The Mastermind strode purposefully through his darkened command center. There was a bustle of activity as his mortal employees busied themselves around clusters of sophisticated consoles and hurried about carrying sheaves of paper. A few dared to notice his less than immaculate appearance before looking away. Most disregarded his arrival and carried on, per his standing orders.

It was all nonsense, of course. The attempts to "look busy" for the boss were both transparent and laughable. The duties he had assigned were trivial, though he could understand his men overestimating their importance. The Mastermind made no indication of amusement or displeasure. After all, these men and women were acting exactly as he required. They served sufficiently as a smokescreen.

The days when he truly needed some secret base full of brainwashed thugs had passed long ago. Frankly, they were of limited use against heroes and were unnecessary against mortals. He remembered those times with something like fond embarrassment. Thinking of the old volcano lair and Skull Island still made him blush, though he did occasionally miss the jump-suited minions. No, a modern mastermind had just enough men for basic safety. Any additional temporary manpower requirements would be met by carefully managed allies, ignorant mercenaries or remote agents.

True power beyond the strictly personal was best gained and exercised through acquiring, distorting or disseminating information. The Mastermind's true power lay in programs, bots, drones and reports. A leavening of favors, both granted and owed, laid the world at his feet. Information truly was power. The Mastermind did not like to share, even with employees and "friends."

He unlocked the utility door to a server room and stepped inside. He shrugged of the chill of refrigerated air and paid no mind to the black clusters of thick cabled high end server trays in the dimly lit chamber. His only purpose was the Path.

It was one of his most prized possessions, procured from the Traveler at great cost. It has taken a sizable fortune to forge a collaboration between the Metallurgist, the Smith and the Armorer but in the end he had delivered a precisely crafted weapon to the Traveler. The Traveler got to proceed on his ludicrous quest for "discarded concept monsters" and the Mastermind got a personal path that only he could access.

This was the mark of a true Mastermind. By leveraging the synergies of multiple Shardbearers, he could fabricate a semblance of Gifts not his own. The Trickster had hammerspace and an extra-dimensional refuge? The Mastermind could emulate the same. An unarmed Vigilante could charge into melee against dozens of foes? A HUD with combat analysis in his glasses could allow the Mastermind a semblance of the same prowess. He had mothballed more than a few tools over the years, but they were still available. For example, the green and purple mechanized suit of armor had been overkill and a bit garish, but it might prove useful in the future.

Like most truly valuable tools, his path was made to order. There was nothing of the offensive mysticism that characterized most of the world's paths. This was a narrow tunnel, not more than fifty feet in length, that opened into a small grotto. The far end was dominated by a console with three 100 inch monitors. A plush black swivel chair was bolted to the floor in front of the central screen.

The Mastermind sat and activated the defenses, a grid of coherent beams that would annihilate matter on contact. The Traveler was generally an honest man, but blind trust was not conducive to survival. Having completed that vital task, he composed three messages while sending none. Further action would depend on his review of the situation. He tapped a few keys and concentrated on the monitors.

The situation was extremely poor. He had thousands of eyes on hundreds of Aspects around the world. Predictive software and drone footage suggested that the Trickster has been accosted. Spy cam showed a humiliating defeat for the Glutton and the carrying off of his corpse. Police reports indicated the kidnappings of the Neglected Wife and the Party Girl. The Bastard went down as well, but he went down hard and fighting all the while. His threat assessment was definitely due for an upgrade.

At least the Politician was still properly contained. Everywhere else the Mastermind looked, he saw disaster. It made no sense. He could not puzzle out a motive or a method. The black clad soldiers were evident in several visual records, but were only mentioned in two police reports and one obscure news blog. Their resistance to Gifts and ability to strike on a global scale strongly suggested international organization or Aspect involvement. Probably both. The person who made the Call was likely to be a conspirator.

He took a breath and reviewed the material again. Something began to take shape in his mind. Clearing the board was a temporary measure at best. Several immortals would be barely be inconvenienced by the loss of a Facade. Therefore, the defeated Aspects had not all been slain. Though explosives and powerful ordnance has been used in the first attack, a notable majority could survive wounds that would kill a mortal twice over. Any deaths were probably incidental.

Containment was the goal then. The conspiracy's goal required the temporary or even permanent containment of Aspects. That might be difficult to achieve. It would be easiest if the fallen were kept unconscious, but there was some speculation that a shard would abandon or even kill the Facade of anyone who was incapacitated for a prolonged period. The plotters must have contingencies in case that proved true. How far could their defiance of the shards go? They had already demonstrated the capability to resist Gifts.

