The sun rose slowly over the hills of Greece, illuminating the many corners of the countryside that had once lain in darkness.

But not even the piercing glare of the sun could reveal the city which had been born upon a mountaintop over a millennia ago-- the city of Olympia.

As Lewis Conrad strolled from the home where he had spent the night, still becoming accustomed to his new surroundings, he was startled to find Ikaris standing before him.

"Jeez! I thought you'd still be asleep!"

"I do not require sleep." Ikaris replied. "The cosmic energy in my cells spares me from all forms of fatigue."

"What about grooming?" Conrad asked, wiping his beard. "I could really use a shave, but there's nothing in that place..."

"We have absolute control over our body's molecules." Ikaris answered, and indicated his own beard. "When I decided that I wished to grow a beard nearly a year ago, I made that wish come true with a single thought. When I decide I no longer desire a beard, it will vanish."

"That's fine for you Eternals, I guess," said Conrad, "but those accommodations...well, it's clear you don't have many human guests."

"The home you slept in is the House of Veron & Mara. Their crest lies over the door." Ikaris motioned to a sign.

Conrad gazed at the sign for a moment. "I'm afraid my Greek must be rusty. I can't read that."

"We do not speak Greek," Ikaris explained, "our language is called 'Titanion'. It is, quite likely, the oldest tongue in the world still used today."

"Ah." Conrad and Ikaris began to walk down the street, and Conrad looked about at the other houses, where he found similar crests over every door. Far ahead of them, he saw a large tower, raised high above the city. He asked Ikaris if it were 'the Tower of Babel'.

"No." Ikaris answered. "It is the Spire of the Third Host. We erected it as a memorial during their time with us."

"Third Host?" Conrad asked.

"Of the Celestials." Ikaris answered. He quickly added, "Think of them as our gods."

Just then, Conrad saw a home that had no crest above the door. "Ikaris? Whose home is that?"

"That...was the dwelling place of an Eternal with no name, and no family."

Conrad sensed that he should not continue on that topic, and groped for a new subject. "So, all these homes...whatever happened to the people who lived in them?"

"The majority of Olympia's population believed that the true destiny of our people was to be found in space, not on Earth. Of the hundreds of Eternals who once lived here, less than twenty of us decided to remain."

"And of those twenty, why are only you and Argos living here now?"

"Because we both bear important responsibilities. My people each have their own pursuits, and have occupied themselves in their passions."

"It must be lonely, just the two of you."

"Not entirely. The truth is, while Argos and I are the only Eternals in this city...we are not the only inhabitants."

Conrad's head spun. "There are other people in this city?" He looked all around. "Where?"

Ikaris suddenly turned left, and began walking to a different region of the city. Conrad hesitated for a moment, then followed.

Below the Pacific Ocean, far from any natural light, lies the sovereign nation of Lemuria. This city, while easily matching Olympia in size, has struggled for centuries to perfect its environmental controls, to simulate a living, habitable home for the Deviant people.

So far, the efforts have been largely in vain.

In place of a natural sun, here, an artificial one that lies at the top of the city's protective dome determines which parts of the landscape lie in light or darkness.

Somewhere in the middle of this hellhole, in the civilian region, lies a doctor's office. The two Deviants who operate this venture, Dr. Melot and Dr. Chun are known throughout Lemuria for their surprising tenderness and charity.

However, what no Deviant suspects is that neither of these men are what they appear. One is actually a woman, Yrdisis, and the other is her lover Khoryphos, an Eternal. Bearing disguises Khoryphos has created for them, they have come here to aid a people that would never have asked them for help.

Although the difference in temperature between being indoors or outdoors was negligible, the environmental controls would sometimes allow a gentle breeze to brush through the cities. This day, Khoryphos and Yrdisis lay outside the hospital hoping for such.

Yrdisis was turned towards the West Side of the street and nudged Khoryphos as she saw a figure approaching. Khoryphos turned his head. "Nabor." he sighed.

Nabor was well known to every Deviant in the area. He had once been a great fighter in the Deviant militia, until the 4th Host, when he lost his leg in a skirmish with the Eternals.

Being the loyal man that he was, Nabor would gladly have taken a desk job with the military, but none were available, forcing him to become a civilian. He had not taken the change in lifestyle well, and tended to frequent the taverns on every possible opportunity.

"One more strike." Yrdisis whispered. "He's been arrested three times already. One more disturbance, and he's fit for public execution."

Khoryphos nodded. At one time, he and Yrdisis had been smuggling Deviants in danger of execution to the surface, but their escape routes were now blocked. There was no way of saving Nabor from his fate, especially when he seemed to welcome it with open arms.

