Prepare to vomit like than you've never vomited before. This third annual special release is comprised of some of the best haunted stories that M2K authors could recurgitate. Immortal demons? Check. Slaphappy nature spirits? Check. Possessed tofurkey? No. That's not in the spirit of Halloween...check back next month (although tofu in general is pretty horrifying). Please leave some feedback on the message board. Let the writers know you vomited!
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Bad Magic - One of tomorrow's heroes teams up with today's wallcrawler to stop the horrible assault of The Occultist! The Young Avenger known as Wiccan adds his magical prowess (or lack thereof) to Spider-Man's word-play as they attempt to thwart this new dark force. Written by Hunter Lambright!
Slice of Life - A bargain with a netherworld creature provides hope to Craig Hollis, the incredible Mr. Immortal! He is destined to live his life alone as he outlives everyone he truly loves in the world, but perhaps for a brief moment he can see those he cares about again...provided he commit several horrendous acts first. Written by D. Golightly!
Dreamtime Happy Hour - Heroes of Australia, unite! When the clock strikes twelve and it's officially Halloween in Australia it will be up to Brother Nature and his collection of characters to stop the greatest evil to ever awaken down under...sort of. Written by Ed Ainsworth!
Dark Side of the Moon - The Lord of Vampires returns to M2K! Abandoned on the moon, Dracula has wandered for the last year, struggling to survive. When he finally uncovers a certain isolated area of the moon where something lingers, can he once more rise to strength and become a master in this new domain? Written by Josh Reynolds!
The Serpeant in the Garden - A remote island, a gracious host, and a renowned monster hunter. Add a tropical spa to die for and it's the perfect combination for Elsa Bloodstone to get to work! What secrets does this island hide and why has Elsa been called in? Written by Dale Glaser!
A Very Deadpool Halloween - The Merc With A Mouth returns to take on the most important assignment of his career! Well, okay, not the most important, but it's pretty up there on his list of cool adventures. Alright, it's not even Top 10, but it's a mildly entertaining anecdote. Witness DP in action against...evil Chihuahuas! Written by Mike Hintze!
Slice of Life - A bargain with a netherworld creature provides hope to Craig Hollis, the incredible Mr. Immortal! He is destined to live his life alone as he outlives everyone he truly loves in the world, but perhaps for a brief moment he can see those he cares about again...provided he commit several horrendous acts first. Written by D. Golightly!
Dreamtime Happy Hour - Heroes of Australia, unite! When the clock strikes twelve and it's officially Halloween in Australia it will be up to Brother Nature and his collection of characters to stop the greatest evil to ever awaken down under...sort of. Written by Ed Ainsworth!
Dark Side of the Moon - The Lord of Vampires returns to M2K! Abandoned on the moon, Dracula has wandered for the last year, struggling to survive. When he finally uncovers a certain isolated area of the moon where something lingers, can he once more rise to strength and become a master in this new domain? Written by Josh Reynolds!
The Serpeant in the Garden - A remote island, a gracious host, and a renowned monster hunter. Add a tropical spa to die for and it's the perfect combination for Elsa Bloodstone to get to work! What secrets does this island hide and why has Elsa been called in? Written by Dale Glaser!
A Very Deadpool Halloween - The Merc With A Mouth returns to take on the most important assignment of his career! Well, okay, not the most important, but it's pretty up there on his list of cool adventures. Alright, it's not even Top 10, but it's a mildly entertaining anecdote. Witness DP in action against...evil Chihuahuas! Written by Mike Hintze!
Even the dark of night could not obscure the dim, artificial light that emitted from every follicle of a city that never slept. Billy Kaplan looked out over the streetlights and office windows, creating their own kind of spectacle that made this the first Halloween he was glad to spend alone. Wind rustled the tatters of his cape as he sat perched on the edge of a rooftop, hands at the ready with a levitation spell in case he should fall.
He shivered as another icy blast of wind smacked him. “How does Spider-Man do it?”
“How do I do what?” asked a voice from behind him. “If it’s the question I think it is, the answer is L’Oreal.”
Billy jumped in surprise, losing his seat on the building ledge. A line of webbing stuck to his back even as his own levitating spell kicked in, shooting him upwards in an arc due to the tie of the webline, resulting in a resolute smack against the rooftop.
“Remind me never to try to catch the magic kid again,” Spider-Man said to no one in particular. “Are you okay, kid?”
Billy turned. Where Spider-Man expected pain and embarrassment, there was only…glee? “Is it really you? Holy crap!”
“That’s, uh, not the reaction I’m used to,” Spider-Man said skeptically. “And you are…?”
“Wiccan, a Young Avenger,” Billy replied. “Guess you hadn’t heard of me before, huh?”
Spider-Man shook his head. “Nah, of course I’ve…you know, now that you mention it…not ringing any bells, no.”
“That’s okay,” Billy said, turning away. His head snapped back . “Wanna have a team-up? It’s Samhain, and my powers tell me somebody with some dirty magic is up to something tonight.”
“No offense, Wiccan, but I’m not sure the world is ready for that yet,” Spider-Man said, holding up his hands. “I can’t decide if you’re a magician or a fanboy yet.”
The ringing of bank alarms from down the block broke the air of the night before Billy could react. “Well, guess you’re going to have to find out, Mr. Big League,” Billy said, levitating into the air.
“Whoa, Wiccan, wait—!” Spider-Man flicked his wrist, shooting a webline at the nearest building, swinging in pursuit of the young magician. Even if what he had said hadn’t been…sensitive…it was still the truth. Now that he was an adult with some fluctuating level of responsibility, he couldn’t help but feel that way.
Wiccan landed on the front steps of the bank. “So…how do we get in?”
Spider-Man opened his mouth to answer when the doors opened themselves, glass and metal transforming into a mouth filled with teeth razor-sharp teeth. It opened and closed, threatening to devour anyone who set foot inside.
“Don’t see that every day,” Spider-Man quipped. He looked at the other windows. “Think they’ll mind a few extra glass repairs if we save them millions of dollars?”
“It’s New York. Of course they’ll mind,” Wiccan shot back. His eyes glowed blue. “I want the mouth to stop…Iwantthismouthtostop…Iwantthismouthtostop!”
“Uh, kid? It’s not working!” Spider-Man replied. Seeing no other alternative, he aimed for the plate glass window to the left of the doors. “Geronimo!”
Wiccan floated in through the empty hole that Spider-Man had left. “That was subtle.”
“I think we have bigger things to worry about,” Spider-Man replied, as the coffee tables and lounge chairs transfigured into mobile furniture creatures that began advancing on the two wayward heroes.
“We’re getting close to the magical presence that I was sensing earlier,” Wiccan said.
“Really, are you sure about that?” Spider-Man responded, using his webbing to cement a few table legs to the ground. “Because in Queens, furniture animates itself all the time!”
“It’s coming from the vault,” Wiccan said, his eyes closed as he reached out.
Spider-Man looked at the advancing furniture. “Yeah, well, it better come faster or one of these lounge chairs is going to think you’re Halloween candy.”
“Heroes!” shouted a new voice. “I see you’ve met my pets!”
“Aaaaaaand the standard villain stereotype reinforces itself,” Spider-Man said, clapping a hand to his head.
“Don’t mock me! I am the Occultist, and with the Book of the Unliving, I can control the inanimate to do my bidding!” the Occultist announced. He was a bald man in his mid-to-late twenties, thin and dressed in all black. Two duffel bags, presumably filled with money, were around his shoulders.
“Did he just rhyme?” Wiccan asked.
“What’s it called when you sort of rhyme, but don’t?” Spider-Man responded, webbing down a lounge chair in the process. “Does bidding really rhyme with unliving?”
“Semantics?” Wiccan asked, eyes widening as he dodged a potted plant that was thrown through the air by a now-living ATM. “Looks like we ticked somebody off.”
“Chuckles just doesn’t know how to have a good time,” Spider-Man said. He leapt to the ceiling and, now out of the way of the tables and chairs, shot a webline toward the Occultist, obscuring his rose-tinted glasses and adhering them to his face.
The Occultist screamed, clawing at the webbing. “Get them! Put them down so that I may escape! Save the one who gave you life!”
“Hoo-boy,” Spider-Man said, watching as the living ATM grabbed the queuing stands and began tossing them into the air one by one.
Wiccan’s arm rose as he levitated forward. “The book! I need the book and I can stop all of this!”
“Well why didn’t you say so?” Spider-Man asked. He shot a webline at the spine of the book held in the Occultist’s hand—the one not occupied with clawing at his webbed face. The book snapped back and Spider-Man caught it with ease. “How do you read this thing?”
“I’m the one with magic powers, Webhead!” Wiccan yelled impatiently, sweat beading on his forehead as he concentrated on avoiding the coffee table books of art as they arced through the air, cannonballs lobbed by the animated coffee tables.
Spider-Man tossed the book. “Don’t dodge this one!” he shouted, webbing two more chairs to the ground.
Wiccan snagged the book with a bit of effort and turned it to the first page he could. “Azarath metrion zinthos!” he shouted.
Nothing happened.
“Wrong page!” Wiccan exclaimed, flipping through the pages. “Iwanttobeontherightpage… Iwanttobeontherightpage…”
“A little faster?” Spider-Man asked, using his webbing to sling a coffee table at the animated ATM. The mechanical monster shuddered, but continued advancing.
“Right page!” Wiccan shouted back, wincing under a hail of coins that burst forth from the ATM. “Do those things even have coins?!”
“If I ever had the money, I would ask it,” Spider-Man deadpanned.
Wiccan ignored him. He closed his eyes, visualizing the words in his head. Normally, his control over magic came from control over his own self-confidence. Undoing someone else’s magic was another deal entirely.
“Caedo mortuus!” he shouted. Like the shockwave of a droplet of water hitting the calm surface of a bond, energy emanated from within Wiccan, leaving a lobby full of inanimate, twisted furniture in its wake.
“My babies! No!” shouted the Occultist, his voice muffled as some of the webbing slipped toward his upper lip. “You’ll pay for this!”
Spider-Man finished webbing the Occultist to two of the lobby’s support pillars. “And villains wonder why we don’t take them seriously. I told you. Stereotypes.” He turned to Wiccan. “Come on, kid. Let’s split before the cops hit us up for questions.”
Wiccan looked up at Spider-Man in a daze. “Uh…sure thing, sounds great, Cap.”
“Cap? Are you…okay?” Spider-Man asked, as a drained Wiccan pitched forward into his arms.
Billy woke up to the sound of Spider-Man’s voice talking in an urgent tone to someone else. “—he just collapsed. I think using the magic from that book did him in. Should I swing him by, or—yeah, that’s—okay, no problem.” He looked over to see Billly’s eyes open. “Oh, he’s up. Seeya, Carol.”
“What happened?” Billy asked, rubbing his head where his heavy, ring-shaped helm had left a helm-shaped bruise.
Spider-Man shrugged. “I thought you’d be able to tell me. You saved the day, kid. Then you, uh, passed out. But good job on the saving the day part.”
“Did you just get off the phone with Warbird?” Billy asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Spider-Man laughed. “She told me that I’m playing concerned dad again, and that I should try to remember my first concussion before freaking out while calling the Avengers when they’re fighting off an invasion from the Negative Zone.”
Billy tried sitting up, but noticed New York’s skyline twisting, forcing him to lay back down. “Not quite ready yet,” he said, laughing in embarrassment.
“No problem,” Spider-Man said. He reached an arm behind his back and looked to the ground. “So, about earlier…I thought I should say I’m sorry. I’m not used to sounding like my Uncle or feeling like him. Sorry for not giving you enough credit.”
Billy waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. You were worried. I think I’m half out of my mind most of the time anyway, so it’s cool, right? I mean, I got to team up with Spider-Man, which is so cool! You just did what’s, like, natural for us, right? You’re a hero. You’re the best there is at what you do.”
