Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, California:

Marines are always "First In, Last Out." The Shadow Nation had split the earth open. Rising from downtown Honolulu, Hawaii. Destroying everything in its wake. Soon after, the Shadowed Ones invaded California. The Phantom began transforming the land into his. The Shadowed Ones introduced exotic and extinct flora and fauna. They seemed unstoppable.

However, they could not extinguish the fierce resistance of the humans. They under-estimated the Devil's Own Nightmare: The United States Marines. They fight with what supplies that they have. Ocassionally, airlifts are successful. The Dinomarines will never leave California until the Shadowed Ones and their "Neo-Tojo" are all dead.

Throughout the Medieval Age and well into the Renaissance, European navies were manned with elite shock troops. The Ankylores, semi-bipedal descendants of ankylosaurs, were among the most valued. These marines absorbed the brunt of catapult and bullets; later, cannonballs and grapeshot.

They lacked opposable thumbs. Armadas brought them along exclusively for intimidation and invasion. Which suited the unimaginitive, yet physically agile, Ankylores. They did not use range weapons. They preferred to pummel and gore. The brutal encounter often ended with a lethal display of dominance: the coup de tête. Smashing the enemy's skull with the clubbed tail.

Depicted here is an Iberian "Dinomarine" en route to a reluctant village in the North Sea. He is plated for battle. Strapped to his hand-feet are patas ("paws"). The force of his clubbed tail is augmented by a segundo cabeça ("second head"). This Ankylore holds rank, as evident by his ornate armor.

Dianne Polyonis is a native of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and a telekinetic. She drew inspiration for her super motif from Spes, the Goddess of Hope. Like the goddess, Dianne uses her power to disarm criminals and dismantle their weapons. She can also generate powerful TK shields and push objects.

The only thing Dianne was missing was a bouquet of Yellow Jessamines. So recently, she decided to enter the Miss Super South Carolina Contest. And, of course, she won. Much to the envy of Georgetown's Black River Bombshell.

My Dearest Jenny and Jacob,

The McCarthy family has deep roots in Louisiana. Going back before the short-lived Republic of West Florida. The modern McCarthys had just entered into the multi-millionaires' club. Sully, your bless'ed father, had signed a long-term contract as a NASCAR Crew Chief. He had just upgraded his already successful repair shop to a miniature factory.

The lawyers and accountants who brokered the contract approached him with an offer. They would use his garage as a front to warehouse drugs and guns. Now, the McCarthys themselves have kin who bootleg and do some rum-running. So Sully didn't think much of it. Just carrying on a family tradition.

Except Sully got greedy. He cooked his books unbeknownst to the T-, G-, and even the X-Men. (You see, at the time, your father was so renowned he had a contract with the Xavier Academy to do emergency repairs.) Then he started pocketing the drug lords' money. Next thing you know, Sully McCarthy and his lovely wife Isabella died in a wreck on Highway 12 around the Florida stateline.

The patrol concluded that it was a single car accident. Doesn't explain how their dog was found a mile up the road with a bullet in his ear. Nor does it explain how their 2-year old paternal twins survived. But I know the answer to that.

See, I rescued you. Convinced my associates that you were too young to remember. I was a moonshiner and part-time contract killer. Well, I was a moonshiner. My first hit was supposed to be a mule who stole from some Houston drug lord. As much as I could, there was no way that I could save Sully or Miss Bella.

Still don't know what happened to that dog. Figured that I took care of his killer when I took care of Sully's killers. Not only did I not have to split the money, but the drug lord was mighty impressed with my efficiency. We can all agree that three can keep a secret if two are dead.

I took you kits to my wife, who worked at the hospital. She was able to not only certify your deaths, but get you adopted by another McCarthy clan. Though, they's lazy-ass Shreveport McCarthys. Better than you dead, anyway. Being a moonshiner, I knew a few judges. We were able to tie up your family's estate in probate for years.

You are supposed to get this letter on your 18th Birthday. With it, you will find a key. It is for a vault at the National Bank of Baton Rouge. Inside the vault is a second key. That key goes to a safe deposit box at the branch in Livonia. In that box, you will find everything: your father's money (with T-Bill interest), your parents' last will, the titles to all their land and holdings, and, most importantly, another key with a map.

The third key goes to Sully's old shop. Had it moved and re-built to a secret location off Highway 12. You will find everything you need. You'll know what to do.

They're coming for me, chers. I don't have much time. Bonne chance!

Your loving great-uncle,

Louis McCarthy

Tamotsu Taro had joined a Buddhist temple in the Nagasaki Prefecture to live a life of inner peace after an aimless youth of fighting and petty crime. He had found solace. Still greed, ambition, and even rage lingered in his heart. These vices surfaced again when the time came to choose a new head monk.

Taro had been devout for over seventy years. Another, much younger monk was chosen. Taro felt spurned and disrespected. He left the temple. Soon, he found himself in a seedy Tokyo bar. The octogenarian wanted nothing more than to drink himself to death. The bartender, a rather odd man himself, handed Taro a strange boiling drink in a sake cup made of human bone. Tamotsu laughed then slammed the concotion.

He awoke the next morning on the barroom floor. Instead of being a vibrant, neon-lit club, it was now dark, empty.. haunted, evil. The furniture was covered in white sheets, the bar empty, layered with thick dust. Tamotsu rose to his feet then looked into the broken mirror. He was once again a young man but his eyes had turned blood red!

Startled, he looked to the sake cup. In tiny script, it read: "Avenge the insult with your new gift." Remembering an old Japanese legend, Taro went to a tattoo parlor. He had a single red eye tattooed on his forehead.

Tamotsu Taro is no more. He is now the enemy of the Buddhist monks, and all he deems as pious hypocrits. He is Bake-zōri, "the Ghost Sandal". Bake-zōri uses his formal temple training and street-fighting skills to block the bridge leading to the secluded Buddhist temple.

Without warning, he attacks. Shouting the cry of the Bake-zōri, "Kararin, kororin, kankororin!" ("Eyes three, eyes three and teeth two!"). His signature is leaving his victims with a "third eye" in the forehead, knocking out all but two teeth.

Rabbi Antal was a peaceful man until the Nazis tried to shut down his Warsaw bakery. He collected special red clay under their noses. When he amassed enough, the Rabbi called upon ancient arts to give the statue life.

Antal is now a resistance leader with a golem at his command. The golem is mute. He only obeys his master. He neither feels pain nor bleeds. His body merely absorbs bullets. Rabbi Antal has enough red clay to repair any serious damage.

Golem's clay body is malleable. Because he is not sentient, he cannot truly shape-shift. However, Golem is a singular creature. He is able to contort his body to fit through larger pipes and slide down chimneys. Which makes him a rather effective assassin.