Sparks in the Darkness

Prelude: The City of Heroes

Welcome to Halcyon City

There's no other city like Halcyon City!

Located along the beautiful northwestern atlantic coast, Halcyon City is known colloquially as the City of Heroes.

Visitors from across the United States and around the world are surprised, delighted, and fascinated as they see heroes like Freedom, Valkyrie, Excelsior, or Liberty Belle flying overhead - or look out of the windows of their taxi only to see Velocity or Synapse racing past! They should also make sure to pay close attention to police notifications and warnings, as there is the constant threat of supervillains - and their destructive, menacing actions often threaten to disrupt the city.

Tourists and locals gather in famous Atlas Park hoping for a glimpse of their favorite heroes - or even to get a signature. Steel Canyon, with its towering skyscrapers, is an international hub of business and finance, and the main campus of ivy-league Halcyon University. Astoria is the East Coast's Beverly Hills, rebuilt after a tragic fire in the Great Depression. Croatoa, once a sleepy suburb, has become famous for the "Magic Campus" of Halcyon University. Perez Park is a gated urban park of nearly five square kilometers, surrounded by a low-income neighborhood - and virtually abandoned to the gangs and criminal elements of the city by the Halcyon Police department. King's Row is the former industrial, working-class district, whose greater days now lie decades in the past.

Spandex superheroes, sinister supervillains, powers and responsibilities, myths and magic - in the City of Heroes!

This story series references and remixes ideas borrowed from the video game City of Heroes; the RPGs Masks: A New Generation, Heroes Unlimited, and Silver Age Sentinels; the stage play "Beetlejuice"; and certain elements of the DC Universe - plus a variety of tropes from both the superhero and urban fantasy genres.

Chapter One

Wherein old enemies meet again, their circumstances changed

In the dim light of the storage locker, Oscar didn't notice the light glow from the skull's eyes.

The only sound in the locker was the semi-regular scrape of his pencil led on his notebook, or the occasional sound of an aged page being turned, with care being taken not to fold or rip the page. Oscar sat at the heavy desk, along the back wall of the storage unit; his attention was strongly focused on cross-referencing between the several books he had open on his desk. That was the reason he missed the gradual increase in the ruddy glow from the skull's eyes.

Until a voice came from the skull.

"Octagon?", the voice said. It was a higher, soft, lilting voice, with just a bit of fry. The statement was an inquiry, the speaker unsure - but familiar to Oscar. Familiar from another life, years away.

He looked up at the skull, and saw the dull red glow from the eyes for the first time. He sighed. The voice was familiar, yes, but the name - the name was long left behind.

"It's ... it's Oscar now, Ghost Princess," he answered. Ghost Princess. Another name from years ago. Another name Oscar wished he'd left behind. "Not Octagon. Not anymore."

A pause from the skull, and it answered, "It's Fantisma now."

Of course it was. Oscar knew that. Oscar nodded - although he wasn't sure his caller could see him. He picked up the skull, cupping it in both hands, and staring at it. Involuntarily, the memory of the smell of the swamp raced back through his mind; the scent of rotting flesh; the terrible, exciting, empowering feeling of power racing through him.

"Whatever you're ... asking about," Oscar began, "I assure you, I'm not involved. I'm out; I've been out for years, at this point."

The skull replied, "I know. I respect that. Really, I do." There was a two beat pause - as Oscar narrowed his eyes. "But," the skull continued. "I know you do some consulting research work, sometimes. And I was wondering if you still had a copy of Vanderwulf's Grimoire, VIth edition. I have IV, VII, and VIII, but I'm trying to get my hands on a copy of VIth."

It was Oscar's turn to pause, studying the skull as he made a sour face. "VIth was declared heretical," he said, sounding dubious. "There was a significant added chapter on summoning circles, that included a dark sepulchral circle. All copies were supposed to be destroyed."

"Sure, yeah," the skull replied, emphasising the vocal fry of her voice. "... except ...", she continued, "... back in the day, you were able to use sepulchral circles. I remember one from a battle in Perez Park."

There was a pause; for a moment, neither Oscar spoke, nor the skull. After a pause the voice from the skull said, "... so ..."

About thirty minutes later, Oscar was at the door of the storage unit, waiting for Fantisma to arrive. While he'd continued to be aware of her throughout the years, it would mark the first time he'd seen her in ... probably four years, maybe longer.