Spider-Man crouched on the corner of the rooftop, thinking back to when he first started, back to when he first donned a pair of tights. Those were the easy days, when Electro could be defeated with a bucket of water and the Sandman could be taken out with a vacuum cleaner. He smiled under his mask. If anyone was going to lead the charge for a new generation of super-heroes, why not Wiccan? he asked himself.
“As long as you don’t tell a short, hairy Canuck that I agreed with you, then it’s a deal,” he said. He continued to monitor the skyline of the city. For now, it might be his to patrol, but in the future, when the world needed new heroes, Peter thought for the first time that it might be nice to share.
END
He shivered as another icy blast of wind smacked him. “How does Spider-Man do it?”
“How do I do what?” asked a voice from behind him. “If it’s the question I think it is, the answer is L’Oreal.”
Billy jumped in surprise, losing his seat on the building ledge. A line of webbing stuck to his back even as his own levitating spell kicked in, shooting him upwards in an arc due to the tie of the webline, resulting in a resolute smack against the rooftop.
“Remind me never to try to catch the magic kid again,” Spider-Man said to no one in particular. “Are you okay, kid?”
Billy turned. Where Spider-Man expected pain and embarrassment, there was only…glee? “Is it really you? Holy crap!”
“That’s, uh, not the reaction I’m used to,” Spider-Man said skeptically. “And you are…?”
“Wiccan, a Young Avenger,” Billy replied. “Guess you hadn’t heard of me before, huh?”
Spider-Man shook his head. “Nah, of course I’ve…you know, now that you mention it…not ringing any bells, no.”
“That’s okay,” Billy said, turning away. His head snapped back . “Wanna have a team-up? It’s Samhain, and my powers tell me somebody with some dirty magic is up to something tonight.”
“No offense, Wiccan, but I’m not sure the world is ready for that yet,” Spider-Man said, holding up his hands. “I can’t decide if you’re a magician or a fanboy yet.”
The ringing of bank alarms from down the block broke the air of the night before Billy could react. “Well, guess you’re going to have to find out, Mr. Big League,” Billy said, levitating into the air.
“Whoa, Wiccan, wait—!” Spider-Man flicked his wrist, shooting a webline at the nearest building, swinging in pursuit of the young magician. Even if what he had said hadn’t been…sensitive…it was still the truth. Now that he was an adult with some fluctuating level of responsibility, he couldn’t help but feel that way.
Wiccan landed on the front steps of the bank. “So…how do we get in?”
Spider-Man opened his mouth to answer when the doors opened themselves, glass and metal transforming into a mouth filled with teeth razor-sharp teeth. It opened and closed, threatening to devour anyone who set foot inside.
“Don’t see that every day,” Spider-Man quipped. He looked at the other windows. “Think they’ll mind a few extra glass repairs if we save them millions of dollars?”
“It’s New York. Of course they’ll mind,” Wiccan shot back. His eyes glowed blue. “I want the mouth to stop…Iwantthismouthtostop…Iwantthismouthtostop!”
“Uh, kid? It’s not working!” Spider-Man replied. Seeing no other alternative, he aimed for the plate glass window to the left of the doors. “Geronimo!”
Wiccan floated in through the empty hole that Spider-Man had left. “That was subtle.”
“I think we have bigger things to worry about,” Spider-Man replied, as the coffee tables and lounge chairs transfigured into mobile furniture creatures that began advancing on the two wayward heroes.
“We’re getting close to the magical presence that I was sensing earlier,” Wiccan said.
“Really, are you sure about that?” Spider-Man responded, using his webbing to cement a few table legs to the ground. “Because in Queens, furniture animates itself all the time!”
“It’s coming from the vault,” Wiccan said, his eyes closed as he reached out.
Spider-Man looked at the advancing furniture. “Yeah, well, it better come faster or one of these lounge chairs is going to think you’re Halloween candy.”
“Heroes!” shouted a new voice. “I see you’ve met my pets!”
“Aaaaaaand the standard villain stereotype reinforces itself,” Spider-Man said, clapping a hand to his head.
“Don’t mock me! I am the Occultist, and with the Book of the Unliving, I can control the inanimate to do my bidding!” the Occultist announced. He was a bald man in his mid-to-late twenties, thin and dressed in all black. Two duffel bags, presumably filled with money, were around his shoulders.
“Did he just rhyme?” Wiccan asked.
“What’s it called when you sort of rhyme, but don’t?” Spider-Man responded, webbing down a lounge chair in the process. “Does bidding really rhyme with unliving?”
“Semantics?” Wiccan asked, eyes widening as he dodged a potted plant that was thrown through the air by a now-living ATM. “Looks like we ticked somebody off.”
“Chuckles just doesn’t know how to have a good time,” Spider-Man said. He leapt to the ceiling and, now out of the way of the tables and chairs, shot a webline toward the Occultist, obscuring his rose-tinted glasses and adhering them to his face.
The Occultist screamed, clawing at the webbing. “Get them! Put them down so that I may escape! Save the one who gave you life!”
“Hoo-boy,” Spider-Man said, watching as the living ATM grabbed the queuing stands and began tossing them into the air one by one.
Wiccan’s arm rose as he levitated forward. “The book! I need the book and I can stop all of this!”
“Well why didn’t you say so?” Spider-Man asked. He shot a webline at the spine of the book held in the Occultist’s hand—the one not occupied with clawing at his webbed face. The book snapped back and Spider-Man caught it with ease. “How do you read this thing?”
“I’m the one with magic powers, Webhead!” Wiccan yelled impatiently, sweat beading on his forehead as he concentrated on avoiding the coffee table books of art as they arced through the air, cannonballs lobbed by the animated coffee tables.
Spider-Man tossed the book. “Don’t dodge this one!” he shouted, webbing two more chairs to the ground.
Wiccan snagged the book with a bit of effort and turned it to the first page he could. “Azarath metrion zinthos!” he shouted.
Nothing happened.
“Wrong page!” Wiccan exclaimed, flipping through the pages. “Iwanttobeontherightpage… Iwanttobeontherightpage…”
“A little faster?” Spider-Man asked, using his webbing to sling a coffee table at the animated ATM. The mechanical monster shuddered, but continued advancing.
“Right page!” Wiccan shouted back, wincing under a hail of coins that burst forth from the ATM. “Do those things even have coins?!”
“If I ever had the money, I would ask it,” Spider-Man deadpanned.
Wiccan ignored him. He closed his eyes, visualizing the words in his head. Normally, his control over magic came from control over his own self-confidence. Undoing someone else’s magic was another deal entirely.
“Caedo mortuus!” he shouted. Like the shockwave of a droplet of water hitting the calm surface of a bond, energy emanated from within Wiccan, leaving a lobby full of inanimate, twisted furniture in its wake.
“My babies! No!” shouted the Occultist, his voice muffled as some of the webbing slipped toward his upper lip. “You’ll pay for this!”
Spider-Man finished webbing the Occultist to two of the lobby’s support pillars. “And villains wonder why we don’t take them seriously. I told you. Stereotypes.” He turned to Wiccan. “Come on, kid. Let’s split before the cops hit us up for questions.”
Wiccan looked up at Spider-Man in a daze. “Uh…sure thing, sounds great, Cap.”
“Cap? Are you…okay?” Spider-Man asked, as a drained Wiccan pitched forward into his arms.
Billy woke up to the sound of Spider-Man’s voice talking in an urgent tone to someone else. “—he just collapsed. I think using the magic from that book did him in. Should I swing him by, or—yeah, that’s—okay, no problem.” He looked over to see Billly’s eyes open. “Oh, he’s up. Seeya, Carol.”
“What happened?” Billy asked, rubbing his head where his heavy, ring-shaped helm had left a helm-shaped bruise.
Spider-Man shrugged. “I thought you’d be able to tell me. You saved the day, kid. Then you, uh, passed out. But good job on the saving the day part.”
“Did you just get off the phone with Warbird?” Billy asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Spider-Man laughed. “She told me that I’m playing concerned dad again, and that I should try to remember my first concussion before freaking out while calling the Avengers when they’re fighting off an invasion from the Negative Zone.”
Billy tried sitting up, but noticed New York’s skyline twisting, forcing him to lay back down. “Not quite ready yet,” he said, laughing in embarrassment.
“No problem,” Spider-Man said. He reached an arm behind his back and looked to the ground. “So, about earlier…I thought I should say I’m sorry. I’m not used to sounding like my Uncle or feeling like him. Sorry for not giving you enough credit.”
Billy waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. You were worried. I think I’m half out of my mind most of the time anyway, so it’s cool, right? I mean, I got to team up with Spider-Man, which is so cool! You just did what’s, like, natural for us, right? You’re a hero. You’re the best there is at what you do.”
Spider-Man crouched on the corner of the rooftop, thinking back to when he first started, back to when he first donned a pair of tights. Those were the easy days, when Electro could be defeated with a bucket of water and the Sandman could be taken out with a vacuum cleaner. He smiled under his mask. If anyone was going to lead the charge for a new generation of super-heroes, why not Wiccan? he asked himself.
“As long as you don’t tell a short, hairy Canuck that I agreed with you, then it’s a deal,” he said. He continued to monitor the skyline of the city. For now, it might be his to patrol, but in the future, when the world needed new heroes, Peter thought for the first time that it might be nice to share.
END
No matter how many times I kill myself I don’t think I’ll ever figure out the meaning of life.
It’s not cold outside, even though it’s the end of October, but I pull the collar of my jacket up higher anyway. I don’t want people to see my face until they absolutely have to. The bank is crowded today. Just my luck, right? It will clear out soon enough, once I finish the job I was sent here to do.
I spy a family at the bank teller window. Must be out for a nice Saturday in New York City, only pausing for mom and dad to grab some cash. Three little kids are with them, the oldest can’t be more than six.
I imagine that in a few days, on Halloween, they’ll be excited to dress up and go collect candy from their neighbors. They’ve probably been looking forward to it for months. I’ve been looking forward to Halloween, too, but for an entirely different reason.
I sigh, close my eyes, and take a moment for myself before I scar all of these people’s memories. Some days it really doesn’t pay to get out of bed.
I open my eyes, strip off my jacket, and outstretch my arms. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention for a moment,” I scream. I catch the security guard’s attention out of the corner of my eye. “Please, all eyes on me. This will all be over in a second, so everyone just remain calm.”
I’m not wearing a shirt, mainly because I don’t want to have to clean the blood out of it later. My pale white flesh is exposed and the family at the teller window is getting worried. Why shouldn’t they? Some half-naked nutcase just waltzed in and demanded to be the star attraction of their afternoon. They’re probably thinking I escaped from the asylum, or that I’m going to try and rob the place, or I’m going to take a hostage, or some other believable scenario.
If only.
I hear a voice in the back of my head laugh an evil little laugh.
I pull a silver knife out from behind my back, hold it up briefly for everyone to see, and say, “Do not try this at home.”
I plunge the knife into my own gut. Blood gurgles up my esophagus and dribbles from my mouth, pooling on the marble floor beneath my feet. It’s pure agony, but not unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
It’s times like this that I wish my powers were geared toward avoiding pain instead of just overcoming it. I can come back from anything, even total incineration, but it still hurts as it’s happening.
I twist the knife in my stomach and the screams from nearly everyone in the room fade into the background, now just white noise to my ears. This is the moment that, oddly enough, I kind of enjoy about death. There is nothing but this moment now, nothing except me and the dwindling sensation of life.
My eyesight dims. My skin goes numb. I slump to the floor, dead.
Darkness.
Then I spring up from the floor, completely revived and healed, grab my knife and jacket, and run like hell. I shoot by the security guard, although he’s too stunned to even think about stopping my escape. I burst onto the sidewalk and make a beeline for the alley across the street.
After jutting through the traffic and making my way over the garbage cans to the other side of the alley, I yank down the fire escape and climb up the side of the building. It’s only when I’m on the roof and running as fast as possible from the last scene of my death that I begin to really feel like shit.
