Prepare to be shocked, spooked, sullied, stifled, and downright scared. This second annual special release is comprised of some of the best haunted stories that M2K authors could conjure up. We're talking demons, vampires, and were-cows. Okay, maybe not so much on the were-cows, but if they existed, you can believe they would be part of this special! Check out the stories and please, leave some feedback on the message board. Let the writers know you care!
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Something Wicked - Featuring Baron Blood! On this All Hollow's Eve, an evil older than many of the heroes in the present is summoned back to the realm of the living. This monstrocity of humanity once confronted the world's greatest heroes and won...what will his first act be now that he is among the indead once more? Written by D. Golightly!
Night of the Dead Easy - Featuring Photon! When several people turn up dead in New Orleans under suspicious circumstances, the Golden Avenger is called back to her home turf. However the dead just won't stay down, as Monica Rambeau is soon to find out. Written by Steve Crosby!
Deceptions and Devils - Featuring Dr. Morbius, Dracula, and the Knights of Wundagore! Picking up where the pages of Avengers West Coast left off, Dr. Morbius is tracking the movements of a certain bloodsucker in Wundagore. Now that Morbius is a mere human, can he hope to stand up to the Lord of the Vampires? Written by Josh Reynolds!
The End of the Harvest - Featuring Brother Nature and Man-Thing! Brother Nature embarks on an important journey, taking advantage of the specific calendar day to raise some old friends from the great beyond. Written by Ed Ainsworth!
Masks - Featuring the Gladiator! Melvin Potter, once more out of prison, returns to his average life. But will his past let him go so easily, especially when there are so many masks nearby? Written by Hunter Lambright!
A Frog-Man Halloween - Featuring the Prowler and Frog-Man! There's a new Prowler in town but it looks like his former alter-ego has been picked up by someone else. And what does it have to do with a grisly murder scene on Halloween night? Written by Bryan Locke!
The Worst Night of the Year - Featuring the Punisher! For one man who is driven so strongly by his past, confronting haunting images that remind him of that past may be too much for him to handle. Or perhaps it will have a different, more eerie effect. Written by Mike Hintze!
Night of the Dead Easy - Featuring Photon! When several people turn up dead in New Orleans under suspicious circumstances, the Golden Avenger is called back to her home turf. However the dead just won't stay down, as Monica Rambeau is soon to find out. Written by Steve Crosby!
Deceptions and Devils - Featuring Dr. Morbius, Dracula, and the Knights of Wundagore! Picking up where the pages of Avengers West Coast left off, Dr. Morbius is tracking the movements of a certain bloodsucker in Wundagore. Now that Morbius is a mere human, can he hope to stand up to the Lord of the Vampires? Written by Josh Reynolds!
The End of the Harvest - Featuring Brother Nature and Man-Thing! Brother Nature embarks on an important journey, taking advantage of the specific calendar day to raise some old friends from the great beyond. Written by Ed Ainsworth!
Masks - Featuring the Gladiator! Melvin Potter, once more out of prison, returns to his average life. But will his past let him go so easily, especially when there are so many masks nearby? Written by Hunter Lambright!
A Frog-Man Halloween - Featuring the Prowler and Frog-Man! There's a new Prowler in town but it looks like his former alter-ego has been picked up by someone else. And what does it have to do with a grisly murder scene on Halloween night? Written by Bryan Locke!
The Worst Night of the Year - Featuring the Punisher! For one man who is driven so strongly by his past, confronting haunting images that remind him of that past may be too much for him to handle. Or perhaps it will have a different, more eerie effect. Written by Mike Hintze!
“The master…is he…”
“Of course he is, you buffoon!”
One man slapped the other, punishing him for his stupidity. In the den of their laboratory, shrouded under darkness set purposely in place, their eyes met with fury. Had they not shared a common goal they surely would have killed each other by now. Their bloodlust, while not nearly as impressive as their master’s, was still great enough to tug at them by way of their irritation with one another.
“I did not question the integrity of the spell, brother,” the first man said, his face now red from being struck. “Even though I easily could.”
The other man snarled. “Please. You have always sought to undermine me. Were you not my twin I would disembowel you without thinking twice.”
“I still contend that we should never have substituted the dragon’s blood for—”
A murmur from the casket perched on the table in front of them silenced the middle-aged man. Their argument forgotten, they both stared in awe as lid of the casket shook slightly, and then began to open with a creek.
Exaltation filled them as their master, a man they had studied and admired for years, began to rise out of the coffin. His flesh, having only just began regenerating moments ago once the incantation was complete, barely covered his faded bones. Strips of tissue hung from his partial organs, flapping as he flipped the lid open with one final shove. Soon the muscle fibers would fill in and the veins would creep along through his body, making him whole once more.
However, the veins would be hollow, empty of the nourishing blood he so desired. They would remain so, until he fed.
“Master!” they said in unison. Both twins bowed and then kneeled before the rising vampire lord.
As the vampire’s jaw began to reform, he sat up and allowed his newly grown tongue to articulate his speech. It was an odd sensation, speaking. After all, he had been locked in the final death for decades.
“Where… How…”
“Master, hearing you breathe is a welcomed sound.”
“Even more so than seeing you arise!” the other twin quickly added. “The spell has not only rebound your spirit to this world, but it has animated you successfully!”
The vampire slipped one leg out of the coffin and then the other, placing his feet firmly on the ground as his naked body came fully into itself. Skin as black as the night formed over his body, slowly turning color until it matched the pale moon. He took in a sharp breath as the cold air in the laboratory swept over him, wrapping around his stark form like a blanket.
“I am…reborn?” he inquired as he stared at his hands, watching the dead skin regain a semblance of life.
“Yes, master. We brought you back.”
The vampire looked over the twins kneeling before him. They looked at him expectantly, as if they were holding their breath for him to do something specific.
“Do I…know of you?” the vampire asked. “Are you my servants?”
“Servants we are, master, but we have never had the fortune to be in your presence.”
“We have studied you,” the other man said. “Learned about you. Discovered your greatness. We know of your defeat by the Invaders during World War II. We know of your rebirth and second death at the hands of the despised Sub-Mariner.”
The vampire’s face twisted at the mention of his enemies. “Yes. I remember. And again by his ally, Captain America. But this does not explain how I am standing here once more.”
“Recently the Lord of Vampires, Dracula, was involved in a plot of great consequence that involved the so-called great heroes of this age.”
“Dracül.” The vampire sneered, but instead disgust it was a sign of respect. “A monster so impressive even I had to call him Lord.”
“My brother and I used to work for an organization called AIM,” the nearly giddy servant said. “The science we were involved in was on the level of sorcery. During Dracula’s return, we found an opportunity to claim a sample of his blood just after a fight he had with the heroes. An arrow from the one called Hawkeye had pierced a part of Dracula and been forgotten at the scene. We claimed it.”
“And we used it!” the other servant said. “Along with a spell that we uncovered through our division at AIM. We acquired the ingredients and waited to the chosen night. Master, you are alive once more!”
The vampire smiled. His nostrils had finished reconstituting and he pulled in a drag of air through them. His heightened senses picked up the still semi-rotted flesh that hung from his bones, as well as the chemicals scattered throughout the room.
But there was one other thing that he inhaled. Something he hadn’t been privy to for a long, long time.
He looked down at his waiting servants and his smile broadened. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me why.”
The twins traded a glance before one of them answered, “Virtually all the vampires left in this world after your demise were either inferior or quickly hunted down. We knew that if we could somehow find a way to resurrect you that you would be able to lead us into a new age of vampires.”
“Turn us, master!” the other pleaded. “Make us like you! Make us your generals and together, with your strength and wisdom, and our genius and loyalty, there could be nothing to stand in our way!”
The twins looked into the vampire’s eyes and saw a twinkle there. It could have been a reflection of the light, or perhaps a trick that their own eager senses played on them. Perhaps it was an inner look at the vampire’s appreciation, or even a sign of gratitude.
The reality of the small twist of light was something much more sinister.
The vampire reached out with both hands, grasping the twins’ necks in his clawed fingers. The speed with which he moved was inhuman and there were few left in this world that could have even been aware of it.
He picked them up from the floor as easily as a child would his toys. The tips of his claws dug into their necks and the sight of blood trickling down their throats elated him. It had been so long, so very long, since he had tasted it. It was the only scent that filled his nose now, all he could focus on.
“I am not interested in amassing followers like Dracül,” the vampire said over the choking sounds of the twins. “And I am certainly not interested in being sought out as a last resort by a pair of rodents because bigger fish was unavailable. I have better things to do.”
He squeezed and sliced open their tracheas, spilling the worm blood over his hands. His mouth opened and his fangs nearly sweated at the promise of such bounty. His tongue ravaged the fountains of wealth, slurping it down before a single drop could hit the floor.
The purging of their lives was as sweet as it ever had been. He not only enjoyed the taste of the sweet nectar, but he relished it. He suspected that others of his ilk craved blood as a mere necessity, whereas he desired it for its flavor.
It was because of this that he had taken the moniker of Baron Blood.
He dropped the empty vessels on the floor, having drained them up and saw no further use for them. He never had much use for servants. He preferred to do his own work with his own hands.
And there was work to be done. Very specific work.
Baron Blood licked his lips, enjoying the remnants of his meal. Before he had taken their lives, he had felt the pull of the night. He knew when it was according to the solstice and he knew why tonight had been their “chosen night.”
There was only one night in the entire year that could pull at him like this. It was something he found strength in. He mulled over the thought of this particular night having some sort of cosmic convergence associated with it, but decided that things like that didn’t much concern him.
In the end, all he wanted was another source of life to drain. There were certain lives he wished to drain first, and he soon would. Now that he had returned, his enemies would be beneath his fangs within time.
He looked to the table beside him, glancing over his casket that the resurrection spell had coalesced over. Draped across the end of the casket was a fabric of black and purple, a familiar garb he had once worn with empowerment.
As Baron Blood slipped into his old costume and he smiled at what was to come, the night of All Hollow’s Eve treaded on in the darkness.
END
- Author’s Notes -
Obviously there is more story to be told here. While I would have loved to devote an entire arc in an anthology title to this character, time was against me. Halloween was coming up and I had dedicated myself to writing a portion of the special.
Originally this story was supposed to more deeply involve Devil Dinosaur, but due to time and general plotting for future stories, I had to cut him. He was not forgotten, however! See that one line in the sixth paragraph about substituting dragon’s blood? Yeah. They used Devil’s blood. Won’t say how they got it, but they used it. Imagine how pissed he must be!
So, about there being more story. Yes, I have something developing that will come along soon enough. One glance at this story I wrote awhile ago about Agent Axis may give you more clues as to what is coming. Suffice it to say, for now, I firmly believe that M2K needs some kickass villains to return to the surface to cause some trouble.
I wonder who else will be brought back into the spotlight…
-D. Golightly
“Of course he is, you buffoon!”
One man slapped the other, punishing him for his stupidity. In the den of their laboratory, shrouded under darkness set purposely in place, their eyes met with fury. Had they not shared a common goal they surely would have killed each other by now. Their bloodlust, while not nearly as impressive as their master’s, was still great enough to tug at them by way of their irritation with one another.
“I did not question the integrity of the spell, brother,” the first man said, his face now red from being struck. “Even though I easily could.”
The other man snarled. “Please. You have always sought to undermine me. Were you not my twin I would disembowel you without thinking twice.”
“I still contend that we should never have substituted the dragon’s blood for—”
A murmur from the casket perched on the table in front of them silenced the middle-aged man. Their argument forgotten, they both stared in awe as lid of the casket shook slightly, and then began to open with a creek.
Exaltation filled them as their master, a man they had studied and admired for years, began to rise out of the coffin. His flesh, having only just began regenerating moments ago once the incantation was complete, barely covered his faded bones. Strips of tissue hung from his partial organs, flapping as he flipped the lid open with one final shove. Soon the muscle fibers would fill in and the veins would creep along through his body, making him whole once more.
However, the veins would be hollow, empty of the nourishing blood he so desired. They would remain so, until he fed.
“Master!” they said in unison. Both twins bowed and then kneeled before the rising vampire lord.
As the vampire’s jaw began to reform, he sat up and allowed his newly grown tongue to articulate his speech. It was an odd sensation, speaking. After all, he had been locked in the final death for decades.
“Where… How…”
“Master, hearing you breathe is a welcomed sound.”
“Even more so than seeing you arise!” the other twin quickly added. “The spell has not only rebound your spirit to this world, but it has animated you successfully!”
The vampire slipped one leg out of the coffin and then the other, placing his feet firmly on the ground as his naked body came fully into itself. Skin as black as the night formed over his body, slowly turning color until it matched the pale moon. He took in a sharp breath as the cold air in the laboratory swept over him, wrapping around his stark form like a blanket.
“I am…reborn?” he inquired as he stared at his hands, watching the dead skin regain a semblance of life.
“Yes, master. We brought you back.”
The vampire looked over the twins kneeling before him. They looked at him expectantly, as if they were holding their breath for him to do something specific.
“Do I…know of you?” the vampire asked. “Are you my servants?”
“Servants we are, master, but we have never had the fortune to be in your presence.”
“We have studied you,” the other man said. “Learned about you. Discovered your greatness. We know of your defeat by the Invaders during World War II. We know of your rebirth and second death at the hands of the despised Sub-Mariner.”
The vampire’s face twisted at the mention of his enemies. “Yes. I remember. And again by his ally, Captain America. But this does not explain how I am standing here once more.”
“Recently the Lord of Vampires, Dracula, was involved in a plot of great consequence that involved the so-called great heroes of this age.”
“Dracül.” The vampire sneered, but instead disgust it was a sign of respect. “A monster so impressive even I had to call him Lord.”
“My brother and I used to work for an organization called AIM,” the nearly giddy servant said. “The science we were involved in was on the level of sorcery. During Dracula’s return, we found an opportunity to claim a sample of his blood just after a fight he had with the heroes. An arrow from the one called Hawkeye had pierced a part of Dracula and been forgotten at the scene. We claimed it.”
“And we used it!” the other servant said. “Along with a spell that we uncovered through our division at AIM. We acquired the ingredients and waited to the chosen night. Master, you are alive once more!”
The vampire smiled. His nostrils had finished reconstituting and he pulled in a drag of air through them. His heightened senses picked up the still semi-rotted flesh that hung from his bones, as well as the chemicals scattered throughout the room.
But there was one other thing that he inhaled. Something he hadn’t been privy to for a long, long time.
He looked down at his waiting servants and his smile broadened. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me why.”
The twins traded a glance before one of them answered, “Virtually all the vampires left in this world after your demise were either inferior or quickly hunted down. We knew that if we could somehow find a way to resurrect you that you would be able to lead us into a new age of vampires.”
“Turn us, master!” the other pleaded. “Make us like you! Make us your generals and together, with your strength and wisdom, and our genius and loyalty, there could be nothing to stand in our way!”
The twins looked into the vampire’s eyes and saw a twinkle there. It could have been a reflection of the light, or perhaps a trick that their own eager senses played on them. Perhaps it was an inner look at the vampire’s appreciation, or even a sign of gratitude.
The reality of the small twist of light was something much more sinister.
The vampire reached out with both hands, grasping the twins’ necks in his clawed fingers. The speed with which he moved was inhuman and there were few left in this world that could have even been aware of it.
He picked them up from the floor as easily as a child would his toys. The tips of his claws dug into their necks and the sight of blood trickling down their throats elated him. It had been so long, so very long, since he had tasted it. It was the only scent that filled his nose now, all he could focus on.
“I am not interested in amassing followers like Dracül,” the vampire said over the choking sounds of the twins. “And I am certainly not interested in being sought out as a last resort by a pair of rodents because bigger fish was unavailable. I have better things to do.”
He squeezed and sliced open their tracheas, spilling the worm blood over his hands. His mouth opened and his fangs nearly sweated at the promise of such bounty. His tongue ravaged the fountains of wealth, slurping it down before a single drop could hit the floor.
The purging of their lives was as sweet as it ever had been. He not only enjoyed the taste of the sweet nectar, but he relished it. He suspected that others of his ilk craved blood as a mere necessity, whereas he desired it for its flavor.
It was because of this that he had taken the moniker of Baron Blood.
He dropped the empty vessels on the floor, having drained them up and saw no further use for them. He never had much use for servants. He preferred to do his own work with his own hands.
And there was work to be done. Very specific work.
Baron Blood licked his lips, enjoying the remnants of his meal. Before he had taken their lives, he had felt the pull of the night. He knew when it was according to the solstice and he knew why tonight had been their “chosen night.”
There was only one night in the entire year that could pull at him like this. It was something he found strength in. He mulled over the thought of this particular night having some sort of cosmic convergence associated with it, but decided that things like that didn’t much concern him.
In the end, all he wanted was another source of life to drain. There were certain lives he wished to drain first, and he soon would. Now that he had returned, his enemies would be beneath his fangs within time.
He looked to the table beside him, glancing over his casket that the resurrection spell had coalesced over. Draped across the end of the casket was a fabric of black and purple, a familiar garb he had once worn with empowerment.
As Baron Blood slipped into his old costume and he smiled at what was to come, the night of All Hollow’s Eve treaded on in the darkness.
END
- Author’s Notes -
Obviously there is more story to be told here. While I would have loved to devote an entire arc in an anthology title to this character, time was against me. Halloween was coming up and I had dedicated myself to writing a portion of the special.
Originally this story was supposed to more deeply involve Devil Dinosaur, but due to time and general plotting for future stories, I had to cut him. He was not forgotten, however! See that one line in the sixth paragraph about substituting dragon’s blood? Yeah. They used Devil’s blood. Won’t say how they got it, but they used it. Imagine how pissed he must be!
So, about there being more story. Yes, I have something developing that will come along soon enough. One glance at this story I wrote awhile ago about Agent Axis may give you more clues as to what is coming. Suffice it to say, for now, I firmly believe that M2K needs some kickass villains to return to the surface to cause some trouble.
I wonder who else will be brought back into the spotlight…
-D. Golightly
The dark was their playground. It was where they scurried about their work, taking and slaying without being seen. And in a city still recovering from disaster as New Orleans was, dark streets were plentiful.
