Angela Blake comforted her small son as she sat on the side of the bed in the hotel room in Paris where she was sequestered. Her gaze was focused on the ruggedly handsome brown-haired man across the room, Colonel Du Fureur. He was peering with his one good eye from behind the curtain to check on his men stationed at various points on the street below and on the roof of the building across the street.



She had spent nearly two years on the run from Kobra. The twin of the child she held in her arms had been artificially aged to adulthood to take his place as the head of the Kobra cult when Lex Luthor slew their father in a duel. Like their father and his brother before them, they shares a sort of Corsican twins sort of enchantment where they would share each other’s pain or injury. The new Kobra would not tolerate this sort of vulnerability, so he had spared no expense in trying to find them.



Angela was tired of running, so she sought asylum in France. The French government was happy to give it. Like many nations, France did not trust the benevolent face Kobra had presented since taking over Khandaq. There were rumors that they had restarted their criminal enterprises… rumors, even, that the current leader of Kobra was not the same one who had tried to change Kobra into a force for good.



Angela was able to confirm their fears about the imposter who now sat upon the throne of Khandaq. It also lead them to fear their suspicions of new criminal activity might be true, too.



Colonel Du Furear of Department Gamma was in charge of protecting her and her son. He had assigned many agents to her security detail and moved her from safe house to safe house and countless hotel rooms at the slightest whisper of danger. It had become obvious that the new Kobra leader wanted her dead because of her knowledge and her son under the Kobra cult’s thumb.



Angela had faith in the ruggedly handsome Colonel Nicolas Du Fureur. He had the hardened look of someone who had seen a lot of action in his time. He had the scars to prove it in the form of an eyepatch over his left eye.



There was a knock at the door and a voice from the other side said, “Housekeeping…”



“We’re fine. Go away,” Du Fureur said sharply.



“Please… I get in trouble.”



“Go away!” Du Fureur snapped. “We don’t need anything!”



The door was suddenly kicked in, revealing two armed men. One of them had a gun trained on a frightened Turkish housekeeper who he shoved aside.



“Get down!” Du Fureur shouted to Angela. She ducked down behind the bed as shots rang out.



Du Fureur dodged to the side, narrowly being hit. He fired off three shots and two of them hit the plain-clothed Kobra agent who had manhandled the housekeeper, striking him in the right knee and shoulder. The man screamed and fell to the ground, dropping his gun.



Du Fureur kicked over the table and hid behind it. It was a faux wood surface over a steel base, so it served the purpose of acting as a shield.



The other gunman had edged his way into the bathroom and would poke his head and arm out to take shots at Du Fureur. The table jolted as several shots struck the surface as the two exchanged fire.



Du Fureur’s gun clicked impotently as the cartridge emptied. “Merde!” he cursed. His extra ammo was on the other side of the room.



He heard a cry of frustration from the other man. His gun was empty, as well. Unlike Du Fureur, he might be able to reload if given the chance.



Before the potential assassin could react, Du Fureur flipped the table aside as he charged him. He slammed into the gunman who grabbed ahold of the towel rod as he fell backwards, pulling it loose.



The Kobra agent grabbed the rod with both hands and shoved it towards Du Fureur’s neck to pin him to the wall. Du Fureur managed to bring his hands up in between himself and the rod to keep his neck from being crushed. He then brought his knee up and slammed it into the man’s gut. When the Kobra agent doubled over, letting go of the towel rod.



Du Fureur socked him across the jaw. The force of his blow jolted the Kobra agent’s head backwards, sending it bouncing off of the bathroom sink. Du Fureur then grabbed the back of his head by the hair and plunged his face under the water of the toilet bowl. He used both hands to hold the Kobra agent’s head in place as he thrashed about. When he finally stopped moving, Du Fureur let go of the drowned man and rose to his feet, breathing heavily.



He staggered back into the main room as Angela’s son wailed in the background, frightened. “How many and where are they?” he demanded as he walked towards the surviving gunman who lay slumped on the floor with his hand pressed against his shoulder.



“Ngh.. @#$% you,” the man said, grunting in pain.



“I do not believe I heard you correctly,” Du Fureur said,” Pressing his foot to the Kobra agent’s ruined knee.



