fox's eyes widened and he lifted his head.

"Yessir, but on one condition..."

The boy's head sank. "Uh...w...what?"

Norma smiled soft and kind. "You promise to tell me about yourself. Mmkay?"

He stared at her for a bit, unsure and thinking, but then he nodded. He even grinned.

"Good," the old raccoon said, relief washing over her. "I'm Norma, and I'll take care of you, sweetheart."

"M...my name's Monty."

"It's wonderful to meet you, Monty. Now, you order whatever you like."

"T...thank you."

* * *

Monty sat at the bar and went through two more cups of coffee while his food was being prepared and Norma handled other customers. He never said a thing to anyone, even when someone took a seat next to him. If someone did sit close, he'd scoot the stool with his pack in it closer to himself protectively. Anxiously. Max continued to watch him through the order window while he cooked, wondering what was in that bag and wondering if the fox's little body would be able to tuck in all the grub he'd ordered: a bacon cheeseburger with extra pickles and fries, a side of chili with oyster crackers, Texas toast, and a giant slice of blueberry pie with whip cream. This meal, so far as volume, could fill almost three stomachs of Monty's size. But, he knew, Norma was being the angel she was for the kid's sake, so he didn't say anything. Besides, she was right to say the boy needed some meat on his bones; the Rottweiler wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten. The boy scratched his head ferociously, and Max wondered how long it'd been since he'd bathed.

"Lord," the dog grunted as the fox now worked his scratching paw to his chest. "Poor little fella'."

"Ain't it the truth," Norma sighed as she came into the back. She shook her head and came to stand next to Max, on his right where she could watch Monty, too. "Where you think he's from, Max?"

Max flipped the burger on the grill, not even flinching when grease splashed onto his bare wrists and fingers. He glanced at the boys backpack and saw a name stitched into the top flap. And it wasn't "Monty" or anything close to that. There were glossy, green leaves sticking out of the flap, too: Boston ivy. He wasn't sure if Norma had seen them or not. "I'm more concerned about where he's headed. What he's doin' here."

"Why do you say that? He's starvin' for goodness sake, that's why he's here."

"Maybe."

Norma slapped the dog's shoulder. "Maybe? Maybe?"

Max nodded stiffly. He flipped the burger onto a toasted bun already spread with mayo and layered with lettuce and pickles. "Somethin' just don't feel right here." He grabbed some bacon, already prepared, from a pan and finished the burger. The fries were in a basket, but Norma grabbed them before the Rottweiler could nestle the main dish in with them.

The old raccoon sniffed and started out with the spuds, agitated a bit by Max's cautiousness. "I'll take these to him. You finish up while I have a talk with him."

"Norma," Max growled, taking a step toward her, but she was out of the swinging doors before he could stop her. He just grunted and watched through the window again, placing the burger on a plate. The fox snatched the fries hungrily after Norma slid them his way, devouring one after another one at a time. Max's fur hackled. He eyed the kid's bag again and his uneasiness doubled. The name on it--he'd heard it before; he knew he had.

"V. Menessi," he growled. "Damn, Max. Think." He couldn't perceive why that name was important and why it raised his hackles, but he felt that it meant bad news. Deep down he felt that name was trouble. He felt that Norma was in trouble. That he was, too.

* * *

"And, uh, that's why I'm...I'm here."

Norma leaned casually against the bar and watched the fox as he finished speaking his piece. The boy took the final bite of his burger and didn't look into the old woman's eyes as he chewed. Once he swallowed she pushed herself up, grunting as she did, and he shifted nervously.

"Well, honey, why didn't you just say that?" She took his empty burger basket when he slid it toward her. "Here I thought you'd run away when you were just visiting the memorial park?"

Monty just shrugged, his ears falling back. "I'm...I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Norma said, her voice going high. She stuck the empty basket into the order window and Max took it, huffing as he did. The raccoon didn't care if the Rottweiler didn't by the boy's story. She knew when she was being told a story-story, knew sincerity when she heard it. "I was just worried about you, that's all." She turned back. "But you still haven't explained why you're all alone."

Monty's eyes widened. His throat bobbed. "Oh, well...my mom, she's here, too. She dropped me off, but..."

Norma half-closed her wizened old eyes. "But she can't stand to go see your daddy's grave?"

"Y...yeah!" The fox sighed in relief.

"Promised to come back and get you after you'd paid your respects?"

Monty nodded. "Exactly."

