The force of the explosion roared outwards from the lobby of the Tesla office tower, toppling the gigantic lighted tree that stood before the building’s glass doors, then continued to ripple across the expanse of Rockefeller Center and through the wide streets that led to the walkway of Fifth Avenue; the opposite side of the streets, the windows of the Saks Fifth Avenue department stores imploding, showering the colorful Christmas displays of gifts, perfumes, designer clothes and handbags with shards of glass. Some dummies and mannequins were decapitated and mutilated, laying in collapsed plastic and fabric heaps among the bright ribbons and tangled blinking lights.

  The icy December air was filled with a mind-numbing cacophony; the screams of the injured and the dying; the keening of the dead as they bled out into the streets; the wail of police sirens and firetrucks and the ear-piercing screeches of car alarms.

  But what sound resonated the most were the peals of insane laughter.

  Hovering above the skating rink–which was now filled with the remains of the hundred-foot evergreen tree that had towered above it moments before–clad in garments of yellow and orange robes like fabricated flames, studded with citrines and fire opals that twinkled like fireballs of stars, with black loops of eyes that glowed with arcane energy.

  He looked out from one side of the Rockefeller plaza to another, then out towards the carnage and bloodshed he had caused on Fifth Avenue. Slowly, his lips curled and split open to reveal yellowed, knife-like teeth flecked with bits of meat and flesh and blood. When he spoke, the words spilled out from his rotted teeth like something spoiled.

  “ ‘They say it rained the day Chaos fell from grace,” he quoted, “ ‘not in a mist upon a delicate wind, but in a torrential rush. He fell because his children did; their broken, mortal bodies trampled in the northern mud. When he retreated, it was with a scream that shook mountains. A scream that transcended worlds and settled in the cracks of every city, holding vigil in the spaces between lights.

  “ ‘His lover, Patience, watched mournfully as he fell. And though her heart, so like his, was full of revenge, she did not reach for him. She only waited, knowing every war has its end, and every sin begs a punishment.’

  “ ‘Chaos is hasty. But Patience...ah, Patience knows precisely when to strike.’ ”

  “Not here, they don’t!” a voice shouted from behind the costumed terrorist. “Not here, not ever!”

  A predatory smile split his chiseled features in half as he turned around slowly. “Star Legion,” he rumbled in a baritone voice. “I was wondering when you, you little band of desperate deviants, would show up to spoil my fun.”

  Sparks extended an arm and swept it across Rockefeller Square, indicating all the damage created by this new enemy. Fun?! he roared. You injured hundreds of people, possibly killed them, caused thousands of dollars in property damage, and ruined innocent lives–all for your own amusement? What were you thinking?

  Phoenix smiled. “I am the Phoenix. And when the Phoenix says he was bored, he just wanted some fun.” His burning gaze pierced the Legionnaires. “And I was hoping it would attract your attention–and what do you know? It worked.”

  Shadowstalker bared his canines and started forward as though he had been slapped. “Monster!” he cried out. “You ruined thousands of innocent lives because you were bored?” His hands clenched into fists, drenched with shadow, and he snarled, “I will give you something to fight off!”

  Someone rested a glove hand on his shoulder in a gentle touch, and halted his ill-fated attack. “No, Shadowstalker,” Astra said calmly. “Do not allow him to force you into such an attack without a level head. Only then can we win against him, this Phoenix.”

  Behind him, Riven placed a hand on her hips and cocked her head. “Yeah, but Ah’d still like ta smash him on his skull,” she muttered.

  The black-and-silver clad hero glared at the man who called himself Phoenix, then turned to face Astra. Slowly, his muscles relaxed and his fists unclenched. He took in a sharp breath. “All right, Astra,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Sorry.” In response, she patted him on the shoulder consolingly.

  “Good choices in quotes, though–but not very original,” said Grandmaster. “That passage from Seven Faceless Saints by M.K. Jobb? I really liked that book.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Phoenix paused and stared at her for a long moment, thrown off by her simple statement. She gave him a wry smile, which told him that she was not messing with him–she had an excellent poker face.

  “Of course, Lemony Snicket also said ‘Well-read people are less likely to be evil.’ I guess that doesn’t apply to you,” she remarked. She appeared calm on the outside, but her knees threatened to collapse from under her despite her facade. She could not look away from the spot where Phoenix stood, and it was not because she was rooted in fear; it was because she could not stop her power from rippling out with tendrils from her soul space to feel his presence. It was so familiar, right there, filling the streets with torrential power and pulling her deviation into the eye of the storm.