I pause two blocks away and lean on the chimney from an old brownstone for support. I’m breathing heavily, and not just because of my not-so-near-death experience. I’m thinking about the kids that watched me commit suicide and I want to throw up.
The little voice in the back of my head finally stops laughing and begins to speak.
Well done, Craig. I rather enjoyed that little play you just put on. Well done, indeed.
I wipe away the spittle from my chin. “Fuck you,” I reply.
Tsk-tsk. Is that any way to treat your lifelong friend?
“We aren’t friends, Deathurge. We never were and we never will be.”
Deathurge, the name of my own personal demon. He claims to be the figment of some type of universal embodiment of a collective of…something or other. He’s a demon, that’s all that’s important. He’s an anti-angel, a bringer of death and torture seemingly for the hell of it.
And he’s been in my head since I was two.
He’s been indirectly responsible for the death of nearly everyone I love. He continues to taunt me because I interest him. Death has no hold over me. That’s why I go by the moniker Mr. Immortal. I used to be a pretty carefree, happy-go-lucky hero. I was Spider-Man without the cool powers.
Lately I’ve just been a punching bag for D’urge.
How many is that now, Craig?
“Three.”
Hmm. Only seven more to go. Wouldn’t your family be proud of you?
Yesterday D’urge told me he had a way for me to see my family again. He asked if I was interested. Obviously, I was. Not too surprising, right? Now I’m starting to think I made the wrong choice and I’m only thirty percent done with this trial by execution.
Ten public suicides. The last one had to be on Halloween. That was the price I had to pay for seeing my family again. I had to kill myself ten times over in a public setting of Deathurge’s choosing. Once I did that he would tell me how I could see my parents again.
Of course, it wasn’t enough for D’urge to want simple suicides. Hell, I’ve killed myself an average of five times a day for the last fifteen years. I had bouts with depression for a good long time. I’d kill myself for burning popcorn. You wouldn’t believe the cost effective ways I discovered to remove blood from shag carpets.
I thought that taking my own life was a small price to pay, considering my power set. But Deathurge needed more than a series of basic deaths. He wanted to see people emotionally scarred. He wanted to taste their shock. He wanted me to burn a horrible memory into the souls of anyone around.
Those kids in the bank would never forget the day they saw a half-naked man slice into his own abdomen.
“What’s next?” I asked.
Eager are we? Yes, I expect so. Alright then, Craig. The Central Park Zoo is just three blocks from here. There’s a group of woman from Saint Mary’s Immaculate Conception Church there on a day trip into the city.
“Nuns?” I don’t know why I’m shocked. “You want me to kill myself in front of a group of nuns?”
Is that a problem?
“You’ve got to be—” I picture my mom’s face and stop myself. “Fine. It’s fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
I slip my arms into my jacket and lean over the rooftop, looking for the fire escape to get back down to street level. I can get to the park in just under fifteen minutes if I hurry. The faster I get this done the better.
I don’t even care about how selfish this all is. I’m willing to scare the shit out of people, possibly send them into therapy for years, all because of a selfish desire to interact with the people I love one last time. Does that mean I’m not a real hero? Probably, but I don’t care. I’ve been through a lot, lost everyone close to me, and am destined to be the last person alive on this planet. I’ll be all alone, and for what? So I can learn the great secret of life?
All I want is a tiny piece of happiness. Just for a second. Then this stupid experiment called life can run its course and I’ll just be hanging around. Just me and D’urge.
Halloween was just around the corner. Deathurge claimed that was the reason he could reconnect me with my family, but only if I paid up front with ten lives. Something about the height of his power being wrestled through fear and intimidation, mixed with the cosmic forces that spiraled around during All Hallow’s Eve.
Whatever. Even though I wore a costume for most of my adult life I don’t care for Halloween. Maybe he’s making it all up. I have no idea. All I know is that I have to kill myself seven more times before my Halloween deadline is up.
I hear a voice in the back of my head laugh an evil little laugh, and I can’t help but think that if I ever really die the Final Death that I’m going straight to Hell.
END
It’s not cold outside, even though it’s the end of October, but I pull the collar of my jacket up higher anyway. I don’t want people to see my face until they absolutely have to. The bank is crowded today. Just my luck, right? It will clear out soon enough, once I finish the job I was sent here to do.
I spy a family at the bank teller window. Must be out for a nice Saturday in New York City, only pausing for mom and dad to grab some cash. Three little kids are with them, the oldest can’t be more than six.
I imagine that in a few days, on Halloween, they’ll be excited to dress up and go collect candy from their neighbors. They’ve probably been looking forward to it for months. I’ve been looking forward to Halloween, too, but for an entirely different reason.
I sigh, close my eyes, and take a moment for myself before I scar all of these people’s memories. Some days it really doesn’t pay to get out of bed.
I open my eyes, strip off my jacket, and outstretch my arms. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention for a moment,” I scream. I catch the security guard’s attention out of the corner of my eye. “Please, all eyes on me. This will all be over in a second, so everyone just remain calm.”
I’m not wearing a shirt, mainly because I don’t want to have to clean the blood out of it later. My pale white flesh is exposed and the family at the teller window is getting worried. Why shouldn’t they? Some half-naked nutcase just waltzed in and demanded to be the star attraction of their afternoon. They’re probably thinking I escaped from the asylum, or that I’m going to try and rob the place, or I’m going to take a hostage, or some other believable scenario.
If only.
I hear a voice in the back of my head laugh an evil little laugh.
I pull a silver knife out from behind my back, hold it up briefly for everyone to see, and say, “Do not try this at home.”
I plunge the knife into my own gut. Blood gurgles up my esophagus and dribbles from my mouth, pooling on the marble floor beneath my feet. It’s pure agony, but not unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
It’s times like this that I wish my powers were geared toward avoiding pain instead of just overcoming it. I can come back from anything, even total incineration, but it still hurts as it’s happening.
I twist the knife in my stomach and the screams from nearly everyone in the room fade into the background, now just white noise to my ears. This is the moment that, oddly enough, I kind of enjoy about death. There is nothing but this moment now, nothing except me and the dwindling sensation of life.
My eyesight dims. My skin goes numb. I slump to the floor, dead.
Darkness.
Then I spring up from the floor, completely revived and healed, grab my knife and jacket, and run like hell. I shoot by the security guard, although he’s too stunned to even think about stopping my escape. I burst onto the sidewalk and make a beeline for the alley across the street.
After jutting through the traffic and making my way over the garbage cans to the other side of the alley, I yank down the fire escape and climb up the side of the building. It’s only when I’m on the roof and running as fast as possible from the last scene of my death that I begin to really feel like shit.
I pause two blocks away and lean on the chimney from an old brownstone for support. I’m breathing heavily, and not just because of my not-so-near-death experience. I’m thinking about the kids that watched me commit suicide and I want to throw up.
The little voice in the back of my head finally stops laughing and begins to speak.
Well done, Craig. I rather enjoyed that little play you just put on. Well done, indeed.
I wipe away the spittle from my chin. “Fuck you,” I reply.
Tsk-tsk. Is that any way to treat your lifelong friend?
“We aren’t friends, Deathurge. We never were and we never will be.”
Deathurge, the name of my own personal demon. He claims to be the figment of some type of universal embodiment of a collective of…something or other. He’s a demon, that’s all that’s important. He’s an anti-angel, a bringer of death and torture seemingly for the hell of it.
And he’s been in my head since I was two.
He’s been indirectly responsible for the death of nearly everyone I love. He continues to taunt me because I interest him. Death has no hold over me. That’s why I go by the moniker Mr. Immortal. I used to be a pretty carefree, happy-go-lucky hero. I was Spider-Man without the cool powers.
Lately I’ve just been a punching bag for D’urge.
How many is that now, Craig?
“Three.”
Hmm. Only seven more to go. Wouldn’t your family be proud of you?
Yesterday D’urge told me he had a way for me to see my family again. He asked if I was interested. Obviously, I was. Not too surprising, right? Now I’m starting to think I made the wrong choice and I’m only thirty percent done with this trial by execution.
Ten public suicides. The last one had to be on Halloween. That was the price I had to pay for seeing my family again. I had to kill myself ten times over in a public setting of Deathurge’s choosing. Once I did that he would tell me how I could see my parents again.
Of course, it wasn’t enough for D’urge to want simple suicides. Hell, I’ve killed myself an average of five times a day for the last fifteen years. I had bouts with depression for a good long time. I’d kill myself for burning popcorn. You wouldn’t believe the cost effective ways I discovered to remove blood from shag carpets.
I thought that taking my own life was a small price to pay, considering my power set. But Deathurge needed more than a series of basic deaths. He wanted to see people emotionally scarred. He wanted to taste their shock. He wanted me to burn a horrible memory into the souls of anyone around.
Those kids in the bank would never forget the day they saw a half-naked man slice into his own abdomen.
“What’s next?” I asked.
Eager are we? Yes, I expect so. Alright then, Craig. The Central Park Zoo is just three blocks from here. There’s a group of woman from Saint Mary’s Immaculate Conception Church there on a day trip into the city.
“Nuns?” I don’t know why I’m shocked. “You want me to kill myself in front of a group of nuns?”
Is that a problem?
“You’ve got to be—” I picture my mom’s face and stop myself. “Fine. It’s fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
I slip my arms into my jacket and lean over the rooftop, looking for the fire escape to get back down to street level. I can get to the park in just under fifteen minutes if I hurry. The faster I get this done the better.
I don’t even care about how selfish this all is. I’m willing to scare the shit out of people, possibly send them into therapy for years, all because of a selfish desire to interact with the people I love one last time. Does that mean I’m not a real hero? Probably, but I don’t care. I’ve been through a lot, lost everyone close to me, and am destined to be the last person alive on this planet. I’ll be all alone, and for what? So I can learn the great secret of life?
All I want is a tiny piece of happiness. Just for a second. Then this stupid experiment called life can run its course and I’ll just be hanging around. Just me and D’urge.
Halloween was just around the corner. Deathurge claimed that was the reason he could reconnect me with my family, but only if I paid up front with ten lives. Something about the height of his power being wrestled through fear and intimidation, mixed with the cosmic forces that spiraled around during All Hallow’s Eve.
Whatever. Even though I wore a costume for most of my adult life I don’t care for Halloween. Maybe he’s making it all up. I have no idea. All I know is that I have to kill myself seven more times before my Halloween deadline is up.
I hear a voice in the back of my head laugh an evil little laugh, and I can’t help but think that if I ever really die the Final Death that I’m going straight to Hell.
END
It was the dark evening before his yearly tradition. On the night of All Hallows Eve, Mark Diering would normally travel to the Florida Everglades to visit and break bread with the Guardians of the Nexus of realities. Both past and present, they would share stories and give each other advice.
Now, however, he was a world away.
Despite not being a native, this was his country in many ways. This was where he truly felt at peace and at home. He'd travelled the world, and seen many things, seen Animals and Nature and Man working together in ways they'd never worked together before, but there something so unknowable about this continent that made it special for him.
Mark continued his walk through the dusty red sands, each footfall kicking up plumes of Crimson sediment that scratched at his bare skin. He was naked, save for the salt markings depicting nature and large straight streaks across his face and his body, in lateral lines and swirling circles.
“It's the dream time more than anything,” he lectured, looking up at the sky. Moonlight tinged white clouds moved in a circular motion around him, following his movements. Australia was letting him know that it knew he was there.
“The idea of a mythological structure that bucks the trends over the world,” he continued, stopping to kneel down in the sand. The Animals around him crawled closer, emerging from their holes and homes, even the reptiles who stayed so silent and still at night. They flooded to him and the small group of national heroes that stood behind him.
“No single God, no Angels or Demons, no Heaven or Hell. It has nothing to do with being good, it has nothing to do with morality or consciousness. It just is.”
Mark looked over his shoulder at the assembled heroes behind him, shooting them a cheeky smile. The Moon light ignited the colour of the woman at the front, her gold skin gleaming and reflecting the colour of her crossed arms and large chest against the sand beneath her. Beside her holding a makeshift surfboard stood her brother, hand trailing through his blonde hair, who watched Mark from the corner of his eye trying to avoid looking at his nudity.