The raccoon's bushy tail flicked. She cocked an eyebrow. Max, listening in on their conversation, chuckled and looked away shaking his head. He'd seen Norma eyeing the ivy in Monty's pack. The kid was caught.

"When was he killed?" Norma asked pointedly.

Monty froze. Norma could pick up on honesty, alright, and she believed that he'd had been to memorial park, but she didn't buy anything else. For good reason, too. Living in Barton Lake all your life meant you knew everything there was to know about the place. She'd been to the memorial park many, many times to just walk amongst the graves of fallen soldiers and servicemen and women, the fancy mausoleum's of supers who'd been from Barton or Great Bend that'd perished from old age or battle. And, on one of those graves (just one of hundreds), grew Boston ivy like in Monty's bag. Norma often visited it, because the man lying in eternal slumber there had saved her life once...before the world turned on him, back when he was a good man. Before his demons took control.

"Uh..." the boy stuttered. "In...in 2000."

Norma jerked in surprise. That was right. She remembered hearing about the death on the radio; the same radio Max was listening to right at that very moment. Big Tony had been the cook back then. He'd cried upon hearing the death count, while Norma had cried for her fallen savior. But there had been so many deaths that day, too, when the heroes and villains fought in Masonport. Still, maybe the boy was just observant. No, maybe he was telling the truth after all.

But then that would make him the son of...

The old raccoon's eyes began to water as she looked, really looked, at Monty. Then she gasped. The fox frowned slightly, his brow knit in confusion. She could see it now--the resemblance. She could see_him_ in the boy.

"Oh, sweet Lord," Norma said, paws covering her mouth. "Vincent..."

Monty jumped. He stared at the raccoon. "H...how did you know his na--" Then the boy froze. His fur stood on end. "No," he gasped. He snatched his bag and wrapped his arms tight around it. He was shivering when he looked at Norma, sparkling eyes pleading. "He's found me."

"Wha," Norma muttered.

The lights dimmed, even the sunlight spilling in through the windows. It was as if a cloud had crossed in front of the sun. It got colder.

"RUN! PLEASE!" the boy squealed, holding tighter to his pack.

Max growled from the back, a thunderous and menacing sound that seemed to vibrate the air. He stomped out, his dark fur making him a shadow in the weakened light. Folks sitting in the restaurant stared wide-eyed all around, whispering to one another. Norma still hadn't taken her eyes off of Monty.

"_Don'thurtanyonedon'thurtanyonedon'thurtanyonedon'thurtanyone,"_he chanted low and desperately, his chin tucked into the top of his pack.

Norma glanced sideways at Max who was undoing his apron strings and growling at the encroaching shadows. "I knew it. I knew something was up with you, kid!" He jerked his head toward Monty. "What have you lead here!?"

Darker and darker it became. Colder and colder.

"Max, what's happening?" Norma asked, her voice shaking.

"Justleavemealonejustleavemealonejustleavemealonejustleavemealone..."

"EVERYBODY OUT NOW!" Max bellowed, voice filling up the room. He tossed his apron on the ground in a wad, cracking his knuckles. People leapt up from their booths. Old Larry the hare moved faster than he had in fifty-five years, out the door that was almost completely shrouded. Briefly, the sunlight coming in the door cut through the smoky shadows that (Norma and Max now realized) were only inside the restaurant.

"Idon'twanttogoIdon'twanttogoIdon'twanttogoIdon'twanttogo..."

Bulbs exploded in the fixtures overhead and Norma screamed as something latched onto her arm. It was Max. He started yanking her toward where the door used to be.

"Get out, Norma! Get out now!"

The darkness was thick as tar. The old raccoon felt like it was bogging her down, that it was drowning her, pulling her deep into a pit. But Max didn't let go. He kept pulling. "Max, wait! What's happening!? What're you...Monty! Monty!?"

"Monty..."

_ "Monty..."_

_ "Monnnnty..." _

_ "Montyyyy..."_

_ "Monty!" "Monttyyy..."_

_ "Monty..." "Monty!"_

_ "MONTY!"_

A voice--a guttural, teeth-licking voice from the bowels of the darkness--echoed all over and through the air. Sometimes it whispered, sometimes it shouted, but it kept on and on.

"LEAVEMEALONELEAVEMEALONELEAVEMEALONELEAVEMEALONE!!!" the fox screamed.

