Captain Marvel and the Shadowpact #1

[The Wonderful Wachter]

Captain Marvel and the Shadowpact #1
Some People Call Me…

Flashpoint

I have lived many long years, since the days of Canaan’s founding and before. And in those years, I have seen a great, great many things, both of horrors and marvels. I have trained champion after champion. I have watched champion after champion die or fall. All in my place. Those who gave the greatest sacrifice for me. For what I represent and what we do.

I sat here at the Rock and I watched…

Still I will watch but now I have been forced to act. Faces of Evil stopped my last champion before he could assume my mantle, the mantle of those who say my name and gain only what their mind is open enough allow. My next champion… my final champion awakes today. Tonight. At this very moment.

A freak accident…

With everything and nothing throughout time and space happening here and now, this boy finds himself a conduit to memories that should have came slowly. Over time, allowing him to grow into the power. A process my – no, our enemies I suppose I should say now – have taken advantage of in the past. One they have used to weaken my hold on the corporeal for the past century.

I debate for only a second on what I should do. To… leave the Rock. Dangerous. Any one of the countless faces of Evil could realize I am gone and in this moment of weakness in both reality and myself, they could take advantage of my absence. But I will not allow the boy, my final champion, to go through his awakening alone.

It is a mistake I made before.

A mistake I vow to never make again.

It feels… strange… here in a bedroom that might as well be a closet. My feet have not been on solid ground in what has it been? A hundred years? Five hundred? My eyes adjust to the dimness. And, ha, I stub a toe on the bedpost. So little room. The poor child yet this could be my enemies’ greatest fear. I sense in him great humility. Wisdom far beyond his years.

He will not be swayed like the others.

A worthy replacement.

The frayed sheets trap his limbs as he screams wordlessly. Tears swell in my eyes, falling to dampen my beard. So young. So innocent. And his first memory must be his personal worst.

For it is his turn to watch.

To observe.

To see those who came before.

He sees less than a century ago. His great-great or more grandfather. More than that, he feels what it is to be a grown man. William Batson, the man meant to be my champion. One who never had the chance. Three others are with him, no, four. I forget Batson’s son, held in the arms of his mother, far above the surface. The three men explore the Pharaoh’s tomb. They walk where no man has walked for millennia, their artificial torches ever highlighting the hieroglyphs on the sloping walls.

”Theo, over here!” calls the one named Daniel. ”Does this say what I think it says?”

The other rushes over, William’s light at his side. “Khem-Adam.” The man drops to his knees, lifelong search over. “It is true. H-he existed.”

“Khem-Adam? All our research point to his name being Teth-Adam,” mutters a disbelieving William.

“N-n-no. See here,” Theo gets back to his feet. Light shines on a story, a story I played a part in. “He was born Teth and here, he was named champion. He used his great power to save Kahndaq time and time again from evil forces. Forged a lasting treaty with Egypt and the other nations… Then one day, while journeying to…fight… the Reach? Strange word to use. He confronted this blue beast alongside the powerful Nabu. And his victory was bittersweet for a Savage had conquered his land while he was saving the world. Slaughtered his family.”

“Savage?” asks William as Daniel takes a look around deeper into the tomb.

“Likely some pale-skinned Northern Barbarian. It’s unclear. It appears Teth-Adam lost against him though the nation was ravaged for quite some time. Allies were sought. The great Nabu once more and Kha-Ef-Ra… Fascinating. The same hieroglyphs about the blue beast surround Kah-Ef-Ra’s name. But they refused.”

The light shows me next, broken bodies at my feet. To think I once was thought to look at that. The picture is vivid. The boy screams and screams as an older memory threatens to surface.

“Vlarem and the Rock. Those appear to be Wizard Nabu and Pharaoh Kha-Ef-Ra at his feet, tossed there by Adam.”

The name, one of my many names, makes William stiffen. Dreams of his own that he had since a boy call to him. He can feel his destiny come in these next moments. He is to be my champion.

“Teth-Adam loses against Vlarem, his teacher. And in doing so, is stripped of his powers for all eternity and imprisoned. Until... Huh. Not quite sure I’m reading this right.”

“He is forgiven,” finishes William, a sense of awe in his voice, repeating words he had known for a decade.

“Hey, you two,” the dignified accent of Daniel yells from down the way. “You sure this is Teth-Adam’s tomb?”

The other men hasten to hurry after their friend, boots echoing about them. “It is almost a certainty, why?”

