Through thick, eternal ice, the Roxxon Cutter continued to plough. In the deep arctic, the crew feigned a research experiment, while in reality the ship was dumping toxins and chemicals to avoid paying for responsible cleanups.
Deep in the pale, icy water, partially embedded in a glacier, a primeval force is disturbed from its short, fitful nap. Opening its ancient maw, the creature breathed in, taking oxygen from the water, and with that key ingredient to life, it took in the pollutants, bacteria, irritants, mutagens, toxins and more—all the foul products of mankind’s quest for knowledge.
The pollutants coursed through the beasts body, and even this ancient creature was susceptible to such modern ills, it’s blood and body poisoned, but something, deep within its gut, forgotten and indigestible stirred, awoken by the irritants and the beast’s poor reaction to them. The beast, a great worm of ice, stirred and swam to the surface, attacking the cutter.
The iceworm jumped and headbutted the ship, sending the massive vessel reeling. The Captain of the ship fell back in the navigation room, at the last minute he grabbed some piping and kept from falling to the floor, with a curse, he and several others rushed out onto the deck to see what was happening.
The belly of the worm burst open, in a bloody eruption like it had just eaten dynamite. From within, a mysterious figure emerged, from the ocean pillars of ice rose and all around the cutter the water froze, trapping the ship, and like living tendrils, the ice crept up the side of the ship, totally enveloping it.
The figure walked towards the ship on newly rising ice pedestals, the burst and dead worm is was sinking into the depths, closing in upon the ship, the figure’s blue, crystal eyes bore into the captain’s soul.
“W-what are you?” a brave soul, or perhaps a soul driven by its sense of impending doom, enquired.
“I am Jack Frost,” the figure replied, with a voice like a harsh winter’s wind.
Where the ship and worm once fought, there was now only a mountain of ice, above that, a figure hovered, in robes sewn with ornate Chinese patterns, and long straight dark hair flowing in the wind. With one hand pointed to the ground in a fist, a series of beams swirl out in a vortex, bearing him aloft. He watched and smiled, then teleported away.
Earth’s Orbit:
Shaped like a spiraling dragon form, the Mandarin plotted on his space station, copied from Makulan science, the warlord and conqueror planned anew.
Recently defeated by Iron Man, the Avengers and the Winter Guard, the Mandarin lusted for revenge, and that hunger, insatiable and frenzied, has found him allies, several powerful men and women, whom the Avengers and associates have trod-on before: Llyron, Paibok, Mimic, Diablo, Enchantress, Quicksand, Dragonfly and Blackwing.
Mandarin and Blackwing had used their wealth to manipulate the corporate world, buying larges shares of stock in Roxxon, influencing business and research decisions, cleverly, and clandestinely guiding Roxxon into business in the deep artic, where the Mandarin’s files had known the iceworm would be. He had also known that within the worm lay Jack Frost—in his last encounter with Iron Man, the Mandarin had managed to pilfer many security codes, linking to Stark’s personal array of satellites, and downloading all the Avengers files—files which were updated and shared often with other various superheroes and groups. The Mandarin had found an interesting entry by Captain America; the Captain had encountered a ferocious beast in the artic, and inside the beast was an old war-time ally and powerful elemental manipulator Jack Frost.
The Mandarin, using his science and magic in concert with Paibok’s own Skrullian scientific knowledge (though Paibok had not been a scientist in the Skrull empire, the Skrulls far surpassed most Human technologies, thus even his mundane knowledge of day-to-day Skrull machinery gave him expert engineering abilities with the “backwards” Earthen machines), Diablo’s alchemy, and Enchantress’ magic, they had managed to awaken and now guide the disturbed Jack Frost.
They had met, through the Mandarin’s machinations, and banded together, under the moniker of a reworked Lethal Legion, for when Enchantress had cooed the name, quite taken with it herself, none saw fit to argue; “Better than that drab and dull appellation the Masters of Evil, so vain and boring,” she had stated.
The Legion had divvied up the world, and each would do as he saw fit with their portion, stamping out pollution-- a caveat set forth by Llyron--but after that minor goal, they would be free to rule as each saw fit.
Llyron would take the oceans, Mandarin held Asia, Diablo was to be given much of Europe, from Portugal and Spain northwest up through Romania. Blackwing desired North America, where first he would renew the honour of the Silvermane name, and punish his detractors, Quicksand was happy with South America, Dragonfly took Antarctica and the Savage Land, while Mimic would have Australia and the Enchantress northern Europe. Each would take a sliver of Africa, plundering it anew for raw materials and more—for instance Diablo was eager to quest for any alchemical and magical secrets on the continent. Paibok’s only desire was to leave Earth and return to the Skrulls, who had exiled him and punish them.