Max was desperate now. He was all but dragging the old woman across the floor. The outline of the door was almost gone. "Get out, Norma! Go, go, go!"

Gone. The door was gone. Everything was gone; everything but pitch-blackness. Max growled and Norma squeezed his thick paw in a death grip, afraid to let go and fade into the shadow. Something slithered around her feet, cold and leathery but fluid as a snake. She squealed. Tears were running down her face. She didn't want to die here, not in Barton Country Cookin'.

"Max..."

She heard the big dog sigh. He squeezed her paw reassuringly. "Don't worry, Norm."

The demonic voice seemed to giggle. "I'd worry, Norm."

"Oh, please," Max rumbled.

"Yes, please..."

Norma screamed again. "Somethin' touched me!"

Max had had enough. He shook his head in the blackness surrounding him. He thought he'd been able to escape his inevitable future here in Barton Lake, but the demons that he'd feared had come a calling. Small town life couldn't shield you from the outside world forever, especially when the outside world held horrors that tended to disobey the fundamental laws of existence.

"I never wanted to be this way," the dog said. "Never wanted to be a fighter. I only wanted to cook. Maybe move to the East Coast--New York, maybe. Thought I could hide. Keep my secret hidden. Thought it might go away." He chuffed. "But, I guess when you can't hide in the middle'a nowhere you're not meant to hide at all."

The voice seemed...taken aback. In fact, it sounded much less demonic and more like someone who'd dialed the wrong number and gotten a person they hadn't anticipated. "I...I only came for the boy..."

"Oh, I figured," Max chuckled. "Theatrics like this are only good for scaring the shit out of kids and old people (no offense, Norma)."

"N...none taken," he heard from the blackness to his right.

"Still," Max continued, "Pretty impressive paranormal activity-like shit you got goin' on. But, even with my limited amount of field experience, I know you can't do much else. Am I right?"

"The BOY!"

Norma, hearing that the boogey man could receive a stern talking down, grew bolder. "You leave that baby alone!"

Max chuckled. "Yeah, what she said."

"FOOLS!"

The room, as unperceivable as it was, began to quake. Windows, chairs, tables, salt and pepper shakers, silverware rattled. Glasses and plates crashed to the floor. The foundation of the building groaned. Then Max heard the windows bust out altogether. Somewhere in the darkness Monty screamed. The sound pierced both Norma and Max's racing hearts. Max felt a sticky, arid breeze waft in from outside.

The demon hissed angrily. "You ALL shall die! The child is MINE! I will flay your skin from your bodies and gnaw on your still-beating hearts! Starting with the fat, old bitch!"

Now Max had really had enough.

"And you just crossed the line. Norma, close your eyes."

Max felt deep within himself and unstopped the power he'd put dormant years ago. Not many supers could turn their abilities on and off at will, but energy manipulators didn't need to rely on their powers for fuel; their reservoirs were fathomless if you understood that energy was all around at all times: kinetic, radiant, chemical, potential, electric, magnetic, thermal, gravitational, etc. Max's power was in its expression or (more correctly) its _execution._And, as he felt the energy that had been building in him, strengthening for years, he knew it wouldn't take much to make this shadow-bastard burn, for darkness is just the absence of light.

And light energy was the first type he mastered.

"In brightest day in blackest night, mother-fucker."

Burning whiteness.

The people watching from outside the restaurant as the darkness boiled and churned inside barely covered their eyes in time to keep from being blinded. Even through their clasped eyelids, the light shown and pained their sight. It was like staring into a nuclear blast or into the heart of a newborn star. There was no explosion, no sound at all, just brightness. It radiated from Maxwell Brent like sun through a magnifying glass, and it evaporated the demonic darkness instantly without resistance. And then it faded.

Barton Country Cookin' was as it had been before, albeit with every window broken out and all the furniture overturned or smashed. Max and Norma stood near the door. The old raccoon still hadn't opened her eyes, but her face was pressed into the Rottweiler's side and she hadn't budged. Max's fur had lightened a bit, now a platinum-grey instead of black, and he frowned deeply as he looked at the damage the demon had caused.

"Damn," he growled. He shifted his big body, patting Norma on the shoulder and making sure she was alright. "Norm? How you doin' now?"

Slowly, the raccoon looked up. She blinked the spots from her eyes and grunted, her mask glittering with tear streaks. She looked around. She looked back at Max. Her lips quivered, and then she burst into heavy sobs and squeezed the dog tight around the middle. "L...LORD HAVE M...MERCY-Y-Y-Y! I THOUGHT I W-W-WAS A GONER!"