The woman’s pale white skin almost gave off its own light. This was bad for her, as the pursuers had little trouble keeping her in sight. Unaware of her surroundings, she ran into a blind alley, finding a rusted fence in front of her and loud footfalls behind.
“Heh, nowhere left to run, babycakes.” Accompanying the voice was the sound of a switchblade leaving its case.
Against one wall of the alley, something snored from beneath old newspapers but otherwise did nothing. It was not looked to as possible salvation or as a threat. Five men advanced on the lone, shining woman. They moved slowly, confident as the woman was fearfully looking for a way out.
“No, no please,” she begged.
“That’s right,” laughed one of the men as he spun a chain. “Ain’t nothing you can do.”
The woman’s quivering lips then curled back, revealing small fangs her attackers weren’t yet close enough to see. “So, this is it. You men are just going to do whatever you want, aren’t you?”
“Ha!”
“You got that right!”
Hands clenched into fists, but the show of fight only spurred the men on. Until one of them saw the fangs. “That makes me so angry.”
High-pitched screams woke the homeless woman from her slumber. Fearful, she peeked out from under the newspaper. Bloated corpses floating in water did not compare to the blood being spilled before her eyes. Especially when those bodies lying on the ground were still moving, and the architect of their fate was standing right over her.
The pale-skinned woman turned her eyes – those eyes! – down over the newspaper as though she saw right through it. “I can smell you. You’re so afraid.”
She advanced on the lying woman, who saw the bodies on the pavement – the bodies that were so clearly dead – starting to get up.
“God, I hate cowards.”
Hours later, the homeless woman was on a slab in the morgue. Her appearance had changed considerably; horribly mangled flesh with chunks blasted out of it. Standing over the body with the medical examiner was a black woman dressed in a white bodysuit with a black starburst over her chest.
“This is the situation, Photon,” said the medical examiner. “Unidentified white female, upper middle-age. I’m told she stumbled into a crack house and started biting people, which explains the gunshot wounds and what I found in her mouth. The odd thing is the gunshots were inflicted post-mortem, and she didn’t stop moving until half her skull was blown off.”
Photon’s head, almost twice its size due to the afro, nodded. “I can see why the mayor called me. Her victims?”
“All accounted for. I have two,” the medical examiner indicated sheet-covered bodies, “after the police dealt head shots. The rest are still under observation. No symptoms yet, or they would be here.”
“Have you determined the initial time of death and the cause?” Photon asked, as she leaved over the body to visually examine her.
“She technically died late the night before. Determining cause is not so easy.” The medical examiner gestured at the remains. “Not only because of the extensive post-mortem damage, but also the woman had lived a hard life. I found a crack in what remains of the skull that’s at least a week old, numerous scratches and scabs that carried infection, and a partial bite mark that could be human or rat.”
“The last thing New Orleans needs is zombie rats,” Photon said as she straightened. “Thank you for your time. I wish I could say I look forward to the full report.”
“But by the time I’m done we could be looking at a full-blown infestation.” The medical examiner’s words were wasted. The hero of New Orleans had already gone.
Through the air streaked Photon, a ray of light in human form. She knew that faster than light could travel disease, and zombies qualified as that. Carried through saliva and blood, an outbreak spread fast unless the source was identified, isolated and sterilized. A vital component of that was finding the site of infection, and Photon had an idea on that. Photon had spied the faint outline of a bugle on the back of the woman’s remaining hand, and caught a faint scent of alligator.
The Daily Bugle wasn’t a popular newspaper in New Orleans. As a consequence it wasn’t carried at many places, and Photon could only think of one that was near a restaurant with alligator on the menu. It was on Bourbon Street that Photon landed, and she walked the alleys looking for signs of violence. There were many, but only one large blood trail that was actually multiple blood trails, in a dead-end alley.
Eyes that emitted black light gazed down at the blood and followed the trail. Photon continued to view the blood when it faded from human sight. The trail stopped shortly into the street, at a door for underground loading. Laser from a pointing finger blasted the door open, and Photon ventured into the darkness.
A voice reached Photon’s ears, speaking words she could not make out. She moved further into the storage basement, the shadows retreating from what gave the Golden Avenger her nickname. But even when Photon could the face that belonged to the voice, the words remained beyond her understanding. Not exactly foreign, Photon suspected an obsolete Creole dialect, and with another step forward immediately recognized the woman chanting.
“Nekra!”
The albino black woman did not look up. She simply raised a finger and smiled as she recited two final words to the corpses arrayed on slabs around her. “Now arise!”
Immediately the corpses came to life, sitting up and swiveling their heads in Photon’s direction.
Immediately, the Golden Avenger’s body shifted from golden light to blue electric. “You’re a fool if you think these zombies are a match for me!”
But surprising, the undead weren’t moving toward Photon. After lowering themselves from the slabs, the men Nekra had killed the night before shambled off in the other direction. It was Nekra herself who leapt at Photon, her mouth wide open to reveal gleaming fangs.
“No. They’re off to infest all New Orleans while I deal with you myself!”
Not made of light but merely sheathed in it, Photon felt Nekra’s backhand and was thrown across the room. Contact with electricity affected Nekra however, and she stepped back with a hiss. Quickly was Photon back on her feet, blasting at Nekra with a force beam from her palm. But Nekra had recovered just as rapidly, and the blast barely fazed her as she advanced on Photon.
“If that’s the best you have this won’t last long!” A slab was between Nekra and Photon. A stark white fist smashed that in half. “With you dead, my zombie epidemic will run unchecked!”
Photon got out of Nekra’s way just in time, flying up near the ceiling. “That will never happen,” Photon said as she peppered Nekra with pulse bursts. “One way or another, the authorities will contain you. If need be, the Avengers will stop all of this!”
“But at what cost?” Leaping through the bursts, Nekra tackled Photon in mid-air and slammed her to the ground. Her pale hands on the hero’s throat, Nekra laughed. “This city will burn as a result, a blight that will never be settled again! Another city dead, at the hands of those pledged to serve!”
Gripping Nekra’s wrists, Photon couldn’t suppress a smile. “You just love the thought of it, don’t you?”
“It brings joy to my…heart,” said Nekra, realizing then what Photon had done. “No!”
“Too late!” Photon threw the weakened Nekra off of her. “When your hate faded, so did your power. And that means…” Photon flew upward, her body no longer sheathed in light but composed of it. She passed through the ceiling and ground, and emerged out of a street littered with five bodies. “Your zombie attack is over before it ever began!”
“Rrraarrghh!” Nekra also emerged, physically bursting through the pavement. Enraged at being tricked her strength was greater than ever. But it was no defense against the sunlight that now hit her delicate pale skin. “Aaagh!”
“It’s over Nekra!” Photon shifted her body to pure ultra-violet light and hit the woman with a wide beam. Soon there was the smell of flesh cooking, and steam rose off Nekra and she turned and ran. “There’s no escaping me, so give up!”
“I’d rather die again!”
Along with her strength, Nekra’s hate fed her speed. She endured the pain as she ran, and was soon in sight of water. Though Photon easily kept pace, her body of light couldn’t physically stop Nekra from leaping into the ocean. Stopping short of the water, Photon hovered over the surface and scanned with her eyes, but could see no sign of the villain.
“Damn her. Now I’ll have to keep an eye out for zombie fish!”
END
The woman’s pale white skin almost gave off its own light. This was bad for her, as the pursuers had little trouble keeping her in sight. Unaware of her surroundings, she ran into a blind alley, finding a rusted fence in front of her and loud footfalls behind.
“Heh, nowhere left to run, babycakes.” Accompanying the voice was the sound of a switchblade leaving its case.
Against one wall of the alley, something snored from beneath old newspapers but otherwise did nothing. It was not looked to as possible salvation or as a threat. Five men advanced on the lone, shining woman. They moved slowly, confident as the woman was fearfully looking for a way out.
“No, no please,” she begged.
“That’s right,” laughed one of the men as he spun a chain. “Ain’t nothing you can do.”
The woman’s quivering lips then curled back, revealing small fangs her attackers weren’t yet close enough to see. “So, this is it. You men are just going to do whatever you want, aren’t you?”
“Ha!”
“You got that right!”
Hands clenched into fists, but the show of fight only spurred the men on. Until one of them saw the fangs. “That makes me so angry.”
High-pitched screams woke the homeless woman from her slumber. Fearful, she peeked out from under the newspaper. Bloated corpses floating in water did not compare to the blood being spilled before her eyes. Especially when those bodies lying on the ground were still moving, and the architect of their fate was standing right over her.
The pale-skinned woman turned her eyes – those eyes! – down over the newspaper as though she saw right through it. “I can smell you. You’re so afraid.”
She advanced on the lying woman, who saw the bodies on the pavement – the bodies that were so clearly dead – starting to get up.
“God, I hate cowards.”
Hours later, the homeless woman was on a slab in the morgue. Her appearance had changed considerably; horribly mangled flesh with chunks blasted out of it. Standing over the body with the medical examiner was a black woman dressed in a white bodysuit with a black starburst over her chest.
“This is the situation, Photon,” said the medical examiner. “Unidentified white female, upper middle-age. I’m told she stumbled into a crack house and started biting people, which explains the gunshot wounds and what I found in her mouth. The odd thing is the gunshots were inflicted post-mortem, and she didn’t stop moving until half her skull was blown off.”
Photon’s head, almost twice its size due to the afro, nodded. “I can see why the mayor called me. Her victims?”
“All accounted for. I have two,” the medical examiner indicated sheet-covered bodies, “after the police dealt head shots. The rest are still under observation. No symptoms yet, or they would be here.”
“Have you determined the initial time of death and the cause?” Photon asked, as she leaved over the body to visually examine her.
“She technically died late the night before. Determining cause is not so easy.” The medical examiner gestured at the remains. “Not only because of the extensive post-mortem damage, but also the woman had lived a hard life. I found a crack in what remains of the skull that’s at least a week old, numerous scratches and scabs that carried infection, and a partial bite mark that could be human or rat.”
“The last thing New Orleans needs is zombie rats,” Photon said as she straightened. “Thank you for your time. I wish I could say I look forward to the full report.”
“But by the time I’m done we could be looking at a full-blown infestation.” The medical examiner’s words were wasted. The hero of New Orleans had already gone.
Through the air streaked Photon, a ray of light in human form. She knew that faster than light could travel disease, and zombies qualified as that. Carried through saliva and blood, an outbreak spread fast unless the source was identified, isolated and sterilized. A vital component of that was finding the site of infection, and Photon had an idea on that. Photon had spied the faint outline of a bugle on the back of the woman’s remaining hand, and caught a faint scent of alligator.
The Daily Bugle wasn’t a popular newspaper in New Orleans. As a consequence it wasn’t carried at many places, and Photon could only think of one that was near a restaurant with alligator on the menu. It was on Bourbon Street that Photon landed, and she walked the alleys looking for signs of violence. There were many, but only one large blood trail that was actually multiple blood trails, in a dead-end alley.
Eyes that emitted black light gazed down at the blood and followed the trail. Photon continued to view the blood when it faded from human sight. The trail stopped shortly into the street, at a door for underground loading. Laser from a pointing finger blasted the door open, and Photon ventured into the darkness.
A voice reached Photon’s ears, speaking words she could not make out. She moved further into the storage basement, the shadows retreating from what gave the Golden Avenger her nickname. But even when Photon could the face that belonged to the voice, the words remained beyond her understanding. Not exactly foreign, Photon suspected an obsolete Creole dialect, and with another step forward immediately recognized the woman chanting.
“Nekra!”
The albino black woman did not look up. She simply raised a finger and smiled as she recited two final words to the corpses arrayed on slabs around her. “Now arise!”
Immediately the corpses came to life, sitting up and swiveling their heads in Photon’s direction.
Immediately, the Golden Avenger’s body shifted from golden light to blue electric. “You’re a fool if you think these zombies are a match for me!”
But surprising, the undead weren’t moving toward Photon. After lowering themselves from the slabs, the men Nekra had killed the night before shambled off in the other direction. It was Nekra herself who leapt at Photon, her mouth wide open to reveal gleaming fangs.
“No. They’re off to infest all New Orleans while I deal with you myself!”
Not made of light but merely sheathed in it, Photon felt Nekra’s backhand and was thrown across the room. Contact with electricity affected Nekra however, and she stepped back with a hiss. Quickly was Photon back on her feet, blasting at Nekra with a force beam from her palm. But Nekra had recovered just as rapidly, and the blast barely fazed her as she advanced on Photon.
“If that’s the best you have this won’t last long!” A slab was between Nekra and Photon. A stark white fist smashed that in half. “With you dead, my zombie epidemic will run unchecked!”
Photon got out of Nekra’s way just in time, flying up near the ceiling. “That will never happen,” Photon said as she peppered Nekra with pulse bursts. “One way or another, the authorities will contain you. If need be, the Avengers will stop all of this!”
“But at what cost?” Leaping through the bursts, Nekra tackled Photon in mid-air and slammed her to the ground. Her pale hands on the hero’s throat, Nekra laughed. “This city will burn as a result, a blight that will never be settled again! Another city dead, at the hands of those pledged to serve!”
Gripping Nekra’s wrists, Photon couldn’t suppress a smile. “You just love the thought of it, don’t you?”
“It brings joy to my…heart,” said Nekra, realizing then what Photon had done. “No!”
“Too late!” Photon threw the weakened Nekra off of her. “When your hate faded, so did your power. And that means…” Photon flew upward, her body no longer sheathed in light but composed of it. She passed through the ceiling and ground, and emerged out of a street littered with five bodies. “Your zombie attack is over before it ever began!”
“Rrraarrghh!” Nekra also emerged, physically bursting through the pavement. Enraged at being tricked her strength was greater than ever. But it was no defense against the sunlight that now hit her delicate pale skin. “Aaagh!”
“It’s over Nekra!” Photon shifted her body to pure ultra-violet light and hit the woman with a wide beam. Soon there was the smell of flesh cooking, and steam rose off Nekra and she turned and ran. “There’s no escaping me, so give up!”
“I’d rather die again!”
Along with her strength, Nekra’s hate fed her speed. She endured the pain as she ran, and was soon in sight of water. Though Photon easily kept pace, her body of light couldn’t physically stop Nekra from leaping into the ocean. Stopping short of the water, Photon hovered over the surface and scanned with her eyes, but could see no sign of the villain.
“Damn her. Now I’ll have to keep an eye out for zombie fish!”
END
Mount Wundagore
Had anyone bothered to ask, Doctor Michael Morbius would have been the first to admit that his life had been a series of unpleasant choices followed by unfortunate consequences. But for the first time in a long time, he could honestly say that he felt contented.
He stood on a stone balcony, luxuriating in the feel of the rising sun as it washed over him. Despite having been human now for just over a month, he was still fish-belly pale. Whistling softly, he turned away and returned to his room, slipping into the robes he now wore most days.
“Dr. Morbius? Are you awake?” his aide said, knocking softly on the door even as she opened it.
“Ah, Gurdra. Yes, please, come in, come in!” Morbius said as the young cow-woman trotted in. She wore the multi-colored robes of the Wundagorian science-guild, much like Morbius himself, and carried a stack of color-indexed files.
“I am sorry to bother you this early, Doctor, but-” she began, but Morbius waved the apology aside.
“No need for apologies, my dear. I am awake and ready to face another day!” he said, clapping his hands together. With his face clean shaven save for a thin goatee and his long hair pulled back away from his narrow face, Morbius was a far different man from the blood-thirsty creature who had arrived with the Avengers West Coast some weeks ago. Thanks to an unanticipated side-effect of the mingling of his infected blood with that of the super-villain known as Death Adder, Morbius had lost the right to call himself ‘the Living Vampire’. Since then, he had remained at Wundagore, finding a degree of acceptance among the New Men who populated it, thanks to his scientific acumen and the part he’d played in saving Wundagore from the predations of the N’Garai.
“Are these the new sensor logs? Were the improvements I suggested helpful?” Morbius said as Gurdra set down the files. She made a soft sound that he had come to recognize as a sigh.
“Not as much as we’d hoped, Doctor. He’s still avoiding the sensor sweeps somehow. And it looks like he’s gotten into the lower armories.”
“Hh.” Morbius flipped through the files. “What’s down there?”
“Unfinished experiments of the Lord High Evolutionary,” Sir Mamuwald rumbled, stepping into the room. Gurdra gave a bleat and whirled, files falling from her hands. Morbius turned more gracefully, scooping up the fallen papers. The bat-man was a fearsome sight, with flared ears and a spear-blade nose that sat above a mouth filled with glinting dagger-points. Dark eyes fixed on Morbius. “Nothing that should interest such a beast.”
“Don’t be too sure, my friend,” Morbius said, stacking the files neatly. “For all his savage proclivities, Dracula is no mere beast. He’s after something. And God help us all if he finds it!”
Gurdra scurried out of Morbius’ room, her heart thudding in her chest. The young cow-woman had only been of Guilding-age for a few months, and she still had a young girl’s awe of the knightly orders. And of Dr. Morbius. The human had a remarkable intelligence that put many of her peers to shame. He was a man very much in the mould of the Lord High Evolutionary, Blessed Be His Name, she thought, genuflecting instinctively as she moved down the corridor.
It was a shame, therefore, that one of Dr. Morbius’ obvious talents couldn’t see what was obvious to even a junior-scientist such as herself. And Mamuwald as well, of course, but then the Knights of Wundagore were not known for their abstract thinking skills. Creatures like Tagar and Mamuwald wished to keep the New Men penned up in their mountain prison, away from the world that the Lord High Evolutionary had created for them. And any who sought to free them were persecuted and eventually exiled or killed.
She touched the brand on her upper arm and a thrill of beautiful hate flooded her. The Mark of the Man-Beast would give her strength in the dark days to come. There were others who shared her desire, but none could be trusted with the secret she now held. A secret that could at last free the New Men from centuries of repression.
After descending into the lower levels of the mountain via pneumatic tube, Gurdra activated the sensor-jammer she carried on her person at all times. The Man-Beast (Blessed Be His Name) had crafted three of the devices. One had been lost with him, but the remaining two had come into her possession.