But Fantisma did not come floating or flying in, as Oscar was expecting. Instead, an expensive sports car pulled into the mostly-empty parking lot. The door opened, and Zoey stepped out.

Oscar hadn't forgotten, but he'd 'set aside' the knowledge that the superhero Fantisma's secret identity was Zoey daCosta. But having her step out of the car was an aggressive reminder.

Zoey daCosta - former heiress and layabout, socialite, fashionista. Her father was a rags-to-riches immigrant story, her mother descended from Hollywood royalty. Zoey daCosta, influencer, glamor model, and wastrel; pop-art inspiration and Nepo-baby. And then her mother and father were revealed to share the supervillain identity of The Billionaire, conspiring with Malta Group and Die Krutzritter to engineer a plot to destabilize the United States. So now it was Zoey daCosta, business titan, career woman, philanthropist.

And also, Zoey daCosta, a child who had sold her soul to demons. Zoey daCosta, diabolist; as a child, she had sold her soul for demonic gifts, and her force of will had made her one of the most powerful magic-users on the planet. Zoey daCosta, secret identity of the superheroine, Ghost Princess.

No - Fantisma, now, he reminded himself. Ghost Princess was retired, as an identity. Fantisma was the adult version - an identity Ghost Princess had grown into, with the kind of painful maturity that came to superheroes as they matured. It was important to respect that.

Zoey was, Oscar had to admit, strikingly attractive. She was slender, with her aquiline features accented by her makeup. She was short - maybe shorter than you'd expect, seeing her only in photos - and wore very short heels. Her suit, light tan, looked expensive, and tailored, and showed off her physique. As Zoey walked away from the car, the door closed, and it beeped. She eyed Oscar, before she smiled broadly, with an expression that could light a room.

"Oscar?!", she said, in the tone of voice you might use if you stumbled unexpectedly across a friend from your college years. She shimmied forward with her arms held out, looking delighted - to Oscar's great surprise. He stepped down the few stairs from the entrance down to the parking lot and allowed Zoey to throw her arms around his neck, pulling him into an awkward, uncertain embrace.

As she pulled him against her, Zoey said, "You look great! Wow!" She pulled back, still smiling at him, as Oscar felt his cheeks flush. "Hey, I appreciate this," she added, and Oscar nodded, awkwardly.

"That's, uh ...", Oscar started, nodding. "It's fine. Happy to help." He breathed in, tried to focus, and breathed out, before saying, "Ready to go?", and offering her a flashlight.

Zoey noded, but declined the flashlight, saying, "I'm fine without a light." They headed up the stairs, and Oscar held the door open for her. She walked past Oscar, down the dim hallway with confidence. Oscar lit his 'flashlight' - an LCD lantern - and then he followed behind her. The already dim lights flickered as Zoey walked down the hall. Once Oscar caught up, she asked, "Do you live around here?"

Oscar chuckled to himself. "Yeah, yeah. I've still got, uh ... I've still got a bit of money left, from my Dad's, uh ... Enough to keep an apartment, anyway, and this, uh, storage. Mostly. It's down here," he gestures with the lamp, directing Zoey to the left.

Oscar stopped at the metal rolling door, bent, and fed the six-digit code into the panel. He rolled the metal door up, to reveal the contents of his locker - the heavy wooden desk, a half-dozen heavy, wooden bookshelves, covered in heavy, ancient tomes.

"Keeping things casual, I hope," Zoey said, nodding at the desk.

"I mean it. I'm out of the game. I just ... do some translating work, for some extra cash." While Oscar couldn't see her face, Zoey grimaced, a little, with a moment of pity in her eyes. "Anyway. You were looking for Vanderwulf's Grimoire?"

"Yeah," Zoey replied, with a nod. "Somebody's stealing your schtick," Zoey added, with a chuckle. "In the old boneyard, out past Croatoa, dug up. A number of graves. Someone burned a circle into the earth, using herbicides mixed with a saline mixture." Her eyes watched Oscar, and she nodded, relieved when she saw there was no reaction. "Sound familiar?"

Oscar sighs. "I've told you,"

"Yeah, yeah. You're out.", she nodded, as she waved her hand through the air. "... in that case, though ... want to take a look at the runes they're using?"