“The plan is set, I believe,” The Mandarin stated to his comrades, nodding in agreement. After his defeat at the hands of Iron Man, and the destruction of the Dragon of Heaven, the Mandarin had revived his Makulan Space Station, as the perfect base for his new plans. He would convince Anthony Stark that his capitalist system was a new feudalism. From the space station the Mandarin had located his lost rings and reacquired them.
Now, he manipulated a control panel, and the teleporter within the Station activated: Mimic, Paibok and Llyron stepped forth.
New York, current time:
“THE MIMIC!” Angel shouted out. Warren and Felicia Hardy—the Black Cat—had been out on the town, well in truth above the town, showing off their aerialist skills and acrobatics. Just now they had been attacked by a foe from Warren’s past as an X-Man, the once laughable Mimic the angry, destitute Calvin Rankin.
Calvin flew at them, much changed from the last time Warren had crossed paths with him. Not all was different though, and Calvin unleashed one of Cyclops’ optic blasts.
“What’s this guy’s problem?” Black Cat asked as she dodged an optic blast, swinging deftly on her swing line.
“He’s a bad gimmick,” Angel answered, pressing his arms tight to his side and folding his wings in, he entered a dive going well below the Mimic, and coming back up behind him. Rapidly flapping his wings, Angel turned around and attempted to unleash a devastating kick. Mimic turned and caught his leg in time, using a great, hidden strength to pull Angel off course and toss him, harried and flustered into the air.
Angel righted himself in the air and flew at Mimic. “Who’re you copying now, Cal? You don’t have my wings anymore, but you’re flying, and you’re strong as hell. I didn’t know you had such control.”
There’s a lot we have to catch up on, for now I need you and your pretty friend to take a fall, and I’ll fill you in later. I was never able to fit in, not with the X-Men or the Brotherhood, but I have a place now—with the Commission on Super Human Activities, and something big is going down, The Mimic telepathically spoke into Angel and Black Cat’s minds.
Before Angel or the Cat could reply, with blinding speed the Mimic lashed out, carefully but forcefully he rendered them unconscious and flew off. Using his borrowed abilities from Jean Grey, the Mimic left Angel a telepathic message, and he flew off.
Avengers Mansion:
“Avengers!” Duane Freeman’s voice chirped out through the communications system.
“Yes, Duane?” Warbird answered, she had been in the main part of the Avengers compound, which houses the work out room, communication and conference rooms and more.
“Llyron, an enemy of your friend Namor, is attacking the city! He just came up near the Brooklyn Bridge!” Duane continued.
“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” Warbird responded. The screen went blank, and an emergency call went out to all active duty Avengers.
“What is it, Carol?” Jim Hammond’s face sprang up onto the screen.
“Llyron is attacking the city,” Carol informed the artificial man.
“Darkstar, Vision and I were just out at lunch, we can all be there in a few minutes,” Hammond said, an imperious business like tone to his voice.
“Rhodes and I will meet you there. Have you been in contact with Angel and Black Cat?” Carol asked before leaving.
“No,” Hammond simply replied.
“Okay, well we don’t have the time to check up on them now, I hope they’re okay,” and she signed off and hastened out.
Brooklyn Bridge:
With his great strength, Llyron punched holes in the massive bridge, snapped cables and flipped cars around with but a thought. As he picked up an oversized SUV with one hand and flung it, bands of multicolored energy caught it in mid-air and set it back down on the bridge.
“I think it best if you stop your hissy fit right now,” Jim Rhodes said, with both mirth and venom. Like a great shark, vicious and hungry, Llyron sprang and went for his throat. Just as Rhodes was erecting a field to ward off Llyron, a bright red blast of energy lanced across the Avengers’ back, and the Mimic arrived on the battlefield. As Calvin hovered in the air, ready to renew his feigned attack on the Rhodes, Warbird, who to this point had remained hidden—helping those affected by Llyron’s attack--slammed into him with a chunk of stone from the bridge.
Seattle, Tony Stark’s home:
“Hey, c’mon, open up man!” a familiar voice called out to Tony from outside the door, and Stark hurried to the door. He could have the house open the door itself, but this was an old friend, and one he’d wronged, he wanted to make a good impression. Could he and Jim Rhodes reconcile?
Upon opening the door, he received a solid steel fist to the gut, and the world went dark for Tony Stark. The visage of Jim Rhodes transformed into that of a Skrull, Paibok had used his inherent Skrullian powers to mimic Iron Man’s former friend.