Daniel illuminates a blue box untouched by dust. It rests atop a sarcophagus, unopened for countless years. It is a square shaped room and soon enough, the men realize it too is dustless. And… glowing in its own right. Far more advanced than Egyptians should have been capable of. Veins of azure light travel across the wall, reaching to a strange door that had never been opened. There the light changes, depicting a boy in crimson kneeling before a great man in black highlights, bands of gold connect them.

“Here lies Kha-Ef-Ra and the Blue Beast, in death, may they watch over their murderer,” reads Theo, distraught evident in his tone. “Wait… Murderer. He is here. Guardians…!” he screams too late.

Many things happen then and now.

Daniel reaches for the box as it opens for him.

The boy screams. William changes.

The dead rise. Theo runs.

Lightning strikes the tomb as Daniel is thrown against the wall and there, in the shadows, he notices a horned figure laughing. The Mighty Marvel holds off Kha-Ef-Ra but it is not enough. He is too young in his power, untrained, and the Blue Beast had been designed to kill… Enchanted ever more by me to kill.

The boy’s screams call a storm.

William’s death shatters the pyramid.

Daniel picks himself off the ground, his friend’s demise granting him courage that only those with something to lose can experience. His fingers claw at the scarab on Kha-Ef-Ra’s back, rending decayed flesh somehow as William is torn limb from limb.

The scarab releases. Daniel is amazed. Even more amazing, William leaves his friend with final words… Me speaking through the mouth of a champion I never had. “Use it… Protect…Them.”

A new memory. The boy calms.

“Captain! I found it,” the boy and his ancestor say as one. I even find myself saying the words along with them. “The Fountain!”

Juan Ponce de León smiles, patting the young scout on his shoulder. “Fantastic job, Guillermo. I knew you were the right choice for this expedition.” There is something sinister in the relatively harmless gesture.

This ancestor had adapted, gone native as the other crewmembers were want to say. A Brave… A Mighty Mortal. He wears not their armor or their frills. He uses neither their rifles nor drinks their rum. He explores and befriends. And in his friendship, he found power.

Bow at the ready for only he knows the danger of Juan’s final voyage, Guillermo leads his captain and ten of their crew through the wilds of the Land of Flowers. With my wisdom, he avoids the traps of the Calusa, the guardians of the Fountain. So innocent, so young. He remains unaware of Juan’s true purpose until the final moments of his life.

Marvelous to behold, hidden from my sight even now but something I can experience once more through this memory, the fountain is beautiful. Words cannot describe it. Magical. Primordial. One long sought after by many throughout time but one finally found by a man who had crossed me before.

The boy screams out a warning…

The gunshot throws Guillermo off his feet, his lifeblood staining the pond the Fountain drains into. “Savage will be pleased, as am I,” Juan leans down to cup water to his mouth. “Apologies, boy. He said you were a threat—“

Guillermo’s barbed arrow pierces his throat. Standing strong, ready to be my Champion, he finishes off the rest of the crew with a never ending quiver. “If he wants it, he will have to come through me first, Captain.”

The storm overhead calms. The boy settles into a deeper, undisturbed sleep. I believe for an instant that it might be over. False hope. More are to come.

A third memory. Guillermo’s father in Venice years before.

“Ah, Federico! To what do I owe this pleasure?” exclaims an aging Leonardo da Vinci, welcoming the middle aged Champion into his home.

Federico shrugs off his cloak with the weariness of one who has fought the long fight. He looks about the atrium, always amazed at Leonardo’s inventions and designs cluttering his studio. To think man might fly under the aid of machines in the future. Almost unbelievable.

“I come with a gift, Leonardo,” he says, taking a proffered chair and placing a chest atop the Renaissance man’s drafts. “One of great power.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Open it.”

The artist leans forward to unlock the chest. Squinting, he lifts the object inside out into the light. It glimmers gold, heavier than it appears. Leonardo examines it, twisting it to see it from every angle. Such seamless design, flawless in its perfection. “A helmet?”

A nod.

In the present, the boy shakes as his predecessor remembers what had happened when he first came across the helmet. The horror of not having control of one’s body. The terror of being trapped inside one’s mind. Much like now.

“The Helmet of Nabu.”

“Nabu?” Leonardo’s brow furrows in thought. Almost unconsciously, his hands move to put it atop his head only to be stopped in mid-gesture. “Yes?”

“You are not his chosen, my friend.”