“Aaagh!!! Go to hell!!” the main wailed.



“I can create hell for you now, n’est pas?” Du Fureur said, pressing harder on his knee.



“AAAGH!! Stop! Stop!” the agent screamed.



“Tell me what I want to know!” Du Fureur growled.



“There are ten outside!” the man squealed. “By now they have surely killed your guards!!”



“And?” Du Fureur asked, pressing harder.



“Four more in the lobby and parking deck,” the agent said, writhing in agony as tears formed in his eyes.



“A little bit of underkill for Kobra,” Du Fureur mused. They were just enough agents to get the job done and in plain clothes, to boot. Kobra was trying to keep a low profile.



Du Fureur lifted the Kobra agent by his shirt front and said, “Thank you for your cooperation,” and then punched him, knocking him out.



He walked over to the walkie-talkie that lay by the overturned table and picked it up. “Agent Claude, are you there?”



“Oui, monsieur,” the voice on the other side



“Good. I see you are not dead. We need an extraction,” Du Fureur said.



“Negative, monsieur. They have us pinned in.”



“Merde,” Du Fureur cursed. “It appears we are on our own. Do your best to stay alive, mon ami.”



He walked over to where the unconscious Kobra agent lay and reached down and picked up his gun and handed it to Angela. “Do you know how to use one of these?” he asked her.



“Yes. My father was a cop,” she answered. “He thought it was important to be able to defend myself, so he used to take me to the shooting range.”



“Sounds like a man after my own heart,” Du Fureur said as he loaded his own weapon, slapped in the cartridge, and attached a silencer to the end. “Let’s go.”



“Okay, Nic,” Angela said, lifting her son with the arm not holding a gun.



Angela Blake followed closely behind Du Furier as they left the room and stepped into the hallway. She trusted that he knew what he was doing. Judging from the grey hair at his temples, he had plenty of experience under his belt.



Nic Du Fureur spotted a Kobra agent at the end of the hallway blocking the path to the door leading to the stairs. He waved his hand behind him to signal Angela to stay back.



“Hé toi! “ Du Fureur called to the man. When he reached into his jacket, Du Fureur knew he was the enemy. He quickly took aim, fired, and the Kobra agent dropped to the floor.



They quickly dashed to the stairwell, Angela clutching her son to her tightly. They raced down two flights of stairs when a Kobra agent threw open the door, surprising them. Du Fureur grabbed his gun arm and flung him over his shoulder, sending him tumbling down the stairs.



When the gunman landed at the end of the staircase, he scrambled for his gun and rose to his feet. Du Fureur took aim, fired, and hit him square in the chest. The man slammed backwards into the wall and slid to the floor.



Du Fureur stepped over the fallen man’s legs as he dashed to the next flight of stairs followed by Angela, still carrying her son. They raced down two more flights of steps, bypassing the first floor and heading straight to the parking deck.



A shot bounced off the wall by the doorway as they entered the parking deck. Colonel Du Fureur fired back as they dashed towards a parked car to take cover. They made another dash towards Du Fureur’s car, a red classic ’57 Chevy Bel Air, as he hit a button on his keychain to unlock the doors.



Once inside, Du Fureur locked the locks, started the ignition, and then hit a button on the console. The car suddenly rose into the air as the tires folded underneath.



The car turned towards the gunmen who fired upon it. The bullets bounced off it harmlessly. Two gun barrels suddenly slid out from hidden panels in the grill, firing rapidly. The two gunmen fell in a hail of bullets.



The car flew towards the exit. Suddenly, a car entered the parking deck with gunmen firing out the windows at them. A panel in the center of the car’s grill opened and a rocket fired. The enemy’s car exploded as the rocket struck and Du Fureur’s car soared through the wreckage and out the exit.



As the car rose into the sky, Du Fureur said grimly, ‘We’re going to need help.”



He hit a button on the console and a television screen rose out of the dashboard. An image came onto the screen of Fleur de Lis, the beautiful blonde member of the team of super heroes, Les Defenseurs.



“Bonjour, Nic,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”



“I wish I could say this is a social call. I have a woman and child being pursued by Kobra… the wife of the late leader of the Kobra cult and his son.”



“The late leader of Kobra?” Fleur de Lis asked, raising an eyebrow.