“You're the heroes of Australia. You have a connection to this country, be it through being born here,” Mark paused to indicate Lifeguard and Slipstream.
“Or because you're connection to the culture and the way this world and this ‘religion’, if you can call it that, works.” Mark gestured to the three Aboriginal Men who stood, nude like Mark, save for their individual Salt markings that arched and curled over their bodies. The Three Men, Dreamguard, Gateway and Talisman stood with their ancestral weaponry hanging from their arms and from their sides. Gateway's bull roarer remained disturbingly still, as he instead held a Didgerido firmly in his grip.
“Tell us something we don't already know, why don'tcha,” Talisman said, tilting his head to the side in annoyance. The wind blew sand against their bare chests, all except for Lifeguard, who wore a complete form fitting costume over her bust and her lower regions, that tied itself off in loops over her neck and across the small of her back.
“Alright,” Mark said, narrowing his eyes at the Aboriginal Magicians, “In about six minutes, it's going to be Halloween in Australia. That means two things: it's going to be a crap holiday while Westernised idiots try and force stupid Vampire masks on their children,” He narrowed his eyes at the only two white heroes. Slipstream looked away from Mark, and across to his sister who offered him a sympathetic shrug.
“The other is that some bastard is going to turn up extremely shortly and do something horrific to the sleeping source of religion down there,” Mark thumbed over his shoulder and got up slowly, walking towards the very edge of the plateau the group stood on.
As they looked below, Lifeguard gasped loudly and covered her mouth with both hands. Mark's grin was apparent in the dazzling light show before them. A long flesh-rainbow, covered in glittering scales, each one dropping from the huge creatures hide and hitting the sand as though it were an iceberg hitting the ocean.
“Is that...” Dreamguard asked, as Mark nodded slowly.
“Rainbow Serpent. The Originator of every Myth in your world, and mine.”
Mark got to his feet slowly, as the group watched in silence. They were overlooking the huge rock known as Uluru, as Gateway slowly began to blow down the Didgerdoo. An eerie, deep sound vibrated through their chest cavities, a song that built slowly in speed and in variation. Talisman stood side by side with Mark as they watched the huge serpent before them rub it's huge body against the massive, crimson rock.
“It's shedding...”
“Good spot,” Mark replied, turning to look at him, and thumbing over at the golden skinned woman and the blonde surfer who stood separately from the others.
“Lifeguard and Slipstream?”
“I didn't come up with the names,” Talisman said, before he narrowed his eyes.
“What is that?” He pointed down towards the form that appeared to be almost invisible to the naked eye at their distance. Mark covered his brow, trying to cut out some of the light from Serpent.
It was a man.
“You are a good spot...”
Mark waved over his shoulder to the others and began his speedy descent towards the ground below. His foot falls were heavy as he slid down banks of sand. The wind and heat from the serpent growing in intensity as he closed the distance between them, sweat forcing itself through his skin. Either side of him charged the two aboriginal magicians, Dreamguard and Talisman, grim looks on their face, as Slipstream and Lifeguard soared either side of the group under their respective means of flight, be it floating surf board, or huge golden wings.
“...What the hell is he doing?” Dreamguard asked, as they drew closer. The man before them looked up, rows of needle teeth jutting from his mouth and holes in his neck, as his distended jaw closed around a scale.
“I think he's eating the skin,” Mark said, skidding to a halt in a plume of dust. The man stood stock still for a moment, as he turned to face the assembled group, who all came to a similar quick stop behind him.
“More than that,” the man began, dropping the part of the scale he'd yet to digest, stepping towards the group, as saliva dropped in thick globules towards the ground.
“I'm eating your dreams,” he hissed, as Mark sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Christ. Just once. ONCE I'd like to have a villain who isn't cliché ridden.” Mark closed his eyes and turned around, waving towards the stunned entity.
“Just...punch him until he stops moving,” Mark said, wearily.
“Pleasure,” the Lifeguard said, as her massive golden fist cracked into the man's skull.
“UGH! What are you…” the man's rasping voice was cut short as Dreamguard kicked him in the head, driving his teeth into the sand.
“Eat your dreams...what a dick head,” Mark shook his head as the sounds of violence filled the air.
“...why?” The man gurgled as the group parted, allowing Mark to kneel down and grip the back of his head, lifting him from the blood caked sand.
“Because you're clearly not fit for human interaction. Cliché speech, and something as horrifically retarded as eating the scales of the Rainbow Serpent. What did you think it was going to do, give you the power over creation?”
The man nodded slowly, wincing from the pain of his shattered nose.
“It's not going to give you the power of creation. It's going to give you the runs and your insides will probably fall out. You cannot cannibalise a God, you herpes cluster. You're only a man.”
The man's blank expression stared up at Mark, as he glanced with a wicked smile on his face, at the others around him.
“You're going to die. Horrifically, in fact. Horribly. Your guts will slowly turn to liquid, your intestines slithering out of your anus like turd-filled snakes. Your lungs are going to fill with poison and you'll drown just slightly after your brain turns itself into a thousand flies and crawls out of your ears and nose. You're going to die in the most horrific ways possible because you wanted to eat a bit of snake skin.”
“Oh...Oh my Christ...” the man rasped to himself.
“He ain't gonna help you now, bucko. “The Son of God” doesn't take lightly to Deity cannibalism. The worst part, for you really, is that you're so worthless, and insignificant in the scheme of things – We're never going to know your name, or want to even find out.” Mark said, forcing the man's face into the sand again and waving for the others leave him, as he slowly sobbed into his hands adopting the foetal position.
Silence prevailed through the group as they began their ascent towards the top of the ridge, until Slipstream finally spoke up.
“We should go back. Get him medical attention, or something...”
Mark afforded himself a small laugh and shook his head.
“He's not going to die, Slipstream.” Mark turned to look at the man's shocked expression, and the expression of the rest of the group.
“I did a lie. Happy Halloween.”
END
Now, however, he was a world away.
Despite not being a native, this was his country in many ways. This was where he truly felt at peace and at home. He'd travelled the world, and seen many things, seen Animals and Nature and Man working together in ways they'd never worked together before, but there something so unknowable about this continent that made it special for him.
Mark continued his walk through the dusty red sands, each footfall kicking up plumes of Crimson sediment that scratched at his bare skin. He was naked, save for the salt markings depicting nature and large straight streaks across his face and his body, in lateral lines and swirling circles.
“It's the dream time more than anything,” he lectured, looking up at the sky. Moonlight tinged white clouds moved in a circular motion around him, following his movements. Australia was letting him know that it knew he was there.
“The idea of a mythological structure that bucks the trends over the world,” he continued, stopping to kneel down in the sand. The Animals around him crawled closer, emerging from their holes and homes, even the reptiles who stayed so silent and still at night. They flooded to him and the small group of national heroes that stood behind him.
“No single God, no Angels or Demons, no Heaven or Hell. It has nothing to do with being good, it has nothing to do with morality or consciousness. It just is.”
Mark looked over his shoulder at the assembled heroes behind him, shooting them a cheeky smile. The Moon light ignited the colour of the woman at the front, her gold skin gleaming and reflecting the colour of her crossed arms and large chest against the sand beneath her. Beside her holding a makeshift surfboard stood her brother, hand trailing through his blonde hair, who watched Mark from the corner of his eye trying to avoid looking at his nudity.
“You're the heroes of Australia. You have a connection to this country, be it through being born here,” Mark paused to indicate Lifeguard and Slipstream.
“Or because you're connection to the culture and the way this world and this ‘religion’, if you can call it that, works.” Mark gestured to the three Aboriginal Men who stood, nude like Mark, save for their individual Salt markings that arched and curled over their bodies. The Three Men, Dreamguard, Gateway and Talisman stood with their ancestral weaponry hanging from their arms and from their sides. Gateway's bull roarer remained disturbingly still, as he instead held a Didgerido firmly in his grip.
“Tell us something we don't already know, why don'tcha,” Talisman said, tilting his head to the side in annoyance. The wind blew sand against their bare chests, all except for Lifeguard, who wore a complete form fitting costume over her bust and her lower regions, that tied itself off in loops over her neck and across the small of her back.
“Alright,” Mark said, narrowing his eyes at the Aboriginal Magicians, “In about six minutes, it's going to be Halloween in Australia. That means two things: it's going to be a crap holiday while Westernised idiots try and force stupid Vampire masks on their children,” He narrowed his eyes at the only two white heroes. Slipstream looked away from Mark, and across to his sister who offered him a sympathetic shrug.
“The other is that some bastard is going to turn up extremely shortly and do something horrific to the sleeping source of religion down there,” Mark thumbed over his shoulder and got up slowly, walking towards the very edge of the plateau the group stood on.
As they looked below, Lifeguard gasped loudly and covered her mouth with both hands. Mark's grin was apparent in the dazzling light show before them. A long flesh-rainbow, covered in glittering scales, each one dropping from the huge creatures hide and hitting the sand as though it were an iceberg hitting the ocean.
“Is that...” Dreamguard asked, as Mark nodded slowly.
“Rainbow Serpent. The Originator of every Myth in your world, and mine.”
Mark got to his feet slowly, as the group watched in silence. They were overlooking the huge rock known as Uluru, as Gateway slowly began to blow down the Didgerdoo. An eerie, deep sound vibrated through their chest cavities, a song that built slowly in speed and in variation. Talisman stood side by side with Mark as they watched the huge serpent before them rub it's huge body against the massive, crimson rock.
“It's shedding...”
“Good spot,” Mark replied, turning to look at him, and thumbing over at the golden skinned woman and the blonde surfer who stood separately from the others.
“Lifeguard and Slipstream?”
“I didn't come up with the names,” Talisman said, before he narrowed his eyes.
“What is that?” He pointed down towards the form that appeared to be almost invisible to the naked eye at their distance. Mark covered his brow, trying to cut out some of the light from Serpent.
It was a man.
“You are a good spot...”
Mark waved over his shoulder to the others and began his speedy descent towards the ground below. His foot falls were heavy as he slid down banks of sand. The wind and heat from the serpent growing in intensity as he closed the distance between them, sweat forcing itself through his skin. Either side of him charged the two aboriginal magicians, Dreamguard and Talisman, grim looks on their face, as Slipstream and Lifeguard soared either side of the group under their respective means of flight, be it floating surf board, or huge golden wings.
“...What the hell is he doing?” Dreamguard asked, as they drew closer. The man before them looked up, rows of needle teeth jutting from his mouth and holes in his neck, as his distended jaw closed around a scale.
“I think he's eating the skin,” Mark said, skidding to a halt in a plume of dust. The man stood stock still for a moment, as he turned to face the assembled group, who all came to a similar quick stop behind him.
“More than that,” the man began, dropping the part of the scale he'd yet to digest, stepping towards the group, as saliva dropped in thick globules towards the ground.
“I'm eating your dreams,” he hissed, as Mark sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Christ. Just once. ONCE I'd like to have a villain who isn't cliché ridden.” Mark closed his eyes and turned around, waving towards the stunned entity.
“Just...punch him until he stops moving,” Mark said, wearily.
“Pleasure,” the Lifeguard said, as her massive golden fist cracked into the man's skull.
“UGH! What are you…” the man's rasping voice was cut short as Dreamguard kicked him in the head, driving his teeth into the sand.
“Eat your dreams...what a dick head,” Mark shook his head as the sounds of violence filled the air.
“...why?” The man gurgled as the group parted, allowing Mark to kneel down and grip the back of his head, lifting him from the blood caked sand.
“Because you're clearly not fit for human interaction. Cliché speech, and something as horrifically retarded as eating the scales of the Rainbow Serpent. What did you think it was going to do, give you the power over creation?”
The man nodded slowly, wincing from the pain of his shattered nose.
