Somewhere in the heart of Chicago, Lakeside Trust and Savings was under siege - again. The building's frontage was destroyed, smashed and partially disintegrated by a dome-shaped barrier of pure energy.

The flashing blue and red lights from half a dozen squad cars cast jagged shadows on the buildings, their sirens silenced but lights strobing in steady warning as a handful of nervous officers held a sparse perimeter around the bank. Radio chatter echoed in the streets, 10-codes warning that heroes were on location, and officers should avoid engaging the villain.

The officers dutifully held their fire and remained out of sight behind their squad cars, but couldn't help glancing uneasily toward the villain and his unlikely contraption.

Doctor Norman Bellinger, aka Doctor Bubbles, genius supreme, was demonstrating his superiority from atop the tracked carriage of his latest Neutrino-Shield. Two of his regular nemeses had somehow followed him here from Detroit, and sprung their usual pathetic ambush, thinking a conventional pincer attack would make any difference.

They never learned.

Blazer, the younger, lit up the night sky with beams of scarlet energy. Useless, of course. He'd faced her a half-dozen times, and her beams were old news. He'd already mapped the properties of her attacks, and calibrated his machines to absorb the power to make it stronger. She had never realised, because she was a fresh-faced, optimistic fool.

Her partner, codenamed Bolt Action, was hiding behind a parked car on the other side of the street, backing her up using an array of conventional firearms. Bubbles didn't even spare him a glance. As if guns and bombs, mere physical forces, could penetrate his shield. It was almost insulting.

"We figured out your plan, Bubbles! You'll never get away with it!"

"You knew my plan, and you came anyway? You're stupider than you look!"

He had to admit, he looked every inch the stereotypical mad scientist. Rather than some kind of garish costume, he sported a white coat, black oversize gloves packed with hidden circuitry. He had wild hair and even wilder eyes, hidden by large goggles. It was all part of the act, he wanted them to know who he was, what he was. He was the foremost genius in energy manipulation and force-field technology, and these people, these heroes, posed no credible challenge.

"Fools! My Neutrino dome is impregnable!" And not just that, his latest variant had an offensive capacity. He gestured with a gloved hand, activating the carriage's bubble-gun. A cluster of baseball-sized force fields shot out of the emitter, and Blazer ran for cover. The bubbles smacked into the ground and buildings, leaving circular scorch marks where they fizzled out.

One police officer, braving the risk, raised his pistol and fired a couple of shots, each round ricocheting off the Neutrino dome harmlessly. Others joined in, their bullets sparking against the energy barrier but doing little more than attracting Doctor Bubbles' smug grin.

He ignored them completely, and instead gestured in the other direction, sending a second wave of force-bubbles at the car where Bolt Action was cowering. The projectiles left dents in the car bodywork and smashed through the windows. One bounced harmlessly off the man's helmet, which was a bit embarrassing. He grimaced, and ran his fingers over an empty slot on his console.

"I'll show you the true power of science! Once I assemble the Zero-Nexus device, I'll be utterly invincible!"

"We know that?" called out Blazer, sounding pleased with herself.

"That's why they called me," added a new voice, floating down from the sky.

Dr Bubbles looked up, a sneer dying on his lips. He was prepared for most of Chicago's local heroes, they were mostly just energy-slingers and hard-hitting brutes, but every defensive measure had a limit.

"Mainstream!" he gasped.

The newcomer gave a wave. "Yeah, me. Sorry. Cool machine though."

The watching officers exchanged relieved glances, their fingers easing off triggers. 'Finally', muttered one, while another gave a low whistle. Mainstream wasn't their favourite hero, but things generally cooled down fast once he arrived.

The man wore one of those ridiculous form-fitting costumes, covering everything but his chin. He was tall and broad, muscular as any super-powered brawler, wearing no badge or symbol other than the dissolving-pattern on his costume - dark blue at the top turning to white on his lower body. The symbology of the colour-fade was a veiled threat: Mainstream was more than a bruiser - his power was a ranged attack.

Doctor bubbles noted the haze of nuclear plasma around the man's hands, and considered his options.