Leonardo pauses, “How do you know? He… He calls.”

“That he does. And he speaks,” his shiver matches the boy down to the toes. “As do I, from experience. If you put that helmet on, you shall regret it.”

“But… Shadowpact—“

“We watch over, we guard these objects until their chosen come. And it is now your duty to watch over Nabu’s helmet until such a time as a worthy successor has been found.”

The two listen to the silence of fate and then, Leonardo locked the golden helm away. “You have my word.”

“Good.” Federico rises to put his cloak back on. “It has been a pleasure knowing you, Leonardo.”

Before the other can respond, Federico vanishes in a bolt of lightning…

The next memory starts almost immediately. It is of a majestic castle ruled by the knights of the realms. The men of legends. In its halls walked the once and future champions of more than one mantle.

“It was a difficult battle my king and on my sword, I swear I cut his head from his body more than once before the Green Knight finally fell,” kneeling, Camelot’s Mightiest Knight meets his King’s gaze with the intensity of a born adventurer.

The regal King Arthur holds the unusual chainmail in his hands, marveling at its lightweight, as the few other Knights of the Round Table watched. “And you say this… this suit of sorrows gave him his power?”

“Yes, your majesty.” A hypnotic cadence entered the ancestor’s voice. “I advise you to lock it away in your deepest dungeon for it is also what made him lose any sense of sanity.”

“Foul magic,” scoffs the king, “Yet you, Gawain, I see you now wield two new swords.”

Ever the showman, the knight unsheathes the blades with a graceful flourish, their crimson and azure flames casting him in an ethereal light. In the present, the boy smiles… a happy memory for once. He feels Gawain’s comradeship with the King and the rest of the knights. He feels what it means to belong.

“If my squire gets the Black Blade then surely I as his mentor deserve twice the edge to better teach him humility.”

“Humility?” Bors roars with great laughter. “You wouldn’t know humility if it bit you on the arse.”

“You should know, after all that’s how your wife tamed you,” returned Lancelot with matching mirth.

For his part, the young squire Galahad modestly smiles at the playful teasing of the older knights.

“Settle down, settle down,” King Arthur grins, enthused by Camelot’s defenders’ attitude. “I can see it in your eyes, old friend. Do you leave us for another quest?”

“Yes, your majesty,” suddenly everything about Gawain changes. He quietly sheaths his fiery brands and meets the eyes of every knight present. “Long have we searched and finally, I think I have found what Camelot shall need in her darkest hour. In the east, I hear tales of a king in a lake and a golden cup.”

At this, the king shifts forward in his seat, dropping the evil armor. “You think…”

“I know not what it is, your majesty. Only that it must be found."

“Take anything, anyone, you need, Gawain. You must bring it back, only then shall our walls stand forever strong.”

Gawain nods understandably. “What say you, Bors? You have long stayed locked up in this keep.”

For his part, Bors considers the offer, his eyes longing for adventure with Camelot’s Champion. It would surely be an epic one, fraught with peril. The kind they would tell tales of for years to come. Yet then he returns to the present. “I would love to, my friend, but my Lady Rovanna is expecting. You need not my help to accomplish this task, only your heart and a competent sword arm.”

“Then Galahad and I shall go alone,” he wraps that compentent sword arm around the younger man. “Surely one of us has the heart and the strength to bring back the Grail. . .”

Dreams of knights and dragons almost overtake the boy, the storm all but gone. Gawain had such a happy, adventurous life, his strength at its greatest under the noonday sun. None could stand before him when he defended Camelot. It was the type of life all boys have fantasies about. But that is what it was, a fantasy, more and more memories awaken in the boy, teaching him the wisdom of the ages.

He sees much. Almost as much as I do. Great deeds throughout history. Learns the laws and traditions of the Shadowpact. The boy experiences many lifetimes, sometimes monumental moments, sometimes only that which he needs to know. He relives so much, and his longest had an ending in the beginning.

“I name you Black Adam,” I blast Adam to his knees, my protégé. . . I remember it and now so does the boy.

Will Batson wakes, his cheeks stained with both my and Adam’s tears, of rage and sorrow. For a moment, he sees me and after his long night, he can no longer scream, voice hoarse and dry. His eyes, my eyes, the same eyes. They meet.

“Speak my name, William, and you shall know my power.”

The boy who had live dozens of lives as history stood frozen pauses only for a second, a second that is an eternity to me.

“Shazam,” he whispers.

Lightning strikes and we both vanish.