Max shook his head and hugged the old woman. "I'd never have let that monster hurt you. You're alright."

"Y-y-you're a..."

"Yeah, Norma. I'm a supe..."

"AN ANGEL! I s-s-saw the light of Heaven in you!"

Max rolled his eyes. "Oh, Lord..."

Someone groaned, and some wooden rubble shifted back toward where the bar used to be.

"Damn! The kid," Max hissed. "Sorry, Norm, you gotta' let go."

He hopped over splintered chairs and tables, reaching the spot where he'd heard the boy and tossing the wood away. Monty lay underneath it, curled into a ball, his backpack still clutched to his chest. He was still unconscious. Blood ran down his face from a cut on his forehead. Max grunted, wishing to pick him up, but something stopped him--a feeling.

"You're wise to be cautious," someone said. Max jumped, not recognizing the voice, and spun to find a handsome tabby cat standing directly behind him as if he'd appeared out of thin air. The black feline was smiling in his designer red V-neck and pressed black pants, black loafers spotless amongst the dirt and debris. He motioned with the obsidian black cane he held in his right paw, and an overturned table simply removed itself from his path.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Norma gasped, paw clutched over her chest. "First demons and light shinin' from Heaven, and now people poppin' up out of nowhere." She turned hastily and shuffled out of the restaurant's door, glass crunching under her feet, puffy tail swaying back and forth. "I need a vacation, yessir! Some time off!"

Max, worried, watched her go. The black cat smiled, glossy tail swaying. "She'll be fine. Tomorrow, everyone will wake and remember nothing of this. Her workplace will be repaired, and their simple lives will return to normal."

The Rottweiler glared. "Simple?"

The cat nodded. "I meant no offense. It's just the truth. The simplicity of their lives is something I envy, actually. Structure and predictability are things I took for granted when I decided to become what I am."

"And what are you, exactly?"

The cat laughed. The sound trilled like a church bell. "Not a demon, if that's what you mean." He patted Max's hard shoulder and bent down next to Monty's still form. "I am Magus. Feel free to call me by my name: Dante."

Max's brow beetled. "Wait, you're Magus? The Magus?"

"Quite," Dante said. "I take it you have no television?"

"Just a radio." The dog grunted and looked into the kitchen, also very much destroyed. "Well, I_had_ a radio."

Dante smirked, looking up at the dog. "Don't fret."

Max crossed his arms. "Why are you here? One of the most powerful heroes on earth showing up here after what just happened can't bode well at all." He watched Dante raise a paw and wave it slowly over Monty's body. "And what's his deal? Bringing a demon here? What'd it want with him?"

Dante sighed and pulled his paw back. He stared at the pack the fox held onto so tightly. "First, I must ask you something, Maxwell Brent: born January 17th, 1985 at 11:11 pm to Henry and Allison Brent in Seattle, Washington during a blackout; you nearly died; terrified of the dark up until age fifteen after nearly drowning in a lake as a child (the darkness beneath the water is what rooted the fear deeper into your subconscious); manifested potent energy manipulative abilities at fifteen on a camping trip with your grandfather when a terrible storm shrouded you in chaotic darkness and you first wielded light; your grandfather received third-degree burns on over 97 percent of his body and was blinded by your power's birth; you struggled to hide your abilities, then--instead--devoted your time to mastering them so you could do no harm to anyone again; as a result, you have--in your thirteen years as a super--become an A-class energy manipulator with a power equivalent to three stars going supernova..."

Max gawked. Then he frowned. "Okay, you're telling me my past history (which I'm quite aware of) for what reason? To show off?"

"No," Dante said. "To help you realize what I could take away from you if you wished me to. You were hiding here, no? Laying low? I could remove your abilities and, like the other inhabitants of this town, have you wake up tomorrow remembering nothing of what happened. The fear of what you're capable of would be gone forever, and you could live your life free of any guilt."

Max just stared. "Or?"

"Or you could take hold of your destiny instead of hiding from it. You could help us."

"Help? Help with what?"

Dante stood. His green eyes fixated on Max. His voice was serious. "Something is happening. Shadows, like the one you banished here today, are gathering. They have always appeared, but now their frequency is too out of the ordinary, too structured. Heroes have all but vanished from the public eye, and many do not wish to be rediscovered. Many have died. There are not a lot of us left, and the frequency of super-powered births in recent generations has fallen."