“It's not going to give you the power of creation. It's going to give you the runs and your insides will probably fall out. You cannot cannibalise a God, you herpes cluster. You're only a man.”
The man's blank expression stared up at Mark, as he glanced with a wicked smile on his face, at the others around him.
“You're going to die. Horrifically, in fact. Horribly. Your guts will slowly turn to liquid, your intestines slithering out of your anus like turd-filled snakes. Your lungs are going to fill with poison and you'll drown just slightly after your brain turns itself into a thousand flies and crawls out of your ears and nose. You're going to die in the most horrific ways possible because you wanted to eat a bit of snake skin.”
“Oh...Oh my Christ...” the man rasped to himself.
“He ain't gonna help you now, bucko. “The Son of God” doesn't take lightly to Deity cannibalism. The worst part, for you really, is that you're so worthless, and insignificant in the scheme of things – We're never going to know your name, or want to even find out.” Mark said, forcing the man's face into the sand again and waving for the others leave him, as he slowly sobbed into his hands adopting the foetal position.
Silence prevailed through the group as they began their ascent towards the top of the ridge, until Slipstream finally spoke up.
“We should go back. Get him medical attention, or something...”
Mark afforded himself a small laugh and shook his head.
“He's not going to die, Slipstream.” Mark turned to look at the man's shocked expression, and the expression of the rest of the group.
“I did a lie. Happy Halloween.”
END
The island of Nialaoa, all 21.2 square miles of its tropical rainforests ringed with white sand beaches, was technically a self-contained piece of private property. Although the tiny landmass itself fell within the archipelago of the Iles de la Societe, situated in the grouping of Windward Isles just northeast of Tahiti, and thus under the political jurisdiction of French Polynesia, it was for all intents and purposes a micro-nation. Its governing body was the DuMarchand Corporation which owned the sprawling luxury resort called La Mer D’Or.
Every human-made structure on Nialaoa was a part of La Mer D’Or, from the palatial 500-room hotel to the concert amphitheatre to the mosaic-inlaid swimming pools, from the open-air Michelin rated restaurant to the climate-controlled squash courts, and from the comparatively humble staff quarters to the non-descript yet functionally crucial airfield and docks which allowed airplanes, helicopters, yachts and speedboats to come and go from the island resort. As the sun set ruddily into the Pacific, silhouetting the rest of the archipelago, a small private jet with British aircraft registration indicated by its tail number glided downward toward the narrow landing strip, touched down and rolled to a halt. A moment later the cabin hatch opened and a fiberglass stairway unfolded.
The figure descending from the jet held herself with an almost aristocratic bearing. She was tall enough that her body’s natural curvaceousness, contoured in chic hip-hugging trousers and a clingy cashmere tank top, was elongated to exceptionally pleasing proportions. Long titian-red hair framed a face which bore an expression somewhere between inquisition and mild disappointment.
A man in a modest dark blue suit, slightly shorter and entirely balder than the woman exiting the jet, hurried across the tarmac to greet her.
“Madame Bloodstone!” he called out in obvious relief, as if her name alone were enough to solve a deeply vexing concern.
“It’s Mademoiselle Bloodstone, actually,” the woman answered. “But you may call me Elsa.”
“Of course, of course, apologies,” the man bowed slightly, taking Elsa’s half-heartedly proffered hand and kissing it unctuously. “I am Henri Fournier, manager of La Mer D’Or. Bienvenu a paradis!”
The expression of sour skepticism on Elsa’s face deepened. “I never thought the French could claim much of paradise to begin with,” she said, “and you wouldn’t have called upon me to make an appearance here if your little nub of rock were entirely trouble-free.”
“Vraiment,” Henri sighed anxiously. “Nialaoa is troubled by … by a … a …”
“Monster?” Elsa supplied impatiently. “You can say the word, you know. You’ve secured the services of a monster-hunter, for Heaven’s sake, no need to fear that I won’t believe you.”
“A monster, oui,” Henri nodded. “But no ordinary monster. I fear if it cannot be stopped, La Mer D’Or will be no more.”
“And what a bloody shame that would be,” Elsa muttered. “Right then, where to begin? Where was the beastie last seen?”
“Returning to the ocean,” Henri answered. “Last night it crawled upon our shores and destroyed everything on the site where we are … or were … constructing a boutique gallery. Then it disappeared beneath the waves again before the sun rose. If it should return tonight, as I fear it will, we may watch for it from the rooftop terrace of the hotel. If you will follow me…?”
Elsa Bloodstone stood beside a carved marble railing looking out over moonlight rippling the Pacific. She had changed from her traveling outfit into the attire the situation called for: boots that reached nearly to her knees, khaki leggings with a sidearm holster strapped to one thigh and a knife sheath strapped to the other, a button-front vest that allowed her upper body the maximum range of movement while barely preserving her modesty, and a long gray leather coat. Around her neck was fastened a black velvet choker ornamented with a small scarlet jewel. She had drawn her hair up in a crowning ponytail, which swished side-to-side like its namesake as she scanned the coastline of Nialaoa.
“Tell me something, Henri,” Elsa broke the silence. “Does La Mer D’Or make use of the standard monster countermeasures?” The question was not at all unusual. In a world populated in small part by gargantuan Deviants, colossi from the cosmos, Atlantean leviathans, mammoth mutations, and various other hulking horrors, a certain unfortunate overlap of habitats was inevitable. For those able to afford investment in cutting-edge deterrents – a category to which the DuMarchand Corporation inarguably belonged – the benefits justified the costs, as most of the mindless, non-aggressive giant monsters could be persuaded to seek less hostile, unpopulated areas in which to roam or rampage.
“Oui,” Henri confirmed. He remained garbed in the suit of his managerial office, although his aura of dread had increased tremendously as the night had drifted deeper into darkness. “Our countermeasures are in good working order.”
“But not particularly effective against the monster in question?” Elsa ventured.
“Not effective whatsoever,” Henri agreed.
“And why do you suppose that is?” Elsa asked. “What’s so special about this monster in particular?”
“You will see,” Henri promised ominously. “You will see.”
Elsa shifted her weight irritably, but did not have to wait long, as a huge ridge of ocean foam swelled just beyond the sandbars of the hotel’s main beach. The waters parted, and the titanic creature that had churned the waters so violently with its passage broke the surface as it approached Nialaoa. Elsa’s eyes narrowed with highly-trained concentration as she studied the oncoming nightmare, which more than anything resembled a salamander approximately five times bigger than a diesel locomotive. Its slick, dark-spotted skin glistened and its bulbous eyes glowed phosphorescently. A collar of spiky gills fringed its thick neck, dripping seawater as it rose.
“Ugly bugger,” Elsa appraised it.
The back half of the monster thrashed its undulating eel-like length, while the front half was supported by two legs that jutted out from behind the head and bent at ungainly right angles. The legs ended in appendages that, size and color notwithstanding, were disturbingly similar to human fingers, long and slender and grasping as it half-slithered, half-pulled itself up the beach. As one eerie monster-hand sank into the white sand just above the tide line, a ring of titanium antennae sprang up around it, each one emitting a blinding arc of electricity which lashed the enormous creature’s limb like an ultrahigh-voltage scourge.
Elsa’s eyes widened involuntarily as the artificial lightning storm illuminated the monster. Its brine-soaked hide was missing chunks in various places, revealing rank necrotic tissue where it had not been flensed to whitened bone. The dancing, ionizing arcs chased one another up the monster’s limb to its head, revealing how tattered and rotted the gills had become. Through it all, the monster showed no signs of feeling pain, or any other sensation. It opened its wide maw dumbly, revealing crooked, mouldering fangs that had no rightful business in an amphibian’s mouth, and the last sputtering bolts were swallowed down its decomposing gullet.
“Zombie. Giant. Monster.” Elsa Bloodstone shook her head in disbelief. “Or would that be giant zombie monster?”
“It is an unstoppable undead, whatever you call it!” Henri cried. “And it is coming toward the hotel!”
“So I see,” Elsa noted, dropping to one knee and unzipping a large duffel bag sitting beside her on the terrace. She unpacked and set aside, in quick succession, a Barnett crossbow, a Remington 870 pump-action shotgun, a small silver hand axe, and an Uzi before reaching the item she sought. She stood up, balancing a PzF 3 Bunkerfaust rocket launcher on her shoulder and peering one-eyed through the crosshairs of its scope. A blur of decomposing flesh covered in fetid mucus filled the circular view, then vanished to reveal the starry sky, as the animated monster corpse lurched closer to La Mer D’Or’s hotel, trampling a thatch-roofed bamboo bar strategically located between the beach and the swimming pools. Elsa cursed and rotated her body, trying to acquire her target.
“It’s getting closer!” Henri squealed. As if to underscore the manager’s point, the slimy behemoth reared up to tower over them, its uncanny toes wiggling tauntingly.
Elsa leaned back, tracking up the putrescent surface of the monster’s belly through her scope, until the snub nose of the creature’s ravaged face was dead center. “There we are,” Elsa murmured as she pulled the trigger, sending a 110 mm warhead shrieking through the air. The rocket struck the monster’s snout and easily penetrated the blighted flesh. A heartbeat later the warhead detonated, exploding the monster’s skull. Spumes of congealed blood and murky slime studded with chunks of decaying flesh rained in all directions. The elephantine remains of its cadaverous body toppled with a booming thud, scattering deck chairs like so much gold-leaf-surfaced shrapnel.
“Well, that’s at an end, then,” Elsa proclaimed. “Now, Henri, do be a dear and direct me to your spa facilities? And I don’t care if it’s usually closed at this hour of the bloody night, have someone there to open it who knows how to administer a proper facial scrub.” She plucked a gelatinous glob of undead polypheme out of the hair above her left temple. A fine mist of viscera dusted her cheekbones like oozing freckles.
“But … but …” Henri sputtered, wiping absently at the splatter of unliving gore blasted across his lapels. “But where did it come from? How was a monster like that reanimated? Why did it come here?”
“I’m sorry,” Elsa said in a brusque tone utterly devoid of sincere apology, “but did you or did you not request ... no, BEG ... that I come here specifically because of my expertise as a monster-hunter? HUNTER, Henri. I am not a monster-figurer-outer. I track and kill the creatures of the night, just so, after which they are no longer my concern. Your monster is dead. My services are rendered. Spa, please.”
“But ... but ... what do we do …?” the manager asked.
“What do people do with the things they hunt?” Elsa shrugged diffidently. “Skin it and eat it, if you like, though I can hardly imagine that you would. Have the beast stuffed and mounted as a trophy. Donate it to paranormal science for research. Do whatever you like, and obtain whatever assistance you require to do it, but to follow any of my suggestions would require a monster-chef, monster-taxidermist, or monster-anatomist, respectively. None of which describe me.”
“No, no,” Henri shook his head. “What do we do if another one like it comes?”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to call me here again,” Elsa replied. “And hope that I’ve been sufficiently rested and relaxed since then to answer the call.”
Henri led Elsa to the spa with a marked quickness in his step.
END ?
Every human-made structure on Nialaoa was a part of La Mer D’Or, from the palatial 500-room hotel to the concert amphitheatre to the mosaic-inlaid swimming pools, from the open-air Michelin rated restaurant to the climate-controlled squash courts, and from the comparatively humble staff quarters to the non-descript yet functionally crucial airfield and docks which allowed airplanes, helicopters, yachts and speedboats to come and go from the island resort. As the sun set ruddily into the Pacific, silhouetting the rest of the archipelago, a small private jet with British aircraft registration indicated by its tail number glided downward toward the narrow landing strip, touched down and rolled to a halt. A moment later the cabin hatch opened and a fiberglass stairway unfolded.
The figure descending from the jet held herself with an almost aristocratic bearing. She was tall enough that her body’s natural curvaceousness, contoured in chic hip-hugging trousers and a clingy cashmere tank top, was elongated to exceptionally pleasing proportions. Long titian-red hair framed a face which bore an expression somewhere between inquisition and mild disappointment.
