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[sub][i]"The ancient Egyptians postulated seven souls. The top soul, and first to leave at the moment of death is Ren, the secret name.
This corresponds to my director. He directs the film of your life, from conception to death.
The secret name is the title of your film. When you die, that's where Ren came in."[/i]
William S. Burroughs, [i]The Western Lands[/i][/sub]
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[i]#01 The Secret Name (Part 1)[/i]
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[i][color=darkblue][b]Earth, Somewhere...[/b][/color][/i]

Deep within the bowels of the Earth, far from any prying eyes and hidden away from the sun's cleansing light, a madman worked furiously. Unholy incantations were uttered, and inscriptions of dark sigils and unspeakable names were scrimshawed into flesh and bone. A dark numen grew in this fetid lair, swelling like an engorged eggsac, ripe to burst with its foul offspring. The time of reckoning was growing close; this was the most crucial, most dangerous, and most exciting part of any ritual.

[url=https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/marveldatabase/images/d/da/Cyrus_Black_%28Earth-616%29_from_Defenders_Vol_1_6_001.png/revision/latest?cb=20200304061548]Cyrus Black[/url] simply could not contain his anticipation. "[color=black]The moon wanes away to darkness, and soon so shall the Earth.[/color]" He muttered, his insanity bubbling up through his mouth as he continued to labor over his ritual. "[color=black]A new age of despair shall sweep over this tormented world, and all those fools that once dared spurn me shall bow down and worship at the feet of [b]𝕮𝖞𝖗𝖚𝖘 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐[/b]![/color]"

Just as he was taking a breath to continue his pointless ranting, a star was born in Black's subterranean crypt. A blossom of golden flame erupted out of nothing, and unfurled like a lotus, its every petal a tongue of purifying fire. Runes and sigils were scoured from existence by the intensity of the light and heat, and Black was left to shield his eyes and swear impotently as months of effort were made fruitless in an instant. The trigonometric fireball finished unfurling after only a moment, what seemed like an eternity to Cyrus Black, and what lingered in its wake was the form of a man hovering a foot off the ground, still bathed in ethereal light. Tall, strongly built, and adorned in shimmering gold and cerulean, Black did not wonder who had foiled his depraved schemes for long.

"[color=gold][b]𝔽𝔸𝕋𝔼[/b] 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕, 𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕕𝕦𝕖 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕣.[/color]" The golden apparition proclaimed, his voice ringing off the walls like they were inside of a church bell. "[color=gold]ℂ𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕝𝕣𝕪, 𝔹𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜. 𝔼𝕝𝕤𝕖, 𝕤𝕦𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝔽𝕒𝕥𝕖.[/color]"

"[color=black]Fool! Charlatan! Puppet of Order![/color]" Cyrus Black was inconsolable, gesticulating wildly and spittle flying from his lips with every madness-drenched word. "[color=black]You cannot conceive of what your ignorance and idolatry have cost me! You cannot stave off the future, Fate! Cyrus Black shall rule this blighted world as its rightful master![/color]"

Doctor Fate continued to hang in the air before the ranting warlock, unmoved. His arms crossed in front of his chest, just under where the yellow Eye of Anubis hung, its pitiless gaze burning into Black's soul. "[color=gold]𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣. ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕒 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℕ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕞.[/color]"

Black spat at Fate, cursing him with all of the energy and effort left in his body, "[color=black]Suffer the pain of a thousand deaths, Fate! Your baseless threats don't frighten me! I am a master of the dark-[/color]"

Cyrus Black was not afforded the time to finish his monologue, as a dimensional rift opened under his feet. Baleful green light poured out of the maw of the portal, and before Black realized what was happening, a hundred grasping spectral hands dragged him screaming into the waiting pit below. The rift sealed, leaving only the echo of Black's terrified cries as the last remnant of him on this plane of reality. Doctor Fate sighed heavily, the sound reverberating in his helmet. He lingered alone in the dark for a few moments, tapping his fingers against his arms as though he was waiting in line at the bank. Then, after checking his wristwatch, Fate cast the spell to reopen the portal, and Black was spat out of it like a lump of human phlegm.

The warlock laid prostrate on the floor, shivering and gasping, before eventually managing to climb onto his hands and knees. His clothes were soaked through with ectoplasm and other unsanitary fluids, and a vicious tremor ran through his entire body, leaving him almost unable to speak. "[color=080808]P-please, n-no more.[/color]" He was barely able to form words. "[color=080808]Every m-moment like an eternity of-[/color]"

Fate cut him off. "[color=gold]𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥? 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕖? 𝕍𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕝.[/color]" With another motion, Black was seized back into the Nightmare Realm. Fate once again sat in the darkened chamber alone, humming a small tune, before deciding it was time to return the warlock once again.