Oscar held his LCD lantern up, to get a look at Zoey's face. Her eyes glittered in the light, as if from tapetum lucidum. She smirked, her face still in shadow. "I'd pay you," she adds.

Oscar fixed his eyes on her. It felt a little bit strange to him, to be looking down at Fantisma - rather, Zoey. She used to float, a half-foot off the ground, slightly above him.

Into the moment of silence, their eyes locked on each other, Oscar spoke. "Do you have photos?"

Zoey nodded lightly. "Of course." She proceeded through the darkness, as though it were lit to her, over to his desk.

Oscar followed her, then set the lantern on a shelf, and indicated a book. "I dug out the Vanderwulf's for you. Let me see these photos."

Zoey reached into her messenger bag, and laid the large-print hi-res photos in front of Oscar. "I appreciate the hand," she said, as he slid into the chair. She leaned over the back of the chair, as Oscar took the photos in, painstakingly slowly. "Hey, uh. Can ... Can I say that - you look good? I mean. Healthy. You look ... better. Less ... you know."

"... barely alive?", Oscar said, giving words to her unspoken thoughts. "I ... was in a pretty dark spot. You can't channel that type of energy without a price. I'm eating better now." He nods, appreciative. "I have a cat," he added.

"You? With a cat?", Zoey snickered, a warm smile coming over her face. "Let me guess. It's black."

He glanced at her, as her face was leaned down next to his. "... yes."

They both laughed, and Oscar felt a weight lighten between them. He pulled open a drawer in his desk, pulling out a magnifying glass. "Her name is ...", he began, and then paused, as he realized what he was about to reveal, and gave an awkward cough insead, as he brought the magnifying glass up to the photo.

"Oh, no," Zoey said, smiling, and nudging him in the shoulder. "Now you have to say! What's the cat's name? Hallowe'en? Midnight?"

Oscar rolled his eyes, and blushed slightly. "... Princess."

Zoey burst into laughter, as Oscar tried desperately to focus on studying the photo in front of him. "You named your cat after me?!", she laughed, and Oscar felt his cheeks flush again. "Octagon retired - and named his cat after me? ... Is she a brat? Tell me she's a brat."

"She's delightful," Oscar answered, with mock gruffness, as he smiled. "You said this was a saline and herbicidal solution?"

Zoey changed positions, to be leaning against the desk, looking slightly down at Oscar. "That's what SnaRe's people said - 'saline and herbicide were present in the soil samples'."

"Saline is salt and water, so that's tracing the circle - even if the herbicide wasn't present. The herbicide isn't fast-acting; you can see, along the edges of the circles; there's spill from the herbicides, yellowing, it's indistinct. They're using herbicide so the circles are found. And these circles, here, and ...", Oscar flipped through the photos, "... here? There's no runes in there. If these were genuine, there'd have to be runes in there, to focus, direct the circles. Runes of power, or control, or ... something. But this circle is blank. This circle would never have powered on."

Zoey raised her shoulders in a shrug. "I dunno what to tell you. Half a dozen graves, dug out from the inside, with this circle and a half-dozen rotten corpses right beside them. Is it ... maybe it's possible that the rune in there was erased? Traced with the saline, without the herbicide? Or done by a willworker who had the strength to power the circle without the rune?"

Oscar considered this, his lip curling. "Necromancy isn't like other arts. It's very difficult to work spontaneously; it's meant for ritual casting. It's ... possible. A desperate, or ill-trained, or ... ... dangerously foolish caster could leave the rune incomplete; hold it in their mind and power the circle blindly - but ... that would leave a mark. Their body, mind - spirit! - would be scarred, again and again. It's painful enough that ... I mean, you'd quickly realize it's not sustainable. And to animate a half-dozen subjects? Nono. To use this circle, that rune was present at the time of casting. But - it's not in your photos."

He passed the photos back to Zoey. "Figure out how he's creating and removing the rune - and these are detailed runes; no drawing them with a pump-spray, like the others - and you'll be well on the way to finding your guy."

Zoey took the photos, pressed her lips together, and nodded. "Sounds good. What do I owe you?"

Oscar waved his hand. "Nothing." As Zoey raised a hand, and opened her mouth to object, Oscar continued. "Please. Consider it repayment, from me. For some ... very old debts."

