Salem 2099UG #8

- LaCastre Manor, New Haven -

A high-pitched noise rang in the still night air of Radü LaCastre's office. He looked up from his computer screen with mild annoyance. Slowly, he took a long sip from a crystal wine glass, stained crimson, that sat to his right. Placing the empty goblet down with an abrupt motion, he inhaled a deep breath and finally answered his automated servant.

"Yes, Lynx?"

"Your high-priority security feed, whereabouts classified, detect motion within their perimeters. Shall I link the footage to your personal viewer," the melodic voice inquired.

"Yes, please," he said with a smile.

As the lights dimmed, the scrolling text and illustrations, that had been yet another report from his team of executive scientists, was replaced with a streaming video from a location that was unknown to all but the Lord of LaCastre Manor. Though he did not know exactly where in the city Salem called home, he did have a bird eye's view of his humble abode. In fact, he had been secretly spying on the man at fault for the destruction of Tamerlane Inc.'s headquarters for a few days now, thanks to a seemingly mystical gem that Salem had stolen from the late Bartholomew LaCastre. He was hoping to learn all that he could, and so far all he had learned was that Timothi Greer, the child mutant that he had the Outer Circle track, had escaped his grasp and was now safely living with the Guiding Light, along with the young lady Nichola Montesi as his protector and surrogate mother. Radü hated losing more than anything and it seemed as if that was all he had done when paired against Salem. The mysterious man, one with the shadows, had done nothing but slip past all of Radü LaCastre's attempts to gain revenge.

So, he bided his time. He did so spying upon his prey in an attempt to learn everything he could. However, tonight was different somehow. Lynx had alerted him that Salem was reappearing in his apartment sanctuary, where he rarely stayed, but someone appeared to be with him. As the light from Salem's transdimensional travel faded, he could make out two figures. One he quickly identified as Salem, but the other was something special.

"Lynx, secure all communications and alter my status to Unavailable, unless of course, in the case of extreme emergency."

"Yes, Master," the computer answered out of nowhere.

Radü sat back in his chair and watched the scene play out before him. He had never witnessed such a creature in all of his life. He had isolated footage of a confrontation in Crowns Plaza between Salem and a similar being, but there was no comparison to the majesty of the winged man before him. His wings of virgin white shimmered in the moonlight pouring into Salem's apartment sanctuary.

"Lynx, are you recording," he asked with a breathless anticipation.

"Of course, Sire."

He said nothing. He could only watch, stare, and wonder.

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- Salem's Apartment Sanctuary, New Haven -

Salem felt uncomfortable to say the least. The sheer holiness of the being beside him intimidated him, making him feel even more vile than normal. He realized that his dark nature was part of his birthright, but he had fought hard to do what he thought was right. He had fought hard to overcome the urges within his soul, to soar above the evil that called him. He often wondered if the deeds he performed in the name of righteousness was merely a way for him to mask his violent tendencies. Even now, the doubts crept up his spine. Never before in his short life had he felt as inadequate as he did now.

Truly, the two were complete opposites. The Archangel was tall, nearly seven feet, with perfect, broad shoulders. On the other hand, Salem was around six feet tall, and though his shoulders were also wide, they held no comparison to that of the angelic host beside him. He sized himself up, trying not to be obvious. The physique of the angel, who's true name was Omen, was as perfect as one could imagine, for he was created by God Himself. Salem felt as if he had been shunned by God, but he was no slouch either. Though his muscles were not the biggest, they were very tightly packed and condensed, which allowed him the strength of any ten men, at least. He was not the strongest man alive, but he could easily hold his own.

Their differences did not stop with their physical attributes. Their garbs were a good source for contrast, as well. Salem was used to the murky city of New Haven, and dressed accordingly. He wore a skin-tight black suit made of unstable molecules, which was one of the toughest fabrics on earth. With it he wore a tattered, purple cloak, which matched his purple mask, gloves, and boots perfectly. Archangel's garments were truly not of this world! He wore an ancient armor that had served him well through the centuries. A brilliant, gold chest plate shone in Salem's apartment, and it was adorned with angelic designs. Salem could not decipher them, but that did not surprise him. There was much about Archangel that he did not understand.