Just then, Yrdisis noticed his path had not altered toward the taverns, but that he was continuing on towards them.

"Hello, doctors!" He called from a distance.

Khoryphos turned around to face him. "Hello, Nabor."

"We haven't any money." Yrdisis said quickly.

"Money? I don't need money." Nabor replied, indignant. "I receive pension from militia every other month. I am doing very well for myself."

"You'd do better if you didn't spend it on drink." Yrdisis said. "You could have purchased an artificial limb by now with all you've wasted."

"This is true." Nabor answered. "I drink too much. Brain getting wounded. I have need of an alternative." Nabor came to rest in front of the seated pair, balanced upon his crutch. "Last month, when I need pain-killer, you gave me...morphose?"

"Morphine." Khoryphos corrected.

"Morphine, yes, yes, thank you Dr. Chun, morphine. Very nice pain-killer, better than what the military hospitals got."

"It's a human concoction." Yrdisis said quickly. "We have none to spare, what with trips to the surface being so few."

"Not asking for spare. Asking to buy. Pension came yesterday." Nabor patted his money belt.

"It isn't for sale, Nabor." Khoryphos declared.

"You need for customers?" Nabor asked.

"Patients." Yrdisis corrected. "We can't waste any on you."

"Okay." Nabor replied. "But I think, 'What if morphine keep me in house for a few months?' Keep me from getting drunk. Like it better at home anyway."

"No." Khoryphos stated, flatly.

"What about trade?" Nabor questioned. "I got something you don't. Something you need."

"We don't need anything." Yrdisis insisted.

"'Anything'? You just say how you need morphine for patients. You need patients to care for. You don't want to lose patients."

"What are you talking about?" Yrdisis asked, annoyed.

"Patience." Nabor insisted. "Patience. Be a shame if your friend dead. Real shame."

Khoryphos leaned forward. "Explain."

"Your patient. Could be dead, don't know. You should go see. Give me morphine, and I tell you."

Khoryphos drew a vial of morphine from his doctor's bag. "Tell me your story, and it's yours. If you're lying, you'll be sorry."

"I don't lie!" Nabor said angrily. "Sheck dead! Dead! Saw it today. Remor killed her."

Yrdisis gasped. "What?"

"I tell you. Remor come out of Sheck's house today, got blood all over him. Bad smell inside. I figure, 'Doctors know Sheck, they want to know. Maybe give me morphine.' So?"

Yrdisis had already arose and begun running by the time he finished speaking. Khoryphos handed him the vial and a piece of paper. "Follow the directions, and don't overdose." He picked up his doctor's bag and ran after Yrdisis.

"Very good!" Nabor called after him. "You're okay!"

Khoryphos ran down the street, afraid of what he and Yrdisis would find. Sheck was a female Deviant who had come to them two months ago, pregnant. Because of the risks of mutation in every childbirth, this was not happy news, and they had kept it secret from Remor, the man she identified as the father. If Remor had somehow learnt that he had a child, he would probably try to kill her, to keep it from being born, and further contaminating the Deviant gene pool.

Khoryphos was so panicked that he lost his footing, and slipped into a puddle of mud. As he rose back to his feet, he saw a Deviant soldier standing next to him.

"Mind your step, civilian." the soldier said.

Khoryphos had no time to consider if the soldier had tripped him, he continued running. If only he could use his powers! He had the power to teleport to Sheck's side instantly, or to run faster than the eye could follow! But any such use of his cosmic powers would likely be detected by the Deviant sensor net, and bring the wrath of the Deviant Priesthood down upon him. All he could do was run.

Finally arriving at the house, he found Yrdisis still outside, trying to get a large purple Deviant out of the doorway.

"This is my house." The Deviant insisted. "No one alive inside."

"Please!" Yrdisis begged. "We have to see if she's dead! Please, let us get by!"

"She's dead," the Deviant said again. "Leave it alone."

Khoryphos sighed. There was no time for this. He punched the Deviant in the gut, and he doubled over. He was proud to see that even without his cosmic powers, he could still handle a little roughhousing.

Quickly, they ran into the home, and in Sheck's sitting room, they found her body. Green blood was smeared across the walls. Remor hadn't simply killed her; he had beaten her first. One of her limbs was missing.

But while there was clearly no hope for Sheck, they both knew there might still be a chance to save her child. They knelt by her body, and Khoryphos put his ear to her stomach.

"Anything?" Yrdisis whispered.

"Yes. I think it's still alive. But, Zuras, Sheck may have been dead for hours. There's probably been brain-damage."

"C-Section?" Yrdisis asked.

"Yes."

