A Familiar Setting

The cold light of the stars shines down upon me once again as I soar past the clouds over Paragon City. Normally, the city is filled with colorful lights and colorful people. This is not the case with me, however, since I am not in Paragon City. I just so happen to be in the Plane of the Dead, which is an exact representation of the real world, has the same rules, but there is no color here. What use is color where the ghosts live? This world is a harsh monochrome of a steel gray, and serves as a harsh reminder of what the dead have lost in life. This plane is more commonly known as purgatory, where the dead reside as they await Judgment, which is partly true. This place serves two purposes: the first purpose is so the dead who were wrongly deceased may find me and ask my help so they may rest; the second purpose is Hell, where the souls of the wicked walk the earth for eternity. Not only can these souls not rest, but they are also constantly reminded of their punishment as they see the living, but cannot communicate with them. As for who watches over all of this, that would be me.

Many people know me as “The Legendary Spektre”, but I prefer just Spektre. The dead have their own names for me, and that suits me just fine. The purpose of Spektre, my purpose, is to watch over the Plane of the Dead and the Plane of the Living, and to avenge the souls of the wrongfully deceased, and keep peace with the living. I have been endowed with the powers of the ghosts, which lets me do some pretty cool stuff to get the job done. I’ve protected this city for quite awhile know, longer than I can remember. In order to elaborate on my adventures, I feel compelled to tell the complete story of Spektre, so I’ll start at the beginning.

It all began with a suit of snow-white clothing…

The Tale of Iacob and the White Cloak

Iacob did not ever dream to think that he would somehow change the course of history forever. He was a warrior assigned to protect the mystic in a secluded castle deep in the forests of England. When he first received this task he thought of it as a waste of manpower, but warmed up to the sage when he was introduced to the wonders of the magical world. The mystic taught him many spells to aid him should the time come to defend the castle, and in return Iacob assisted the mystic with his tasks. The mage’s name was never discovered, and was a secret Iacob took to his grave. This, however, does not make the Mystic any less important; I should know, I’ve met him and Iacob both.

Three years had passed since the young warrior was assigned to protect the Castle in the Marsh, and the Mystic and Iacob got to know each other quite well, and both knew they could depend on the other. Then, after autumn had set, and the first snows were arriving, the Mystic showed the very first fruits of his labor those three years: a pure white cloak, almost as if he had taken the light of the stars and dyed the fabric with it. It glowed with an aura in all ways unearthly. Iacob was curious as to why it had taken the mage three long years to fashion this brilliant cloak.

The Mystic answered his question with an eloquent description of my never-ending mission: “I have been instructed by the Archons of the Outer Planes to construct a suit of armor for the Guardian Angel of the Dead. The man who dons this cloak, along with the other items with it, shall walk the earth as both a man and a ghost, protecting the living and avenging the wrongly murdered.”

Moving with an air of purpose afterwards, Iacob spent his hours he was not assisting the Mystic learning to become one with the powers the cloak bestowed upon him, until one day, he heard a voice.

“Greetings, Iacob. We shall be a force to be reckoned with due to your diligence.”

“Who are you? Show yourself,” a confused Iacob commanded.

“I am both here and not here, in your mind. I am using the cloak that was fashioned by the old wizard as a channel to warn you of a coming danger. However, since you can hear me, I know that the cloak’s powers are like an extension of your own, and you will be spared. However, the Mystic’s time is short. He is meant to serve a higher purpose, but he will be joining us sooner than we had expected. Be vigilant, Iacob, and you shall be a legend.”

“You haven’t told me who you are,”

“You will know when the time comes, or you will not. That is not for me to say, it can only be decided by what fate has in store for you…”

Iacob never heard the voice again, but did take heed with what it had to say. He kept one eye toward the horizon in his waking hours, wary of the danger he knew would soon come.

Winter had set in uneventfully, and the pass through the mountains leading to the Sacred Forest has closed up with snow and ice, and the forest seemed to stand still underneath the shimmering sheet of crystalline cold that lay upon it. Underneath the motionless gray sky, Iacob wondered about the danger that was prophesized yet had so far failed to reach him. As the sun set that fateful day, the Mystic seemed to have grown older as the day progressed, as lines of worry defined his features ever increasingly.

In the darkness of Iacob’s dreams, he wondered who the voice was, as it tormented him continually, warning him of the coming, unexplained danger, telling him that the knowledge of the voice’s identity was only to be revealed if he was ready when the time came, when he could have sworn he heard that voice whisper harsher than the cold that set in the black nights…

“Wake Up, Iacob!”

A thunderous clap of stone fragmenting deafened him as flames clouded his vision. The fortress was being attacked! Iacob stumbled through the hole that was the wall around his quarters to see rubble, fire, and splintered wood strewn everywhere. Another thunderbolt crashed through the wall across the courtyard, and as Iacob saw a stone as large as a great warhorse fill his vision, he closed his eyes waiting for the end. It never came, as he opened his eyes, he found his form to be transparent, and the stone struck the wall directly behind him, though he hadn’t moved at all. He decided to ponder this later, and flew through the walls to the Mystic’s quarters.

“We have to get out of here,” Iacob yelled over the sounds of destruction practically deafening him.

“No, they want the cloak. You must leave with it, Iacob. This is why you were summoned to my aid, to not let that cloak fall into the hands of those who would use it for evil intentions. Now you must complete your task by leaving the fortress and serving the just and the worthy,” The sounds of the rounds hitting the fortress were drawing nearer.

“Go, Iacob! Fly away from here, and remember your task! Semper Vigilans, Iacob.”

As the weary warrior soared through the wall, a shot disintegrated the room he had just stood in.