The scientific community watched these heroes closely, and knew what they could do, especially those who shot bolts or beams of esoteric power from their hands or eyes. Some fired lasers, or fire, or electricity. Some emitted pulses of solid force, or sonic waves. Whatever the effect, whatever the source, the damage inflicted was generally predictable - rarely more dangerous than a handgun when the powers first manifest, and gradually increasing in power with experience.

Usually the heroes just got more accurate, or developed gimmicks, they seldom focused on offensive power, and those who did were still roughly equivalent to say, a cannon of some kind.

Mainstream's power was classified as 'energy expulsion: nuclear plasma'. He'd begun his superhero career with a power level equivalent to a grenade, and rapidly grown from there. He had no gimmicks and his accuracy was so-so, but his power output was phenomenal. Legendary.

Too much for the Neutrino shield, without a doubt. Doctor Bubbles threw a lever and shut it down. The reactor's wavering hum faded to nothing, the emitters crackled with the last flickers of energy, and the dome dissipated like mist. A few bricks tumbled free, and the bank's frontage sagged a little more without support.

Blazer and Bolt Action emerged from their hiding places and began to advance, clearly preparing to administer a beatdown. Typical bullies, heroes like these were the reason Doctor Bubbles had started on this path.

"Just a second, guys." Mainstream held out an arm to wave them back. His eyes were on the Doctor and his machine. He nodded toward the dormant projector and raised a hand, speculatively. "Want me to give it a pop? For science?"

Mainstream glanced back toward the police line, raising a hand in reassurance. The gesture was enough to prompt a few officers to lower their weapons and settle into watchful anticipation, knowing they were safely outclassed.

Bubbles couldn't believe his ears. He felt his eyes go wide, and he nodded vigorously. He leapt back onto the carriage and his hands danced over the controls as he initiated the reactor's ignition sequence. He scurried clear before the field activated and the heroes dragged him to a safe distance, none too gently. He didn't resist, unable to tear his eyes off the scene.

Mainstream narrowed his eyes in concentration, extended a single fingertip, and launched a tiny blob of his power at the shield. It leapt from his hand like a writhing rope, searing blue-pink-purple, connecting them for an instant before vanishing.

The shield shuddered and glowed brighter, but it held. Mainstream gave the doctor an approving nod. "Not bad."

Bubbles blinked, even with his goggles he saw bright after-images for several second. "Hit it again!" he chortled. "Harder!"

Mainstream opened his hand and unleashed a second bolt. The street was momentarily bathed in light, forcing everybody to look away. The shield blew out with a bang, and when they turned back the machine was dead, inactive and sparking.

Doctor Bubbles grinned. His machine was destroyed, but at least it'd been properly tested rather than confiscated. "Well?" he demanded.

Mainstream shrugged. "Held up pretty well, almost a second, I'd say."

= = =

Mainstream didn't stick around. Once the out-of-towners had Doctor Bubbles secured, he launched into the air, the Chicago skyline shrinking beneath him as he rocketed away. He had a lead of his own to look into, but the detour had been a welcome release. It was fun to let rip with his power, even if it was only a fraction.

Flexing his fingers, he thought back to the bank and the hum of energy that had surged in his veins.

"Was that irresponsible?" he wondered. Destroying the machine had felt satisfying, sure, but he'd known it was the right move. If they'd impounded it, someone else might have stolen it, or worse, Bubbles himself could upgrade it after his release?or inevitable escape. Still, he'd barely tapped his power; a full blast would have levelled the building and left everyone nearby little more than a shadow on the street.

It was an awful paradox. His power wasn't just overwhelming?it had no 'stun' setting. He couldn't neatly blast the weapon from a criminal's hand without vaporising everything up to the elbow. And while he trained on practice targets and dummies, even hitting dead-centre would still leave only a charred pair of legs standing.

He exhaled, frustrated. His power was a hammer, and everything around him felt like glass. He was supposed to be a hero, not a walking catastrophe. Property damage already dogged his reputation, but the risk of hurting someone was what really weighed on him.