Stepping out of the tube way, she moved down a rough-hewn stone corridor that still smelled of N’Garai. The creatures had infested the lower depths of the mountain, nesting in odd pockets. This area had been one such until it had been scoured clean, but still, the greasy stink of the demonic creatures remained part of the very stone. At the end of the corridor was a hidden door. This too had been a gift from the Man-Beast (May He Return in Glory) - a hidden laboratory.
The door slid open at her approach. The familiar reek of old blood reached her nose and she shied away slightly. Steeling herself, she entered.
“Lord Dracula?” she said, looking around. He had shuttered the windows set into the sloping ceiling and sealed them, keeping the rooms in a permanent state of darkness and her eyes struggled to adjust. “Have you returned?”
“Of course, child,” Dracula purred as he stepped out of the shadows, his cloak pulled tightly around his form. “Dracula always returns. Have you news?”
“Your entry into the lower armories was discovered much more quickly than we anticipated, unfortunately. Dr. Morbius’ improvements to the internal sensor network-”
“Are easily avoided thanks to this remarkable device you gave me,” Dracula said, gesturing sharply towards the twin to her sensor-jammer attached to his belt. “As long as you continue to provide me with information, I will be able to avoid the sweeps of the patrols and maintain my freedom of movement.”
“Of course, my lord,” Gurdra said, inclining her head. Dracula smiled, displaying his fangs.
“Good.”
“I’ve brought the codes for the medium armories as well. They contain much of the Lord High Evolutionary’s – ah - ingredients,” she said, handing Dracula a file. “Within, I have no doubt you’ll find what you require.”
“Hmm.” Dracula flipped through the file, his eyes glinting. He looked up at her and inclined his head. “The Man-Beast, Mighty is His Fury, would be pleased, my child.”
“I serve at his pleasure,” she said, rubbing her brand again and smiling. “Anything for Him Who Will Return.”
“As it should be. Now, Dracula must sleep. Be about your duties,” he said, waving towards the door. She bowed and left, leaving Dracula alone in the darkness. Hurrying out, she headed back the way she had come, her steps quick and eager. So eager, in fact, that she didn’t notice the shimmering form that watched her departure from its position on the ceiling of the corridor.
Sir Khamai waited until the tube had lifted off, carrying Gurdra away, before dropping silently to the ground. The man-sized chameleon rose to a crouch and contemplated the doorway. While he was tempted to investigate on his own, prudence demanded that he inform his commanding officer that he’d discovered the probable lair of the beast they’d been tracking for the past few weeks.
Sighing, the knight scampered towards the pneumatic tube.
Inside the laboratory, Dracula laughed and tossed the file aside. Ignorant creature. So trusting. So eager to betray her fellows. Dracula laughed again, a sound like the gurgle of melting steel. It had been child’s play to beguile the creature into believing him to be, like her, a creation of the High Evolutionary. As if the glory of Dracula could have been molded by the whim of a mad geneticist!
Still, it was a useful ploy, one which had allowed him a certain amount of freedom to more fully explore the possibilities contained within the mountain. He had stumbled upon the laboratory and its equipment not long after his escape from the N’Garai. He had intended to flee Wundagore that very night, but his discoveries had held him in place. Despite the occult stench which seeped from the stone, it was a haven of science unlike anything Dracula had ever encountered.
And science, he was coming to learn, had its uses. Ever since he had first awoken in this new age of gods and monsters, he had seen the fruits of science. Flying men, rampaging behemoths, silver-skinned star-surfers, entities and energies to make his own hell-born might seem paltry by comparison.
When he had first arrived in London in 1888, he had seen the prototypes of what would become the modern automobile and been fascinated by them. He had considered their uses in transporting his legions, but had, alas, dropped the idea soon after. It was a mistake he still regretted.
Stalking deeper into the laboratory, he let his fingers trail across dusty machines until he came to a communications console he had found earlier in the month. Twisting a knob, he brought the machine to life, a smile curling across his thin lips. He had discovered how to use the device easily enough, but finding the right frequency had been a happy accident.
“Report,” a voice on the other end said. Dracula’s smile faded, replaced by a sneer.
“Speak to me with more respect, insect. Dracula is no lackey for you to vent your impatience on!” he hissed. Silence greeted his words. Then,
“I apologize. What have you discovered?”
“They are here. Or so the cow says.” Dracula pressed his fingers together as he sat back in the chair in front of the console. “I will discover the truth of her words tonight. And then-”
“Then you will do as we agreed.”
“Dracula’s word is his bond,” Dracula said, frowning. “As is yours.”
“Indeed. The devices you mentioned, you are certain they still function?”
“Oh yes. I have used them twice. Both times they functioned perfectly. The Man-Beast, whoever or whatever he was, built things to last.”
“Good. You have the coordinates?”
“Of course,” Dracula said.
“Then I await your arrival.”
“See that you do. I bid you good evening,” Dracula said, switching the console off with a flick of his wrist. It sickened him to have to work with cattle, especially when the beast in question was no more than a jumped up gypsy putting on airs. But needs must, when the Devil drove.
Dracula settled back in his chair to await the coming of the night, and the first step on his road to conquest.
Morbius closed the files with a careless gesture and leaned back in his seat. He rubbed his face and gave a groan. “Nothing,” he said. “How can that be?”
“He is a demon,” Mamuwald said, unsheathing his sword a fraction and slamming it back. The bat man leaned against the wall and looked out at the balcony and the mist-wreathed peaks beyond. “Perhaps some form of sorcery-”
“No. Dracula has never displayed a knowledge of such things. He’s utilized those who do, of course, but otherwise-” Morbius shook his head. “No. It’s something else. Perhaps-” He hesitated.
“What?” Mamuwald turned.
“He’s being helped.” Morbius said it softly. Mamuwald’s ears flickered.
“By one of us, you mean?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know,” Morbius said. He ran his hands through his hair. “What really bothers me about this whole thing is why he’s even still here. It’s been more than a month since the N’Garai attempted to use him as a host for Chthon. He should have fled the mountain the first chance he got. We know that he can feed on your people, but he hasn’t killed any of those he’s attacked. Something about your blood doesn’t agree with him, obviously, so he’s not feeding as much as he normally would.”
“Aye. He’s scavenging,” Mamuwald said. “Picking off lone individuals and fleeing at the first sign of resistance. It’s almost as if he’s-”
“Conserving his strength,” Morbius said. “He’s planning something. But what?”
“Perhaps it has something to do with the armories,” Mamuwald said. “Perhaps-”
“Milord?” a voice hissed, causing Morbius to jump in surprise. He turned even as the thin shape of Sir Khamai bled into visibility. Mamuwald smiled.
“Report,” he said.
“It is as you suspected, milord. She’s in contact with him.”
“Who’s in contact with which? Mamuwald?” Morbius looked back and forth between the knights in confusion. Mamuwald sighed and scratched an ear.
“Gurdra.”
“What?”
“She is a Beastist. I have known for some time, but I hardly dared believe that she would-pah,” he said, blowing out a breath. He looked at Morbius, who gaped in confusion.
“A Beastist? What is a-”
“Followers of the Man-Beast. The devil himself is gone. Exiled to parts unknown, and bad cess to him. But his followers-his cult-remains. They lurk in every facet of our society. It has been my task, until recently, to root them out lest they destroy all that we have built.”
“And Gurdra-” Morbius shook his head. “Then why did you let her work with me?”
“She volunteered. I wanted to know why. We’ve known of her affiliations for some time, as I said. And, as such, we’ve used her to keep an eye on the others in her cell. But now she seems to have switched her allegiances to Dracula.” Mamuwald rubbed his chin, eyes gleaming. He looked at Khamai. “What did you learn?”
“The middle armories. That’s where he’s going,” Khamai said. “But as to why-”
“He’s searched the upper and lower armories already?” Morbius interjected. Mamuwald nodded. “Then the likelihood of that one containing whatever it is that he’s been searching for is excellent. Which means that tonight will be Dracula’s last night in Wundagore one way or another.”
“What do you suggest, Doctor?”
“We set a trap. I have taken the liberty of designing a number of devices which may give us the advantage, especially if Dracula is in a weakened state,” Morbius said, rising to his feet. “We’ll need all the men you can find, however. From painful experience I can tell you that no matter how weakened we may think Dracula is, it’s not going to be as much as we hope.”
Night fell. Gurdra waited at the entrance to the middle armories, shifting her weight impatiently. Dr. Morbius had allowed her to leave early with his usual blend of courtesy and surprise that she was still there.
She heard nothing, and when the cold hand fell on her shoulder, she uttered a surprised moan. Turning, she looked up into Dracula’s dead eyes. “You startled me,” she said.
“I apologize,” Dracula said, floating around her, his lower body only a thick mist. He glared at the door. “Open it. There is much work to be done this night.”
“You still haven’t told me-” Gurdra began, pulling a device out from within her robe. Dracula whirled, his eyes blazing. She fell silent. It wasn’t for her to question the will of a servant of the Man-Beast. She hurried towards the door and set the device against the locking mechanism. From within came the sounds of tumblers rotating. “I believe they’ll be easy enough to spot,” she said, Dracula hovering over her shoulder.
“Excellent. You have served me well, young woman,” Dracula said, his hands on her shoulders. She tensed.
“We all serve the Man-Beast, Lord Dracula. Blessed Be HisAHGHK!” Gurdra tried to scream as Dracula’s teeth sank into her throat, but the sound died as her windpipe crumpled. Dracula enveloped her within his cloak, draining her life with deep, guttural gulps. Then, when she had ceased all movement, he let her drop. He dragged the back of his hand across his face and a splatter of blood caressed the wall.
He grimaced. While the blood of the New Men was palatable, it was only just. The doors groaned as they slid open and he stepped over the body and into the middle armory of Wundagore. He had attempted to penetrate the doors before as a mist, but the designer had obviously considered such a method of entry. The armories were Celestial-proof, poor Gurdra had assured him.
Lights flickered to life automatically, alerted by pressure sensitive floor panels. Row upon row of stasis chambers were revealed, each containing a life-form in one stage or another of development. Dracula moved through the rows, examining the occupant of each chamber closely. Most were unfinished, or underdeveloped. Projects left to simmer by the High Evolutionary.
His claws made a squealing sound as he traced them across the glass of each case. Mutants and abominations, none were what he was looking for-ah! His eyes widened as he caught sight of a row of specially set aside containers. They were larger than the others, and each contained an adult human of perfect design.
“Yesssss,” he said.
Once before-or so poor Gurdra had informed him-the High Evolutionary had created his own race of gods from a sample of Asgardian DNA. He had done so again, using the genetic coding of the beings known as Eternals, hoping that his new breed of Olympians would prove less volatile than the New Immortals.
“Fool,” Dracula murmured. He gazed into the closest tube, eyes blazing. “Only an imbecile would seek to undo perfection. Still, it serves my purposes nicely.” He turned. “Ten. Ten new gods. And soon five of you will join me as masters of a blasted and damned Earth!”
“Monster!” The blade entered Dracula’s back and he bent forward with a scream. Sir Khamai crouched between Dracula’s shoulders, twisting his sword back and forth in an attempt to find the vampire’s heart.
“Get…OFF!” Dracula bellowed lashing out blindly. His backhand caught the chameleon knight in the side of the head and sent him flying. From out of the sea of stasis tubes, more knights rushed forward. Dracula spun, a beast at bay, as silver-tipped spears dug for his heart. “How? I would have sensed-”
“True. If I hadn’t created a chemical to hide our scents,” Morbius said, crouched on a gantry above the melee. He wore a variation of his old bodysuit, studded with thin, silver disks. “And, of course, replaced the lights with solar reflectors to further deaden your senses, Dracula!”
“What?” Dracula fended off a spear blow and looked up at the lights.
A sword glanced off his shoulder and he stumbled. Sir Mamuwald dove forward, not giving the vampire a moment to recover. Dracula rolled onto his back, catching the blade between his palms and drove it back with enough force to send Mamuwald flying. Dracula rose to his feet and swung an arm, shattering several spears. A knight charged him and he grabbed the creature’s head, twisting it sharply to the left. As the body fell twitching, Dracula spread his arms.
“Come then, so-called ‘New Men’. Come and taste the fury of Dracula!”
“No! Stay back! The monster is mine!” Morbius swung off the gantry and landed lightly on the floor. He sprinted forward and crashed into Dracula, wrapping his arms around the vampire’s shoulders. Dracula laughed.
“Fool! You would pit your frail strength against mine? You are no longer the demon you were, Doctor, and even then you were no match for Dracula!” Dracula flexed and broke Morbius’ grip. Even as he grabbed the front of Morbius’ suit, however, the former living vampire pressed two fingers to one of the silver disks. A beam of pure solar energy blazed forth and cut through Dracula’s wrist, shriveling the attached hand to a blackened claw!
“Augh!” Dracula stumbled back, face twisted into a rictus of stupefaction. Morbius tapped another disk, and another beam caught Dracula on the shoulder, spinning him around. “What-what-”
“Modified solar cells. One tap and they release their stored energy. I’ve been charging them for weeks in preparation for this moment, Dracula.” Morbius stalked forward. “Without the blood madness impeding my cognitive abilities I’ve made great strides in adapting much of the High Evolutionary’s technology for my own use.” He tapped another cell and the beam punched through Dracula’s back as if it were no more than smoke. Dracula screeched and thrashed. “I see you, monster, and know that however vile I was in the grip of my affliction, you are a thousand times worse. More, you enjoy it. I’ll see you burn if it’s the last thing I do-”
“As you wish,” Dracula snarled, twisting and lunging. Morbius fell, Dracula atop him. Fangs brushed Morbius’ throat and he screamed in sudden, raw panic. “Join me, Morbius! Your knowledge would serve Dracula well!”
“No! Never again! NO!” Morbius slapped as many of the cells as he could reach, eliciting a blinding explosion. Dracula screamed shrilly and was flung backwards, amongst the tubes. Burning, agonized, he scrambled for the teleportation transponder he had found in the Man-Beast’s lab and slapped it against the floor. “Doom!” he screamed.
“No!” Mamuwald said, reaching for the monster even as the row of stasis tubes became enveloped in a shimmering field. Morbius clambered to his feet even as the ten tubes, and Dracula among them, disappeared as if they had never been.
Mamuwald gave and angry screech and threw his sword to the ground. “Damnation! He’s escaped! And taken our Lord High Evolutionary’s property with him!”
“Perhaps,” Morbius said, rubbing his bruised throat. “But he can’t have gone far.” He rubbed a hand across one of the depleted cells. “I have a second chance at life. A chance to finally make up for my sins.” He leaned over, helping one of the knights to his feet. “I intend to ensure that he harms no one else.” He looked at the empty space where the tubes had once stood and crossed his arms. “Dracula will die again, even if I have to follow him to Hell itself!”
Elsewhere
The room was featureless. Smooth, save for the unblinking blister-eyes of a number of cameras set into the walls, floor and ceiling. Dracula looked up as metal shod feet came to a stop before him. He used one of the stasis tubes to pull himself upright to face his partner.
“Well?” he hissed, burnt face twisting in pain.
“Even as you promised. Ten perfectly evolved entities,” Dr. Doom said, running steel fingertips across the glass. “Ten dormant gods, awaiting the voice of their father to awaken them. How wonderful.”
“Five are mine, as we agreed,” Dracula said, forcing himself to stand up straight. “Once I have recovered, I will-”
“Turn them into fodder for your undead army?” Doom said. “How boring.”
“Do not presume to lecture me on how I run my affairs, gypsy!” Dracula snarled. “I have fulfilled my end of the bargain! Now you must do the same…transportation. Away from here. Somewhere I can compose a stratagem worthy of the name Dracula.”
“What? Like impaling everyone who doesn’t pay their taxes?” Doom said.
“You-”
“Did you honestly think that I intended to let you leave here with five demigods in your poisonous clutches? To let you spread your mad infection to creatures you might not even be able to control?” Doom said, stepping back. Dracula followed him, teeth bared. “You are a cancer, Dracula.”
“Perhaps,” Dracula said. “But if you do not help me-” He lunged, claws scraping across Doom’s armor. Or, they would have if Doom had been there. The holographic image spluttered out of existence as Dracula collapsed in a heap. He rose to his knees and howled in rage. “Thief! Betrayer!”
“King,” Doom corrected. His voice echoed from the walls of the room. “And now I will take my due even as you have in the past.” Even as Dracula turned, the ten stasis tubes vanished. He spun on his heel, trying to spot some way of escaping the room.
“And now, oh petty king? What awaits Dracula?” he hissed. “Will you add assassination to your list of insults against me?”
“No. No, Doom honors his bargains. You will be given transportation to a-ah-safe location. And when I have made a full study of these ten beings, five will be delivered to you, as we agreed.”
“So,” Dracula said, calming slightly. “You do have honor, after all.”
“Oh yes. Doom has honor. Goodbye, Dracula.”
Dracula began to laugh as he was again enveloped in the crackling wash of a teleportation field. But his laughter died even as the energy faded and he stumbled forward in a cloud of dust. He looked around, momentarily bewildered. Then, as his location became apparent, useless rage filled him.
Yes. Doom had honor. No enemy of Dracula’s would find him here. Indeed, who would even think to look for him in such a place? And Dracula had no doubt that Doom would deliver on the remainder of his promise, eventually. After all, what good would it do Dracula now?
Above him, the stars seemed to laugh at the grim jest. Dracula screamed, but no sound came forth from his ravaged throat. He glared wild-eyed at the Earth as it hove into view before him.
Dracula raised his fists to the uncaring cosmos and raged impotently as the light of the Earth shone idiotically down on the barren surface of the Moon…
END
Had anyone bothered to ask, Doctor Michael Morbius would have been the first to admit that his life had been a series of unpleasant choices followed by unfortunate consequences. But for the first time in a long time, he could honestly say that he felt contented.
He stood on a stone balcony, luxuriating in the feel of the rising sun as it washed over him. Despite having been human now for just over a month, he was still fish-belly pale. Whistling softly, he turned away and returned to his room, slipping into the robes he now wore most days.
“Dr. Morbius? Are you awake?” his aide said, knocking softly on the door even as she opened it.