A Modern Day Hero Is Made

History took place as it always has and always will, and a myth was born out of the flames of that fortress. However, I am not Iacob, nor am I his first successor. There have been five others before me, making a total of seven Spektres since his creation. My story is a bit more unfortunate than Iacob’s, and the weight of my task is much heavier than his. And this is how it all began for me…

I was once an average person, like you, or the person next to you, your neighbor, their neighbor, or any other person of no consequence. I’m not tall, nor was I very muscular, although a slim build. I was an artist once, unfortunately a very jaded one. I did not feel that humanity was worthwhile, and rarely lifted a finger to help others. I believed however, that people should carry me on their shoulders because of my “wisdom” and greatness.

Unfortunately, others didn’t seem to think so. I rarely held a contract job, or any other kind of job for that matter, and I would often wander the streets looking for inspiration; something that would truly hold me in awe. My standards were quite high as far as people and inspiration went, because when I was a boy, I always dreamed of seeing a superhero in action, saving someone or stopping a crime. I thought that people should be like that, that we should be everyday heroes. But there are so very few apart from the superpowered that have answered this call of duty

During one of these notoriously depressing searches for an idea through the streets of Steel Canyon, I felt the acrid stench of burning timber and carbon fill my nostrils, and as I looked to the sky, a column of thick, gray smoke loomed overhead with a sense of atrocious purpose; the neighborhood was familiar to me, so I started toward the source of that pungent campfire smell. The great red beasts of the Fire Department had already encircled the burning building like a pack of predators waiting to pounce on a giant bear. The Fire Chief was standing in front of the tenants of the building, directing the EMT’s to administer help to those who needed it, but what caught my eye was a woman who broke through the crowd as if they were reeds of tall grass.

She cried and begged the Chief to save her child, exclaiming that he was only seven years old, that the child was all that mattered to her, but after that, she became inaudible as I focused on all of the people that I looked up to throughout my life to provide me with guidance.

Heroes.

I thought of Atlas, who saved Paragon City on numerous occasions, whose statue is a constant reminder of what I’m about to do; I thought of Manticore, whose only power is his determination to make the world a safer place, of the soldiers who face danger every day the aren’t at home, of the experiences known only to them; I though of the citizens, the everyday heroes who do extraordinary acts in an impersonal world, all in the hope of making a difference.

And with that thought my vision was surrounded by hellish flame.

I got a quick survey of my immediate surroundings, and through the din of crackling flame, and the hisses and pops of burning debris; a child’s cry for help sounded above me. I ran up the stairs, making my presence known to the young one, as I located her on the third floor. As I evaded a chunk of burning framework through the conflagration that was formerly a hall, I see a lump of cloth, as the child’s voice permeated the blanket over it.

As I lift off the blanket, a quick glance is enough to tell me that this little boy is scared out of his mind, and I’m the best thing he’s seen all day. I help him up, and take him by the hand. We walk down the quickly disintegrating stairs to the first level, when I instinctively shove the boy forward as a wave of heat coursed over me; a loud crack, and sudden blackness.

“I’m dead,” I thought. “I have to be. I’ve failed. That child is going to die, I saw the door go up in flame. But, if I’m dead, then why am I still able to think?”

And with that, a vast, dimensionless space filled my vision, and as I looked what I presumed was down, and I saw my soot-covered legs and feet. Then, a voice from nowhere spoke to me.

“It is not yet your time to die, brave one. There is much for you to do, the most immediate concern being the child. You are truly an extraordinary individual, with a sense of duty that few have ever demonstrated. However, in order to save this child, you must pay a price.”

I spoke back to the voice, looking around for any sign of physical presence; telling it that I would do anything if I would be allowed to save that boy from dying so close to salvation.

The voice chuckled. “You have unwittingly found out the first of the ‘contract’. You will get to save the child, but you will do more than that. You will be a Legend, brave one. You will be a hero in the plainest way as possible. You must don the Cloak of Spektre, like the other six have before you, but you will be the last. You will be charged with protecting the Realms of the Living and the Dead for eternity.”

Spektre? I have heard of that myth, but could it be true?

As I blinked, my eyes were looking at the fiery scene before me, and I was prone underneath the ceiling. The child was calling to ask if I was all right, and with a near effortless move I lifted off the burning rubble and looked at the child, who looked at me with unbelieving eyes. As I picked up the boy, he grabbed onto me as if we were about to go through the gates of Hell itself. I noticed that my hands were gleaming white, covered in an unknown material that I would make sure to ponder after the immediate crisis was resolved.

As I walked through the burning door, the building was completely consumed by the blaze, and I was now walking away from what would have been that boy’s grave. The firemen and the tenants of the building were completely silent, even the child’s mother looked on as if I were a being that should not be. But, as she recognized the cargo I had in my arms, she resumed her hysterical behavior as before, but now with joy, rather than fear. The Fire Chief walked up to me with as much composure as he could muster, and asked somberly, “Where did you come from? I was watching this building the entire time. What about the other guy, Hero? The one who ran in to save the kid? He never came out. Did you see him at all, or…”

My reply was this: “The man who entered that building knew what he was about to give, and why. He gave his life to save that child, and I was born underneath the rubble from which he disappeared. He was a hero, and his sacrifice was noticed by other powers, thus giving rise to me. The man is gone, sir, but I promise you, his actions will not be forgotten.”

Epilogue

That day marked the beginning of my everlasting task, and I have since had much time to ponder the significance of my decision, and how, through an act of self-sacrifice in my respects to heroism, I became the embodiment of a legend.

Many years have passed, and I have saved this earth from many attempts to destroy it. Yet, through all of my adventures I have found two words that describe my task fully:

“Semper Vigilans”