As the lights of the city blurred below, he let his thoughts drift. How could he ever really keep people safe when his very presence threatened them?

= = =

Brother Lucian Nightshade kept a watchful eye over his little congregation, while Sister Scorch, his most trusted minion, made sure everybody was in place for the upcoming ritual.

"You must maintain the chanting while I complete the ritual," he reminded them, "and at all times you must fix the image of our champion in your mind. The avatar of fire will be moulded by our thoughts, so we must be united."

"I still think we should make it a hellhound," complained one brother. "That would get people's attention."

"We want a figurehead who can speak, brother Ember. A hellhound, however scary, is still just an animal. Nobody will respect a dog, even if it can speak."

"They would if it was really really big," retorted the man, but a glare from Lucian shut him up.

"Silence!" yelled Scorch. Her real name was Serena, but she was far from serene. "We are about to open the portal, and when Torchbearer Vesta arrives with the amulet we will summon the champion."

Lucian glanced warily at the cavernous warehouse ceiling. Their first attempt at this ritual had destroyed their old lair - the portal to the realm of fire was far larger than he had anticipated, and this was to be their third attempt. This time he'd chosen a suitably large location - one that <I>didn't</I> have an automated sprinkler system.

He'd spent a month carefully planning tonight's ritual - measuring the ritual space, making sure nobody was stood too close to the magic circle, timing the moon's alignment and even bribing the building's management to disable the water lines, just in case.

Third time's the charm, or so he hoped. He opened his grimoire and began to chant. "Kazhra'tesh sorvalek, Furnah'keel?" The spell to open the portal was simple enough, and he'd done it twice before. Most of the work went into drawing the circle and getting the details exactly correct, the chant was just a spell to activate the circle.

"Tar'reth halek!" He ended the chant with a shout, and the magic circle flared to life. A column of light blazed from the incandescent disc, and the portal opened, three metres across, hovering in mid air. Contrary to conventional wisdom, the portal was a sphere, not a flat surface, and the heat coming from it was immense. The temperature in the room immediately became oppressive, and Sister Ash swayed on her feet.

Lucian steadied himself and caught his breath. He was closest to the portal, and waves of blistering heat poured over him. His dark robes protected him a little, but the gold threads, embroidered into flames on his sleeves, were starting to smoulder. A distant echo of crackling flames and deep guttural growls echoed from the giant ball of flame. He glanced at his wristwatch, the hour was upon them, the portal was ready, all he needed now was the amulet.

Right on cue, if a little late, the warehouse doors creaked open and in stumbled Torchbearer Vesta, looking harried and dishevelled. Her robe hung askew, twisted at one shoulder and half-untied, as though she'd barely managed to throw it on in her rush to get here. Strands of her hair clung to her damp forehead, and her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps.

"I'm here!" she cried, holding the amulet aloft with triumphant yet trembling hands. "They closed a bunch of roads because of a supervillain thing. I just saw Mainstream while I was?"

"Enough!" Lucian silenced her, and beckoned imperiously. She hurried to him and just as he reached for the amulet she dropped to her knees, leaving him grasping at the air. He growled and reached down to snatch it from her hands. He held it aloft and addressed the congregation.

"Brothers and Sisters, it is time! Time to summon our champion! A champion of fire, a figure to inspire awe and loyalty! We want a warrior, a general, with wisdom and charisma." He shot brother Ember a glare, "We are NOT summoning a pet."

He turned to place the amulet on the ritual altar. This time they were going to be successful, he could feel it. They were going to summon a true avatar of flame.

"Focus, all of you!" he commanded. "The portal is open, but our champion requires form and intent. Picture the avatar of fire - a figure of pure power, flame incarnate, worthy of our devotion."

The cultists began chanting, the memorised words shaky at first, but quickly growing in confidence as their steady cadence appeared to feed the portal's intensity. Sister Ash, trembling from the heat, clenched her fists and tried to hold steady, her voice wavering but resolute.

Lucian nodded to himself, then glanced at Vesta. "Wait, did you say Mainstream? Did he see you?"

Chapters...