When Black returned the second time, he was still soaked with various indescribable fluids, but this time he had no clothes, and seemingly all of his hair had been ripped out of his skin. The man looked twenty years older, and did not have the energy to move, nor speak. He merely gazed up with haggard, bloodshot eyes at the luminous golden figure looming above him.

Doctor Fate spoke now, not bothering to wait for the shell of a man on the floor to acknowledge him. "[color=gold]ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕒 𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕝-𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕. ℕ𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕖𝕖𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕨𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟, 𝕠𝕣 𝕀 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟 𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕞𝕪 𝕦𝕤𝕦𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕪.[/color]" With that, Doctor Fate disappeared from the warlock's lair in another blinding flash of light.

[hr]

[color=darkblue][b][i]Earth, The Tower of Fate[/i][/b][/color]

A wink of light in the highest chamber of the Tower of Fate signaled its master's return. Doctor Fate's personal chambers occupied the tower's apex, and were spacious and well-accommodated, if somewhat spartan in design. The Tower itself was like a beam of sunlight frozen on Earth; a featureless sliver of golden metal suspended amongst the highest peaks of the Himalayan mountains. Accessing it was impossible without the power of magical teleportation, but those privileged enough to be granted access by Fate himself found that the Tower's interior was far larger than the space the Tower seemed to occupy from the outside.

His latest errand completed without issue, Fate began to divest himself of his magical raiment. He pulled off the golden Helmet of Fate first, revealing the [url=https://dl.img-news.com/dl/img/s2/dl/2020/04/0_Opening-Ceremony-45th-Deauville-American-Film-Festival.jpg]aged, bearded visage[/url] beneath. The Helmet of Fate was enchanted to be weightless and breathable for its master, sparing the supercentenarian Kent Nelson from the effects of trapping his head in a metal tube for hours at a time. If someone other than Kent attempted to put the helmet on... The effects were best left undisclosed. The helmet flew from Kent's hands under its own power, before settling gently on a mannequin in a crystal display cabinet. The rest of Doctor Fate's costume followed suit, each piece taking to the air to put itself away as soon as it left his body. Only one piece remained, the Eye of Anubis, the amber gemstone within the amulet pulsating rhythmically. Kent Nelson showered and redressed without removing the amulet, and tucked it beneath his undershirt once he was dressed again.

Kent sat down at his desk, a huge, regal thing of richly-colored wood, inlaid with gold filigree. Kent didn't know what kind of wood it was; it didn't come out of a tree, he materialized it himself, along with just about everything in the Tower, as well as the Tower itself. Scattered across the desk's surface were books, tomes, scrolls, grimoires, many loose papers serving various purposes, and an assortment of gems, coins, and other enchanted nick-knacks. Kent did the best he could to clear a space for himself to work. One of the difficulties of working alone was having to do all of the organization and housekeeping yourself. Kent eventually found the book he had been looking for, a decently clean quill and an inkwell that hadn't dried up yet, and went about logging his daily activities into the heavy, leather-bound tome. Records were an essential part of the life of any serious magician, particularly those who fancied themselves diviners or seers. One could never be sure if a quirk of fate was merely that, or a portent of a grander destiny, unless one had something to reference it against. Writing and reading these massive tomes was an arduous task, but Kent adamantly refused to use a computer or other electronic device for his work. He had already gone to the trouble of making his home all but impenetrable to intruders, creating a virtual backdoor where there was none felt like shooting himself in the foot.

That was not the only matter recorded in Doctor Fate's personal archives. There were at that time exactly two-hundred-thirty-seven practicing magic-users on Earth, and Fate had the name and home address of every single one of them written down. Every witch, wizard, or warlock, every village wisewoman whose singing voice could heal, every Vegas hack that used prestidigitation to cheat at craps, every hero, heroine, villain, or villainess was under Doctor Fate's careful observation. The little people, magicians that frequently did not even know that they had accidentally tapped into the true magic, were left blissfully ignorant of Fate's panopticon. Others, particularly those with troubled pasts (or futures), were deliberately made aware that he was watching them. That was the only reason he had left that cretin, Black, alive. A dead warlock couldn't warn his friends not to come crawling out of their holes.

Finishing his notes, Kent set down his quill and cracked his knuckles, leaning back in his desk chair. He closed his eyes, resting them, but resisting the urge to fall asleep. As long as it had been already, Kent's day was far from over. It was dusk in the Himalayas, and Kent cracked an eye open to watch the sun set behind Everest. It was morning in New York already, and in a few hours Kent had an appointment with an old friend. Fate was not one to miss appointments.