  A fiery aura rose up around the Phoenix, whipping and shrieking into a familiar shape–a firebird–like a phoenix, Grandmaster realized with a jolt. “You are not the only one who can play with fire, Grandmaster,” Phoenix leered. “You fools. With but a thought, I could destroy you all.”

  An aura of power blazed around him in an ambient pattern of white-hot flames, tendrils of flame reaching out toward the Legionnaires. Grandmaster raised her hands, prepared to strike if necessary, but Phoenix tilted his head for a short moment, almost as if he were listening to someone who was not there, and calmed himself with eerie speed. His aura of power faded.

  His lips moved silently, mouthing indecipherable words, and he breathed deep, then turned back to the Star Legion. “But not today. Not until I get her and her power. Star Legion…beware the Eternity Corporation. Beware the Galactic Council. And most of all, beware me, the Phoenix.”

  Grandmaster’s own phoenix dragon materialized and extended a talon of fire, but in a blink, Phoenix was aflame in colorful energy, and then he disappeared. As he teleported himself away, he shot out an errant thought toward the Star Legion.

  Let the end of this world begin.

  Grandmaster roared and glowed with iridescent red light. The elementals around her burned with raw power and zinged through the air with coldness and fire and heat. Every particle of air, every single molecule and atom, stood at attention, like the whole world had shifted, reordering itself with them–with her–at its center. Grandmaster’s deviation thrummed in her body, pulsing out and reaching back, reverberating off the gusts of Phoenix’s that remained. It was like it was calling out to her, reaching out to her. Like it recognized her–

  Strokes of brilliant ta’lien radiated out from Grandmaster, reaching all the way to the members of the Star Legion that stood beside her, illuminating the inner structures of reality. They all watched out into the world with grim expressions on their faces.

  Grandmaster? People would say when they saw her. You couldn’t help but smile when you saw her in action, despite her being the deviant messiah. One could have never guessed death played such a pivotal role in her rebirth. All the superpowers in the world…and yet none matched the powers of her heart.

  Maggie inhaled sharply and her heart started to pound in her chest. She wanted to run to the edges of the world and scream at the top of her lungs, but her throat closed off when all she needed was air.

  And then the Legionnaires were back in the mansion, and she was alone in her room.

  Her perception shifted quickly as wavelets and arcs of iridescent ta’lien danced along the earth as she stared out into the forest below, spreading and flickering as she drew them up and made them hers. On the other side was the stone courtyard with an old fountain; what little plant life she could sense in the stone made it easier–seedling vines and light-starved mosses that acted like wires, channeling and aligning the energies into patterns. Above a deep-rooted fulcrum in the stone were flickering multicolored threads that blurred into chaotic movement, jagged and layered. It flowed every-which-way within her, a smooth clarity matching perfectly in direction to every other thread.

  Between one blink and the next, she suddenly began to see in the brightest colors. Insects, leaf litter, moss, a spiderweb, even the stones–all of it flickered in wild, veined patterns, theri cells and particulates etched out by the lattice that connected them. And the people.

  The threads whipped into a blurring, blistering spin, and exploded outwards. She was so close that it almost caught her. She reacted instinctively, having learned how to retain control since childhood. She grabbed the stirring tendrils and tamped their power down, extinguishing everything at once.

  Maggie held out her hands and stared at them. She pulled energy out of the fabric of reality and cosmic energy flickered in coils between her fingers. The gentle humming of her power rippled against her skin, a familiar comfort that was long forgotten to her. It slipped beneath Maggie, into her blood and muscles and bones and brain, purging the darkness away.

  Maggie writhed and a bright thought touched the inside of her mind. Harleen, it named her, reminding her of the history, the familiarity, her abilities, of who she was. Our lady, the woman of the elements and the multiverse, Grandmaster.

  Her power swelled inside of Maggie. She overwrote her current state of existence and was soon surrounded by the blackness of the space-time continuum. She created luminous stars that exploded to life in front of her. Galaxies and nebulas, composed of cosmic dust and dark matter, were born. She summoned scorching ultraviolet rays into a geomagnetic storm, lights that feathered and rippled through the continuum.

  She opened her eyes and breathed. It was real.

  Fear and anxiety were enmeshed with another feeling that fluttered in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t recognize the spark at first. Harleen had forgotten what it was like. But there it was. A glimmer of warmth, a flash of light.

  She was greater than science and above space and time. Harleen was a goddess and harbinger of hope and salvation to deviants. She was a master of perceptions and illusions and the manipulator of reality.

  Harleen Bawa was Grandmaster.