“Ah, Gurdra. Yes, please, come in, come in!” Morbius said as the young cow-woman trotted in. She wore the multi-colored robes of the Wundagorian science-guild, much like Morbius himself, and carried a stack of color-indexed files.
“I am sorry to bother you this early, Doctor, but-” she began, but Morbius waved the apology aside.
“No need for apologies, my dear. I am awake and ready to face another day!” he said, clapping his hands together. With his face clean shaven save for a thin goatee and his long hair pulled back away from his narrow face, Morbius was a far different man from the blood-thirsty creature who had arrived with the Avengers West Coast some weeks ago. Thanks to an unanticipated side-effect of the mingling of his infected blood with that of the super-villain known as Death Adder, Morbius had lost the right to call himself ‘the Living Vampire’. Since then, he had remained at Wundagore, finding a degree of acceptance among the New Men who populated it, thanks to his scientific acumen and the part he’d played in saving Wundagore from the predations of the N’Garai.
“Are these the new sensor logs? Were the improvements I suggested helpful?” Morbius said as Gurdra set down the files. She made a soft sound that he had come to recognize as a sigh.
“Not as much as we’d hoped, Doctor. He’s still avoiding the sensor sweeps somehow. And it looks like he’s gotten into the lower armories.”
“Hh.” Morbius flipped through the files. “What’s down there?”
“Unfinished experiments of the Lord High Evolutionary,” Sir Mamuwald rumbled, stepping into the room. Gurdra gave a bleat and whirled, files falling from her hands. Morbius turned more gracefully, scooping up the fallen papers. The bat-man was a fearsome sight, with flared ears and a spear-blade nose that sat above a mouth filled with glinting dagger-points. Dark eyes fixed on Morbius. “Nothing that should interest such a beast.”
“Don’t be too sure, my friend,” Morbius said, stacking the files neatly. “For all his savage proclivities, Dracula is no mere beast. He’s after something. And God help us all if he finds it!”
Gurdra scurried out of Morbius’ room, her heart thudding in her chest. The young cow-woman had only been of Guilding-age for a few months, and she still had a young girl’s awe of the knightly orders. And of Dr. Morbius. The human had a remarkable intelligence that put many of her peers to shame. He was a man very much in the mould of the Lord High Evolutionary, Blessed Be His Name, she thought, genuflecting instinctively as she moved down the corridor.
It was a shame, therefore, that one of Dr. Morbius’ obvious talents couldn’t see what was obvious to even a junior-scientist such as herself. And Mamuwald as well, of course, but then the Knights of Wundagore were not known for their abstract thinking skills. Creatures like Tagar and Mamuwald wished to keep the New Men penned up in their mountain prison, away from the world that the Lord High Evolutionary had created for them. And any who sought to free them were persecuted and eventually exiled or killed.
She touched the brand on her upper arm and a thrill of beautiful hate flooded her. The Mark of the Man-Beast would give her strength in the dark days to come. There were others who shared her desire, but none could be trusted with the secret she now held. A secret that could at last free the New Men from centuries of repression.
After descending into the lower levels of the mountain via pneumatic tube, Gurdra activated the sensor-jammer she carried on her person at all times. The Man-Beast (Blessed Be His Name) had crafted three of the devices. One had been lost with him, but the remaining two had come into her possession.
Stepping out of the tube way, she moved down a rough-hewn stone corridor that still smelled of N’Garai. The creatures had infested the lower depths of the mountain, nesting in odd pockets. This area had been one such until it had been scoured clean, but still, the greasy stink of the demonic creatures remained part of the very stone. At the end of the corridor was a hidden door. This too had been a gift from the Man-Beast (May He Return in Glory) - a hidden laboratory.
The door slid open at her approach. The familiar reek of old blood reached her nose and she shied away slightly. Steeling herself, she entered.
“Lord Dracula?” she said, looking around. He had shuttered the windows set into the sloping ceiling and sealed them, keeping the rooms in a permanent state of darkness and her eyes struggled to adjust. “Have you returned?”
“Of course, child,” Dracula purred as he stepped out of the shadows, his cloak pulled tightly around his form. “Dracula always returns. Have you news?”
“Your entry into the lower armories was discovered much more quickly than we anticipated, unfortunately. Dr. Morbius’ improvements to the internal sensor network-”
“Are easily avoided thanks to this remarkable device you gave me,” Dracula said, gesturing sharply towards the twin to her sensor-jammer attached to his belt. “As long as you continue to provide me with information, I will be able to avoid the sweeps of the patrols and maintain my freedom of movement.”
“Of course, my lord,” Gurdra said, inclining her head. Dracula smiled, displaying his fangs.
“Good.”
“I’ve brought the codes for the medium armories as well. They contain much of the Lord High Evolutionary’s – ah - ingredients,” she said, handing Dracula a file. “Within, I have no doubt you’ll find what you require.”
“Hmm.” Dracula flipped through the file, his eyes glinting. He looked up at her and inclined his head. “The Man-Beast, Mighty is His Fury, would be pleased, my child.”
“I serve at his pleasure,” she said, rubbing her brand again and smiling. “Anything for Him Who Will Return.”
“As it should be. Now, Dracula must sleep. Be about your duties,” he said, waving towards the door. She bowed and left, leaving Dracula alone in the darkness. Hurrying out, she headed back the way she had come, her steps quick and eager. So eager, in fact, that she didn’t notice the shimmering form that watched her departure from its position on the ceiling of the corridor.
Sir Khamai waited until the tube had lifted off, carrying Gurdra away, before dropping silently to the ground. The man-sized chameleon rose to a crouch and contemplated the doorway. While he was tempted to investigate on his own, prudence demanded that he inform his commanding officer that he’d discovered the probable lair of the beast they’d been tracking for the past few weeks.
Sighing, the knight scampered towards the pneumatic tube.
Inside the laboratory, Dracula laughed and tossed the file aside. Ignorant creature. So trusting. So eager to betray her fellows. Dracula laughed again, a sound like the gurgle of melting steel. It had been child’s play to beguile the creature into believing him to be, like her, a creation of the High Evolutionary. As if the glory of Dracula could have been molded by the whim of a mad geneticist!
Still, it was a useful ploy, one which had allowed him a certain amount of freedom to more fully explore the possibilities contained within the mountain. He had stumbled upon the laboratory and its equipment not long after his escape from the N’Garai. He had intended to flee Wundagore that very night, but his discoveries had held him in place. Despite the occult stench which seeped from the stone, it was a haven of science unlike anything Dracula had ever encountered.
And science, he was coming to learn, had its uses. Ever since he had first awoken in this new age of gods and monsters, he had seen the fruits of science. Flying men, rampaging behemoths, silver-skinned star-surfers, entities and energies to make his own hell-born might seem paltry by comparison.
When he had first arrived in London in 1888, he had seen the prototypes of what would become the modern automobile and been fascinated by them. He had considered their uses in transporting his legions, but had, alas, dropped the idea soon after. It was a mistake he still regretted.
Stalking deeper into the laboratory, he let his fingers trail across dusty machines until he came to a communications console he had found earlier in the month. Twisting a knob, he brought the machine to life, a smile curling across his thin lips. He had discovered how to use the device easily enough, but finding the right frequency had been a happy accident.
“Report,” a voice on the other end said. Dracula’s smile faded, replaced by a sneer.
“Speak to me with more respect, insect. Dracula is no lackey for you to vent your impatience on!” he hissed. Silence greeted his words. Then,
“I apologize. What have you discovered?”
“They are here. Or so the cow says.” Dracula pressed his fingers together as he sat back in the chair in front of the console. “I will discover the truth of her words tonight. And then-”
“Then you will do as we agreed.”
“Dracula’s word is his bond,” Dracula said, frowning. “As is yours.”
“Indeed. The devices you mentioned, you are certain they still function?”
“Oh yes. I have used them twice. Both times they functioned perfectly. The Man-Beast, whoever or whatever he was, built things to last.”
“Good. You have the coordinates?”
“Of course,” Dracula said.
“Then I await your arrival.”
“See that you do. I bid you good evening,” Dracula said, switching the console off with a flick of his wrist. It sickened him to have to work with cattle, especially when the beast in question was no more than a jumped up gypsy putting on airs. But needs must, when the Devil drove.
Dracula settled back in his chair to await the coming of the night, and the first step on his road to conquest.
Morbius closed the files with a careless gesture and leaned back in his seat. He rubbed his face and gave a groan. “Nothing,” he said. “How can that be?”
“He is a demon,” Mamuwald said, unsheathing his sword a fraction and slamming it back. The bat man leaned against the wall and looked out at the balcony and the mist-wreathed peaks beyond. “Perhaps some form of sorcery-”
“No. Dracula has never displayed a knowledge of such things. He’s utilized those who do, of course, but otherwise-” Morbius shook his head. “No. It’s something else. Perhaps-” He hesitated.
“What?” Mamuwald turned.
“He’s being helped.” Morbius said it softly. Mamuwald’s ears flickered.
“By one of us, you mean?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know,” Morbius said. He ran his hands through his hair. “What really bothers me about this whole thing is why he’s even still here. It’s been more than a month since the N’Garai attempted to use him as a host for Chthon. He should have fled the mountain the first chance he got. We know that he can feed on your people, but he hasn’t killed any of those he’s attacked. Something about your blood doesn’t agree with him, obviously, so he’s not feeding as much as he normally would.”
“Aye. He’s scavenging,” Mamuwald said. “Picking off lone individuals and fleeing at the first sign of resistance. It’s almost as if he’s-”
“Conserving his strength,” Morbius said. “He’s planning something. But what?”
“Perhaps it has something to do with the armories,” Mamuwald said. “Perhaps-”
“Milord?” a voice hissed, causing Morbius to jump in surprise. He turned even as the thin shape of Sir Khamai bled into visibility. Mamuwald smiled.
“Report,” he said.
“It is as you suspected, milord. She’s in contact with him.”
“Who’s in contact with which? Mamuwald?” Morbius looked back and forth between the knights in confusion. Mamuwald sighed and scratched an ear.
“Gurdra.”
“What?”
“She is a Beastist. I have known for some time, but I hardly dared believe that she would-pah,” he said, blowing out a breath. He looked at Morbius, who gaped in confusion.
“A Beastist? What is a-”
“Followers of the Man-Beast. The devil himself is gone. Exiled to parts unknown, and bad cess to him. But his followers-his cult-remains. They lurk in every facet of our society. It has been my task, until recently, to root them out lest they destroy all that we have built.”
“And Gurdra-” Morbius shook his head. “Then why did you let her work with me?”
“She volunteered. I wanted to know why. We’ve known of her affiliations for some time, as I said. And, as such, we’ve used her to keep an eye on the others in her cell. But now she seems to have switched her allegiances to Dracula.” Mamuwald rubbed his chin, eyes gleaming. He looked at Khamai. “What did you learn?”
“The middle armories. That’s where he’s going,” Khamai said. “But as to why-”
“He’s searched the upper and lower armories already?” Morbius interjected. Mamuwald nodded. “Then the likelihood of that one containing whatever it is that he’s been searching for is excellent. Which means that tonight will be Dracula’s last night in Wundagore one way or another.”
“What do you suggest, Doctor?”
“We set a trap. I have taken the liberty of designing a number of devices which may give us the advantage, especially if Dracula is in a weakened state,” Morbius said, rising to his feet. “We’ll need all the men you can find, however. From painful experience I can tell you that no matter how weakened we may think Dracula is, it’s not going to be as much as we hope.”
Night fell. Gurdra waited at the entrance to the middle armories, shifting her weight impatiently. Dr. Morbius had allowed her to leave early with his usual blend of courtesy and surprise that she was still there.
She heard nothing, and when the cold hand fell on her shoulder, she uttered a surprised moan. Turning, she looked up into Dracula’s dead eyes. “You startled me,” she said.
“I apologize,” Dracula said, floating around her, his lower body only a thick mist. He glared at the door. “Open it. There is much work to be done this night.”
“You still haven’t told me-” Gurdra began, pulling a device out from within her robe. Dracula whirled, his eyes blazing. She fell silent. It wasn’t for her to question the will of a servant of the Man-Beast. She hurried towards the door and set the device against the locking mechanism. From within came the sounds of tumblers rotating. “I believe they’ll be easy enough to spot,” she said, Dracula hovering over her shoulder.
“Excellent. You have served me well, young woman,” Dracula said, his hands on her shoulders. She tensed.
“We all serve the Man-Beast, Lord Dracula. Blessed Be HisAHGHK!” Gurdra tried to scream as Dracula’s teeth sank into her throat, but the sound died as her windpipe crumpled. Dracula enveloped her within his cloak, draining her life with deep, guttural gulps. Then, when she had ceased all movement, he let her drop. He dragged the back of his hand across his face and a splatter of blood caressed the wall.
He grimaced. While the blood of the New Men was palatable, it was only just. The doors groaned as they slid open and he stepped over the body and into the middle armory of Wundagore. He had attempted to penetrate the doors before as a mist, but the designer had obviously considered such a method of entry. The armories were Celestial-proof, poor Gurdra had assured him.
Lights flickered to life automatically, alerted by pressure sensitive floor panels. Row upon row of stasis chambers were revealed, each containing a life-form in one stage or another of development. Dracula moved through the rows, examining the occupant of each chamber closely. Most were unfinished, or underdeveloped. Projects left to simmer by the High Evolutionary.
His claws made a squealing sound as he traced them across the glass of each case. Mutants and abominations, none were what he was looking for-ah! His eyes widened as he caught sight of a row of specially set aside containers. They were larger than the others, and each contained an adult human of perfect design.
“Yesssss,” he said.
Once before-or so poor Gurdra had informed him-the High Evolutionary had created his own race of gods from a sample of Asgardian DNA. He had done so again, using the genetic coding of the beings known as Eternals, hoping that his new breed of Olympians would prove less volatile than the New Immortals.
“Fool,” Dracula murmured. He gazed into the closest tube, eyes blazing. “Only an imbecile would seek to undo perfection. Still, it serves my purposes nicely.” He turned. “Ten. Ten new gods. And soon five of you will join me as masters of a blasted and damned Earth!”
“Monster!” The blade entered Dracula’s back and he bent forward with a scream. Sir Khamai crouched between Dracula’s shoulders, twisting his sword back and forth in an attempt to find the vampire’s heart.
“Get…OFF!” Dracula bellowed lashing out blindly. His backhand caught the chameleon knight in the side of the head and sent him flying. From out of the sea of stasis tubes, more knights rushed forward. Dracula spun, a beast at bay, as silver-tipped spears dug for his heart. “How? I would have sensed-”
“True. If I hadn’t created a chemical to hide our scents,” Morbius said, crouched on a gantry above the melee. He wore a variation of his old bodysuit, studded with thin, silver disks. “And, of course, replaced the lights with solar reflectors to further deaden your senses, Dracula!”
“What?” Dracula fended off a spear blow and looked up at the lights.
A sword glanced off his shoulder and he stumbled. Sir Mamuwald dove forward, not giving the vampire a moment to recover. Dracula rolled onto his back, catching the blade between his palms and drove it back with enough force to send Mamuwald flying. Dracula rose to his feet and swung an arm, shattering several spears. A knight charged him and he grabbed the creature’s head, twisting it sharply to the left. As the body fell twitching, Dracula spread his arms.
“Come then, so-called ‘New Men’. Come and taste the fury of Dracula!”
“No! Stay back! The monster is mine!” Morbius swung off the gantry and landed lightly on the floor. He sprinted forward and crashed into Dracula, wrapping his arms around the vampire’s shoulders. Dracula laughed.
“Fool! You would pit your frail strength against mine? You are no longer the demon you were, Doctor, and even then you were no match for Dracula!” Dracula flexed and broke Morbius’ grip. Even as he grabbed the front of Morbius’ suit, however, the former living vampire pressed two fingers to one of the silver disks. A beam of pure solar energy blazed forth and cut through Dracula’s wrist, shriveling the attached hand to a blackened claw!
“Augh!” Dracula stumbled back, face twisted into a rictus of stupefaction. Morbius tapped another disk, and another beam caught Dracula on the shoulder, spinning him around. “What-what-”
“Modified solar cells. One tap and they release their stored energy. I’ve been charging them for weeks in preparation for this moment, Dracula.” Morbius stalked forward. “Without the blood madness impeding my cognitive abilities I’ve made great strides in adapting much of the High Evolutionary’s technology for my own use.” He tapped another cell and the beam punched through Dracula’s back as if it were no more than smoke. Dracula screeched and thrashed. “I see you, monster, and know that however vile I was in the grip of my affliction, you are a thousand times worse. More, you enjoy it. I’ll see you burn if it’s the last thing I do-”
“As you wish,” Dracula snarled, twisting and lunging. Morbius fell, Dracula atop him. Fangs brushed Morbius’ throat and he screamed in sudden, raw panic. “Join me, Morbius! Your knowledge would serve Dracula well!”
“No! Never again! NO!” Morbius slapped as many of the cells as he could reach, eliciting a blinding explosion. Dracula screamed shrilly and was flung backwards, amongst the tubes. Burning, agonized, he scrambled for the teleportation transponder he had found in the Man-Beast’s lab and slapped it against the floor. “Doom!” he screamed.
“No!” Mamuwald said, reaching for the monster even as the row of stasis tubes became enveloped in a shimmering field. Morbius clambered to his feet even as the ten tubes, and Dracula among them, disappeared as if they had never been.
Mamuwald gave and angry screech and threw his sword to the ground. “Damnation! He’s escaped! And taken our Lord High Evolutionary’s property with him!”
“Perhaps,” Morbius said, rubbing his bruised throat. “But he can’t have gone far.” He rubbed a hand across one of the depleted cells. “I have a second chance at life. A chance to finally make up for my sins.” He leaned over, helping one of the knights to his feet. “I intend to ensure that he harms no one else.” He looked at the empty space where the tubes had once stood and crossed his arms. “Dracula will die again, even if I have to follow him to Hell itself!”
Elsewhere
The room was featureless. Smooth, save for the unblinking blister-eyes of a number of cameras set into the walls, floor and ceiling. Dracula looked up as metal shod feet came to a stop before him. He used one of the stasis tubes to pull himself upright to face his partner.
“Well?” he hissed, burnt face twisting in pain.