A man in a modest dark blue suit, slightly shorter and entirely balder than the woman exiting the jet, hurried across the tarmac to greet her.
“Madame Bloodstone!” he called out in obvious relief, as if her name alone were enough to solve a deeply vexing concern.
“It’s Mademoiselle Bloodstone, actually,” the woman answered. “But you may call me Elsa.”
“Of course, of course, apologies,” the man bowed slightly, taking Elsa’s half-heartedly proffered hand and kissing it unctuously. “I am Henri Fournier, manager of La Mer D’Or. Bienvenu a paradis!”
The expression of sour skepticism on Elsa’s face deepened. “I never thought the French could claim much of paradise to begin with,” she said, “and you wouldn’t have called upon me to make an appearance here if your little nub of rock were entirely trouble-free.”
“Vraiment,” Henri sighed anxiously. “Nialaoa is troubled by … by a … a …”
“Monster?” Elsa supplied impatiently. “You can say the word, you know. You’ve secured the services of a monster-hunter, for Heaven’s sake, no need to fear that I won’t believe you.”
“A monster, oui,” Henri nodded. “But no ordinary monster. I fear if it cannot be stopped, La Mer D’Or will be no more.”
“And what a bloody shame that would be,” Elsa muttered. “Right then, where to begin? Where was the beastie last seen?”
“Returning to the ocean,” Henri answered. “Last night it crawled upon our shores and destroyed everything on the site where we are … or were … constructing a boutique gallery. Then it disappeared beneath the waves again before the sun rose. If it should return tonight, as I fear it will, we may watch for it from the rooftop terrace of the hotel. If you will follow me…?”
Elsa Bloodstone stood beside a carved marble railing looking out over moonlight rippling the Pacific. She had changed from her traveling outfit into the attire the situation called for: boots that reached nearly to her knees, khaki leggings with a sidearm holster strapped to one thigh and a knife sheath strapped to the other, a button-front vest that allowed her upper body the maximum range of movement while barely preserving her modesty, and a long gray leather coat. Around her neck was fastened a black velvet choker ornamented with a small scarlet jewel. She had drawn her hair up in a crowning ponytail, which swished side-to-side like its namesake as she scanned the coastline of Nialaoa.
“Tell me something, Henri,” Elsa broke the silence. “Does La Mer D’Or make use of the standard monster countermeasures?” The question was not at all unusual. In a world populated in small part by gargantuan Deviants, colossi from the cosmos, Atlantean leviathans, mammoth mutations, and various other hulking horrors, a certain unfortunate overlap of habitats was inevitable. For those able to afford investment in cutting-edge deterrents – a category to which the DuMarchand Corporation inarguably belonged – the benefits justified the costs, as most of the mindless, non-aggressive giant monsters could be persuaded to seek less hostile, unpopulated areas in which to roam or rampage.
“Oui,” Henri confirmed. He remained garbed in the suit of his managerial office, although his aura of dread had increased tremendously as the night had drifted deeper into darkness. “Our countermeasures are in good working order.”
“But not particularly effective against the monster in question?” Elsa ventured.
“Not effective whatsoever,” Henri agreed.
“And why do you suppose that is?” Elsa asked. “What’s so special about this monster in particular?”
“You will see,” Henri promised ominously. “You will see.”
Elsa shifted her weight irritably, but did not have to wait long, as a huge ridge of ocean foam swelled just beyond the sandbars of the hotel’s main beach. The waters parted, and the titanic creature that had churned the waters so violently with its passage broke the surface as it approached Nialaoa. Elsa’s eyes narrowed with highly-trained concentration as she studied the oncoming nightmare, which more than anything resembled a salamander approximately five times bigger than a diesel locomotive. Its slick, dark-spotted skin glistened and its bulbous eyes glowed phosphorescently. A collar of spiky gills fringed its thick neck, dripping seawater as it rose.
“Ugly bugger,” Elsa appraised it.
The back half of the monster thrashed its undulating eel-like length, while the front half was supported by two legs that jutted out from behind the head and bent at ungainly right angles. The legs ended in appendages that, size and color notwithstanding, were disturbingly similar to human fingers, long and slender and grasping as it half-slithered, half-pulled itself up the beach. As one eerie monster-hand sank into the white sand just above the tide line, a ring of titanium antennae sprang up around it, each one emitting a blinding arc of electricity which lashed the enormous creature’s limb like an ultrahigh-voltage scourge.
Elsa’s eyes widened involuntarily as the artificial lightning storm illuminated the monster. Its brine-soaked hide was missing chunks in various places, revealing rank necrotic tissue where it had not been flensed to whitened bone. The dancing, ionizing arcs chased one another up the monster’s limb to its head, revealing how tattered and rotted the gills had become. Through it all, the monster showed no signs of feeling pain, or any other sensation. It opened its wide maw dumbly, revealing crooked, mouldering fangs that had no rightful business in an amphibian’s mouth, and the last sputtering bolts were swallowed down its decomposing gullet.
“Zombie. Giant. Monster.” Elsa Bloodstone shook her head in disbelief. “Or would that be giant zombie monster?”
“It is an unstoppable undead, whatever you call it!” Henri cried. “And it is coming toward the hotel!”
“So I see,” Elsa noted, dropping to one knee and unzipping a large duffel bag sitting beside her on the terrace. She unpacked and set aside, in quick succession, a Barnett crossbow, a Remington 870 pump-action shotgun, a small silver hand axe, and an Uzi before reaching the item she sought. She stood up, balancing a PzF 3 Bunkerfaust rocket launcher on her shoulder and peering one-eyed through the crosshairs of its scope. A blur of decomposing flesh covered in fetid mucus filled the circular view, then vanished to reveal the starry sky, as the animated monster corpse lurched closer to La Mer D’Or’s hotel, trampling a thatch-roofed bamboo bar strategically located between the beach and the swimming pools. Elsa cursed and rotated her body, trying to acquire her target.
“It’s getting closer!” Henri squealed. As if to underscore the manager’s point, the slimy behemoth reared up to tower over them, its uncanny toes wiggling tauntingly.
Elsa leaned back, tracking up the putrescent surface of the monster’s belly through her scope, until the snub nose of the creature’s ravaged face was dead center. “There we are,” Elsa murmured as she pulled the trigger, sending a 110 mm warhead shrieking through the air. The rocket struck the monster’s snout and easily penetrated the blighted flesh. A heartbeat later the warhead detonated, exploding the monster’s skull. Spumes of congealed blood and murky slime studded with chunks of decaying flesh rained in all directions. The elephantine remains of its cadaverous body toppled with a booming thud, scattering deck chairs like so much gold-leaf-surfaced shrapnel.
“Well, that’s at an end, then,” Elsa proclaimed. “Now, Henri, do be a dear and direct me to your spa facilities? And I don’t care if it’s usually closed at this hour of the bloody night, have someone there to open it who knows how to administer a proper facial scrub.” She plucked a gelatinous glob of undead polypheme out of the hair above her left temple. A fine mist of viscera dusted her cheekbones like oozing freckles.
“But … but …” Henri sputtered, wiping absently at the splatter of unliving gore blasted across his lapels. “But where did it come from? How was a monster like that reanimated? Why did it come here?”
“I’m sorry,” Elsa said in a brusque tone utterly devoid of sincere apology, “but did you or did you not request ... no, BEG ... that I come here specifically because of my expertise as a monster-hunter? HUNTER, Henri. I am not a monster-figurer-outer. I track and kill the creatures of the night, just so, after which they are no longer my concern. Your monster is dead. My services are rendered. Spa, please.”
“But ... but ... what do we do …?” the manager asked.
“What do people do with the things they hunt?” Elsa shrugged diffidently. “Skin it and eat it, if you like, though I can hardly imagine that you would. Have the beast stuffed and mounted as a trophy. Donate it to paranormal science for research. Do whatever you like, and obtain whatever assistance you require to do it, but to follow any of my suggestions would require a monster-chef, monster-taxidermist, or monster-anatomist, respectively. None of which describe me.”
“No, no,” Henri shook his head. “What do we do if another one like it comes?”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to call me here again,” Elsa replied. “And hope that I’ve been sufficiently rested and relaxed since then to answer the call.”
Henri led Elsa to the spa with a marked quickness in his step.
END ?
It was at a crossroads of an old kingdom where the two kings met. They were each coming from their separate battles. Their soldiers and men ordered to halt while these two great leaders of men came together on neutral ground.
One was Herla. He was a king of one of the ancient kingdoms which now make up Great Britain. He was a massive man with a shock of red hair which stretched messily down his back. His large bushy and shaggy beard mirrored it down his neck and chest.
He rode a large black stallion which was a brave creature and carried him well through many battles. It was at the moment shifting between serenity and unease from moment to moment.
The second king was much smaller. He was only the size of a child and yet his long black beard which glinted silver spoke to some extent to his age. He was much older than either Herla or any of his men would expect even with the silvering beard.
His beard almost touched the brim of his stomach which was small and round and stuck out below his beard. He had dark black eyes to match that colour of his hair…the fur and hooves of his feet matched them perfectly too. His little yellow horns seemed to shine in the darkness of the night.
He sat well below Herla as he balanced perfectly on the back of his small grey war goat. He was a ferocious goat who had killed many warriors of the giant race of what is now Wales in the battle which they were returning.
He stood at many heads smaller than Herla on his horse and he wore no signifying regalia but it was obvious to anyone who looked upon the two that they were equals as kings.
They spoke there that day of peace and friendship between their kingdoms and swore a pact with their blood.
They each drank a swig from each others finest wine they carried about them and returned to their men. The massive armies they led never met that night, the army of man heard the songs of the strange ones. The songs of mourning and victory so beautiful it drove the weakest of the army mad as they trudged on by in the night.
The years passed and the battles passed and the king grew older. He was a warrior king to be true and a great leader to all who lay within his land but he had yet to complete his final duty as ruler.
So it was that he sought out a wife from the neighbouring kingdom, their most beauteous princess. The wedding was a glorious occasion for unlike so many such marriages of convenience the two were actually beginning to fall in love.
The feast which followed was the largest since the great feast thrown by Herla’s father on the occasion of his birth. The royal and noble families from all of Britain’s kingdoms which were not at war with him came bearing great gifts seeking to gain good will with this new powerful kingdom.
It was halfway through the feast which the great horns began to be heard. The king left his celebration and went with his army to meet whatever invaders were encroaching uninvited upon his lands.
He was ready to give the orders to attack as the strange bunch of beasts and creatures came into view. There were creatures made of trees, of earth and of water. There were giants and bird men which circled above them. Lights flickered and flitted through the air and at their head rode the small king on the back of his trusty goat.
The two kings greeted each other with great joy. Herla had nearly forgotten their pact, it was the pact which brought the king of one of The Otherworlds. He was to bless the wedding of his friend and ally.
They returned to the feast. The nobles of the kingdoms marvelled at the Otherworlders who preformed magic to the delight of the crowds. They performed on the order of their kings and the noblest of them joined the human conversations and games.
They brought gifts of gold and magicks to aide the new kingdom on its way to greatness.
The collection of humans and inhuman beings celebrated past the sunrise and sunset. The sun began to rise again and the partygoers began to depart to their own homes as was the custom of royal weddings of humans at the time.
Years passed again and Herla’s wife provided him with the heir Herla the second. He was a strong boy and was sure to make a fine king.
Herla sat one day with his wife who he loved very much and his child who he loved and was proud of when a small golden bird unlike any he had ever seen landed close to them in their personal bedchamber. It seemed to show no fear of the humans.
Herla as well as a great warrior was a great hunter known throughout the land for his skill and massive hunting parties. He used his skills and crept silently upon the bird, the bird even if it had known he was there would not have moved.
His hands brushed it’s feathers for the first time and it began to sing. It sang in human tongues and issued the invite to the wedding of the Otherworldly king. Herla considered for a moment before nodding his agreement, the bird inexplicably bowed and flew away again through the window.