Finally, their primary weapons were of great difference. The Staff of Asgard was Salem's chosen weapon, an instrument that he had entrusted his life with on many occasions. Though its origins were mysterious, he did know a few things about it. He had been taught in its use during his youth in the Tibetan Freedom Zone. It was a prize among the order of monks he lived with, and the student who earned the Staff was the wielder for the next generation. Of course, afflicted with his accursed impatience, Salem thought it best to simply steal the Staff of Asgard and be done with it. Once he escaped into the snowy mountains of Tibet, he survived by opening a portal to a dimension used for travel only. He dubbed it the Void and its only drawback was the pungent aroma of brimstone and sulphur.

Omen the Archangel had no use for worldly weapons, for he possessed a natural weapon. When in need, he could call upon a sword of light, which replaced his right hand. Its brilliance was like that of the sun itself, and it had proven to be one of the deadliest weapons in the known universe, though its power relied on the strength and health of the Archangel himself. This was where his weapon could prove to be ineffective, but Omen had many other attributes to make up for it. One such obvious attribute was his might, and beautiful, wings of soft white that sprang forth from his shoulders.

It wasn't long before Archangel noticed Salem glaring at him. "Thou eyes wander, Lost One. Share thou thoughts?"

"Nothing," Salem mumbled. "It's just that you're the second angel I've encountered within the last three or four days. What's with all of the activity?"

"Another of my kind," he roars. "If thou are in league with the Dark Angel, I shall smite ye in your own sanctuary, son of demon!"

"Dark Angel," Salem spat. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about... and I don't like the sound of this Dark Angel... and the being I encountered was hardly on a mission from God! He was an incubus... I stopped him from raping yet another helpless victim! It sounds like Someone upstairs needs to get Their house in order..."

"I know not what thou speaketh of... but, so help me, if thou blasphemes in my presence one more time..."

"Enough with the threats, Archangel. This has nothing to do with you or your Dark Angel, and we've got a job to do, so shall we?"

"His name," Archangel demanded.

"Who?"

"This heavenly monster... I must knoweth his name."

"Seraphim... he claimed the position of Seraphim," Salem offered quickly.

"It is noted," Omen said sternly. "My thanks."

Salem merely nodded and headed toward his work bench. He shifted through all of the various instruments and materials strewn about. He cast aside the stolen LaCastre gem without even a notice, for he had no knowledge that he was being watched and recorded. Finally, he shoved a few things in his belt, and whipped the Staff of Asgard out again.

"I doth prefer the cool night air as opposed to your stealthy travel, Dark One."

"Salem."

"What," Archangel questioned.

"The name is Salem, Archangel. And you won't need those shockin' wings of yours where we're going. In fact, I daresay you let me do the talking if we're going to save this world. We can't demand the Darkhold from the devils we are dealing with..."

A gasp sprang from the mighty Archangel. "Surely you jest, Salem. Thou plan on selling thy soul to the devil?"

"Um, let's say I'm bartering... let's just hope it's worth that much."

With a few traces of the Staff, a flash of light robs the apartment sanctuary of its two visitors and replaces them with the smell of sulphur and brimstone. The New Haven night is quiet once more, devoid of its protector.

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- LaCastre Manor, New Haven -

Moments passed, and still the automated voice of Lynx questioned its master. "Sire, activity within the designated source has ceased. Shall I deactivate the feed?"

Still, Radü LaCastre said nothing. He merely stared into the computer screen, disbelief clouded his thoughts.

"Yes, Lynx. Deactivate the feed," he said slowly in a hushed tone.

He stood and casually walked over toward the large window looking out over the metropolis of New Haven. He shook his head and smoothly caressed the bizarre glass between him and the outside world.

"What am I do to do," he asked of no one in particular. "What am I dealing with? How do I deal with a man who has allies such as that? Angels on his side... or against him?"

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- The Outback, Australia -

The great red, baked rocks stood as silent monoliths in the blazing sun. Through years of environmental neglect this is a place no longer inhabitable. In fact, if one can survive in the radioactive wilderness, it makes a fantastic hiding place. One such figure scaled the rocks, in an attempt to find the nearest crack large enough to hide in.

"Obe," a great voice bellowed out over the sand and rock.

The demonic imp said nothing as he continued to skip from one rock to another. In his small hands he held a canister, which glowed brighter than the rocks themselves. It was hung around his neck by an old piece of leather, or something similar. The box was decorated with strange writing, which had been hard to duplicate. However, being the trickster he was, nothing was impossible. Besides, he had known a great scribe in Hell who owed him a favor, and it had been a breeze for him to duplicate the heavenly writing.