Zoey raised an eyebrow, and Oscar continued, the words pouring out of him. "No, really. I ... ... I did things. Terrible things. To you. I ..." Oscar drew a long breath, and it trembled, just a little. "... I hated you, and it was ... I was in a really ... bitter, envious place. But that was about me, not you, and ... I'm sorry."

Zoey shook her head, making a "pfft" noise, as she waved her hand dismissively. "Hey, I've had people throw fireballs and ice blasts at me, some black energy ..."

Oscar's hand darted out, and grabbed her wrist. Zoey gasped, and formed a fist, as her eyes lit red.

Oscar met her infernal gaze, and said her name - then held her gaze for three long beats. "Don't dismiss it, please. I ... I'm not that man anymore. But that just means those deeds ... ... they weigh heavier on me for it." He released her wrist, but Zoey did not move the hand, leaving it frozen in space. Oscar's eyes shimmered in the light, welled up with tears. "I meant to kill you. I meant to do worse to you. And I am ... deeply ... sorry."

Zoey lowered her arm, and nodded. "I didn't ... ... I shouldn't diminish what you're saying. I ... was trying to hold myself at ... a distance. From your apology. You ... ... you tried to rend my soul. If I was ... If I hadn't ...", she paused, and swallowed, struggling to hold back her rising memories of anger and fear. "... you were a piece of shit, Oscar, and I damn near burned you for it."

Oscar nodded. "I know. I was."

Zoey leaned forward, slowly, and Oscar froze. She pressed her lips to Oscar's forehead. She made sure the kiss made a low 'smack' as she pulled her lips free, leaving a light pink mark on his forehead. She set a manicured fingernail on Oscar's chin, saying, "Your therapist deserves a raise."

Chapter Two

Advice sought. A meal shared.

Days passed, and the quiet settled back in around Oscar's life - a deliberate, methodical quiet that hung about him like a set of dark curtains, hung with the intention to conceal the contents of a house.

Seeing Zoey again - and as Zoey, not her superhuman alter ego - sifted through Oscar's mind. Her beauty - high cheekbones, slender body, dark hair, bright eyes; there was a reason she'd been a model. Her words replayed, time and again, in his mind. Repeatedly, he regretted grabbing her arm; the moment of contact too ... forceful. Too uncomfortable.. And ... her kiss still tingled on his forehead.

What was the right number of times to apologize to someone you'd tried to kill? Someone you'd tried to burn the soul of? Had his apology been enough? Enough for him? Or enough for her?

On a sleepless night, days later, as Oscar stared at his face in the mirror, his phone rang.

Oscar peered at the phone for a moment. It was probably spam - though he rarely got spam calls, and few in the dead of night, either. He struggled to remember his last real phone call.

He checked the phone; he didn't recognize the number.

He answered. He wasn't sure why.

Zoey spoke in a moderated yell, firm tones to carry over the deep base of thumping background music, but her voice, and the vocal fry, was distinct. "Hey, Oscar-gone!", she said, with a giggle.

"It's ... just Oscar," he winced. "Zoey? Where are ... are you at a club? It's six in the morning!"

"Product launch day!", she replied. "Ingenue. My perfume! We launched yesterday. After-party!", she yelled, and he heard a crowd cheer in response.

The sound of the crowd suddenly dropped off, as if Zoey had left the room, and her voice shifted away from the egregious fry. "SnaRe found more circles. Astoria, Perez Park; the old yard in Faultline. There was blood in some."

Silence hung between the two a moment. Oscar felt his breath, heavy in his chest; was she accusing him? How would he verify his alibi?

"Sooo ... like, help?", she said, into the quiet.

"Excuse me?", he answered, unsure what she was saying.

"Necromantic circles, blood sacrifice, dark deeds. You're the expert. You spotted the missing rune right away. Just ... a look. No field work. Drop by my place tonight; we'll order Thai, go over photos, grab a drink ...?", she asked. Oscar noticed she sounded ... sincere.

"Tonight. Later? If you're going to be ...", he started.

"I'll be fine. Let's do 9:30? Did you need a lift? I can send a car."

"I'll see you there," he answered, bruskly.

Fifteen hours later, Oscar noted that daCosta tower made for an intimidating piece of the Steel Canyon skyline. It was a tall, steel-and-glass, art deco meets futurist tower that dominated its environs, glittering in the darkness of the night like something between a lighthouse and a Christmas tree.