It returned the next day and sat patiently in the gardens of the castle. It sat there silently for two days before hopping back to the kings bedchamber. He knew it was now time.
He gathered his things and his men and set off following the little golden bird. He had not the magicks like the other party nor did his land have foods and wines which compared to those brought to his feast. He took with him a fortune in gold and a party of a hundred men, his finest hunters and their dogs. He could not offer much the king would not already have but he could show him the finest hunt his land had ever seen.
They followed the bird for days across the country until they reached the coast. The bird led them slowly along it’s edge to a large gaping hole of a cave set into the very side of the country. He flew inside and they followed.
They followed in darkness led just by the glow of the golden birds. Their horses and their dogs were unafraid and unstartled…unlike some of his men.
When the darkness all around them broke it broke suddenly and they found themselves in The Otherworld. The world of fairies, gnomes, elves, giants and dragons connected to Britain and Britain only in their world by the thin string of magic and the knowledge that the two used to be one place.
The massive sparkling castle and city to which they headed was visible form the moment they broke into the light. It was indeed all they could see. They were greeted warmly and joined the celebrations like long lost brothers as they witnessed the merging of two of the great kingdoms of the long lived ones.
On the third day of the celebration the hunt began. They spent the day from sun up to sun down riding wildly through the woods of the worlds. They hunted Griffon and Dragon, pixie and piskie, giant hawks fell to their arrows and winged shape changing foxes were dragged down by their gods.
King Herla when the time came bid farewell to his friend. The tiny king stooped low and whispered to one of the dogs used in the hunt. The dog nodded and leapt onto the back of the king Herla’s horse.
The tiny king spoke. He told Herla the path back was tricky and he could not lead them back. The dog however had been given the sacred duty and upon returning to their world they should not alight their horses until his first leapt down. Herla understood and set off on his way.
They trekked through the land and back through the cave…this time his animals all but the dog behind him whimpered and whinnied even as they reached the other side. The dog remained seated as they began to trek home.
It took a day till they came across someone. He was an old Shepard leading his flock along the path. He looked at them with shock and confusion. Herla and his men spoke to him but he could not understand them.
He apologies to the Britons as best he could in his Saxon tongue and told them he had not heard their words in many years since he was a boy and the British tongue was all but dead even then.
Upon the question of where they were and why his soldiers were not guarding any borders the old man told them that old king Herla vanished over two hundred years before and his line and his kingdom were all gone.
Upon hearing the sacrilege of this nonsense Herla’s closest friend in the hunting party leapt from his horse to accost the foolish Saxon. The second his feet touched the floor he became nothing but dust and ash.
The king and his men knew in that moment and could feel themselves change. They were no longer who they had been three days ago.
To this day it is said that Herla and his hunting party can still be seen and heard in the nights of Britain as they fill their afterlives with the sport they loved thundering through the sky with their hounds and horses until the dog which lies behind Herla will alight and they can go to their final rests.
‘Or that at least is the dream I had’ thought Kyle Richmond. He remembered times when he used to dream of big breasted women and champagne on his private yacht and then wake to find big breasted women and champagne on his private yacht.
Since the ‘gift’ of the eyes of the devil however he had been having no such dreams. His dreams now were dark and evil. They showed him wrongs which had to be righted and things of evil he had to fight. Each was terrifying and bruised his spirit and soul whenever he saw them.
It was for this reason he now found himself sat in the local library on a rainy Monday afternoon in a small town in Britain. The library was filled with colourful shelves near the front stacked high with children’s books.
Closer to the back where he now sat any attempt at making it welcoming was gone. Past the children’s books, romance novels and popular fiction, past the reference books and into the history section. He sat at the microfiche whirling through the years.
He had arrived in the country three days earlier and from his five star hotel in London began to search. Britain was a relatively small country but a massive place to search by himself without knowing for what he was looking.
He searched every news paper and internet site he could scouring the news looking for any sign. The only thing he could ascertain was that the British economy was in as much trouble as the American one and something called a ‘hoodie’ was the latest social demon being warred upon by the press…obviously the upper-class as well. The media seemed to walk the thin line, everyone with too much money was a bad person and everyone who did not have enough and was common was also a bad person. Everyone it seemed was trying to stick between the two. He wondered how they would view him an eccentric millionaire who funnelled his entire fortune into fighting magical evil…which no one knew so it seemed it just vanished.
His search finally came to an end on Sunday morning. He had several possible leads and links up till that point but when he read this final one he knew instantly that this was the place to go.
In a small new town (a town built on the outskirts of an already existing city) in the north of the country having a whole new ‘wing’ added to deal with the housing crisis and inject new business into a run down area. Since the ground had been broken in turning the old and overrun wilderness into a new housing estate there had been a series of deaths.
He found the latest on the front page of the local paper website ‘The Echo’ reported how a father of three returning home from the pub where he had been with friends had been killed. The death was in the most bizarre of forms. It seemed a giant pole or spear of some sort had been thrust through him and into the ground for several feet before being pulled out. Smaller incisions… ‘like those of the teeth of a big cat’ were found across his body. The sixth in as many months. Locals apparently heard nothing because of a massive localised thunderstorm.
It was because of this report which Kyle found himself now in the small town moving through the reels of information looking for any similar occurrences before six months ago. It seemed there wasn’t.
There was however something he was expecting. Since the inception of the paper and according to the report for several hundred years before there had been a high number of reporting of The Wild Hunt across the skies.
The rumbling of the horses and hounds as ghostly figures gallop across the skies above the surrounding villages and cities. The vision had been seen in most areas of the country but there was a high number in this particular area.
That however seemed to be it, that was interesting. Since gaining his gift Kyle had travelled the world to battle the things he saw and in all places, all reports and history books there were stories of demons and ghosts. Local legends of spirits and monsters. Britain was packed from head to toe with different monsters and ghoulies…but not this area.
Looking through the reports and the local history books there was no mentions of ghosts. No slaughtered woman who haunts the town hall, no haunted theatre, ghostly children or women standing at the sides of the road. It seemed other than the hunting party in the clouds this area was completely flat of all paranormal activity. It sent up a red flag for one as experienced as him, it was something he had never seen.
He thought for a second perhaps The Wild Hunt kept their numbers down hunting the spirits in someway, perhaps now the usual abundance there should have been had died out and they were forced to move onto the living? But he couldn’t help but think that wasn’t the answer.
Kyle grabbed up his long brown coat and checked his watch, the sun had been down for about an hour. He began to leave.
He had already managed to put two and two together based on the news reports and the visions he had been having in his sleep. He remembered a time in his youth when he didn’t believe in ghosts and found them silly, how he hated the past version of himself and envied him at the same time. The Wild Hunt was led by king Herla’s spirit forever seeking rest, the breaking of the ground on the new housing estate ‘luckily’ managed to disturb the ground where they had lost their friend as he alighted his mount. It appeared they were not happy about it.
He got in his car and fired the engine up and set off towards the building site. He found it of course given the late hour and weather conditions completely deserted. He sat in his car with the lights out and the heating on.
It wasn’t the usual modus operandi of superheroes to sit in a parked car but he no longer considered himself as such. He wasn’t really the same Nighthawk he had once been. He didn’t fight Hydra or bank robbers, he didn’t even wear his costume to hide his identity. He did the jobs that the others couldn’t do, he saw evil wherever it was and sought it out. He did them for the most part without quips of big speeches, the dead and evil spirits he tended to come across weren’t impressed or interested in it.
He was helped in his quest by the curse of his gift. He could see evil but the eyes of the devil seemed to shine out from beneath his human flesh to all manor of spectre and demon and draw them to him like a beacon.
It was something he was both counting on and dreading tonight. He let the hours pass until they slowly reached midnight.
Midnight was naturally the hour for supernatural occurrences. The witching hour where one day passed into the next and provided a psychic nexus in time for things to bleed through.
The rain was letting up by now and despite the late hour Kyle was not tired. His body was surging with adrenaline as he tried to prepare himself for whatever was to come. He had not even managed to figure out a way to stop the killings.
One option was obvious. He would have Herla and his men freed from their curse by getting the hound to leap from the horse but how to do that after all these years was not something he new how to do.
The second and in all honestly the most likely one was that he would end up in some fight most probably with the king himself which would result in his dissolution when Kyle after taking a large beating found the right charm he had collected to loosen their grip on this world.
He opened the car door and prepared to climb out. He expected it wouldn’t be long until his ‘powers’ brought the band of hunters down on his head. The second his foot touched the curb he heard the horn blasting above him. He swore.
The barking of the dogs was all around him. They sounded wild and savage, hungry and angry all at the same time.
The thunder of the hooves which could easily be mistaken for true thunder was the next thing he heard filling his ears. The air shook around him under the power of the hooves which were roaring across the skies.
The dogs, the hooves and the horns were deafening around him. The darkness of the night was near complete as the street lights suddenly cut out around him.
It was only as the clouds parted above him letting the full moon shine down that he realised it had stopped raining. He looked on that as a piece of good luck. The hounds suddenly broke through the cloud line above him and began to charge down.
King Herla and his men mounted on their horses followed shortly behind separating the cloud translucent in the moon light as they charged towards him weapons and teeth gleaming.
The dogs were the size of large lions, their chops covered in their own drool and the blood of the things they had killed. The horses the size of elephants and the men the size of giants.
The legends of The Wild Hunt increased the psychic energy of the ghosts and thus increased their power and size.
Kyle fixed the lead dog with as icy a stare as he could…the devils eyes could add nothing to such a feat to scare a ghost animal. Normal animals yes most certainly but enchanted creatures such as these Kyle very much doubted.
He waited until it crashed towards him. It’s fangs bared and then he leapt into the air. His coat burned away as he fired up the jet pack he wore under it and let his cape billow out behind him like wings. He may have retired himself as a superhero in his mind but he would not deny the things he used in his previous career were still coming in handy to this day.
The creature snapped and snarled beneath him as he rose out of it’s grasp. The dogs behind it changed their camber however and charged up through the air towards him. Kyle circled away from them as best he could. “Clifford, was most F*$king misleading to giant dog’s temperaments,” he thought with a growl.
The barrage of ghostly arrows which began to rain upon him from the heavens were not making it any easier. The ground and buildings they struck seemed to explode as they were driven into the human structures below and then evaporated leaving just their destruction.
He circled behind a row of the under construction houses hoping to escape the dogs and buy himself time but they simply bounded through the walls of the structures and gained more ground on him as they gave chase.
He let out a scream as the dog closest to him snapped it’s jaws shut at his heels and forced his ankle down before he managed to pull it clear just as the ghostly jaws snapped shut.
He altered his course. He was going to try something he had no idea why he thought it would work but he had to try something. He span in the air on all three axis and then let his jet pack kick in once again at full strength.
Herla was facing him down and charging towards him across the skies. Kyle hurtled back towards him with equal speed. The dogs which were giving chase ceased their barking and scattered. Trained not to run at the horses lest they be shot with an arrow or be trampled it seemed their training continued into the afterlife.
Herla held his spear in one hand and his sword in the other as he spurred his horse on to move faster. Kyle gripped the long string of charms which was attached to his belt and wrapped it around his hand like a knuckle duster. He stood his fists out way in front of him and wished he had something a little more offensive.
The two prepared to meet in the air.
Kyle gritted his teeth as Herla raised his sword and then they collided. Kyle passed harmlessly into the giant forms of the horse and the king. He wasn’t sure which charm was of use but he thanked God silently and quickly that one of them had been.
He moved his eyes from his hand and almost did a double take at when he could see. The world was different now before his eyes. Different to what it had ever been even given his new type of vision.
It glowed and pulsated with some kind of energy. All of the land and all of the buildings. Only himself and the ghosts remained the same.
A vortex stretched up from the ground in the far distance almost like a tornado glimpsed on the horizon. It arced in the air like a rainbow and came down in the centre of the new town where they stood.
The ghost of the king quickly passed through Kyle who had come to a halt simply hovering in the air as he viewed this new world.