“I have him Mandarin,” Paibok the Power-Skrull voices into his communicator, as the Mandarin and others observe from on high.
“Don’t forget his suitcase and the Iron Man armour. Our foes should be strong. They should be a challenge, they should justify our superiority,” The crazed warlord, descendant of Genghis and Kublai orders his comrade.
“I’ve got it. Take me back to the station,” and in a flash Paibok, with the unconscious Tony Stark and Iron Man briefcase was gone.
Brooklyn Bridge:
Warbird made the Mimic cringe as she drove him into the asphalt, battering him with a massive chunk of concrete and granite.
Glowing with energy, the chunk of bridge rose and was tossed out into the ocean. Mimic levitated out of the miniature crater created by the impact. He unleashed an optic blast, which Carol absorbed, channeling it to fuel her own powers.
“That won’t work,” She about laughs.
“This should,” a golden aura surrounded his body as Mimic hurtled forth like a Cannonball. Warbird deftly manoeuvred to the side, while Mimic kept going, she turned around to see where he’d gone and saw nothing but clear skies. The sound of his blasting flight still echoed in the sky, like a giant, solid engine. The sound grew greater and from above Mimic came down on her and battered her into the ground; his near invulnerable blast field pummelling her into the blocked off road near the bridge.
“How’d you get so fast…and competent?” Carol coughed out.
“Shut up,” sorry for the ruse, and the bruises, but at the end of this, hopefully you can forgive me, and holding her tight in telekinetic bonds, he brought her along as he flew up to help Llyron.
“W-what?” She continued, dumbfounded.
To answer her question, he flashed a badge, she’s seen them before, he’s a S.T.A.R.S. operative, the law enforcement arm of the Commission of Superhuman Activities. Calvin Rankin is one of the good guys.
Earth’s Orbit:
In his lab of sorts, Diablo continued to experiment, never set and happy with his formulae, the Spanish madman wass constantly pushing the boundaries of the ancient field of alchemy, creating new potions, probing the depths of power within his Philosopher’s Stone. Diablo has been alive since the Spanish Inquisition, and in that time, in all those centuries, he has never lost his zeal.
“What are you doing?” The strange voice, feminine, yet with a peculiar buzzing quality, asks. Without looking up, Diablo knows it is his “team-mate” Dragonfly—how she came to be on the team, he can’t fathom—as a request by Quicksand, he thinks, and Mandarin needed Quicksand for all of five minutes to help with some scientific detail.
Grinding his teeth, Diablo scrawled a few notes and turned to Dragonfly, attractive in her own exotic way with dark red skin and hypnotizing eyes. But the antennae, and her demeanour—how she had just waltzed in and talk to him as though he were equal to her—that disgusted him. She, a woman and mutation to boot, had addressed him. He ground his teeth, choosing words carefully and quickly.
“Nothing, just…what is it, fine-tuning some older formulae I often employ,” he spoke tactfully, betraying none of the irrational contempt he felt.
“I was just wondering…how powerful is your alchemy? Can you transform…organic matter? People?” Dragonfly asked, her large magnetic eyes reflected a grave sadness.
“And why do you wish to know?” Diablo asked, trying to hide contempt from his voice. If he could indebt this sordid female to him, perhaps he could sow dissention in the ranks. Kill the Mandarin, have the world for his own.
“I think you know, would you like to be trapped in this form? Antennae, disgusting red skin, yellow eyes. I’m a freak. I was a human once, before I got trapped up in these stupid hero and villain games. I want you to make me normal,” were she able to, the Dragonfly would break down into tears, but her eyes, as well as the rest of her, has been too far mutated, and her inability to show sadness fuelled her with rage.
“I think I may be able to do something,” Diablo says, he turns to his experiments, a sadistic grin playing out on his lips.
Teleportation Room, Mandarin’s Space Station:
Klaxons rang as the teleporter powered up to receive an incoming traveller. As the energy effects cleared, a victorious Paibok appeared on the platform, with an unconscious Tony Stark over his left shoulder. In Paibok’s right hand, he carried a briefcase which stored and concealed Stark’s wondrous Iron Man suit.
The Mandarin strode over, confidently, to the platform as Paibok stepped down from it. The Mandarin took the briefcase, he scrutinized Stark’s form, and then took his watch—which housed Tony’s remote activation switch. Without his watch and briefcase, the Iron Man should be down and out, until such time as the Mandarin saw fit to bring his oldest and greatest foe into the fold.