“I’ll explain when I get there,” Nic Du Fureur said before signing off.



“Manoir de Defenseurs,” Du Fureur said. “Home of Les Defenseurs.”



A few minutes later, Du Fureur’s car flew over the gate of Manoir de Defenseurs and landed on its front lawn. The three of them walked to the front door and when a security camera saw who it was, a voice said, “Please place your hand on the hand pad.”



A panel by the door slid up, revealing the hand pad. Du Fureur placed his hand on the hand pad and a laser canned it. The double doors opened.



Les Defenseur’s butler, Gaston, was there to greet them. “Hello, Colonel Du Fureur. I hope you are doing well,” the black man said in his thick Martinique accent.



“We are unharmed, which is the best we could hope for, given the situation,” Du Fureur answered.



“That is good,” Gaston said. “I will let the team know you are here.”





The last couple of years had been a roller coaster for Jean Paul Valley. Every day seemed to hold a new life changing event.



The first blow had been losing his wings. They disappeared shortly after he joined Les Defenseurs. It turned out they were simply a byproduct of the enchantment the Greek god Eros had used when he made him into a pawn in his plan to manipulate the American super hero team known as the Titans. In his arrogance, the god of love thought that in order for him to be the perfect tool to break the heart of Lilith for the perceived crimes of her mother, Jean Paul had to become an idealized version of Eros himself. Once the ruse had been revealed and Jean Paul returned to France to seek his origins, the magic began to fade.



Jean Paul was fortunate that Department Gamma allowed him to remain in Les Defenseurs and live in the mansion. They even provided him with psychiatrists, therapists and even hypnotists on staff to try and help him to recover his memories. This helped him to discover two vital pieces of information. One was the name of his father: Ludovic Valley. The other was a name he was unfamiliar with: The Order of St Dumas.



When he tried to find his father, he was crushed to learn he had died under mysterious circumstances a year before he had been found by the Titans. His mother had died even earlier. He had discovered who he was only to learn he was an orphan.



He also found out that he had been a student of computer sciences at the University of Paris. He re-enrolled to give his life some sense of normalcy.



Father Lucien, his team mate known as the monstrous Le Gargouille, had at least been able to provide some information regarding the Order of St. Dumas. He told him that the Order of St. Dumas was a fabled religious order that had split off from the Knights Templar. They were assassins whose sole mission was to bring swift retribution down upon evil doers.



Father Lucien did not believe their order still existed, if they ever did. Frustrated, Jean Paul wondered what an ancient defunct sect of religious knights had to do with him. He would soon find out.



He was sitting in a café near the university one day, enjoying a cup of coffee. He was startled when a dwarf walked up to his table and took the seat opposite him.



He introduced himself as Nomoz and told Jean Paul that he had known his father. Ludovic Valley, he said, had been the latest in a long line of knights to wear the mantle of Azrael, the avenging angel of the Order of St. Dumas. He told Jean Paul that his father had been killed while on a mission for the Order to kill an illegal arms dealer named Carlton Leha.



Jean Paul was surprised to learn that the name Azrael wasn’t one that Eros simply pulled out of a hat. He must have found it amusing to turn a symbolic ‘angel’ into a real angel.



Nomoz explained that his superior fighting skills were the result of a lifetime of conditioning known as the System for those who would one day wear the mantle. He offered to train Jean Paul so that he could tap into the System further in order to aid him in the role he had inherited from his father.



Part of the training involved ritual meditation. It was during one of these sessions that the design for a high tech suit of armor bearing the crest of the Order of St. Dumas revealed itself to him. When he came out of the trance, he began drawing up the plans in almost a fever state. Once he had them down, he showed them to Nomoz and the two began constructing the armor he would wear in his crusade as Azrael. He knew the armor would be a more effective weapon than his wings had ever been.





Since 1622, the Musketeers loyally served France. They began as the military branch of the royal household. They fought in infantry and on horseback as dragoons. Their boisterousness and fighting spirit inspired a nation when they charged into battle with swords raised.



The Musketeers became the most popular regiment. Their esprit de corps and patriotism made them symbols of the spirit of France. Those who served wanted to be Musketeers.



The Musketeers were thought to be finally disbanded in 1816. This was not the case. France would always have a Musketeer.