“Even as you promised. Ten perfectly evolved entities,” Dr. Doom said, running steel fingertips across the glass. “Ten dormant gods, awaiting the voice of their father to awaken them. How wonderful.”
“Five are mine, as we agreed,” Dracula said, forcing himself to stand up straight. “Once I have recovered, I will-”
“Turn them into fodder for your undead army?” Doom said. “How boring.”
“Do not presume to lecture me on how I run my affairs, gypsy!” Dracula snarled. “I have fulfilled my end of the bargain! Now you must do the same…transportation. Away from here. Somewhere I can compose a stratagem worthy of the name Dracula.”
“What? Like impaling everyone who doesn’t pay their taxes?” Doom said.
“You-”
“Did you honestly think that I intended to let you leave here with five demigods in your poisonous clutches? To let you spread your mad infection to creatures you might not even be able to control?” Doom said, stepping back. Dracula followed him, teeth bared. “You are a cancer, Dracula.”
“Perhaps,” Dracula said. “But if you do not help me-” He lunged, claws scraping across Doom’s armor. Or, they would have if Doom had been there. The holographic image spluttered out of existence as Dracula collapsed in a heap. He rose to his knees and howled in rage. “Thief! Betrayer!”
“King,” Doom corrected. His voice echoed from the walls of the room. “And now I will take my due even as you have in the past.” Even as Dracula turned, the ten stasis tubes vanished. He spun on his heel, trying to spot some way of escaping the room.
“And now, oh petty king? What awaits Dracula?” he hissed. “Will you add assassination to your list of insults against me?”
“No. No, Doom honors his bargains. You will be given transportation to a-ah-safe location. And when I have made a full study of these ten beings, five will be delivered to you, as we agreed.”
“So,” Dracula said, calming slightly. “You do have honor, after all.”
“Oh yes. Doom has honor. Goodbye, Dracula.”
Dracula began to laugh as he was again enveloped in the crackling wash of a teleportation field. But his laughter died even as the energy faded and he stumbled forward in a cloud of dust. He looked around, momentarily bewildered. Then, as his location became apparent, useless rage filled him.
Yes. Doom had honor. No enemy of Dracula’s would find him here. Indeed, who would even think to look for him in such a place? And Dracula had no doubt that Doom would deliver on the remainder of his promise, eventually. After all, what good would it do Dracula now?
Above him, the stars seemed to laugh at the grim jest. Dracula screamed, but no sound came forth from his ravaged throat. He glared wild-eyed at the Earth as it hove into view before him.
Dracula raised his fists to the uncaring cosmos and raged impotently as the light of the Earth shone idiotically down on the barren surface of the Moon…
END
It was twenty to midnight on October the thirtieth. Mark Diering, AKA the hero known as Brother Nature slowly made his way into the waist high water of the Citrusville swamp. It was a cool evening, but humidity still tinged the air. The moisture clung to his skin like a lover, close and breathy.
Across the length of his shoulders, with his elbows crooked over over it, sat a spade. The same spade he'd used for the last six years, as well as a small satchel that hung loosely from his shoulders, the outside and contents getting extremely wet as the waist high water seeped through.
This six year recurrence had long since transcended the barriers of “novelty” and moved into the realms of tradition, and Mark wasn't the sort of person who was beholden to tradition. Despite his respect for it, he wanted to cut his own path and way through life, his own beliefs and his own methods. Tradition was what was expected to happen, and Mark hated expectations.
Still in this instance, the tradition, or recurrence was a firm and a good one, Gaia herself had approved of it. A slightly strange mixture of sorts, a modern day Samhain combined with the Day of the Dead his South American Cousin's practised.
The huge, wizened and knobbly staff marked the location of the meal, as it always did. A tiny island of soil with tiny water eroded rocks that reflected the light of the moon on their surfaces, littering the edge of the mound. Terrapins and Frogs sitting in pairs at every right angle of the rectangular hump.
Mark smiled, as the water level dropped off, finally meeting its resting level, lapping gently against his ankles. He looked into the water, a new addition for this year, thousands of flower buds and fruit stones and seeds, floating on the surface of the thick, brown soup.
Mark sighed, walking towards the mound, and scratched his forehead, muttering to himself.
“I can talk to nature, control it's actions; I'm probably one of the more powerful people in this world, and every year I'm relegated to a f&^king caretaker,” He allowed himself a small smile at his moan, before he set about his work. He would work through the day, digging and creating.
The hours trickled by, and he slowly went about his business. His hands in the earth, slowly forming primitive furniture. He asked dying trees for their limbs, to offer themselves to Gaia and himself, taking dead tree stumps for stools and setting them up in a circle, around the gathering of twisted dessicated tree limbs. The table was set, now all he needed was the meal.
As he paused, Mark thought of the closest approximation of what this whole evening meant to him. This was a celebration of a particular sort of Harvest, but nothing humanity ever saw the blossom of, this was his Samhain, a celebration of the end of the harvest of this year.
He'd need to start gathering again soon, the sun was threatening to peak over the verge, and he'd not even exhumed the guests yet.
At first light his own little slice of Samhain and Halloween would begin, away from the hustle and bustle of humanity. Away from trick or treating, a tradition he disliked. It was too much like begging for his liking. Away from carving up vegetables to resemble something scary, a “festival” that moved too far away from what a festival really was.
A celebration of nature, of the land, a close or a beginning to a time of year that was either bountiful or full of hardship. For Brother Nature, Halloween was nothing more than another Hallmark holiday, another day that you buy stupid presents and dress up to celebrate something nobody even knew the meaning for any more.
He shook his head, his cynical mind taking over for a moment. As the sun began to force itself over the horizon, Mark stopped his work, sweat trying to force itself from his pours, only be blocked by the humidity.
Rooted into the ground, some hundred metres away, stood the Man-Thing. His giant ruby eyes were closed and his head hung low, as though he were sleeping standing up. Across his body, tiny bulges and lumps had formed, pushing themselves to the surface, his body covered in a thick film of mucky water, dripping from his long fingers. Mark smiled, soon it would start.
Until then, he needed to finish his work for the day. With only hours left, Mark set about his task with speed. Driving his spade into the ground, sweat beginning to bead around his forehead, the humidity began to finally ease off. He was beginning the invitations.
Three shallow holes had been dug, each six feet behind the stumps that were arranged in a circle. Mark glanced, almost with panic, towards the rising sun. He needed to finish. Luckily, he'd brought the remaining offerings in the bag that rested against the far stump. His stump.
He opened it up, lifting out all the things of worship across the land. Or at least the worship for this time of year. Bread, baked by his own hand, at least with the help of his girlfriend.
Mark thought of Serafina, sitting with the rest of her family on the Conquistador. The Children of the Vault had a very different view of Halloween. It wasn't a celebration for them, it was an independence day. October was the month they found each other, and they found their place in the world. Halloween marked their coming into their own and their autonomy from the human world, as they saw it. Mark hadn't invited Serafina, and he hadn't been invited to her event either. Time apart was good for a couple.
Placing the bread, milk, cheese, grain, vegetables and fruit around the stumps, Mark cracked his neck and sighed. The sun was almost in position. Now it was time for him to sit back and watch the show. Sitting down slowly, he turned his attention to the rooted Man-Thing, the bulges slowly growing larger until their contents eventually burst through his green skin.
Mark smiled, as the sun hit Man-Thing directly, each bulge and lump transformed itself into a beautiful bloom of flowers, hundreds of different species within each nodule, thrust themselves from his body, the area around his feet springing into life as the light hit it. Pumpkins and Squashes slowly inflated themselves, as tiny branches of berries hung from Man-Things arms, and other fruits slowly grew in size and shape across his form, hanging from his facial tendrils.
Mark watched for a while longer, as the sun hit the water around the mound. Every bulb and seed instantly came into bloom. Flowers and fruit and vegetables now floating in water, the Animals around the tiny area watching with curiosity and awe. Mark could feel it.
Now was the best bit. This was a celebration of the dead as much as the harvest of the Man-Thing. This was about having dinner, breaking bread and drinking the Hallowed 'Eve away. Through the day, and into the night, Man-Thing would stay in bloom until first light on the first of November. He waited for their arrival. From each of the “Graves” he had dug, a form began to build itself.
The previous guardians of the Nexus of Realities were slowly beginning to rise.
Like Man-Things previous incarnation of Ted Sallis, all the Guardian's had been humans that stumbled into and met their demise within the boundaries of the Swamp and the Nexus itself. The first to rise was a woman, a woman who in her life before becoming a Guardian had been a shaman. A primitive culture had given her a purpose, she spoke to the wind, and danced for the rain, and now she was a nothing more than a conduit for nature. Her outline had been preserved forever, but none of her features. She was now and forever, a silhouette of a woman, whose internal matter was made entirely from nature, now her form was permeated by blue sky, with floating clouds. The occasional leaf was swept across her internal realm, giving the impression of features, if only for the barest moment. She put her hand on Mark's shoulder, an action of compassion and greeting.
The second Guardian had been a poet. His body was now comprised of words. His physical form had long since wasted away into mulch and meals for the millions of Detritivores that made up the Swamp. Now his form was simply a whirling mass of words, words that in life, had been his primary form of communication, as well as the only way he could completely express himself. He was a verbal nexus, a gateway to another world through incantations and conversation. He seemed to like Mark the most out of all his other dinner-guests.
The final form was that of a young woman, her body completely made of and wrapped together with different coloured bands of cloth. Her hair, made from tiny strands and lengths of material, fluttered in the wind her facial features were once again non-existent, save for two tiny holes of black, where the material didn't stretch, and had tiny mottled marks around it. Marks that appeared to be burnt on. Her body undulated towards her stump, as though her limbs where closer to vestigial limbs than anything of use.
“Happy Halloween,” Mark said, a wide smile on his face as he addressed the previous guardians, holding an apple in his hand. He said it every year, and every year the previous Guardians looked at each other, as though he were speaking another language. Like Man-Thing, none of the Guardian's could communicate with words, just feelings, empathy that seemed to leak from their forms.
With that out of the way, Mark passed around the harvest offerings, and slowly began to eat. They would share stories, through emotions and feelings, their desires would be met and satisfied for another year, until the beginning of November, where they would climb back into their shallow graves, and wait another three hundred and sixty five days for this chance to be alive, and feed again.
And Mark loved every minute of it.
END
Across the length of his shoulders, with his elbows crooked over over it, sat a spade. The same spade he'd used for the last six years, as well as a small satchel that hung loosely from his shoulders, the outside and contents getting extremely wet as the waist high water seeped through.
This six year recurrence had long since transcended the barriers of “novelty” and moved into the realms of tradition, and Mark wasn't the sort of person who was beholden to tradition. Despite his respect for it, he wanted to cut his own path and way through life, his own beliefs and his own methods. Tradition was what was expected to happen, and Mark hated expectations.
Still in this instance, the tradition, or recurrence was a firm and a good one, Gaia herself had approved of it. A slightly strange mixture of sorts, a modern day Samhain combined with the Day of the Dead his South American Cousin's practised.
The huge, wizened and knobbly staff marked the location of the meal, as it always did. A tiny island of soil with tiny water eroded rocks that reflected the light of the moon on their surfaces, littering the edge of the mound. Terrapins and Frogs sitting in pairs at every right angle of the rectangular hump.
Mark smiled, as the water level dropped off, finally meeting its resting level, lapping gently against his ankles. He looked into the water, a new addition for this year, thousands of flower buds and fruit stones and seeds, floating on the surface of the thick, brown soup.
Mark sighed, walking towards the mound, and scratched his forehead, muttering to himself.
“I can talk to nature, control it's actions; I'm probably one of the more powerful people in this world, and every year I'm relegated to a f&^king caretaker,” He allowed himself a small smile at his moan, before he set about his work. He would work through the day, digging and creating.
The hours trickled by, and he slowly went about his business. His hands in the earth, slowly forming primitive furniture. He asked dying trees for their limbs, to offer themselves to Gaia and himself, taking dead tree stumps for stools and setting them up in a circle, around the gathering of twisted dessicated tree limbs. The table was set, now all he needed was the meal.
As he paused, Mark thought of the closest approximation of what this whole evening meant to him. This was a celebration of a particular sort of Harvest, but nothing humanity ever saw the blossom of, this was his Samhain, a celebration of the end of the harvest of this year.
He'd need to start gathering again soon, the sun was threatening to peak over the verge, and he'd not even exhumed the guests yet.
At first light his own little slice of Samhain and Halloween would begin, away from the hustle and bustle of humanity. Away from trick or treating, a tradition he disliked. It was too much like begging for his liking. Away from carving up vegetables to resemble something scary, a “festival” that moved too far away from what a festival really was.
A celebration of nature, of the land, a close or a beginning to a time of year that was either bountiful or full of hardship. For Brother Nature, Halloween was nothing more than another Hallmark holiday, another day that you buy stupid presents and dress up to celebrate something nobody even knew the meaning for any more.
He shook his head, his cynical mind taking over for a moment. As the sun began to force itself over the horizon, Mark stopped his work, sweat trying to force itself from his pours, only be blocked by the humidity.
Rooted into the ground, some hundred metres away, stood the Man-Thing. His giant ruby eyes were closed and his head hung low, as though he were sleeping standing up. Across his body, tiny bulges and lumps had formed, pushing themselves to the surface, his body covered in a thick film of mucky water, dripping from his long fingers. Mark smiled, soon it would start.
Until then, he needed to finish his work for the day. With only hours left, Mark set about his task with speed. Driving his spade into the ground, sweat beginning to bead around his forehead, the humidity began to finally ease off. He was beginning the invitations.
Three shallow holes had been dug, each six feet behind the stumps that were arranged in a circle. Mark glanced, almost with panic, towards the rising sun. He needed to finish. Luckily, he'd brought the remaining offerings in the bag that rested against the far stump. His stump.
He opened it up, lifting out all the things of worship across the land. Or at least the worship for this time of year. Bread, baked by his own hand, at least with the help of his girlfriend.
Mark thought of Serafina, sitting with the rest of her family on the Conquistador. The Children of the Vault had a very different view of Halloween. It wasn't a celebration for them, it was an independence day. October was the month they found each other, and they found their place in the world. Halloween marked their coming into their own and their autonomy from the human world, as they saw it. Mark hadn't invited Serafina, and he hadn't been invited to her event either. Time apart was good for a couple.
Placing the bread, milk, cheese, grain, vegetables and fruit around the stumps, Mark cracked his neck and sighed. The sun was almost in position. Now it was time for him to sit back and watch the show. Sitting down slowly, he turned his attention to the rooted Man-Thing, the bulges slowly growing larger until their contents eventually burst through his green skin.
Mark smiled, as the sun hit Man-Thing directly, each bulge and lump transformed itself into a beautiful bloom of flowers, hundreds of different species within each nodule, thrust themselves from his body, the area around his feet springing into life as the light hit it. Pumpkins and Squashes slowly inflated themselves, as tiny branches of berries hung from Man-Things arms, and other fruits slowly grew in size and shape across his form, hanging from his facial tendrils.
Mark watched for a while longer, as the sun hit the water around the mound. Every bulb and seed instantly came into bloom. Flowers and fruit and vegetables now floating in water, the Animals around the tiny area watching with curiosity and awe. Mark could feel it.
Now was the best bit. This was a celebration of the dead as much as the harvest of the Man-Thing. This was about having dinner, breaking bread and drinking the Hallowed 'Eve away. Through the day, and into the night, Man-Thing would stay in bloom until first light on the first of November. He waited for their arrival. From each of the “Graves” he had dug, a form began to build itself.
The previous guardians of the Nexus of Realities were slowly beginning to rise.
Like Man-Things previous incarnation of Ted Sallis, all the Guardian's had been humans that stumbled into and met their demise within the boundaries of the Swamp and the Nexus itself. The first to rise was a woman, a woman who in her life before becoming a Guardian had been a shaman. A primitive culture had given her a purpose, she spoke to the wind, and danced for the rain, and now she was a nothing more than a conduit for nature. Her outline had been preserved forever, but none of her features. She was now and forever, a silhouette of a woman, whose internal matter was made entirely from nature, now her form was permeated by blue sky, with floating clouds. The occasional leaf was swept across her internal realm, giving the impression of features, if only for the barest moment. She put her hand on Mark's shoulder, an action of compassion and greeting.
The second Guardian had been a poet. His body was now comprised of words. His physical form had long since wasted away into mulch and meals for the millions of Detritivores that made up the Swamp. Now his form was simply a whirling mass of words, words that in life, had been his primary form of communication, as well as the only way he could completely express himself. He was a verbal nexus, a gateway to another world through incantations and conversation. He seemed to like Mark the most out of all his other dinner-guests.
The final form was that of a young woman, her body completely made of and wrapped together with different coloured bands of cloth. Her hair, made from tiny strands and lengths of material, fluttered in the wind her facial features were once again non-existent, save for two tiny holes of black, where the material didn't stretch, and had tiny mottled marks around it. Marks that appeared to be burnt on. Her body undulated towards her stump, as though her limbs where closer to vestigial limbs than anything of use.
“Happy Halloween,” Mark said, a wide smile on his face as he addressed the previous guardians, holding an apple in his hand. He said it every year, and every year the previous Guardians looked at each other, as though he were speaking another language. Like Man-Thing, none of the Guardian's could communicate with words, just feelings, empathy that seemed to leak from their forms.
With that out of the way, Mark passed around the harvest offerings, and slowly began to eat. They would share stories, through emotions and feelings, their desires would be met and satisfied for another year, until the beginning of November, where they would climb back into their shallow graves, and wait another three hundred and sixty five days for this chance to be alive, and feed again.
And Mark loved every minute of it.
END
Note: This story takes place before Gladiator’s appearances in Marvel 2000’s Thunderbolts title.
Melvin Potter pittered and pattered around the dank and gloomy space that composed the Spotlight Costume Shop. It was one of the most infrequently open shops in its little cul-de-sac carved out of the city, but that was due to no one’s fault but Potts’ himself. When half a man’s time is spent in and out of jails and psychiatric institutions, his personal life suffers.