So, a contrived Call, an alpha strike in the True City, and then a mop up operation to capture anyone who slipped the ambush. Most of those would be lesser Aspects who were simpler prey. For the plan to work, the adversary must have some way to quickly locate those Aspects.

This new information might lead to something useful, but it did nothing to illuminate the identities or goals of the enemy.

It was a stroke a luck that the other escapees included the Beggar and the Gambler. Many would count the Henchman more valuable, but the Mastermind had a firm grasp of power potentials. The Miser and the Homewrecker were non-essential but might be helpful if they could be kept out of trouble. That would be one of the Henchman's many duties.

The Mastermind modified his messages and sent a new one. "Take path to nearest city. Bring laptop. Keep moving. Henchman obey reasonable orders that do not contradict mine to achieve full power. Beggar will understand. If must rest, Henchman and Beggar rotate guard. Pay him for best results. Await further."  Then he began to plot.

His foes must be drawn into the open. That would require bait. The Beggar would be best for that. Place him in an open location with plenty of escape routes. The Henchman nearby. They had no need to win a battle. They just needed to capture one or two enemy soldiers and use them to unearth the leadership. It would be risky. Perhaps too risky, considering the uncanny resistance to Gifts. The plan needed refinement, but planning was the Mastermind's greatest strength.

He was still working on his mental construct when a flashing red light began blinking on his console. His eyes widened in astonishment.

Somehow, impossibly, someone was in the tunnel. In his personal, inviolable path space!

Well, the enemy had already revealed the ability to violate the paths with mortals. He quickly reached under his seat and extracted a FNS compact pistol from its concealed holster. The ministrations of the Armorer ensured greatly increased accuracy and lethality. While his intellect was his greatest weapon, he had both training and experience fighting heroes who specialized in combat. In the unlikely event that the laser grid was bypassed, he could slaughter over a dozen troops. With an Armorer-built gun, he might even be able to kill the Vanguard before his defense reached the absolute.

Poor as it was, the chair was the only available cover. He remained behind it and took aim at the tunnel mouth. There was sudden sizzling hiss, like the sound of live wires touching, followed by a snap-pop. The Mastermind realized immediately that the grid was down. His first and second lines of defense eliminated, in seconds. Without turning or lowering his aim, he reached behind and tapped a swift combination of keys.

Hidden blast doors did not slam down at the entrance to the tunnel. A cleverly hidden turret failed to pop up from the floor. The third and fourth lines of defense were neutralized. All the Mastermind had left was himself and a pistol.

It would be enough. He felt an almost euphoric rise in confidence, laying to rest all fear. This was when his truest self was unveiled, the Mastermind in his den, at bay, poised to fight off all comers be they hero or villain. The master of himself, he summoned a steady calm and prepared to fire.

A white handkerchief, clumsily attached to the end of a pencil, stuck out of the tunnel. "Parley!" called a familiar voice.

The Polymath. Unbelievable. The Polymath!

It almost made sense. Who else could devise such a plot, besides the Mastermind himself? Who else could discover a way to empower normal men, bring them into the paths, shield them from the fury of the Aspects? Who else could breach a sanctum that should be unimpeachable? Only the quintessential representative of multidisciplinary achievement in scientific, philosophical and physical expertise. A true polymath in an age when such people were largely theoretical.

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"How did you beat my defenses?" the Mastermind called. If the Polymath answered, he might eliminate vulnerabilities. It could hardly hurt to ask the question.

The walls hardy muted the Polymath's chuckle. "I have a ball of twine, some duct tape, a mirror compact and a package of gum. Oh, and a rubber super bouncy ball and a marble. Also, I brought a pencil and a hanky. Need I say more? I did the math."

Of course. The Polymath's shard was less martial that if had been, but was no less dangerous. He had a talent for solving problems and overcoming obstacles with seemingly useless objects. That was probably an outgrowth of "fanon" regarding a series of ridiculous American television shows from the end of the last century. The man could probably stop a nuclear meltdown with a paperclip. Oh well. The drawing board was vast and one could always return to it.

"Look, can we get this over with?" the Polymath asked. "I would appreciate it if you would just surrender. I couldn't bring any troops in with me. Your little secret lair is surprisingly robust. The Traveler's work, I'm guessing. But you should realize that it's hopeless. What I'm carrying is overkill.

