Lincoln’s sonorous voice echoed through the silence hanging over the city like a shroud. As he intoned the words on the scroll, the crackling of power squealed in the air, like cracking ice through the many dimensions.

“No! Someone stop him!” gasped the avatar of MechaHitler, though his own mighty steel limbs twitched and shuddered, his power broken and strength sapped with every word.

Lincoln’s beautiful beard rippled as he spoke. An aura glowed around his stovepipe hat as though it was a lightning rod for awesomeness. Across the country, the demontanks and panzerdinos slowed, wavered, and moved into retreat.

Lincoln’s voice rose louder and louder like the ringing of a great bell. At last, he began to shout as he read the final paragraph.

And stopped. The last sentence had been scorched away.

Rasputin lowered the flaming Staff of Ra. What remained of the mad monk’s robes smoldered on his burned body. His twisted face smiled a ghoulish grin.

“I’m back.”

Lincoln rolled up the scroll. “En garde.”