Max shrugged. "So, you're afraid that powers are being bred out of the world's population? Diminishing as the years pass until they're all gone?"

Dante nodded grimly.

"Well, what if that's not a bad thing?"

"Our world, our plane of existence, is just that. It is ours. It is one of countless, and it is coveted. We are protectors, Mister Brent, and not just from our own kind. Villains have their limited agendas--taking over the world, robbing banks, murder, causing chaos--and that's all bad, but it is within our realm of control. It is all within the realm of life and death. It is harmony, and we play our part. The world keeps spinning. However," he tapped his cane on the floor and Monty's arms snapped open. His bag floated up and hovered in the air. "We are not alone. We have aliens of the cosmic_variety (E.T. phone home and what not), but we also have visitors and _intruders of the multi-dimensional variety, those who enter our world via worlds and existences parallel to our own. For instance, the world of the living..." He tapped his cane one more time. "...and the world of the dead."

The bag opened. Out floated a bundle of rags. The rags twisted away to reveal a glowering, dank metal bracer or arm-guard. It shimmered like liquefied space. It was beautiful, but it filled Max with a sense of dread; its very presence made him sick to his stomach.

"W...what _is_that?"

"What the hero world likes to refer to as an heirloom: a conduit for otherworldly powers in the form of an everyday object, something that a family member can inherit to obtain the abilities of their ancestry." Dante flicked his wrist and the rags wound around the bracer again. Max immediately felt better. "This one is of the_sinister_ variety."

Max scowled and jabbed a finger at Monty on the floor. "Why did that kid have it then?"

"Because it is his by birthright. He was destined to retrieve it."

"Then who did it belong to before?"

Dante sighed. "Young Montgomery's father: Vincent Menessi." The cat watched Max carefully. "You would know him as Nemesis."

Max's skin crawled and his short fur stood out. "Oh...oh _shit._And that thing, that monster demon thing...it was trying to--"

"Retrieve it, yes."

"Then has the kid...gone to the dark side?"

Dante, remarkably, laughed and shook his head. "No, no--luckily it doesn't work that way. The boy didn't even put it on. If he had--well, there would have been more than that single demon. There would have been legions."

"But Nemesis is dead!"

Dante let the bundle containing the bracer float back into the bag, and then he grabbed it and stored it away once more. He slung the pack over his left shoulder.

"The man who embodied Nemesis is dead, yes; buried in the memorial park over there." He shook the pack a bit. "No doubt, this was left there especially for Montgomery to find."

"But...by who?"

Dante rolled his eyes. "Vincent Menessi's possessor, the _demon_known as Nemesis. Vincent was just that monster's proverbial suit and tie."

Max's mouth dropped. "And...you all knew this? Even after Atlas killed him?"

Dante ran a paw back through his cropped hair. He gazed hard at Max. "Look, there's a lot I could (and will) explain to you if you answer my next question correctly."

The Rottweiler shut his mouth.

"Max, do you wish to help us prevent a terrible calamity? We, as in the remaining heroes in active service, are growing old and there aren't a lot of us left. We are recruiting young supers like you to join us so that we may help you better understand your abilities and so we can train you to take our places when we're gone." He tapped his cane, and Monty's unconscious body vanished. "Young Montgomery has nowhere else to go, but you I'm giving a choice. My offer to take away your powers and memories still stands, or I can leave you be and let you return to your life of seclusion."

Max swallowed. "Or...or I can go with you?"

Dante just nodded. "You are an extraordinary young man, Maxwell. You've overcome your past and your fears to become who you are today: a very, very powerful being who could probably give Red Corona a run for his money."

"I don't want to fight you guys."

Dante smirked impishly. "That's not what this is about. It's about ensuring you and the generations to follow after have a world to call home." The cat offered his right paw, his cane still standing at attention. "So, what do you say? Want to meet some heroes old and new?"

The Rottweiler stared apprehensively at the powerful archmage's paw, his brow furrowed as he thought. "What about work? What about poor old Norma? Will she remember me?"

"Of course!" The cat's shoulders bobbed as he chuckled. "And that old woman will be quite alright. Trust me. You can visit her whenever you want. We're not whisking you away into more seclusion. You can go wherever you want when not on duty."

"Oh." He looked around. Finally, he shrugged. He scratched his chin. "I say..." He shook Dante's paw. "Let me get my radio first."