The Musketeers were boiled down to one soldier to serve the direst needs of the nation. The finest France had to offer would wear the uniform of the Musketeer. The goal of the Musketeer program was to create the ultimate soldier.



The current man to bear the name of Musketeer now stood in the training room with his team mates: Le Gargouille, Azrael and Le Fantom. His uniform bore the colors of the flag of France: blue, red, and white. The sword he wielded was made of Supermanium: a substance so hard that there was a time it could only be manipulated by the man it was named after. His name was Etienne de Roger.





As the Musketeer swung at the targets floating around him, slicing one neatly in half, he glanced over at Le Gargouille who was in a squatting position pressing up against a giant hydraulic press. “How much are you up to today, Father Lucien?”



“I must be having an off day today, mon ami. I am only at two tons,” Le Gargouille grunted.



“Do you need someone to upset you to get that adrenaline flowing?” the Musketeer laughed. “Our friend Le Fantom is available. That always seems to do the trick.”



“That is because all of you fail to appreciate my comedic stylings,” the man known outside of France as ‘The Phantom of France’ said as he took aim at a target with his bow and arrow.



“I suppose it is an acquired taste, Fantom,” Le Gargouille said, grunting beneath the weight of the press.



The Musketeer mused on what a contradiction Le Gargouille was. Thanks to Psion experiments during the alien invasion, he looked to be a terrifying living gargoyle, a creature from hell. The reality couldn’t be further from the truth. Father Lucien was as kind and spiritual a man as Etienne had ever known. His condition prevented him from preaching to congregations, but he still strived to serve God in his own way. He helped to defend those in need and he would still provide one on one spiritual counsel to those willing to look passed his appearance. Etienne often said Father Lucien was both the team strong man and the team chaplain.



Suddenly, Fleur de Lis walked into the training room. All eyes were on the platinum blonde in the scarlet red bodysuit.



“Hello, ma petite,” Le Fantom said. “Care for some target practice? My arrows against your throwing stars?”



“No time for that,” Fleur de Lis said. “Nic Du Fureur is here with someone who needs our help. We are meeting in the conference room.”





The group took the elevator from the basement training room to the first floor. Once there, they made their way to the conference room.



“Bonjour, mon ami,” the Musketeer said jovially, walking towards Nic Du Fureur to shake his hand and give him a friendly clap on the shoulder.



Fleur de Lis studied them with interest. She had heard the stories of the two of them working together with the French Resistance during World War II. From their appearance, that would seem highly unlikely. It was possible, she supposed. Both men had received enhancements from Department Gamma similar to the ones she had.



They all sat down to the large table in the center of the conference room. Du Fureur began to brief them on the situation. Angela Blake filled them in on her experiences over the last couple of years, as well.





“This is quite a lot to take in,” the Musketeer said.



“I never did buy the kindler, gentler Kobra,” Le Fantom said with a sneer.



“But Jeffrey was sincere in wanting to help Khandaq,” Angela insisted. “He was using the technology he btook from Lex to try and give his subjects a better life.”



“Yes, it is good your Monsieur Burr found redemption in the end,” Le Gargouille said. “It is a shame his son did not choose to walk the same path.”



“If Jeffrey had lived, he planned to add a new testament to the theology of Kobra. Instead of ushering in the Kali Yuga, the prophesied age of chaos, Kobra’s new purpose would be to bring about the Satya yuga, an age of peace, love, and prosperity.”



“Hou la la!“ Le Fantom said, wide-eyed. “You realy REALLY had a good effect on him ! “





“We had a good effect on each other,” she said wistfully. “The elders of the religion were not happy that he had strayed from the original tenants,” Angela continued. “When he was killed, they saw this as an opportunity to create a Naja Naja who would exemplify all the beliefs of Kobra.” Tears began to well in her eyes. “I wish I could have gotten to our son before they did. To lose Jeffrey and one of my babies in the same day was almost too much to bear.”



Fleur de Lis placed her hand on top of Angela’s. “It may be too late for him, but nothing will happen to Jason. I promise you.”



“Thank you,” Angela said in an emotion choked voice.



“Now would be the time to keep that promise,” Gaston said from the doorway, holding little Jason. “The mansion is under attack!”