"Surrender and I'll put you under," the Polymath continued. "I'm sure you know by now that I'm not trying to kill anyone."

The Mastermind ignored the offer. "The Vigilante, the Patriot, the Agent...your allies. You betrayed them all. You're supposed to be a hero. Help me understand," he demanded.

His opponent let out another hearty chuckle. "I am a hero," he replied. "I'm the only hero in this prison. The rest are just villains with good publicity, even the neutrals. And do you know what heroes don't do? We don't monologue. Last chance."

So, talk was out. Talk was out and the Polymath had made his first mistake. If surrender or losing a fight had the same consequences then the choice was obvious. The Mastermind would fight.

"Fuck you," he said drily, as he fired. The action was smooth, the recoil negligible and the sound suppressed. The Armorer did excellent work.

The angle was so poor that he could not see into the tunnel, but he might hit something. With the special magazine in his FNS, he had nineteen shots remaining. With a slight crouch, he chanced abandoning his scanty cover to seek a clearer line on his target.

The Polymath wasted no time. He emerged from the tunnel, coattails flapping and hand outstretched. As he fired a second shot, the Mastermind marveled at his lack of preparation. He was still dressed for an office, neglecting even body armor in his confrontation with a major villain.

The Polymath continued forward, untouched. A miss? Something smacked into the Mastermind's face, knocking his glasses askew. They fell clattering to the ground, combat analysis aborted before it could truly begin. The super ball bounced twice before rolling into a corner.

A burst of pain as something poked him in the eye and his vision blurred instantly. The Mastermind cried out and fired blindly, blinking away tears as a tiny white marble flew away from his face.

He roared with incandescent rage, furious at the insult. Then the Polymath was on him, a lazy smile adorning his face as he seized the Mastermind's weapon-wielding hand and twisted. A sharp pain shot up Stanley’s wrist and his hand spasmed. He was disarmed.

Trying for the gun was a fool's play. He summoned all the strength of training, conditioning and Aspect into a hammer blow to the Polymath's sternum. His opponent's grip loosened just enough for him to wrench his arm free, but he gained no other reaction. The faint smile never left the Polymath's face as he pressed his attack.

Eyes burning, wrist throbbing and knuckles aching, the Mastermind retreated before the onslaught. His mind was racing as he achieved a few feet of separation.

This was impossible. The sire of his foe's predecessor might have boasted this kind of might, but the more recent incarnation was characterized by intellect over muscle. He blocked a straight kick with the sole of foot and continued to dance away without reply.

Clearly, the conspirator had enhanced his own power in addition to his obscene alteration of mortals. This close, he could practically feel the power pouring out. Some kind of surgery or treatment? A brilliantly conceived device? He ducked a jab and spun around in an attempt to get behind his opponent. The Polymath turned with him and threw out a punch that barely clipped his chin, rattling his teeth.

The Mastermind thrived on the advantages of utilizing fellow Aspects, enhancing his own Gifts or adopting a facsimile of the Gifts of others. For over a decade, he relied mainly on his enhanced intelligence and meticulous planning. Despite rare use, his native Gifts were powerful and effective. He risked a straight kick (blocked) and claw strike at the Polymath's eyes (blocked) before activating his most effective Gift.

Meticulous Assessment

The program in his smart glasses was much faster and more directly useful in battle, but his natural Gift was far more thorough. He strained to gather information as rapidly as he could. His eyes opened.

There was the Polymath, shrouded by an almost imperceptible halo. Same smug smile on thick lips, unblemished cafe au lait skin and curled brown mop of hair. Blue coattails and too tight slacks. But the power! In that aura, he was magnified, magnificent, unstoppable. There was an echo of the first Hero, an internal strength that the Mastermind could not hope to defeat.

No. That was the communication of fear, not the information of the assessment.

External. It was external power.

There. Incalculable might flowing from the small of his back and through his body. A thin cylinder with an unknown power source. Highly reminiscent of the images of shards revealed in dreams.

There were three important datum. One, the Polymath was prolonging this conflict. Perhaps he was enjoying a final encounter with the last major Aspect standing. Two, the Mastermind had to get his hands on that cylinder.

Three, the attempt would likely end in defeat.

Suck up the blow. Take the damage. WIN.

A beat. The Mastermind let loose another roar and leapt into a tackle. His tactic failed to drive his enemy to the ground, and he suffered a rib-cracking knee for his trouble. He choked out a gasp but managed to managed to maintain a grip around the Polymath's torso.