However, the angel named Samhain had no interest in how Obe had acquired the box. He cared not about how Obe had managed to switch the real chest with the duplicate he had created before meeting with the Dark Angel. He only cared about the raw power ready to burst forth from the container. The power which Obe neither had the wits to wield, or the right.

"Give me the power, Obe, before this world is swallowed whole," he cried with rage. (**NOTE: The power that Samhain the Seraphim is speaking of just happens to be a bit of the Power Cosmic... stolen from Omen in ARCHANGEL 2099 UG # 10! Check it out!!!)

The Seraphim's great wings burst forth from his back, and he flew into the air with awesome speed. He made a mad swoop toward the rebellious demon, but landed at the top of the rock he scaled instead. Kneeling upon the ancient stone, he placed his hand upon it and murmured in a language forgotten through the eons.

Suddenly, the great rock shimmered and cracks ran up the sides. It continued to shudder and vibrate, yet Obe held on with all of his might.

"Boss, can't we... can't we talk about this?"

"You used your newfound ability to enter this realm to hide from me, Obe!!! You should have realized that one, such as myself, who has been crossing the distance between Heaven and Hell and back again could easily find you on this pathetic plane!"

"I.... er, I wasn't hiding from you, Sammy!! Trust me, baby!!! I was just going to hide it for ya! Do you realize how badly that ice queen, Dark Angel, wants this box," Obe pleaded.

"No, perhaps it is YOU who does not realize how badly I want that box, Obe," his Master continued as bits of the rock began to fall to the ground.

"But, Sam..."

"ENOUGH!!!"

Finally, the power of the vibrations cast Obe off of the rock, and he fell several stories to the hard unforgiving ground. Though still alive, he was severely hurt. He crawled away from the rock, trying his best to ignore the rain of debris falling upon his broken body.

"You gotta trust me, featherhead..."

"I have had enough of your insolence, Obe! For centuries I have endured your pathetic drivel for your talents, but the life I gave you wasn't enough, was it!? You will PAY for your treason, imp! Now... GIVE ME THAT BOX!!!"

By the Seraphim's command, the great rock exploded into a hail of rubble and boulders. He flew above the tragic scene below with a stern look of impatience and anger. After what seemed an eternity, the dust finally settled enough for him to spot the radiating box. He flew to the ground and shuffled briefly through the debris and there he saw it.

It was clutched in Obe's lifeless hand, which stuck out from the rock. It was the only part of his body not buried, obviously protected by the power of the angelic forces inside. He smiled with a sinister grin as he jerked the container out of his servant's grasp. Then, he opened the box and sighed with ecstasy as he was enveloped by a veil of light unmatched in its radiance.

"Finally," he hissed with pleasure. "Finally...."

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- The Realm of Hell -

"What hast thou done, beast," Omen exclaimed as the light from the Void faded. The first trip through Salem's personal dimension had caught the Archangel off guard, but now it was their surroundings that shocked him. His eyes narrowed at the rugged terrain and he scoffed.

"Aye, brought me to ye home, I see. Now, what?"

Salem said nothing as he looked around with a feverish anger. Suddenly, he took off into a sprint toward the water's edge. Omen looked upon the massive body of water and marveled at its size. Even with his angelic vision, he could not peer into the depths of the water. Frustration overtook him as he slowly followed his loath ally.

"It should be here," Salem said to no one in particular. "Something must have happened to Obe. The ferry isn't tied to its dock... someone must have gotten him."

"Treason is one with devils, Salem. Mayhaps this creature of Hell hast turned his back upon his allies? Have ye no safe plan?"

Salem shrugged with impatience. "This is the first time that Obe has ever failed... I didn't think I'd need a safe plan, Archangel. Any ideas?"

Omen the Archangel smiled stiffly. "I have suffered ye travel enough, Salem. Mayhaps it is time travel with the might of an Archangel."

Before Salem had the slightest chance to protest he found himself in the clutches of Omen. He mumbled to himself as the Archangel's splendid wings unfolded and enveloped them. It was only a matter of time before they were flying through the air, the warm, arid wind combating them. Omen beat his wings faster, sending them over the lake of hot lava like a streak of lightning.

Through the breeze, Omen shouted to his companion. "What of this Obe, Salem? Hast his treason also placed our entrance in peril?"

Salem groaned. Obe was supposed to pull some strings in advance and set up a meeting with the dreaded Mephisto, who had once again regained his throne. "I'll have to improvise."