Traffic was at a standstill on Rue de Frick and any pedestrians who hadn’t taken cover stood with their mouths agape. Several Kobra dreadnaughts stood poised in the air with their noses pointed towards 890 Rue de Frick, Manoir de Defenseurs. None bore the Kobra emblem. Several Kobra troop transporters landed, releasing infantry. Instead of the normal Kobra uniforms, they wore nondescript body armor and carried laser blasters.



“Apparently, this is Kobra’s idea of keeping a low profile,” Nic Du Fureur said, watching different points of view of the enemy forces gathered on the mansion’s large array of security monitors.



“Do they really think just leaving their symbol off their equipment will fool anybody?” Azrael exclaimed.



“Plausible deniability, mon ami,” Le Fantom said.



“Kobra has always been technically advanced,” Fleur de Lys remarked. “But with the Lexorian science they’ve acquired, they will be all the more dangerous.”



“Shall I contact Les Quatre Fantastiques?” Gaston asked. “Perhaps Monsieur Fantastique’s technical expertise might be of use.”



“Les Defenseurs fight their own battles,” the Musketeer said. “Gaston, please escort Mademoiselle Blake and her son to the secure area below while the rest of us deal with our uninvited guests.”



“Very good,” Gaston said with a nod.



“As much as I would like to join you in the fight, I am still responsible for Angela and her son,” Nic said. “I’ll stand guard over them should Kobra breach your defenses.”



The mansion was suddenly rocked by an explosion. When they looked at the monitors, they saw that Kobra’s dreadnaughts had blasted through the twelve foot high, one foot thick wall that surrounded the mansion.





Kobra foot soldiers charged across the front lawn. Restrictive coils suddenly sprung up from the ground to snare many of them. Many more charged onward.



“Where do you think you’re going!” a voice boomed, giving them pause. Blocking the doorway stood the Musketeer and the rest of Les Defenseurs, poised for battle.





Les Defenseurs charged into the horde of oncoming Kobra foot soldiers. Despite their effort, the Kobra men were unprepared for the tornado in their midst.



A soldier took aim and fired. The Musketeer swung his sword in a defensive maneuver that would make Wonder Woman proud, deflecting the blast. He then swung his sword slicing the rifle neatly in half. He then brought his sword hilt into the head of a soldier behind him while bringing his leg up to kick the rifle out of the hands of a soldier in front of him.



Fleur de Lys let fly with several throwing stars, causing rifles to explode in the hands of several soldiers. She then launched herself at them, somersaulting over one and then jumping into a swinging roundhouse kick that takes down four soldiers.



Le Gargouille slammed his fists on the ground, creating a tremor that shook several foot soldiers off their feet and threw them into the air. He then grabbed the nearest Kobra soldier and threw him into another group of soldiers, toppling them like bowling pins.



Le Fantom looked up at the Dreadnaughts. A hatch opened on each and several soldiers exited on what looked to him like flying snowmobiles. “Merde,” he cursed as the flying soldiers began to fire down upon them with handheld blasters.



Le Fantom reached back to his quiver, pulled out an explosive arrow and fired at one of the flying soldier’s vehicles. It exploded beneath him and he fell to the ground with a startled cry. With lightning speed, he drew arrow after arrow, blasting the sky-mobiles out from underneath them.



The only ones able to take the fight directly to the dreadnaughts were Azrael and Le Gargouille. Azrael soared towards the dreadnaughts, propelled by the jest built into his boots. He dodged the dreadnaughts’ blasts and returned fire. Le Gargouille hurled a huge chunk of debris at a dreadnaught before launching himself at it and tearing at its hull.



The remaining dreadnaughts trained their cannons on the mansion itself, hammering at the force field that had been activated once Les Defenseurs left the building. The mansion’s automated defense system was too distracted by the soldiers zipping around on their sky-mobiles to take aim at the dreadnaughts.



“I think we may be out of our depths here, mes amis,” Le Fantom said.



“What I wouldn’t give for our own Superman or Martian Manhunter on the team,” the Musketeer said grimly.





Across the square from 890 Rue de Frick, a brown haired man in a dark suit watched the fight. “This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.”