A beat. A blistering head-butt broke his nose and filled his mouth with a vile mixture of blood and bile. Tenaciously holding on, his hands slid down, seeking his hope. Blinding agony as the Polymath crushed his foot with a vicious stomp.

Another beat. A shift in the Polymath's expression as realization struck. His face twisted into a snarling rictus as his elbow tore the muscle of the Mastermind's right arm and snapped the humerus. The fingers of the Mastermind's left hand made contact and he pulled with all the desperation he could muster.

A vigor so potent it was almost painful flowed into and through the final villain. The Polymath unleashed a wordless shout as the Mastermind pulled away, cylinder held above his head. It was a transparent tube, sealed at both ends with black stoppers. Within was a cascade of visible radiation, in which were suspended a number of small multicolored stones.

They were little shards, somehow made visible in a way that was only previously possible in the dreams of initiates and elders. More, they were pure. Each was made of the essence of a single God. The Mastermind could feel the presence of power that resonated with his own. There were pieces of Iriolin the Plotter and Raffread the Deceiver in his hand. There were other forces that were alien or inimical to his soul. He held and was empowered by them all.

Such a bounty must have taken lifetimes to discover and collect. The Polymath was too young to have come into the treasure alone. The Mastermind imagined a long line of Polymaths, passing down an inheritance over the long generations of the Aspects.

No matter. It was his now. He was as close as a man could get to a God. He felt his wounded flesh rippling and knitting.

A lazy kick sent the Polymath bouncing across the deck. The Mastermind was nearly overcome with a wild elation. With this power, he would recover the fallen Shardbearers. An act of will would cancel the abominable empowerment of the corrupted soldiers. He could set all things aright. And then...the villainy he could achieve...!

No! He shook his head to clear it. It was obvious that the device was affecting his mind. It was as insidious as a drug, and likely as addictive. Why else would someone as levelheaded as the Polymath stoop so low as to make a game of a deadly struggle? In the Polymath's shoes, the Mastermind would have won instantly.

There was danger to complement the opportunity in the shards. He refused to take any chances. There would be no further struggle here. The Mastermind had a better idea.

It was not impossible to get most Aspects to talk. However, it was impossible when it came to the heroic versions. No amount of coercion or torture was ever successful. The stupid jackasses simply would not break. 

"Self destruct, authorization delta-delta-four-four-four-four-ampersand." The console chimed in compliance. Sometimes the classics were best.

The Polymath would almost certainly deactive the destruct sequence and survive. He would probably succeed dramaticaly at the last minute. His shard seemed to be drawing heavily on fiction over facts. When he escaped, the Mastermind would be ready to follow him to his victims or possible co-conspirators.

He activated a rarely used Gift. Reality rearranged itself around him. Escape Hatch.

"No!" The Polymath dove into the Mastermind and locked his hands around the cylinder. Distracted by the power of the shards, Stanley had failed to notice the Polymath sneaking ever closer. The Mastermind tightened his grip, but the Polymath was tapping the energies of the cylinder as well. They struggled.

A hatch opened beneath their feet as reality completed its realignment. They were suddenly careening down a slick chute, bouncing roughly as they shared a space meant for one. The Mastermind knew that they would end near a pod or vehicle that was unlikely to have room for two.

The Polymath was savvy enough to understand the same. Renewing his grip on the shard device, he flailed ineffectively at Stanley and desperately cast out his will.

The two Aspects were ripped out of the path cast hurtling through the darkness of nullspace. There was a flash and they reemerged in the world proper.

They were still falling.

The Mastermind chuckled even as he continued to struggle for possession of the cylinder. The universe was filled with poetry after all. He had been here before, in a similar situation, though he had been fighting the Inspector instead of the Polymath. Here he was again, streaking to his doom over a waterfall in Switzerland.

Not this time.

He leaned in, opened his mouth, and bit down. His empowered teeth punched through flesh and he yanked back, tearing off the Polymath's nose in a welter of blood and nasal fluids. The former hero screamed in agony, instinctively jerking back his hands to cover his face. The Mastermind triumphantly cradled the cylinder to his chest.

Time stretched, though bare seconds had passed. The bottom was rapidly approaching, but there was time to activate a final Gift, an ability that could allow a villain to rise from burning magma. Shards or no, there was no need to take chances.

Improbable Survival

There were two impacts. Less than a minute later, a shaky hand rose up out of the water.