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- Mephisto's Throneroom -

A large fire burned in the center of the room, yet it did not cast light or heat. Those who made up the ruler's court has learned to ignore the Flame Eternal, for they knew not what its purpose. However, the man sitting upon the large, rock throne knew its secrets. He sat with his fists clutched upon his chin, staring into the flame.

What Mephisto saw frustrated him. He thought that he had seen the last of Salem once the Darkhold had been destroyed. However, he knew what Salem wanted. He wanted it as well, however, he would have to do more than take it. The Archangel accompanying Salem was bad news, even in the pits of Hell. Mephisto stood and walked toward the flame, watching the two fly over the Sea of Sin that surrounded his majestic palace.

He turned and one of his many servants awaited his word. "Send word of Salem's arrival... I want all of those with his name in their heart to witness his defeat."

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- The Palace of Mephisto -

Salem looked through his mask with a puzzled expression. It wasn't as if Hell was a second home to him, but much had changed since Mephisto had retaken control of the realm. He looked up at the large, stone palace that had once belonged to Blackheart. It had somehow changed since Mephisto had taken up residence. Salem could feel terror creeping up within him, but somehow the close proximity of the Archangel helped him combat it. He didn't want to admit that the situation was more assuring with the angelic visitor by his side, however he sucked in a deep breath of hot air and ran his hand over the rough gateway, sealed with brimstone and hard molten lava.

He leapt back as flame consumed the concrete portal and the lair opened up before them. He granted a stiff smile underneath his enigmatic garb to the Archangel. Omen ignored the friendly gestured and nodded toward the open entrance.

"After you," Salem mumbled.

The Archangel paraded through the doorway with Salem trailing behind him. They took no more than five steps before they were devoured by a column of magical fire, which, much to their surprise, did not harm them. Though blinded by the pure splendor of the inferno surrounding them, Salem was still confident with the Archangel by his side. However, he had a sinking feeling within that their success would be upon his shoulders.

In a matter of seconds the flame died and Salem found himself reaching out to the angel, hoping to grab hold of anything to secure himself in his blind state. "Omen," he asked with a tremble in his voice never heard before.

"I am here," the angel replied in a deep baritone. "We are not alone, Salem."

Finally, Salem's vision began to clear and through his blurred vision he saw the image of Mephisto sitting before him. The large, gothic throne was at least four times the size of Salem himself, but it was nowhere near as threatening as the realm's newest king.

"We seek an audience, Dark Lord," Omen boomed.

Mephisto hardly offered the archangel a glance as the silence continued. His eyes narrowed as if staring into Salem's soul. Salem stared back, his eyes never wavering. His eyes jerked away when Omen cleared his throat, preparing to speak again.

However, Salem cut him off. "Save your breath, angel. He won't even bother communicating with you because you have no business in Hell's affairs."

"That is correct," Mephisto said aloud, finally speaking. "It is you I grant an audience, not your winged ally. If you wish to do business with this court, your companion must hold his tongue. Well? What have you to say?"

The Archangel turned to walk away, refusing to suffer such indignity from the dark overlord. Salem, on the other hand, boldly stepped forward. "There is no need to talk down to me, Mephisto. I know my business here."

"As do I," Mephisto countered as Omen stopped dead in his tracks.

"Nay! Turn away from this wraith, Salem!"

"SILENCE!!!"

"Do as he says, Archangel," Salem spat. "Then, you know why I have come?"

"Yes... and you are foolish to think that I'll just give up my share of the Darkhold so easily. We share a balance of power, yet you believe I'll just surrender my half of the Infinity Spell!?" Mephisto threw his head back and laughed manically, as did the rest of his court.

"Give it to me, Mephisto? You do take me for a fool. However, I have something to offer you that you cannot refuse. I offer you my soul."

The laughter stopped suddenly. Mephisto was hesitant and spoke with unease. "Perhaps I already own it, Lost One."

Salem said nothing. "It is my own."

"As is my half of the Infinity Spell," Mephisto replied. "However, you do have something I want along with your soul. I'd be willing to make a deal... a test of endurance perhaps?"

"Yes. What is this trial?"

"A combatant of my choice, of course. You must fight them to the death, Salem. If you win, then I'll give you my half of the Infinity Spell to save your insipid little planet. However, if you lose, or the Archangel interferes, your soul, and the Infinity Spell, will be mine by forfeit!"

Salem silently nodded. "Understood."

"Thou cannot do this, Salem," Omen interjected.

He said nothing in reply. "Who is this challenger," Salem asked.