Yrdisis drew a small laser scalpel from Khoryphos' bag, and cut an incision through Sheck's stomach. More green blood flowed across the floor.

Khoryphos reached into the slimy crevice, and drew the baby out. It was breathing.

"Thank Zuras." Khoryphos sighed.

Yrdisis took it into her arms. "We'll have to bring it to Dragona. She'll find it a home."

"Knock, knock." Said a voice behind them.

Khoryphos turned, and saw a figure in the doorway, holding a notepad.

"Good day, Dr. Melot, Dr. Chun. I am Administrator Rateep. And this is--?"

Yrdisis handed the baby back to Khoryphos. "The child doesn't have a name."

"No, no, sir. I mean the corpse."

"Sheck." Khoryphos replied.

Rateep wrote in his notepad. "'Sheck'."

"You certainly got here fast." Khoryphos observed. "Would you care to know who her murderer is?"

"Mmmm... Only if the Priesthood or the Militia wishes one."

Khoryphos knew how unlikely that would be. Although the Priesthood did not encourage murder among its citizens, it did very little to prohibit it either, not wishing to interfere with the process of survival of the fittest.

"Does it have a name?" Rateep asked, indicating the child. "Or will you be drowning it?"

Yrdisis looked at the pale green infant. "Leyod." she said.

"We'll be caring for it." Khoryphos stated.

"Very charitable of you doctors to do so, I must say. Up until a year ago, I wouldn't have categorized either of you as caring men. Very touching." With that, Rateep turned and left the house.

The large purple Deviant from outside then entered the room. "Is that the baby?" he asked.

"Yes." Yrdisis said.

"Can I eat it too?" he asked them.

They quickly left the house and returned to the streets.

"By Kronos, I'll never accustom myself to this way of life." Khoryphos insisted to Yrdisis.

"It's not their fault." Yrdisis replied. "It's the fault of centuries living like this. Centuries you Eternals could have spent trying to help us."

Khoryphos stopped her, and put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm here now." he answered. But Yrdisis' gaze was taken by another sight. Khoryphos pressed against the side of the building with her, and followed her stare.

Down the center of the street, a green-skinned, muscular Deviant, garbed in a military uniform strode past.

"Who is that?" Khoryphos asked.

"Tannor." Yrdisis whispered. "Nephew of Brother Tode."

Khoryphos looked at him again. "I thought the House of Toads had all been killed?"

"He went missing during the Fourth Host, when Tode sent him to Australia to investigate the Celestials...he was given up for dead."

"He'll be dead for certain once Ghaur hears of this." Khoryphos stated. "He won't allow any Deviant Royals about to risk taking the throne from him."

"Perhaps." Yrdisis whispered. "But then again-- suppose Ghaur brought him here?"

The two of them watched Tannor for a few more moments, then returned to the office to feed their baby.

"Who is he?" Conrad asked.

"His name is Mikhail Greshkov." Ikaris replied.

Before the two of them lay a bald-headed man in a Soviet uniform, resting quietly on his bed behind a force shield.

"I imagine there's a story behind this?" Conrad asked.

"There is. Greshkov was an associate of my uncle's, back when we had infiltrated the Soviet command. Greshkov-- very unwisely-- chose to assault a Celestial, and... This is what remains of him. The Celestial gave him a seizure that rendered him comatose, as you see him. My uncle felt partly responsible, and brought him here for us to care for him."

"Then he hasn't woken up?" Conrad asked.

"Occasionally he awakens, but never in a lucid state. His comatose state is actually a more peaceful existence for him than what the waking world has to offer."

Ikaris then led Conrad to another room, also protected by a force shield. Within lay a large red object, decorated with runic symbols upon its side.

"This, is all that remains of three intelligence agents working for S.H.I.E.L.D. who also attempted to destroy the Celestials. Their punishment was to be fused into this molecular block."

"Can't you release them?" Conrad asked.

"Yes. But it was felt by several of my people that the Celestials' judgement of humans should not be interfered with on our part. For now, at least, they shall remain as you see them."

Conrad shivered. "So, I'm not the only human in this city. Just the only one who hasn't been punished by the gods."

"Patience, Conrad. Your time will come." Ikaris assured him.

In the great Arena of Lemuria, the Deviant who Yrdisis had identified as Tannor stopped an official of the Arena.

"I have need of a Mutate." Tannor stated.

"So have I." the official answered. "Tutinax killed two more just last week! Sell your problems to someone else!"

"I require a Mutate for a military operation." Tannor stated.

"The military. Always taking our best Mutates, and getting them killed on the battlefields. Haven't you blunderers brought enough shame to our empire? Leave me alone."

