Deathstalker 05 - Deathstalker Destiny

a sun in the undermind sky. A black sun. That was the Recreated. Diana had no idea what they were doing here, but just looking at the black sun scared the shit out of her, so quite sensibly she stopped looking at it. Instead, she looked out across her little island, her rock of certainty, and saw the air ripple before her, like a heat haze. Visitors were coming.
    And in a moment, there they were. Thought of by most as the leaders of the esper underground, but actually archetypes thrown up by the esper collective unconscious. There was a waterfall, cascading endlessly down out of nowhere, with two great shadows that might have been eyes. A swirling mandala of clashing colors hung unsupported in the air, forever growing and swallowing itself at the same time. A twenty-foot dragon curled its golden scales around a tree. A
    muscular human form, nude and exaggerated, usually known as Mr. Perfect. A huge hog with bloodstained tusks and tiny crimson eyes, covered with tattoos of ancient runes and sigils. A ten-foot-tall woman wrapped in shimmering light, with a cratered moon for a face. All of them aspects of the Mater Mundi, given shape and form to rule over the espers.
    "You should not have come here," they all said, their mouths moving in unison where they had mouths. A single intent, in a chorus of voices. "This is our place, where we are strongest, and you are alone. You must die, that we might live. We made you stronger than we intended, but here and now we will undo that mistake. We are the dark, deep thoughts of esperkind, and the future belongs to us."
    "Not necessarily," said Diane Vertue, or maybe Jenny Psycho. "Let's see if I really am alone in this fight."
    She extended her foot past the edge of her island, and thrust the toe of her boot into the ocean. Ripples spread slowly out across the surface of the ocean, just like those caused by a pebble dropped into a pond. The ripples increased their speed until they were shooting across the surface of the sea of dreams, more and more of them all the time. The Mater Mundi archetypes stirred silently.
    There was a feeling of pressure, of imminence on the air, of something about to happen. And in a moment, Diana was no longer alone. Drawn by her silent call for help, by a voice that spoke in their dreams and would not be denied, her friends and allies came to her.
    First was Investigator Topaz of Mistworld, standing before Diana in silver plate armor chased with hoarfrost. Her face was deathly white and her hair was thick swirls of ice. The long sword in her hand steamed coldly. The Snow Queen, the
    Ice Princess, the unrelenting cold that can break the hardest spirit, shatter the strongest metal. Topaz had also once been a manifest of the Mater Mundi, but like Diana, had broken free to become her own person. She looked expressionlessly at the archetypes grouped together at the other end of the island, and then turned her icy gaze on Diana.
    "What am I doing here? Am I dreaming? I remember lying down to sleep…"
    "This is where you go when you dream," said Diana. "But what happens here is real enough. Events here have repercussions in the waking world. The freak show over there represents the Mater Mundi. They want to kill us, and enslave all Humanity. Will you stand with me against them?"
    The Investigator smiled, revealing teeth white as frost. "You ever known me to back away from a good fight? I can feel the danger here, Vertue. I can feel the stakes, and what we're fighting for. But there'd better be a few more of us, or it's going to be a short and very onesided fight."
    "Don't worry," said Diana. "The sea of dreams reaches everywhere. Others will have heard my call."
    And one by one, appearing out of nowhere, dropping through the dreaming into the undermind, came others who had fought the good fight for Humanity's soul. Others who were no strangers to the backbrain, and the power to be found there. One by one they came to the island, in the image they had of themselves. Typhoid Mary rose up out of the ground, with a dead face and sorrowful eyes, clothed in a rotting shroud and dirty grave wrappings. Skulls of dead children hung from her belt, and her hands dripped blood. But her heart shone pure, and she burned with the need for atonement.
    Next came Tobias Moon, striding up out of the waters and onto the island, smiling gently. All a man now, with nothing of the Hadenman left in him. Scarlet
    foliage curled around him, alive and aware. Captain Silence and the