Mephisto waved toward a mass of helpless souls, all of them somehow touched by Salem's actions. No matter how hard he had tried to forget, Salem could remember each of their faces. However, there was one face that stuck out in his mind, and it was this man who stepped forward, towering above all of the others.

"Bartholomew LaCastre," Salem whispered to himself.

"Aye, I see that you remember me... very intelligent, Salem. It's not wise to forget the face of someone who wishes you dead."

Salem sized him up once again, remembering how painful their last encounter had been. He had been somewhat outmatched the last time they met, for Bartholomew LaCastre was much more than he seemed. Perhaps he had been genetically altered by Tamerlane Inc.? Whatever the case, Salem knew that Mephisto had a trick up his sleeve; Bartholomew would be even harder to beat in this realm, for he was already dead!

"A fight to the death seems a little unfair, Bartholomew. Didn't I send you to Hell once already," Salem questioned with a sneer.

The anger swelling up within Bartholomew was obvious as he began to slowly clench his fists. "No, that would be my dear brother, Radü. He is to blame for my demise, and once I finish with you, Mephisto will allow me to return him the favor."

"Not if I have things my way," Salem replied. "If it were up to me, I'd send him here for a nice family reunion."

Mephisto's laughter shook the room. "The hatred between you two runs deep, humans. If you can defeat Bartholomew LaCastre, Salem, then I shall grant you the other half of the Infinity Spell. However, if you lose, not only do I own your soul... but the Infinity Spell as well."

Once again Salem said nothing.

Suddenly, without warning Bartholomew LaCastre launched himself toward his foe, knocking the Lost One to the ground with a savage tackle. Salem tried to break free, but Bartholomew had him pinned to the ground. "You're not going to get any cheap shots in on me this time, Salem."

He brutally drove his fist into Salem's face, feeling the flesh beneath his purple mask give in. Omen the Archangel looked on in horror, for he could do nothing to save his ally, for his word was his prison. The fate of the world rested upon Salem's shoulders and things were looking bleak.

Salem fought hard to free his hand, and upon doing so called for the Staff of Asgard to return to his grasp. However, before he could raise it to strike the dead LaCastre, Bartholomew wrapped his large hands around in an attempt to pull it free from Salem's possession. The two fought over it in what appeared to be a stalemate. An idea quickly formed in Salem's mind and he worked to turn the head of the Staff toward Bartholomew. Bartholomew didn't fight him, for he intended to impale Salem with the sharp end of the ancient staff and end their fight quickly.

As the tip of the Staff began to dig into the flesh of Salem's chest, the Staff began to glow. Salem was using the Staff's ability to absorb magical energy to tap the Flame Eternal that burned with mystical power in the center of Mephisto's throneroom. Before Bartholomew could draw blood, Salem unleashed the power, which sent his enemy flying across the lair. He fought to stand, and was astonished to find Bartholomew LaCastre upon his feet as well.

"Your tricks aren't going to work here, Salem."

His words were intimidating, but Salem said nothing in response. He knew that there was no point in hiding his fear behind a witty response. That was a hero's game, and he wanted no part in it. This was a war, a battle to the death and there was no room for games.

He began to twirl the Staff, approaching Bartholomew as he did so. The larger man simply sneered and slowly made his way forward also. Without a moment of hesitation, Salem sprinted toward Bart, who stood still awaiting the attack of the Lost One. However, as Bartholomew reached out to grasp Salem he caught the glimpse of the Staff's tip glowing. The light of the Staff was brighter than that of the Flame Eternal itself. Suddenly, right before his very eyes a portal opened up before him and Salem vanished.

"What trickery is this," he bellowed. He looked around, casting an evil glance at Salem's angelic companion.

"What have you done, Archangel," Mephisto growled.

"I hast done nothing, Overlord. Tis the Dark One's own doing."

In the midst of the confusion, Bartholomew had no time to react when the portal reopened above him. From the depths of the Void leapt Salem, who landed on the brutish man's back. He swiftly wrapped the Staff of Asgard around his throat and applied as much pressure as his muscles could bare. He felt Bartholomew's windpipe start to give way and a sinister smile crept upon his face, obscured from the view of all those watching.

Bartholomew started to weaken, his knees buckling. Ever desperate, Bartholomew grabbed at the Lost One upon his back, squeezing the life from him. Salem dodged and his foe's hand just barely slid across the top of his mask. However, the next attempt found a handful of Salem's cloak in Bartholomew's grasp. With a vigorous shrug, he jerked Salem over his shoulder and smashed him hard into the ground. A low, silent moan escaped Salem's trembling lips.