"You are not being courteous, friend. You should mind your tongue." Tannor stated.

"You don't scare me." The official warned. "I don't fear the Militia, like those rats on the street."

"But you would fear a true gladiator, correct?" Tannor inquired.

"You were a fighter?" the official asked.

Tannor pointed to his left eye, drawing attention to the bionic replacement within the socket. "I lost it against Karkas."

The official's jaw dropped. "Tannor? Tannor the Royal? I remember that fight! You should have identified yourself sooner!"

"I have never traded on my reputation." Tannor stated.

"No, you haven't. You were a royal, but you fought in the Arena by choice, and always for the people! I can't believe you're still alive! My name is Burry, and I will give you whatever Mutate you desire! Even Tutinax himself!"

"No, not Tutinax. I require a Mutate with a high tolerance for pain, and a disposition for taking orders. Can you supply one?"

Burry thought for a moment. "Yes, I can. This way." He led Tannor below the Arena, into the cellblocks where the gladiators were held captive between matches. "I don't know what you need a Mutate for, Tannor, but I am certain you will glorify us through whatever means you employ it!"

Tannor made no response. Finally, they arrived at a cell. "Look in." Burry said. "Its called 'Shell'."

Tannor looked inside the cell. Within was a Deviant whose body had the appearance of a seashell, colored light brown. The shell covered its entire body.

"Very pretty, but how strong is the shell?"

"It has been broken before," Burry admitted, "why, you should have seen the pieces fly when it fought Tutinax! But every time, it grows a replacement covering. In some places, the shell is so thick that it takes our strongest instruments just to take a physical!"

"How sentient is it?" Tannor asked, knowing that many Mutates were bred in laboratories, and lived their whole lives in the Arena.

"Limited. It can speak, and possesses limited understanding of the outside world."

"May I address it?"

"Certainly, by all means!"

Tannor addressed Shell: "How old are you?"

"Old?" Shell asked.

"It does not understand the passage of time." Burry explained. "Days, weeks, months, years...it cannot comprehend them."

"34 years." Shell said.

Tannor grinned. "It is more intelligent than you are willing to credit." He again addressed Shell: "Have you ever seen the surface?"

"Surface? Never." Shell replied.

"Do you want to see the surface?"

"No." Shell answered.

"You have no choice. I need you for a special mission-- to battle renegade Deviants who are forming an army in the surface world."

"Not interested." Shell answered.

"Suppose that upon the successful completion of the mission, I granted you the power to choose your own way?"

"Choose?" Shell queried.

"The power to make decisions. You wouldn't have to live in this cell anymore. You could live anywhere within the empire! Even the arctic outpost, if you wished!"

Shell paused for a moment. "The cell is wet."

"Pardon?"

"The cell is wet. I do not like being wet. Could I live where it is dry?" Shell asked.

"Yes. Anywhere, any climate."

"Okay."

Rumors of an alien civilization dwelling in the mountains of Siberia had occupied Professor Colin Hugo for the past five years, and he was glad to have returned to America, and warmer climates.

But only two days after his return, when he stepped out of his hotel room for dinner, two figures, a man and a woman, intercepted him.

"Professor Hugo?" the man asked.

"Yes?"

"You were an associate of Professor Daniel Damian, is that correct?" the man asked.

"Yes, I was. For many years."

"And of his daughter, Margo Damian?" the woman asked.

"I knew her as well."

"Ike Harris?" the man asked.

"Pardon?" Hugo asked.

"Ike Harris. The Damians' guide to Peru." the man explained.

"Peru? Ah, yes, I remember. Mr. Harris offered to show the Damians a 'lost city' of some sort."

"Was that the last time you saw the Damians?" the woman asked.

"The last time I saw Dan, yes. Margo told me he was staying in the city. Babbled some nonsense about ancient immortals and the like. Read 'Chariot of the Gods' too many times, I wagered."

"Were you aware that both of the Damians have been reported as deceased?" the man asked.

Hugo was startled. "No, I was not. I've been away the last five years, you see..."

"Ike Harris reported the death of Margo three years ago. A year later, he reported Professor Damian dead as well. He has not been seen since, and no bodies have been recovered." the man explained.

"Then you're looking for Mr. Harris?" Hugo asked.

"We're looking for the truth." the woman answered. "Professor Damian's friend Dr. Samuel Holden has tried repeatedly to assure us that there was no foul play, but we aren't entirely convinced."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you, officers." Hugo declared.

"We aren't from the police." the man stated. "My name is Alex Damian, and this is my sister, Melissa. We're attempting- through independent means- to learn how our uncle and cousin died."

"In that case," Hugo decided, "how can I help?"