The room was dimly lit by the single bare bulb that hung in the center of the ceiling. He’d always meant to get around to replacing it with a brighter bulb and a shade, but it was one of those things he would do later. Those things happened a lot. It didn’t matter, anyway. Whether his shop was well-lit or not, business was going to be steady this time of year no matter what. It was Halloween season.
Melvin scrubbed the counter with a rag, his bulging muscles rippling almost comically under his tight T-shirt. Despite his appearance, Melvin had no superhuman abilities. He was a normal man with a handful of martial arts lessons and a penchant for a needle and thread. He had a habit of bringing fabric to life, turning it from shapeless cloth into something that a man could become something else entirely under. His customers came back year after year, even after they heard about his Gladiator spells. But those days were behind him. He had put those demons to rest. Hadn’t he?
The bell over the door rang, and in walked a girl with her mother. The girl couldn’t have been much older than ten years old. She was at that delicate stage where she was too old to stand too close to her mother, but not quite too old to have outgrown the pigtails. She wandered over to the racks with the hand-sewn princess costumes first, her nose wrinkling up in disdain. That didn’t bother Melvin too much. He’d rather sell the costume to someone who would appreciate it anyway. The girl had to have been a little on the spoiled side anyway to be considering buying a Halloween costume from his shop. Custom costumes don’t come cheap.
“I want to be something cooler, Mom,” said the girl, tugging at her mother’s purse strap. “These aren’t adult enough.”
“Good,” the girl’s mother said. She continued to look through the rack of colorful dresses. Melvin would be surprised if she didn’t walk out with a costume herself.
He chose this moment to intervene. “Is there anything I can help you with, ma’am?” Her initial expression featured distrust mingled with fear, but his handmade nametag let her know that he worked here. As the sole proprietor, Melvin had thought he wouldn’t ever need a nametag, but fate had conspired against him. The nametag was a security blanket. He had seen that sigh of relief far too often to think it didn’t make a difference.
“No, we’re just browsing,” said the mother. She allowed herself a small smile of relief. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Melvin said, going back to scrubbing his counter down.
“Of course there’s a problem,” said a deep, echoing voice from the back of the store.
Melvin looked up. The mother and daughter had not heard. “No, there isn’t,” he whispered, scrubbing harder. “There is no problem at all.”
“Don’t you think they could use your special brand of help? They’re tired of being alive, Melvey, dearest,” said the jack o’ lantern mask above its dark, billowing tunic. “You can relieve them of their pain. Snicker-snack, or so it goes.”
“No,” Melvin said, gritting his teeth. He tossed his rag under the counter and grabbed the broom, his knuckles white from his grip. “Never again. The Gladiator is gone.”
“Gone?” asked the jack o’ lantern costume, its eyes and mouth flickering with the glow of an imagined flame. “Your lies to yourself aren’t becoming, Mr. Potter.”
Melvin took a whack at his gathered dust pile with extreme gusto. “Go to hell. Don’t come back. You aren’t welcome here.”
“Excuse me?” asked the mother, her hand over her heart. Melvin saw her nose turned upward and knew at that moment that she had heard him.
Melvin stood up straight and put his hands at his side. “Sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t talking to you.”
The woman nodded, and Melvin could tell that he had upset her. She wouldn’t be buying anything from his store tonight. She and her daughter lingered for a moment before they inconspicuously slipped out the door. Melvin waited until the bell stopped ringing before he set the broom down and sighed. “See what you did? You cost me a customer.”
“She wouldn’t have bought from you anyway,” said the costume. “She could feel the real you in there. The killer.”
“The killer was nothing. It was a lapse. I’m a good man,” Melvin insisted, almost pleading. “I’m a good man.”
“Are you?” asked a voice from Melvin’s right. It was a life-size costume he had crafted of Peter Rabbit. The beady, red eyes glowed with hellfire. “God only knows you’re already going to hell for the atrocities you’ve committed.”
“You shut up! You have no idea! No freakin’ idea!” Melvin said, brandishing the broom against the costume. He could see Peter Rabbit physically recoiling, his cotton fur pressing back against the rack behind him.
The rabbit then cackled. “You wouldn’t want to get too angry now, would you there, Mr. Potter? You wouldn’t want to kill me, too, would you? You wouldn’t want to kill a poor, defenseless rabbit the way you’ve killed so many poor, defenseless people, right?”
“Shut UP!” Melvin yelled. He swung the broom handle at the rabbit costume, forcing it off its hook and onto the floor. He stood there, his teeth gritted as he huffed and puffed. “Don’t you even dare! You don’t know me! I’m not him anymore!”
“No, but you’re going to be,” said the jack o’ lantern. “You’re gonna lose that pretty wife of yours someday, and everything you’ve built for yourself is going to burn to the ground. What are you going to do then? Sit down and take it like a man? Or make your way to a secret hideout and strap yourself a saw blade onto your wrist?”
The broomstick crashed into the plastic pumpkin helmet and sent that costume to the ground as well. “You’re lying!” Melvin yelled. “I’m NOT a bad person! Nothing can change that! The doctors, everyone told me so!”
“Then why are you fighting a bunch of Halloween costumes, crazy? Unless we aren’t figments of your imagination at all?” the rabbit asked from facedown on the floor. “Go on, take a look at the special surprise we’ve been hiding for you. Look at you, descending to attacking defenseless rabbits and pumpkinheads. You really are a monster, Melvin Potter.”
Melvin looked to the rack that he had knocked the talking costumes from and caught a glimpse of metal. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “Nonono, please. It can’t be here. You can’t let it be here.”
“Who, the Gladiator?” asked the jack o’ lantern. “The Gladiator isn’t a mask you wear. Melvin Potter is the mask. The Gladiator is the real you coming out to play. The way his mask keeps him cooped up all the time, can you blame him for going a little wild every once in a while? I mean, really.”
Melvin whipped the broomstick back and forth, knocking one costume at a time away from the rack, slowly revealing what stood at the back of the rack. A custom grim reaper flew off against the wall, and clown slammed into the opposite. Both costumes stared up at Melvin from their landing spots, egging him on with their wicked gazes. “He can’t be here,” Melvin muttered. “He just can’t.”
“But he is,” the rabbit taunted. “He really, really is. He never left, buddy boy.”
The last costume fell to the ground halfheartedly, revealing the final prize. This was no costume. This was an identity. This was the Gladiator.
The breastplate hung in the center, its every curve molded to the form of Melvin Potter’s body. The helmet lay at the bottom of the rack, set in the perfect center. Its curved elegance somehow conveyed sharpness in that inexplicable sort of way. But, of course, the centerpiece of the costume was the pair of twin saw blades that were mounted to be worn on the wrist. The entire display screamed, “Wear me!”
But Melvin Potter stood firm. “No,” he said, his confidence returning to him by the nanosecond. He had defeated the Gladiator before, even if it had only been inside his head. He wouldn’t be coming out to play today. Today, Melvin was going to win.
“No, you aren’t,” the jack o’ lantern and rabbit said in unison, and Melvin swooned as the entirety of the costume shop seemed to come alive, screaming at him. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized, maybe, just maybe, things would be okay if he just didn’t let the Gladiator out. He could keep him in the costume shop, in the safe zone, and everything would be okay, wouldn’t it? Sure it would.
And that would still be okay if he just, you know, tried on the suit. Just for old times’ sake, right? Just to get the freaking jack o’ lantern and rabbit to shut their pie holes, to prove that he could handle it. He’d be okay, right? Sure he would.
There was still a little voice at the back of his head that said this was a bad idea, but Melvin had confidence in himself. He could handle it. He was a big boy. That was what he had said, right? Sure he had.
Melvin stepped over the fallen costumes as best he could and then had a second thought. He couldn’t just go about putting on this costume, could he? Not at a time like this. He’d come so far.
He turned the “Open” sign to “Closed.”
There. Much better.
A little time in a costume never hurt anyone, right?
Sure it hadn’t.
The End
Author’s Note
The adventures of Gladiator pick up in Marvel 2000 continuity in the Thunderbolts series. Check it out. It’s an awesome series, especially if you love-love-love villains.
--Hunter Lambright
10/29/09
Melvin Potter pittered and pattered around the dank and gloomy space that composed the Spotlight Costume Shop. It was one of the most infrequently open shops in its little cul-de-sac carved out of the city, but that was due to no one’s fault but Potts’ himself. When half a man’s time is spent in and out of jails and psychiatric institutions, his personal life suffers.
The room was dimly lit by the single bare bulb that hung in the center of the ceiling. He’d always meant to get around to replacing it with a brighter bulb and a shade, but it was one of those things he would do later. Those things happened a lot. It didn’t matter, anyway. Whether his shop was well-lit or not, business was going to be steady this time of year no matter what. It was Halloween season.
Melvin scrubbed the counter with a rag, his bulging muscles rippling almost comically under his tight T-shirt. Despite his appearance, Melvin had no superhuman abilities. He was a normal man with a handful of martial arts lessons and a penchant for a needle and thread. He had a habit of bringing fabric to life, turning it from shapeless cloth into something that a man could become something else entirely under. His customers came back year after year, even after they heard about his Gladiator spells. But those days were behind him. He had put those demons to rest. Hadn’t he?
The bell over the door rang, and in walked a girl with her mother. The girl couldn’t have been much older than ten years old. She was at that delicate stage where she was too old to stand too close to her mother, but not quite too old to have outgrown the pigtails. She wandered over to the racks with the hand-sewn princess costumes first, her nose wrinkling up in disdain. That didn’t bother Melvin too much. He’d rather sell the costume to someone who would appreciate it anyway. The girl had to have been a little on the spoiled side anyway to be considering buying a Halloween costume from his shop. Custom costumes don’t come cheap.
“I want to be something cooler, Mom,” said the girl, tugging at her mother’s purse strap. “These aren’t adult enough.”
“Good,” the girl’s mother said. She continued to look through the rack of colorful dresses. Melvin would be surprised if she didn’t walk out with a costume herself.
He chose this moment to intervene. “Is there anything I can help you with, ma’am?” Her initial expression featured distrust mingled with fear, but his handmade nametag let her know that he worked here. As the sole proprietor, Melvin had thought he wouldn’t ever need a nametag, but fate had conspired against him. The nametag was a security blanket. He had seen that sigh of relief far too often to think it didn’t make a difference.
“No, we’re just browsing,” said the mother. She allowed herself a small smile of relief. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Melvin said, going back to scrubbing his counter down.
“Of course there’s a problem,” said a deep, echoing voice from the back of the store.
Melvin looked up. The mother and daughter had not heard. “No, there isn’t,” he whispered, scrubbing harder. “There is no problem at all.”
“Don’t you think they could use your special brand of help? They’re tired of being alive, Melvey, dearest,” said the jack o’ lantern mask above its dark, billowing tunic. “You can relieve them of their pain. Snicker-snack, or so it goes.”
“No,” Melvin said, gritting his teeth. He tossed his rag under the counter and grabbed the broom, his knuckles white from his grip. “Never again. The Gladiator is gone.”
“Gone?” asked the jack o’ lantern costume, its eyes and mouth flickering with the glow of an imagined flame. “Your lies to yourself aren’t becoming, Mr. Potter.”
Melvin took a whack at his gathered dust pile with extreme gusto. “Go to hell. Don’t come back. You aren’t welcome here.”
“Excuse me?” asked the mother, her hand over her heart. Melvin saw her nose turned upward and knew at that moment that she had heard him.
Melvin stood up straight and put his hands at his side. “Sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t talking to you.”
The woman nodded, and Melvin could tell that he had upset her. She wouldn’t be buying anything from his store tonight. She and her daughter lingered for a moment before they inconspicuously slipped out the door. Melvin waited until the bell stopped ringing before he set the broom down and sighed. “See what you did? You cost me a customer.”
“She wouldn’t have bought from you anyway,” said the costume. “She could feel the real you in there. The killer.”
“The killer was nothing. It was a lapse. I’m a good man,” Melvin insisted, almost pleading. “I’m a good man.”
“Are you?” asked a voice from Melvin’s right. It was a life-size costume he had crafted of Peter Rabbit. The beady, red eyes glowed with hellfire. “God only knows you’re already going to hell for the atrocities you’ve committed.”
“You shut up! You have no idea! No freakin’ idea!” Melvin said, brandishing the broom against the costume. He could see Peter Rabbit physically recoiling, his cotton fur pressing back against the rack behind him.
The rabbit then cackled. “You wouldn’t want to get too angry now, would you there, Mr. Potter? You wouldn’t want to kill me, too, would you? You wouldn’t want to kill a poor, defenseless rabbit the way you’ve killed so many poor, defenseless people, right?”
“Shut UP!” Melvin yelled. He swung the broom handle at the rabbit costume, forcing it off its hook and onto the floor. He stood there, his teeth gritted as he huffed and puffed. “Don’t you even dare! You don’t know me! I’m not him anymore!”
“No, but you’re going to be,” said the jack o’ lantern. “You’re gonna lose that pretty wife of yours someday, and everything you’ve built for yourself is going to burn to the ground. What are you going to do then? Sit down and take it like a man? Or make your way to a secret hideout and strap yourself a saw blade onto your wrist?”
The broomstick crashed into the plastic pumpkin helmet and sent that costume to the ground as well. “You’re lying!” Melvin yelled. “I’m NOT a bad person! Nothing can change that! The doctors, everyone told me so!”
“Then why are you fighting a bunch of Halloween costumes, crazy? Unless we aren’t figments of your imagination at all?” the rabbit asked from facedown on the floor. “Go on, take a look at the special surprise we’ve been hiding for you. Look at you, descending to attacking defenseless rabbits and pumpkinheads. You really are a monster, Melvin Potter.”
Melvin looked to the rack that he had knocked the talking costumes from and caught a glimpse of metal. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “Nonono, please. It can’t be here. You can’t let it be here.”
“Who, the Gladiator?” asked the jack o’ lantern. “The Gladiator isn’t a mask you wear. Melvin Potter is the mask. The Gladiator is the real you coming out to play. The way his mask keeps him cooped up all the time, can you blame him for going a little wild every once in a while? I mean, really.”
Melvin whipped the broomstick back and forth, knocking one costume at a time away from the rack, slowly revealing what stood at the back of the rack. A custom grim reaper flew off against the wall, and clown slammed into the opposite. Both costumes stared up at Melvin from their landing spots, egging him on with their wicked gazes. “He can’t be here,” Melvin muttered. “He just can’t.”
“But he is,” the rabbit taunted. “He really, really is. He never left, buddy boy.”
The last costume fell to the ground halfheartedly, revealing the final prize. This was no costume. This was an identity. This was the Gladiator.
The breastplate hung in the center, its every curve molded to the form of Melvin Potter’s body. The helmet lay at the bottom of the rack, set in the perfect center. Its curved elegance somehow conveyed sharpness in that inexplicable sort of way. But, of course, the centerpiece of the costume was the pair of twin saw blades that were mounted to be worn on the wrist. The entire display screamed, “Wear me!”
But Melvin Potter stood firm. “No,” he said, his confidence returning to him by the nanosecond. He had defeated the Gladiator before, even if it had only been inside his head. He wouldn’t be coming out to play today. Today, Melvin was going to win.
“No, you aren’t,” the jack o’ lantern and rabbit said in unison, and Melvin swooned as the entirety of the costume shop seemed to come alive, screaming at him. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized, maybe, just maybe, things would be okay if he just didn’t let the Gladiator out. He could keep him in the costume shop, in the safe zone, and everything would be okay, wouldn’t it? Sure it would.
And that would still be okay if he just, you know, tried on the suit. Just for old times’ sake, right? Just to get the freaking jack o’ lantern and rabbit to shut their pie holes, to prove that he could handle it. He’d be okay, right? Sure he would.
There was still a little voice at the back of his head that said this was a bad idea, but Melvin had confidence in himself. He could handle it. He was a big boy. That was what he had said, right? Sure he had.
Melvin stepped over the fallen costumes as best he could and then had a second thought. He couldn’t just go about putting on this costume, could he? Not at a time like this. He’d come so far.
He turned the “Open” sign to “Closed.”
There. Much better.
A little time in a costume never hurt anyone, right?
Sure it hadn’t.
The End
Author’s Note
The adventures of Gladiator pick up in Marvel 2000 continuity in the Thunderbolts series. Check it out. It’s an awesome series, especially if you love-love-love villains.
--Hunter Lambright
10/29/09
Halloween used to be my favorite time of year. I always had the best costume no matter what. My dad had a great knack for making the damn things. I’d just tell him what I wanted to be that year, and he’d whip it up in just a few hours. The guy really had some skill. I’d be the envy of all my friends at all the parties.
Okay…I didn’t have that many friends, and we never had parties.
And my dad was a super-villain. Not a very successful one, but it at least explains the weird angle with the costumes. (Why couldn’t he just have been gay?)
Look, point is, I’ve never really enjoyed All Hallow’s Eve since costumes are already such a cornerstone of my life.
I’m Eugene Patillo. The formerly fabulous Frog-Man. (That last one was my dad’s name too)
It’s been a few months since I gave up my Frog-Man costume for something my dad couldn’t have thought up in any corner of his petty crook mind.
I’m the Prowler. Heh, ladies step right up.
Things are getting weirder and weirder for the new Prowler in New York these days. Happens every year ‘bout this same time. Sightings of things like ghost riders and living vampires and devil dinosaurs pop up all over the tabloids and the local news. Even Republican approval ratings take a jump. It’s enough to send the Avengers Alert Level to bloody-hell-pink, you know what I mean? All that magical mumbo-jumbo isn’t my style. Makes all this Robin Hood-type breaking-and-entering a little tougher for me.
`
So, in recent years, on Halloween I’ve stayed in the suburbs. Like Yonkers, where my dad lives. Or, if things get really crazy, Albany.
But, this Halloween, the craziest thing happened.
For weeks now I’ve been tracing the movements of Kronas, a corporation which might have only existed on paper for a few months at the time they bought Oscorp out from under Liz Osborn. Little bit after that, they bought Kingsley Limited out from under the Kingsley brothers.
Basically Kronas put the goblins out of business long before Halloween.