He reached up to the amulet around his neck. It was fashioned in the shape of an eight-spoked chariot wheel. When he grasped it, it began to glow. The light poured out from between his fingers.



In a flash, he was transformed from an average clean cut business man to a large musclebound man with long, flowing brown hair and a full beard. Aside from the amulet, he was bare chested. He wore wool leggings of a Celtic plaid, leather boots, and a fur cape. In his hand, he held a wand fashioned of yew, carved to resemble a helix of twin lightning bolts.



“The enemy thinks they have won the day,” he said in a deep, boisterous voice with a half grin. “They have yet to see the likes of Taranis!”



He pointed the wand to a spot a few feet ahead and two horses of living lightning and a chariot formed before him. He stepped onto the chariot, flicked the reins, and with a hardy laugh, took to the sky flying towards the dreadnaughts.





Taranis flew by the dreadnaught where Le Gargouille was busy tearing away at the hull, flinging metal behind him. “Bonjour, mon ami!” he said jubilantly. “Do you mind if I join the battle?”



“Mais oui,” Le Gargouille replied. “As long as you are on our side.”



“Certainement,” Taranis said. “Let me give you a hand with that.” The wand in his hand suddenly transformed into real lightning which he flung at the dreadnaught, causing its side to explode. The lightning then flew back to his hand and became a wand again.



Le Gargouille quickly leapt from the dreadnaught onto Taranis’s chariot. “A little warning would have been nice.”



“What fun would that have been?” Taranis said, laughing heartily.



Taranis blinked in disbelief when the dreadnaught, rather than crash, simply disappeared. “Well, that was unexpected.”



“The same thing happened with the others I fought,” Le Gargouille said. “As long as they are gone. Let us see if we can do the same with the rest.”



“You are a man after my own heart, my ghastly friend,” Taranis said with a booming laugh.



Taranis gave a sharp “hyah!” and flicked the reins to spur his lightning steeds onward. Le Gargouille leapt from the chariot to another waiting dreadnaught.





Watching from the ground, Le Fantom said, “I can’t let them have all the fun.”



He pulled an arrow from his quiver that he then fired at one of the airborne Kobra soldiers. A cable extended from the arrow. Once it connected magnetically with the soldier’s sky-mobile, Le Fantom began to climb. The soldier tried to shake him off, but he quickly made his way up and joined him on the sky-mobile. With a quick shove, the Kobra soldier tumbled off with a startled cry.



Le Fantom grabbed the arrow with the cable and yanked it off. “Let’s see what this baby can do,” he said with a sly grin. He began firing arrows at the airborne Kobra soldiers. The first one gave a pained “oof” as a boxing glove arrow connected with the side of his head before falling off his sky-mobile. Another crashed into a tree in the yard when a net arrow opened over him. Once the closest airborne soldiers were dealt with, he began training his explosive arrows on the same dreadnaught Azrael was working to bring down.





“Who is that?” Fleur de Lys said, pointing to Taranis. “He looks like an ancient Gaul warrior!”



“I don’t know,” the Musketeer said, bringing his boot up to connect with a Kobra soldier’s face. “He appears to be on our side, so I’m not complaining.”



“Me neither,” Fleur de Lys agreed.





Another dreadnaught disappeared after being hit by explosive lightning. “If this keeps up, we will run out of things to hit!” Taranis laughed. As soon as those words were out of his mouth, two more dreadnaughts and another troop transporter appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.



“Tabernac!” Le Gargouille exclaimed as he landed on the chariot of Taranis after causing another dreadnaught to explode. “How do we fight an enemy that keeps replenishing itself?”



“It just means the fun will last a bit longer,” Taranis said with his loud booming laugh.



“Has anyone ever told you that you are insane?” Le Gargouille asked.



“Yes, but my friends tell me it is the good kind of crazy,” Taranis said with a huge grin.



Just then, Azrael zipped by a nearby airborne Kobra soldier. An energy blade extended from his forearm and sliced neatly through the spot where the handle bars connected with the base. The soldier gave a horrified cry as he flew, out of control, into another soldier on a sky-mobile.



Seeing this, Taranis gave a loud belly laugh. “Ha ha!!! Good show, my armored friend! Good Show!”