Bartholomew picked up the sacred Staff of Asgard and dared to bring it crashing down upon Salem's ribs. Omen looked forward at Salem's twisted form, his wings shivering from the force of Bartholomew's blows. Mephisto smiled to himself as he watched the angel in anguish. He turned to the grizzly scene and encouraged Bartholomew.

"Finish him, LaCastre, and rejoin your brother in life... just to send him to me!"

Salem tried to crawl away, clutching at his chest as he did so. LaCastre brought the cane down in a swinging arc upon Salem's back, his ribs breaking into a hundred pieces from the force of the ancient weapon. He fell over on his side and said nothing. All was silent in the cavern with the exception of Salem's labored breathing. It was music to Mephisto's ears.

Bartholomew rolled Salem over on his back and leaned over him, grinning at the site of his broken opponent. "Now, you die, Salem."

"And... a-and... with me... your revenge, fool," Salem coughed.

"What are you talking about," Bartholomew questioned.

"Never mind him," Mephisto growled. "Take his life..."

"If.. if you k-kill me," Salem said with a gravely voice, "the Earth will die. So, w-will your r-rev-revenge."

"You are a liar, demon," Bartholomew hissed.

"Nay," the Archangel bellowed. Bartholomew spun around to face the beauty that was Omen the Archangel. "He hast spoke the truth."

"What are you talking about?"

"Galactus, Eater O' Worlds, Devourer O' Planets... he hast descended upon Earth, and with him its destruction."

"U-unless you hel-help us," Salem hissed. "Millions will die... in-including your brother. Save.. save your revenge for ano-another time."

The Staff fell from Bartholomew's hand. He turned to Mephisto with a noble look upon his face. "I cannot execute the Earth, Milord."

Mephisto threw his head back and unleashed a bellow that shook the ground beneath their feet. Flames erupted from the scorched earth and the Flame Eternal burned ever brighter. "No deal, Salem! This was a duel to the death and you have lost..."

"Then the battle was lost before I ever began, Milord. I came to you in death, and therefore must forfeit."

Mephisto's eyes narrowed. "You traitor..."

"Enough," Omen demanded. "This deed is done, Dreaded One. I have obeyed the law of this land today, yet you persist on blaspheming my honor."

The Archangel took a few steps forward, holding his hand up in front of him. Suddenly, a light pierced his skin and in place of his hand there grew a sword of brilliant flame. All of those within Mephisto's lair cast their hands up to shield the magnificence of Omen's power apparent. "No longer can I play the role of Observer, Mephisto. Tis my plight to challenge evil and protect the deeds of the just. Break your oath and feel my wraith."

Mephisto stared into the fiery sword and said nothing. Finally, Mephisto slowly made his way to the Flame Eternal. Slowly, he dipped his hand into the mystical fire that did not burn, and pulled out an antiquated text. The paper was jagged, as if it had been torn, and upon it was faded words. The Archangel scooped Salem's form up in his arms and accepted the half-page with a grave looked upon his face. Then, helping Salem trace the path that would call the Void, they were gone.

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- Salem's Apartment Sanctuary, New Haven -

As the light from the Void faded away, Omen replaced it with illumination from within his holy frame. He cradled Salem in his arms, bathing him in his inner-light. Slowly, Salem started breathing more regularly. In a matter of minutes, he was standing by his own will. He clutched at his ribs, amazed by the lack of pain. He had been on the verge of death and Omen had saved him from the abyss.

Reluctantly, he whispered. "Thank you."

Omen stumbled for a moment, searching for the right words. "Galactus awaits, Salem."

The Lost One did not bother trying to converse with his angelic ally as he cast the spell that unlocked his closet. Within the dark confines of the closet, Salem almost tripped over the body of the techno-zombie that he had discovered from Tamerlane Inc. He stepped over it and found what he was looking for.

He emerged from the closet with a fog-colored crystal. It was transparent, save for the document encased within. He placed it upon the ground and brought the Staff of Asgard crashing down upon it, shattering it into a thousand pieces. He picked the paper up, and held the two together. A flash of light erupted within the room and when they regained their vision they found one, solid piece of paper... the Infinity Spell.

TO BE CONTINUED: Coming of Galactus # 4, The Finale!!! Also, be sure to look for the adventures of Salem in New York City sometime soon in SALEM 2099 UG # 9!!!