Now, aside from the obviously sinister nature of a company that quietly overtakes the corporate empires of convicted criminals, there was something else--the World. I’m not even quite sure what it is myself. There are allusions to it in all the data I’ve taken from the criminal fronts in New York: Mys-Tech, Silvermane, Triune…and they don’t know what it is either. But their weapons are clearly being based on some related network of technology. Only Kronas knows what it is, but I don’t think even they understand it.
But I do know that Kronas just bought the land rights of a Jersey businessman named Dickie Munster. (His last name is pronounced like the cheese, not the television show) Munster owned land in Jersey that was hit hard by the housing crisis. Tenants moved out, businesses closed up shop, and Munster had a bunch of empty buildings. Kronas bought him out, and the next day razed everything to the ground. Now, they’re building up a legitimate American headquarters…like they were here all along.
So I was going to have a little talk with Mister Munster about Kronas. Bad news? It was a long shot. I’ve really got nothing on Kronas at all. Munster might have not known a thing. Good news? I found Munster’s permanent address was in Yonkers!
Which is why, like a good Prowler, I slowly, slyly, and lithely slide upside-down along a grappling cable through the skylight (which has a Prowler-sized hole in it thanks to these glass cutting claws of mine) of his lovely three story Colonial-style home. I couldn’t help but hope Munster’s family wasn’t like the one from that television show…
Actually, I didn’t have to worry. Munster left his wife a few years ago to move in with some co-ed, and that girl left him when he lost all his money September of last year. So the plan was to just scare the bejeezus out of him and keep the conversation brief. Then I could get home and help my dad pass out the candy to the kids.
But I didn’t need the night vision lenses in my mask to see the crumpled heap just to my right in the massive living room. I could see it better the lower I got from the skylight. Eventually, my soles touched the soft, thick, white carpet. The moon shined through the skylight still just above my head and--
Yeah, I knew that guy was dead. No doubt. On his knees, huddling his arms against his chest, leaned forward, face down. The back of his head was splattered all over the carpet between his body and me. The moonlight just made the whole thing look black, body and blood and everything. It was another second before I could move my knees.
But when I did, I went fast. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through me, through my temples. My mouth was thick with spit. I…well, I know I’m still not as comfortable at this as I need to be. As much as I hate telling myself that.
If there’s one thing that I learned from being Frog-Man, it’s that sometimes, you just have to take that first jump, and the rest will come naturally.
So, I was fast. I knew what I had to do, and how to do it. I tried to be as efficient as I was fast--no guarantee though cause I really was not sticking around much longer than I needed to. I pressed a gauntlet against the man’s back, and from the temperature of the body, this guy could only have been dead as long as…less than an hour?!
How is that possible? I would’ve heard something. I would’ve seen something. I was on the roof for…had to be longer than an hour! I was up there doing the Prowler thing for way longer than that. I mean…it totally had to be longer than that.
I spied the small snub-nosed pistol in a corner of the room, near the massive fichus, across from the gaping brick fireplace. Heat sensory lenses showed me it was cold. A closer look revealed that the gun wasn’t even loaded…so its not the murder weapon.
Looking back at the body, I noticed there are little bits of colored paper spread all about the living room, flung around in some kind of mess. I picked up one…candy wrappers. Halloween candy wrappers.
That’s when a crash from behind me almost makes me jump out of my costume.
Light suddenly flooded my frame of vision to the left. (Luckily the mask automatically adjusts for that kind of thing.) At instinct, I released a trigger at my wrist, so my grappling wire immediately retracts. It sent me soaring back to the hole in the skylight. I braced myself there, easily, with little more sound than the wire’s light zip! The hood and cloak absorb light, so I knew I was completely hidden.
Then, he sauntered in. Pudgy, with lean legs. No neck. The eyes were bulbous, perched on the top of his head. They had some kind of eerie, yellow reflection caught in them, like flashy snow globes. He approached the body on bent knees, stretching and retracting them to make wide steps around it. He slowly moved underneath me in a crouch, oblivious to me, and examined the head crater. It was like he didn’t
understand that the goo all over the carpet wasn’t blood and brains.
I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe it. I knew that guy. This had to be some kind of joke.
Even in the darkness, even with the green of the night vision, I recognized this guy from the second he walked in. The smooth, insulated costume…the fins on the feet…that ridiculous mask. He’s possibly the only guy I know better than myself.
Because it was myself. Or rather--it was the fabulous Frog-Man.
“Dad…?” I squeaked.
That’s when my grappling cable broke. Pigging out on all that damn candy before the holiday really screwed me.
But I fell right on top of him! (We released harmonious ‘OOOF!’s). The way the Frog-Man suit is insulated and reinforced, he slipped to the floor easily, and I almost bounced off him. But I held fast, thanks to my claws. They barely made a real dent in his hide, but it was enough to hold on.
There was a silhouette of his face in the mouth of the giant frog-head mask, but I couldn’t really see him, since, you know, he was freaking out and trying to kick and writhe his way out of my grasp.
“Let! Me! Up!” He was screaming.
Okay, so I definitely knew this guy was definitely NOT my dad. So where the hell did he get this suit?
My throat was ready with my Christian Bale voice. I growled, “Who are you?! What’re you doing here?!”
And what do I get? A jet of water shoots out of his nostrils! Well, not really his nostrils--the nostrils of the mask, you know? Got me right between the eyes, too. I dropped my grip for a second, and he was able to bring his feet up to press against my abdomen. I remember thinking ‘Oh crap…’
I went soaring through the living room, hitting the far wall, and crashing, shattering actually, the massive fichus with the wider part of my ass. But the adrenaline was still running, and I didn’t lose my focus. Frog-Man was up and…not running toward me.
He was making a break for it!
He’s running for the front door, just down the hallway from the living room, to the right. I lifted my gauntlet in his general direction, and let loose a flying bolo from a spring-loaded compartment along my wrist. It hit him right at the knees, dropping him to the carpet with another helpless yelp---
“Gahh-ahhhhh!” (Geez. Admit it, I never sounded like that.)
I jumped over the couch, and the dead body in front of it. With his legs tied, I was thinking it would be enough to hold him. Though at this point in time, it does occur to me that, just like the grappling cables, I don’t really know exactly what Hobie Brown designed his gadgets to withstand…
And just like that, Frog-Man popped the bolo. Like he was stretching nothing but a pair of extra-tight tighty-whities. And he said the damnedest thing too--
“You can’t bind the furious feet of Frog-Man! Where you been, fool?!”
At least, I think that’s what he said. I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. It was some sort of muffled noise from the maw of his mask. And he’s kinda ticking me off at that point in time, but you knew that.
He jumped up to his feet. I launched a smoke pellet from my gauntlet right at the gap in his frog-face. Got him right in the face, or what would have had to be his face.
“Ow!” he screeched.
Smoke erupted from the mouth of the frog-mask. He slumped to the floor. I didn’t expect it to take him out of commission completely, so I took some extra grappling cable, and hog-tied him. Spidey taught me that.
The front door was open ahead of us. Light from the front porch was spilling over us and the bits of candy scattered all the way down the entry hall. I turn Frog-Man over so I can talk to him.
“What are you doing here?!” I tried again.
And what do I get this time? A wad of chewing gum spat in my face!
“Hey, screw you, man!” He yelled, “Go ahead and kill me, man! Kill me like you did Mister Munster! I ain’t scared of you! Come on! You know what? I don’t think you got it in you, man! I think deep down inside you’re just a coward who--”
“Oh shut up!” I can’t take it anymore. “Shut up and tell me where you got this costume.”
“It’s mine! I’m the frivolous Frog-Man!”
So I pulled off his mask--well, its actually more of a big cowl, but you know what I mean. He was bare to his shoulders. And he was just a kid. Wait, okay, not that much younger than me, but still a kid. Still in high school, I’m pretty sure. Smooth face, tangle of brown hair, bit of an acne problem…just a kid, really.
Right then, the dog walks in through the front door.
No, not a dog. That’s not right. It was a dog. Probably. At some point during its existence.
But what was left standing in front of me and Frog-Man--this thing licking and finishing the remains of the candy bucket that Dickie Munster had left on his stoop for children, was something else. Razor sharp teeth bent and scraped together, like each tooth was a rapier. The teeth seemed to extend with every deep rasp it exhaled. It shined black, like it was slicked with oil. It had wide, white eyes, reflecting each bit of light; this thing had no problem in the darkness. The head was merely an elongation of its torso, which in and of itself was as thick as a horse’s. Its legs were massive, each a piston wrapped in slick flesh, churning, part of a larger machine--part of a monster.
“Whoa…” that’s what Frog-Man whispered, “it was true. Mister Munster had a monster…”
“What?” I gasped at him.
He looked at me with wide brown eyes, and licked his lips. He said, “Everyone on the block was always saying things about weird Mister Munster. Like he made deals with people to do science experiments in the apartments he owned. He rented business space to shady companies. And in return, I heard he got to play with monsters…I knew it was true. I had to come here to find out.” He chuckled a little at me. “You…didn’t kill Mister Munster, did you?”
I shake my head.
Frog-Man nodded. “Untie me. I need to get this on my camera phone. Or my friends will never believe me.” He whispered. I ignored him.
That’s when the monster looked at us.
Of course, I thought it was a monster at first too. I don’t blame the kid for thinking it was a monster either. But, you know…but something gave it away.
A gnashing, slimy, foot-long tongue.
I’ve only seen pictures of a beast like this. And I’ve been told the stories. Told firsthand by Peter Parker--the Amazing Spider-Man--the one guy who’s tangled with these things more than anyone else.
A symbiote. This thing was clearly a symbiote. Bonded to a Doberman. Or something. On steroids. And it was looking right at us. Licking its lips.
Everything suddenly clicked in my mind. I flashed back to Munster’s corpse in the living room. The way his head was spilled out…like a squashed melon. A half-eaten melon. I didn’t even time to think about how Munster got this thing…did he get it from Kronas? Great…there was only one thing I could do now…
I sling Frog-Man over my back and make a mad dash for the living room. My feet don’t make a sound against the floor, but the symbiote-dog is howling after me, seconds from leaping for Frog-Man. Of course, Frog-Man is screaming right in my ear all the way.
I dive, Frog-Man and all, over the couch, right next to the corpse, and roll, letting Frog-Man break my fall, getting to my feet right where the pistol lay, next to the smashed fichus and the big-ass fireplace. I turned--
The creature was already in the air, flying across living room, his tongue flailing around like some kind of viper. His teeth were wide, ready to snap. I raised my gauntlet again, and pressed a tiny button on the underside.
The symbiote-dog suddenly screamed, and flew past me, to crash into the brick fireplace. It writhed there, screaming, swiping its slick pointed paws at its own ears.
I ran back over to Frog-Man and started untying him. “Dude, what did you do?” He asked.
“Dog whistle.” I said simply. “Its standard equipment. You have no idea how many dogs I run into on a nightly basis.” I didn’t tell him this, but symbiotes also have a weakness for sound.
“You must be pretty good at this.” Frog-Man smiled.
I snorted at that. “Yeah…right.”
Now, Frog-Man was back up. He pulled his cowl back on. “Well! We handled that one easily.”
I shook my head. “We need to get out of here.”
“Why? We got the monster crying for his monster mommy.”
“You don’t understand. The tech in my gloves take a lot a power to juice…I don’t really use the dog whistle this long. I don’t know if its gonna run out of power any time soon. I’ve only got it rigged to some AAAA batteries--”
That’s when the monster stopped screaming. It shook its head a little bit, like it was still trying to shake out the cobwebs. Slowly, it started to stand again.
I look at Frog-Man. “Jump.”
“What?” He croaked.
The monster was back on his feet.
“Get us out of here.” I pointed at the broken skylight above us.
The monster saw us. Its tongue was starting to lash again. The teeth spread into a smile.
“I’ve never jumped that high--”
I grabbed him by his cowl. “Are you kidding me?! You’re the fabulous freaking Frog-Man! You can jump ten times as high as this! NOW JUST JUMP!”
The monster jumped, roaring as he did, closing in with the fury of a demon. And just as I thought razor teeth and spiked claws were going to sink deep into my flesh--
I felt the familiar thrill of leaving the Earth. I instinctively raised my chin, judging the skylight above us, barely closing my eyes before the glass pane shattered around me.
I couldn’t help it--“WAAAA-HOOOOO~!!!!”
The howling monster was nothing but a distant echo, and the house we’d leapt from was a mere dot among a tapestry of rooftops. Frog-Man was clinging to me more than I was clinging to him. We came down upon an adjacent rooftop, and he jumped again.
Again. And again. And again. Until we were sure we were safe.
We stopped at my dad’s roof. But I didn’t tell him that. “So what’s your name?”
“Michael.” He stuck out his hand. “No, wait! Ace! Call me ‘Ace’! That’s what my friends call me.”
I took his hand and shook it. There was still a weird feeling going through me, just looking at him. I said, “Well…Michael, you mind telling me where a kid like you got that costume?”
Frog-Man slumped. He sat down on the roof, and let out a heave. He said, “You wanna know the truth? I mean, I think I can trust you…since you saved my life and all. And haven’t killed me yet.”
I laughed out loud at him. “I’m called the Prowler, kid. I borrowed my suit from a pretty smart guy.”
He laughed at that. “Well…my dad’s a cop, and he bought this suit for me two weeks ago at a police auction.” He kept laughing.
However, I suddenly didn’t feel like laughing anymore. “That’s…great.” My heart sank.
“Yeah, he said it was a Halloween gift, but then I discovered all the cool stuff it could do!”
“That’s so so great…”
“And now I just had my first team-up! With the Prowler! How cool is that? Man, I better get to Kenzie’s house before the party’s over, if I wanna tell everyone!” He stood up. “This is the best Halloween ever! Thanks, Prowler!” I didn’t even get a chance to raise my hand before he was up and jumping away, a tubby little silhouette against the moonlight.
I didn’t worry too much about him. Because I knew I was going to see him again. I was gonna make sure of it. But for now, I needed to get inside, and help my dad pass out candy before he starts wondering if I’m a closet gay. I shimmy down the gutter and through my bedroom window--the same, old routine.
Best Halloween ever, my ass.
End
Okay…I didn’t have that many friends, and we never had parties.
And my dad was a super-villain. Not a very successful one, but it at least explains the weird angle with the costumes. (Why couldn’t he just have been gay?)
Look, point is, I’ve never really enjoyed All Hallow’s Eve since costumes are already such a cornerstone of my life.
I’m Eugene Patillo. The formerly fabulous Frog-Man. (That last one was my dad’s name too)
It’s been a few months since I gave up my Frog-Man costume for something my dad couldn’t have thought up in any corner of his petty crook mind.
I’m the Prowler. Heh, ladies step right up.
Things are getting weirder and weirder for the new Prowler in New York these days. Happens every year ‘bout this same time. Sightings of things like ghost riders and living vampires and devil dinosaurs pop up all over the tabloids and the local news. Even Republican approval ratings take a jump. It’s enough to send the Avengers Alert Level to bloody-hell-pink, you know what I mean? All that magical mumbo-jumbo isn’t my style. Makes all this Robin Hood-type breaking-and-entering a little tougher for me.
`
So, in recent years, on Halloween I’ve stayed in the suburbs. Like Yonkers, where my dad lives. Or, if things get really crazy, Albany.
But, this Halloween, the craziest thing happened.
For weeks now I’ve been tracing the movements of Kronas, a corporation which might have only existed on paper for a few months at the time they bought Oscorp out from under Liz Osborn. Little bit after that, they bought Kingsley Limited out from under the Kingsley brothers.
Basically Kronas put the goblins out of business long before Halloween.
Now, aside from the obviously sinister nature of a company that quietly overtakes the corporate empires of convicted criminals, there was something else--the World. I’m not even quite sure what it is myself. There are allusions to it in all the data I’ve taken from the criminal fronts in New York: Mys-Tech, Silvermane, Triune…and they don’t know what it is either. But their weapons are clearly being based on some related network of technology. Only Kronas knows what it is, but I don’t think even they understand it.
But I do know that Kronas just bought the land rights of a Jersey businessman named Dickie Munster. (His last name is pronounced like the cheese, not the television show) Munster owned land in Jersey that was hit hard by the housing crisis. Tenants moved out, businesses closed up shop, and Munster had a bunch of empty buildings. Kronas bought him out, and the next day razed everything to the ground. Now, they’re building up a legitimate American headquarters…like they were here all along.
So I was going to have a little talk with Mister Munster about Kronas. Bad news? It was a long shot. I’ve really got nothing on Kronas at all. Munster might have not known a thing. Good news? I found Munster’s permanent address was in Yonkers!
Which is why, like a good Prowler, I slowly, slyly, and lithely slide upside-down along a grappling cable through the skylight (which has a Prowler-sized hole in it thanks to these glass cutting claws of mine) of his lovely three story Colonial-style home. I couldn’t help but hope Munster’s family wasn’t like the one from that television show…
Actually, I didn’t have to worry. Munster left his wife a few years ago to move in with some co-ed, and that girl left him when he lost all his money September of last year. So the plan was to just scare the bejeezus out of him and keep the conversation brief. Then I could get home and help my dad pass out the candy to the kids.
But I didn’t need the night vision lenses in my mask to see the crumpled heap just to my right in the massive living room. I could see it better the lower I got from the skylight. Eventually, my soles touched the soft, thick, white carpet. The moon shined through the skylight still just above my head and--
Yeah, I knew that guy was dead. No doubt. On his knees, huddling his arms against his chest, leaned forward, face down. The back of his head was splattered all over the carpet between his body and me. The moonlight just made the whole thing look black, body and blood and everything. It was another second before I could move my knees.
But when I did, I went fast. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through me, through my temples. My mouth was thick with spit. I…well, I know I’m still not as comfortable at this as I need to be. As much as I hate telling myself that.
If there’s one thing that I learned from being Frog-Man, it’s that sometimes, you just have to take that first jump, and the rest will come naturally.
So, I was fast. I knew what I had to do, and how to do it. I tried to be as efficient as I was fast--no guarantee though cause I really was not sticking around much longer than I needed to. I pressed a gauntlet against the man’s back, and from the temperature of the body, this guy could only have been dead as long as…less than an hour?!
How is that possible? I would’ve heard something. I would’ve seen something. I was on the roof for…had to be longer than an hour! I was up there doing the Prowler thing for way longer than that. I mean…it totally had to be longer than that.