Nic Du Fureur and Angela Blake, holding her son, stood in the safe room on the lowest underground floor of the mansion. Both turned at the sound of the tumble of the lock to the thick titanium door.



Du Fureur pulled out his revolver and aimed it at the door as it opened. His jaw dropped when he saw the short, swarthy man in a suit and rumpled trench coat.



“Dupin! How the hell did you get in here with all the fighting outside?!!” Du Fureur asked the mysterious man from the office of Department Gamma.



“I have my ways, Colonel,” Dupin said. “Come with me to the mansion’s media room. It is time Madamoiselle Blake introduced herself to the world.”





“Merde,” Le Fantom cursed as he reached back to his quiver. It felt much lighter and he had just confirmed his worst fear. He only had a few arrows left. His only option would be to join the Musketeer and Fleur de Lis on the ground where he might be more effective.



Suddenly, he saw a soldier on a sky-mobile bearing down on him. He weaved his own sky-mobile back and forth, avoiding his gunfire. He gunned the engine and raced towards a dreadnaught and, at the last second, veered upwards at a 90 degree angle. The soldier in pursuit let out a scream before colliding with the dreadnaught in a fiery explosion. The dreadnaught began to plummet before disappearing. Maybe he wouldn’t be so useless after all.



Despite their enhanced endurance, the Musketeer and Fleur de Lis were starting to feel the weight of constant battle. The ground around them was littered with Kobra soldiers of which there seemed to be an endless supply.



This has got to end soon,” Fleur de Lis said as she delivered a right cross to the jaw of a Kobra soldier.



A Kobra soldier tried to jump the Muskateer from behind. He grabbed the soldier’s arm and sent him flying into two others. “We have to hold on,” he said. “They have to run out of men eventually.”



“Let us hope,” Fleur de Lis said.





Angela Blake sat across from the pretty French television news reporter on a set made to look as if they were sitting in a living room. The woman looked rapt with attention as Angela spoke.



As Dupin anticipated, it did make for fascinating television. After all, she was a beautiful woman caught in a love triangle with two arch-villains, one of which had been reformed by the power of their love…. A woman now on the run thanks to the deadly conclusion of that triangle. She looked all the more sympathetic with little Jason sitting on her lap. With his thick black hair and blue eyes, he was a beautiful child.



As Dupin and Du Fureur watch, they smiled with satisfaction. She was a natural in front of the camera. The woman Kobra had tried so hard to pursue clandestinely was now about to be a media darling.





The newest Naja Naja of the Kobra Cult and ruler of Kandaq stood before a large monitor in a nearby location watching the battle. He smiled to himself in satisfaction. These French heroes would soon be overwhelmed by sheer number and they would take the mansion. Having an entire nation of citizens to condition into soldiers was the best legacy his father could have left him.



Kobra turned in annoyance at the sound of one of his technicians approaching. “What is it?” he asked the visibly nervous man with irritation.



“N-naja Naja…,” he stammered. “You asked me to monitor transmissions from the mansion in case they should try to call for help…”



“And did they?” Kobra growled.



“N-no, but there’s something else you should see,” said the technician.



“Put it on the main screen,” Kobra commanded.



Kobra’s eyes grew wide in shock and anger at the sight of his mother, with his brother in her lap, talking to a reporter about her situation. He hadn’t anticipated such an action. He couldn’t have the world seeing Kandaq as a rogue nation.



“Order all forces to retreat at once!” Kobra bellowed.



“Retreat, Naja Naja?” one of his lieutenants asked in surprise.



“Yes! Retreat, damn you!”





Le Fantom looked down and saw three Kobra soldiers converging on an exhausted looking Fleur de Lis. He quickly landed his sky-mobile, shutting it down, and ran to help her. Before he could land the first punch, the men disappeared… as did the fallen soldiers, the airborne soldiers on sky-mobiles, and the dreadnaughts and troop transporters.



“What’s going on here?” Azrael exclaimed, descending to the ground. “Where did they go?”



Le Gargouille landed with a loud thump a few feet from Azrael. “Away, thankfully,” he said with a sigh of relief.



Taranis landed his chariot by them. The two steeds and the chariot were drawn back into his yew wand in a flash of lightning. “Is the battle over already?” he said with disappointment, causing everyone to stare at him in disbelief.





The mood in the den of Manoir de Defenseurs was one of celebration. Laughter filled the room as they were finally able to relax.



“Your ale, sir,” Gaston said, handing the large mug to Taranis who sat sprawled on the large leather couch.



“Many thanks, my good man,” the thunder god said, raising the mug.



“We are all glad you accepted our offer of membership,” the Musketeer said.





“I will greatly enjoy fighting by your side, if today was any indication,” Taranis said with a hearty laugh.



“And I am glad I was able to turn off my new toy in time before Kobra could take it away,” Le Fantom said with a rakish grin. Everyone broke into laughter. Taranis, of course, was the loudest.



Nic DuFeur took a sip of his beer and gestured with his bottle to Dupin. “How the hell did you know putting Angela on TV would work?”



“Tres simple,” Dupin said with a shrug. “The old Kobra would have sent their men charging in wearing full Kobra regalia while blaring from loudspeakers ‘Woe unto anyone who dares challenge Kobra’ for all the world to hear. Now, they try to stay incognito so they can continue to enjoy the image the last Naja Naja cultivated for Kandaq.”



“Even now, they are already disavowing any responsibility for the attack,” Dupin continued. “The new Kobra claims to have nothing but love for his mother and brother and hopes they can be reunited someday as a family.”



“Department Gamma will make sure that reunion never happens,” Nic Du Fureur added.



“That reminds me… Mademoiselle Blake, may I see you in the conference room?” Dupin asked.



“Uh… sure,” Angela said with surprise. She lifted up Jason, who was on the floor playing with a toy robot Nozom had made for him, and followed Dupin to the conference.





“I must say, your French is excellent,” Dupin said, laying a thick folder in front of him as he sat down at the end of the table.



“I’ve had more chances lately to put those four quarters of French I took in college to use than I ever dreamed,” she said, taking the seat to his right



“I am sure,” Dupin chuckled. “I suppose you are quite curious about why I asked you to meet with me alone.”



“You’ve got that right,” Angela said. She nodded towards the folder in front of him. “Please tell me that isn’t a bill for all the time France gave me asylum.”



“Oh no,” Dupin laughed. “Just the opposite, in fact.”



“How so?” Angela asked curiously.



“Well, as you know, despite your relationship with the late Monsieur Burr, you are still legally married to the international criminal, Lex Luthor,” Dupin began.



“Since we have both been in hiding for our own reasons,” Angela said, reddening, “neither of us has exactly had the opportunity to file for divorce.”



“Tres bonne,” Dupin said. “We would ask that you not sever that union.”



“What? Why?” Angela exclaimed.



“You may not be aware of this, but Lex Luthor is a ludicrously wealthy man. Normally, Interpol would try to seize the assets of such a criminal. But aside from a few old robbery attempts in his early days to lure Superman into a trap, he has not committed crimes for money but for personal vendetta. His fortune has been made legally from inventions derived from his considerable genius.”



Dupin slid the thick folder over to her. “This is but a small sample. The actual list of his personal assets would probably be as long as a set of encyclopedias.”



Angela opened the folder and gave its contents a brief glance before sliding it back. “I think I know where this is going and I don’t want a thing from that bastard.”



“I’m sure you must have a great deal of animosity towards him for killing your Monsieur Burr…” Dupin said sympathetically.



“That’s putting it mildly. I despise the man!” Angela said.



“Then look at it this way,” Dupin said. “There is more than one way to make a man pay.”



“This is because Interpol can’t touch his money,” Angela said.



“You are as astute as you are beautiful, Mademoiselle Blake,” Dupin said, smiling charmingly. “France would be more than happy to continue to provide you with the same modest lifestyle it has given you. But look at that adorable child in your lap. Does he not deserve to be spoiled rotten?”



Angela gave a wry smile. “Is there something I need to sign?”



“It just so happens that I have the forms in this same folder,” Dupin said, pulling them out and laying them before her.



“I thought you might,” Angela said, amused.



“Just sign in the highlighted areas and your son will enjoy a lifestyle that would make a Saudi prince jealous. Department Gamma and Interpol thank you and urge you to spend heavily and spend often.”



“Oh, I will,” Angela said, continuing to sign. “I will.”