I spied the small snub-nosed pistol in a corner of the room, near the massive fichus, across from the gaping brick fireplace. Heat sensory lenses showed me it was cold. A closer look revealed that the gun wasn’t even loaded…so its not the murder weapon.
Looking back at the body, I noticed there are little bits of colored paper spread all about the living room, flung around in some kind of mess. I picked up one…candy wrappers. Halloween candy wrappers.
That’s when a crash from behind me almost makes me jump out of my costume.
Light suddenly flooded my frame of vision to the left. (Luckily the mask automatically adjusts for that kind of thing.) At instinct, I released a trigger at my wrist, so my grappling wire immediately retracts. It sent me soaring back to the hole in the skylight. I braced myself there, easily, with little more sound than the wire’s light zip! The hood and cloak absorb light, so I knew I was completely hidden.
Then, he sauntered in. Pudgy, with lean legs. No neck. The eyes were bulbous, perched on the top of his head. They had some kind of eerie, yellow reflection caught in them, like flashy snow globes. He approached the body on bent knees, stretching and retracting them to make wide steps around it. He slowly moved underneath me in a crouch, oblivious to me, and examined the head crater. It was like he didn’t
understand that the goo all over the carpet wasn’t blood and brains.
I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe it. I knew that guy. This had to be some kind of joke.
Even in the darkness, even with the green of the night vision, I recognized this guy from the second he walked in. The smooth, insulated costume…the fins on the feet…that ridiculous mask. He’s possibly the only guy I know better than myself.
Because it was myself. Or rather--it was the fabulous Frog-Man.
“Dad…?” I squeaked.
That’s when my grappling cable broke. Pigging out on all that damn candy before the holiday really screwed me.
But I fell right on top of him! (We released harmonious ‘OOOF!’s). The way the Frog-Man suit is insulated and reinforced, he slipped to the floor easily, and I almost bounced off him. But I held fast, thanks to my claws. They barely made a real dent in his hide, but it was enough to hold on.
There was a silhouette of his face in the mouth of the giant frog-head mask, but I couldn’t really see him, since, you know, he was freaking out and trying to kick and writhe his way out of my grasp.
“Let! Me! Up!” He was screaming.
Okay, so I definitely knew this guy was definitely NOT my dad. So where the hell did he get this suit?
My throat was ready with my Christian Bale voice. I growled, “Who are you?! What’re you doing here?!”
And what do I get? A jet of water shoots out of his nostrils! Well, not really his nostrils--the nostrils of the mask, you know? Got me right between the eyes, too. I dropped my grip for a second, and he was able to bring his feet up to press against my abdomen. I remember thinking ‘Oh crap…’
I went soaring through the living room, hitting the far wall, and crashing, shattering actually, the massive fichus with the wider part of my ass. But the adrenaline was still running, and I didn’t lose my focus. Frog-Man was up and…not running toward me.
He was making a break for it!
He’s running for the front door, just down the hallway from the living room, to the right. I lifted my gauntlet in his general direction, and let loose a flying bolo from a spring-loaded compartment along my wrist. It hit him right at the knees, dropping him to the carpet with another helpless yelp---
“Gahh-ahhhhh!” (Geez. Admit it, I never sounded like that.)
I jumped over the couch, and the dead body in front of it. With his legs tied, I was thinking it would be enough to hold him. Though at this point in time, it does occur to me that, just like the grappling cables, I don’t really know exactly what Hobie Brown designed his gadgets to withstand…
And just like that, Frog-Man popped the bolo. Like he was stretching nothing but a pair of extra-tight tighty-whities. And he said the damnedest thing too--
“You can’t bind the furious feet of Frog-Man! Where you been, fool?!”
At least, I think that’s what he said. I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. It was some sort of muffled noise from the maw of his mask. And he’s kinda ticking me off at that point in time, but you knew that.
He jumped up to his feet. I launched a smoke pellet from my gauntlet right at the gap in his frog-face. Got him right in the face, or what would have had to be his face.
“Ow!” he screeched.
Smoke erupted from the mouth of the frog-mask. He slumped to the floor. I didn’t expect it to take him out of commission completely, so I took some extra grappling cable, and hog-tied him. Spidey taught me that.
The front door was open ahead of us. Light from the front porch was spilling over us and the bits of candy scattered all the way down the entry hall. I turn Frog-Man over so I can talk to him.
“What are you doing here?!” I tried again.
And what do I get this time? A wad of chewing gum spat in my face!
“Hey, screw you, man!” He yelled, “Go ahead and kill me, man! Kill me like you did Mister Munster! I ain’t scared of you! Come on! You know what? I don’t think you got it in you, man! I think deep down inside you’re just a coward who--”
“Oh shut up!” I can’t take it anymore. “Shut up and tell me where you got this costume.”
“It’s mine! I’m the frivolous Frog-Man!”
So I pulled off his mask--well, its actually more of a big cowl, but you know what I mean. He was bare to his shoulders. And he was just a kid. Wait, okay, not that much younger than me, but still a kid. Still in high school, I’m pretty sure. Smooth face, tangle of brown hair, bit of an acne problem…just a kid, really.
Right then, the dog walks in through the front door.
No, not a dog. That’s not right. It was a dog. Probably. At some point during its existence.
But what was left standing in front of me and Frog-Man--this thing licking and finishing the remains of the candy bucket that Dickie Munster had left on his stoop for children, was something else. Razor sharp teeth bent and scraped together, like each tooth was a rapier. The teeth seemed to extend with every deep rasp it exhaled. It shined black, like it was slicked with oil. It had wide, white eyes, reflecting each bit of light; this thing had no problem in the darkness. The head was merely an elongation of its torso, which in and of itself was as thick as a horse’s. Its legs were massive, each a piston wrapped in slick flesh, churning, part of a larger machine--part of a monster.
“Whoa…” that’s what Frog-Man whispered, “it was true. Mister Munster had a monster…”
“What?” I gasped at him.
He looked at me with wide brown eyes, and licked his lips. He said, “Everyone on the block was always saying things about weird Mister Munster. Like he made deals with people to do science experiments in the apartments he owned. He rented business space to shady companies. And in return, I heard he got to play with monsters…I knew it was true. I had to come here to find out.” He chuckled a little at me. “You…didn’t kill Mister Munster, did you?”
I shake my head.
Frog-Man nodded. “Untie me. I need to get this on my camera phone. Or my friends will never believe me.” He whispered. I ignored him.
That’s when the monster looked at us.
Of course, I thought it was a monster at first too. I don’t blame the kid for thinking it was a monster either. But, you know…but something gave it away.
A gnashing, slimy, foot-long tongue.
I’ve only seen pictures of a beast like this. And I’ve been told the stories. Told firsthand by Peter Parker--the Amazing Spider-Man--the one guy who’s tangled with these things more than anyone else.
A symbiote. This thing was clearly a symbiote. Bonded to a Doberman. Or something. On steroids. And it was looking right at us. Licking its lips.
Everything suddenly clicked in my mind. I flashed back to Munster’s corpse in the living room. The way his head was spilled out…like a squashed melon. A half-eaten melon. I didn’t even time to think about how Munster got this thing…did he get it from Kronas? Great…there was only one thing I could do now…
I sling Frog-Man over my back and make a mad dash for the living room. My feet don’t make a sound against the floor, but the symbiote-dog is howling after me, seconds from leaping for Frog-Man. Of course, Frog-Man is screaming right in my ear all the way.
I dive, Frog-Man and all, over the couch, right next to the corpse, and roll, letting Frog-Man break my fall, getting to my feet right where the pistol lay, next to the smashed fichus and the big-ass fireplace. I turned--
The creature was already in the air, flying across living room, his tongue flailing around like some kind of viper. His teeth were wide, ready to snap. I raised my gauntlet again, and pressed a tiny button on the underside.
The symbiote-dog suddenly screamed, and flew past me, to crash into the brick fireplace. It writhed there, screaming, swiping its slick pointed paws at its own ears.
I ran back over to Frog-Man and started untying him. “Dude, what did you do?” He asked.
“Dog whistle.” I said simply. “Its standard equipment. You have no idea how many dogs I run into on a nightly basis.” I didn’t tell him this, but symbiotes also have a weakness for sound.
“You must be pretty good at this.” Frog-Man smiled.
I snorted at that. “Yeah…right.”
Now, Frog-Man was back up. He pulled his cowl back on. “Well! We handled that one easily.”
I shook my head. “We need to get out of here.”
“Why? We got the monster crying for his monster mommy.”
“You don’t understand. The tech in my gloves take a lot a power to juice…I don’t really use the dog whistle this long. I don’t know if its gonna run out of power any time soon. I’ve only got it rigged to some AAAA batteries--”
That’s when the monster stopped screaming. It shook its head a little bit, like it was still trying to shake out the cobwebs. Slowly, it started to stand again.
I look at Frog-Man. “Jump.”
“What?” He croaked.
The monster was back on his feet.
“Get us out of here.” I pointed at the broken skylight above us.
The monster saw us. Its tongue was starting to lash again. The teeth spread into a smile.
“I’ve never jumped that high--”
I grabbed him by his cowl. “Are you kidding me?! You’re the fabulous freaking Frog-Man! You can jump ten times as high as this! NOW JUST JUMP!”
The monster jumped, roaring as he did, closing in with the fury of a demon. And just as I thought razor teeth and spiked claws were going to sink deep into my flesh--
I felt the familiar thrill of leaving the Earth. I instinctively raised my chin, judging the skylight above us, barely closing my eyes before the glass pane shattered around me.
I couldn’t help it--“WAAAA-HOOOOO~!!!!”
The howling monster was nothing but a distant echo, and the house we’d leapt from was a mere dot among a tapestry of rooftops. Frog-Man was clinging to me more than I was clinging to him. We came down upon an adjacent rooftop, and he jumped again.
Again. And again. And again. Until we were sure we were safe.
We stopped at my dad’s roof. But I didn’t tell him that. “So what’s your name?”
“Michael.” He stuck out his hand. “No, wait! Ace! Call me ‘Ace’! That’s what my friends call me.”
I took his hand and shook it. There was still a weird feeling going through me, just looking at him. I said, “Well…Michael, you mind telling me where a kid like you got that costume?”
Frog-Man slumped. He sat down on the roof, and let out a heave. He said, “You wanna know the truth? I mean, I think I can trust you…since you saved my life and all. And haven’t killed me yet.”
I laughed out loud at him. “I’m called the Prowler, kid. I borrowed my suit from a pretty smart guy.”
He laughed at that. “Well…my dad’s a cop, and he bought this suit for me two weeks ago at a police auction.” He kept laughing.
However, I suddenly didn’t feel like laughing anymore. “That’s…great.” My heart sank.
“Yeah, he said it was a Halloween gift, but then I discovered all the cool stuff it could do!”
“That’s so so great…”
“And now I just had my first team-up! With the Prowler! How cool is that? Man, I better get to Kenzie’s house before the party’s over, if I wanna tell everyone!” He stood up. “This is the best Halloween ever! Thanks, Prowler!” I didn’t even get a chance to raise my hand before he was up and jumping away, a tubby little silhouette against the moonlight.
I didn’t worry too much about him. Because I knew I was going to see him again. I was gonna make sure of it. But for now, I needed to get inside, and help my dad pass out candy before he starts wondering if I’m a closet gay. I shimmy down the gutter and through my bedroom window--the same, old routine.
Best Halloween ever, my ass.
End
The Punisher
You might think that the most depressing time of year for me is Christmas, with the joy of the season, family enjoying each other’s company and good will toward men and all that crap. Considering I have no family, you might think that was the time of year I dreaded most.
You’d be wrong.
The night I dread every year is Halloween.
It was the one time of year that made my kids happy, even over Christmas. It might have been the sugar rush, but I think it was the fact they were able to transform themselves into something in their imaginations, something they couldn’t normally be in the ‘normal world’.
Frank Jr. loved to dress up as Captain America, a costume I approved of. I made him a shield from an old garbage can lid and tin foil with metallic paints. In Frank Jr.’s eyes, it was a totem of great power and awe.
To me, it was a shining example of the good inside my little boy.
Lisa wanted to be what millions of little girls dreamed of at her age. She wanted to be a princess. I hadn’t the heart to tell her that the dream would not bear any resemblance to the reality when she got older. Call me cynical, but even then I was not looking forward to the day when her heart would be broken for the first time. Likely the man that did that would find something broken as well.
I hated seeing kids running around outside, basking in the fun of the Halloween tradition. It was a knife running inside my heart. I decided to stay in tonight. There was always a pile of guns to clean and I had a backlog of Autoloader magazines to catch up on.
I was currently basing my operations out of a warehouse in Jersey, not far from a residential neighborhood. I could see kids from my window if I looked hard enough, so I stopped looking. I turned on the television but even that had to end as news reports talked about the night and the kids and adults enjoying it.
People think of me as one of those costumed do-gooders that wear spandex and fight super-villains. I won’t deny that I’ve tangled with my share of superhuman freaks, but I hate the idea of what I wear, the symbol I’ve adopted, being referred to as a costume. It’s a symbol. It means death, death for anyone that causes harm and corruption to another. I’m a killer, not a hero…and I’m very comfortable with that.
I was disassembling a Steyr M1912 machine pistol when I heard something from a dark corner of the warehouse. At first I thought it was a rat, since my perimeter security should have detected anything approaching me from outside. The dark corner was where I had set up my cot. I tended to sleep in the day.
I heard the shuffling of feet and immediately knew something was awry. Whoever this was meant business. The fact they had bypassed my security and made the mistake of foot noise anyway didn’t hit me as a contradiction, at least not yet. It would in about thirty seconds.
I pulled out my Glock and made my way to the sleeping area. I made no sound as I approached. I could hear the intruder moving around in the makeshift bedroom, walled off by canvas tarps. I came around the corner, weapon ready.
What I saw chilled me to the bone…and that is a hard thing to do.
A little boy was standing, facing away from me by my cot. He was clutching a teddy bear and sobbing quietly.
“Are you all right?” I asked. It was all I could think of to say.
“Daddy,” came a slurred voice. Even though it had been years since I had heard his voice, I recognized it immediately. It was Frank Jr. Somehow, it was my little boy. He was wearing a Captain America costume that was tattered and had seen better days.
“Frank?” I said. “It’s daddy…I’m here, buddy.” I knelt down.
Frank Jr. turned to face me. His lower jaw was gone, blood congealed on his chest and blackening his teeth. The gunshot that had taken his life had removed half of his face. His tongue was still relatively intact, writhing against his upper palate to try and pronounce a single word.
“Dad-dy?” he struggled to say.
I knelt down and set the gun down. I opened my arms. “It’s okay, son…Daddy’s here.” I didn’t care if it was a dream or not. I had my son back. I hugged him. Blood soaked into my shoulder. I didn’t care.
I had my son back.
This was unexpected. He embraces the dead carcass of his son with the same love I have seen others heap on their own still living spawn. I knew he was disturbed...ones like him are the most rewarding to manipulate...but this is not what I need from him.
Time to up the ante.
Frank Jr. disappeared from my arms. I looked around for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Then I realized the warehouse was gone. I was in a kitchen, the sun shining inside from a well maintained backyard. This was the home I used to own before....before there was a need for the Punisher.
I looked out the window and saw a little girl skipping rope in the backyard. She's jumping over and over, never missing my beat. Just like Lisa. She loved to skip rope. A simple thing, yet it brought her such joy.
I walk out through the patio door and watch her for a few seconds. She's wearing a costume....a princess dress with a tiara. There's a small dark spot on the back facing me. How the hem of the dress isn't catching on the skip rope, I don't know. She just keeps going and going, never stopping.
“Lisa?” I ask. “Can Daddy get a hug?”
She stops skipping and runs towards me. I realize the dark spot is an entry wound. Running towards me I see the exit wound. Her chest is blown out, her ribs protruding. No wonder she could skip non-stop....she doesn't have to breathe. Dead people don't need to do that.
I reach out and embrace my daughter. She tries to tell me she loves me, but it just comes out as a dry rasp. I don't care...I'm just glad she's here. Her ribs poke me, but I pay them no heed. I'm with her again and that's all that matters.
Again! Again he does not give in to despair! The personal tragedy this man has experienced, the death and decay he has seen....he should be easy to drive to the edge! Damn him....I must go even further....and the one trick in my bag is the most potent of all.
Lisa is gone, I'm somewhere else again. It's the living room of my house, but its night once again. Candles are lit and a bottle of wine is chilling in ice. My heart skips a beat.
“Frank? The kids are at the sitter's. It's just the two of us.”
I smile as I look towards the stairs. There she is, my beautiful Maria. She's wearing the silk negligee that I love to see her in. I bought it for her the last Valentine's Day we spent together. She walked up to me, smiling. Her left breast is bleeding and her stomach is leaking bile from the gutshot she got that day in the park....but her smile. It's intoxicating. We embrace and I kiss her deeply. Her mouth tastes like old dusty death....but it’s Maria.
I'm happy. Happier than I've been in ages. My nightmares are gone tonight. Tonight, of all nights, I am happy.
So happy.
This human is like none I have encountered before! Not even the Hulk had this much oddity in his psyche! I present the reasons for his existence, the reasons he is the killer he is and he smiles! His hatred and anger are so focused, so dedicated to his goal, the psychic barriers he has erected protect him from even being confronted by his dead family....
Oh, this one will bear further watching. I will be back again, next time with more potent strikes against his mind....and when he breaks, oh the tasty morsel he will be.
I will wait....and eventually, D'Spayre will make this man's inner demons my own.
Frank Castle lies on his cot, sleeping more soundly than he has in years. He doesn't stir, he simply lies motionless. This wouldn't immediately seem any different than anyone else sleeping, except this night....
Frank Castle smiles. Frank Castle is happy, in his own warped way.
This Halloween night holds no depression for him....only love.
He is with his family again....his son, daughter and wife....
….at least until morning. Then....his mission resumes....and he will be renewed as he hasn't been in some time.
The dream demon D'Spayre tried to destroy the mind of Frank Castle....but instead, he has renewed the drive within the Punisher.
God help the guilty.
End