He dove away from the followers of the hunt who were right behind the king. He pulled up out of his low dive to suddenly notice that he was in fact not being followed by either man nor dog ghost.
Herla regarded him and bowed his head. Kyle wasn’t sure how but as he’d passed through the ghost he’d gained some new vision and it seemed Herla had gained some perspective. If he had to guess he’d say the king now knew what Kyle was trying to do.
Kyle for the most part knew what he had to do too…though the details were sketchy. He moved through the air so he hovered before the king’s face and bowed his head. He had seen much of the king during his visions, he was a good king and a good man.
“Ah the classic good guy fight eh? Now we team up to solve the problem…never thought it would happen with a ghost.”
Kyle began to move away and the king and his men followed slowly behind their horses trotting gently through the air now rather than thunderously galloping. They were silent.
The ‘rainbow’ was now only just in front of them. Kyle pressed his hand against it and felt it’s power. He turned back to Herla who sat waiting patiently it seemed that they were unable to see the energy as he now could.
He thrust his arm inside of it and was swept away in an instant. The hunters gave chase.
The next moment Kyle was spat out. Water lapping at his side. He sat bolt upright and found himself lying on a beach. He was miles and miles from the new town whose lights he could only see on the horizon several miles inland.
The king and his men were lined up behind Kyle while their dogs sat at the horse’s feet. They each pointed ahead of them.
The cave which they pointed too glowed brilliantly with the energy Kyle could see. He recognised it as he guessed so did the ghosts. He had seen it in his vision, it was the gateway to the otherworld.
He began towards it and started to pull out something from his utility belt. He had all manor of potions and charms he had managed to buy and collect which were useful fro different things…it was none of these he removed.
He reached the mouth of the cave and began to set the C4. Explosives had often been the answer to many problems in the past and he prayed the small portion he had would be enough.
He moved back unwinding the small spool of wire as he went. He pushed it into the detonator and ducked behind some rocks as he flicked up the protective catch and pressed down on the button.
There was a flash of light and noise...the second carried on as the rocks began to tumble down. He looked up to the sky and watched as the arc of energy began to dissipate.
Kyle suddenly heard the horn again. He turned to watch as the hunters charged off back in land. He fired up his jets and launched into the air. He was hoping that blowing the cave and severing the link to The Otherworld would have been enough to free them from their curse.
He swore under his breath as he saw what now hovered over the new town and it’s surrounding area. It was some many tentacled beast…as these inter-dimensional beings seemed to be.
The ghostly hunters grew in size and solidity as they grew closer to it. The dogs were upon it first and then the hunters who slashed and stabbed at the beast.
The beast roared and lashed out with it’s many tentacles. It’s physical impact was more than Kyle’s. He saw several f the giant hunters fall from their horses and explode into massive storm clouds of dust and ash.
The beast seemed to absorb them into itself and just grow in size and ferocity as it slashed at them. Their power and their legend feeding it well.
Kyle wished there was something he could do to aide his new found friends but the battle was too far and in all probability too grand for his particular brand of supernatural violence.
There was a flash of light and a scream from the beast as the final thrust from Herla finished the beast. Kyle watched as the beam of light shone into the heavens. He could see the individual souls rising into the heavens released from within the beast.
Kyle finally understanding what was going on. When they had went to Otherworld all those years ago something else had came through. It had kept the gateway open. It was something which absorbed spirits and souls which was why there was no other ghost stories in this area. They had all been absorbed upon their deaths.
If the men leapt from their horses the same would have happened to them and they would never have found peace this was why the hound had yet to alight.
The hunters turned and began to gallop back towards Kyle. They dragged behind them the carcass of the beast which they had killed in what would be their final hunt. The King and his hunters stopped next to Kyle.
They all turned to look at the hound which lay on the back of The King’s horse. He lifted his head and sprung to the ground. The other dogs greeted him with great enthusiasm and then began to fade from sight until they were gone all together.
Herla and his men smiled and dismounted themselves. They each began to fade from sight. They each bowed their heads and raised their swords in salute of their comrade who had helped them after all these years before they finally vanished from sight.
Herla remained a few moments longer than the rest and sunk his blade into the sand before him as he began to fade. The sword remained.
Kyle looked to the heavens for a moment and watched the last disperse of energy from all the freed souls. He walked across the wet sand and pulled the ghostly white but solid sword from the sand.
“I’m getting way to old for this,” he sighed as he shook his head and turned back inland. He didn’t even manage to take his first step before his next vision began to play behind his eyes. The next mission, the next evil to fight.
The End.
One was Herla. He was a king of one of the ancient kingdoms which now make up Great Britain. He was a massive man with a shock of red hair which stretched messily down his back. His large bushy and shaggy beard mirrored it down his neck and chest.
He rode a large black stallion which was a brave creature and carried him well through many battles. It was at the moment shifting between serenity and unease from moment to moment.
The second king was much smaller. He was only the size of a child and yet his long black beard which glinted silver spoke to some extent to his age. He was much older than either Herla or any of his men would expect even with the silvering beard.
His beard almost touched the brim of his stomach which was small and round and stuck out below his beard. He had dark black eyes to match that colour of his hair…the fur and hooves of his feet matched them perfectly too. His little yellow horns seemed to shine in the darkness of the night.
He sat well below Herla as he balanced perfectly on the back of his small grey war goat. He was a ferocious goat who had killed many warriors of the giant race of what is now Wales in the battle which they were returning.
He stood at many heads smaller than Herla on his horse and he wore no signifying regalia but it was obvious to anyone who looked upon the two that they were equals as kings.
They spoke there that day of peace and friendship between their kingdoms and swore a pact with their blood.
They each drank a swig from each others finest wine they carried about them and returned to their men. The massive armies they led never met that night, the army of man heard the songs of the strange ones. The songs of mourning and victory so beautiful it drove the weakest of the army mad as they trudged on by in the night.
The years passed and the battles passed and the king grew older. He was a warrior king to be true and a great leader to all who lay within his land but he had yet to complete his final duty as ruler.
So it was that he sought out a wife from the neighbouring kingdom, their most beauteous princess. The wedding was a glorious occasion for unlike so many such marriages of convenience the two were actually beginning to fall in love.
The feast which followed was the largest since the great feast thrown by Herla’s father on the occasion of his birth. The royal and noble families from all of Britain’s kingdoms which were not at war with him came bearing great gifts seeking to gain good will with this new powerful kingdom.
It was halfway through the feast which the great horns began to be heard. The king left his celebration and went with his army to meet whatever invaders were encroaching uninvited upon his lands.
He was ready to give the orders to attack as the strange bunch of beasts and creatures came into view. There were creatures made of trees, of earth and of water. There were giants and bird men which circled above them. Lights flickered and flitted through the air and at their head rode the small king on the back of his trusty goat.
The two kings greeted each other with great joy. Herla had nearly forgotten their pact, it was the pact which brought the king of one of The Otherworlds. He was to bless the wedding of his friend and ally.
They returned to the feast. The nobles of the kingdoms marvelled at the Otherworlders who preformed magic to the delight of the crowds. They performed on the order of their kings and the noblest of them joined the human conversations and games.
They brought gifts of gold and magicks to aide the new kingdom on its way to greatness.
The collection of humans and inhuman beings celebrated past the sunrise and sunset. The sun began to rise again and the partygoers began to depart to their own homes as was the custom of royal weddings of humans at the time.
Years passed again and Herla’s wife provided him with the heir Herla the second. He was a strong boy and was sure to make a fine king.
Herla sat one day with his wife who he loved very much and his child who he loved and was proud of when a small golden bird unlike any he had ever seen landed close to them in their personal bedchamber. It seemed to show no fear of the humans.
Herla as well as a great warrior was a great hunter known throughout the land for his skill and massive hunting parties. He used his skills and crept silently upon the bird, the bird even if it had known he was there would not have moved.
His hands brushed it’s feathers for the first time and it began to sing. It sang in human tongues and issued the invite to the wedding of the Otherworldly king. Herla considered for a moment before nodding his agreement, the bird inexplicably bowed and flew away again through the window.
It returned the next day and sat patiently in the gardens of the castle. It sat there silently for two days before hopping back to the kings bedchamber. He knew it was now time.
He gathered his things and his men and set off following the little golden bird. He had not the magicks like the other party nor did his land have foods and wines which compared to those brought to his feast. He took with him a fortune in gold and a party of a hundred men, his finest hunters and their dogs. He could not offer much the king would not already have but he could show him the finest hunt his land had ever seen.
They followed the bird for days across the country until they reached the coast. The bird led them slowly along it’s edge to a large gaping hole of a cave set into the very side of the country. He flew inside and they followed.
They followed in darkness led just by the glow of the golden birds. Their horses and their dogs were unafraid and unstartled…unlike some of his men.
When the darkness all around them broke it broke suddenly and they found themselves in The Otherworld. The world of fairies, gnomes, elves, giants and dragons connected to Britain and Britain only in their world by the thin string of magic and the knowledge that the two used to be one place.
The massive sparkling castle and city to which they headed was visible form the moment they broke into the light. It was indeed all they could see. They were greeted warmly and joined the celebrations like long lost brothers as they witnessed the merging of two of the great kingdoms of the long lived ones.
On the third day of the celebration the hunt began. They spent the day from sun up to sun down riding wildly through the woods of the worlds. They hunted Griffon and Dragon, pixie and piskie, giant hawks fell to their arrows and winged shape changing foxes were dragged down by their gods.
King Herla when the time came bid farewell to his friend. The tiny king stooped low and whispered to one of the dogs used in the hunt. The dog nodded and leapt onto the back of the king Herla’s horse.
The tiny king spoke. He told Herla the path back was tricky and he could not lead them back. The dog however had been given the sacred duty and upon returning to their world they should not alight their horses until his first leapt down. Herla understood and set off on his way.
They trekked through the land and back through the cave…this time his animals all but the dog behind him whimpered and whinnied even as they reached the other side. The dog remained seated as they began to trek home.
It took a day till they came across someone. He was an old Shepard leading his flock along the path. He looked at them with shock and confusion. Herla and his men spoke to him but he could not understand them.
He apologies to the Britons as best he could in his Saxon tongue and told them he had not heard their words in many years since he was a boy and the British tongue was all but dead even then.
Upon the question of where they were and why his soldiers were not guarding any borders the old man told them that old king Herla vanished over two hundred years before and his line and his kingdom were all gone.
Upon hearing the sacrilege of this nonsense Herla’s closest friend in the hunting party leapt from his horse to accost the foolish Saxon. The second his feet touched the floor he became nothing but dust and ash.
The king and his men knew in that moment and could feel themselves change. They were no longer who they had been three days ago.
To this day it is said that Herla and his hunting party can still be seen and heard in the nights of Britain as they fill their afterlives with the sport they loved thundering through the sky with their hounds and horses until the dog which lies behind Herla will alight and they can go to their final rests.
‘Or that at least is the dream I had’ thought Kyle Richmond. He remembered times when he used to dream of big breasted women and champagne on his private yacht and then wake to find big breasted women and champagne on his private yacht.
Since the ‘gift’ of the eyes of the devil however he had been having no such dreams. His dreams now were dark and evil. They showed him wrongs which had to be righted and things of evil he had to fight. Each was terrifying and bruised his spirit and soul whenever he saw them.
It was for this reason he now found himself sat in the local library on a rainy Monday afternoon in a small town in Britain. The library was filled with colourful shelves near the front stacked high with children’s books.
Closer to the back where he now sat any attempt at making it welcoming was gone. Past the children’s books, romance novels and popular fiction, past the reference books and into the history section. He sat at the microfiche whirling through the years.
He had arrived in the country three days earlier and from his five star hotel in London began to search. Britain was a relatively small country but a massive place to search by himself without knowing for what he was looking.
He searched every news paper and internet site he could scouring the news looking for any sign. The only thing he could ascertain was that the British economy was in as much trouble as the American one and something called a ‘hoodie’ was the latest social demon being warred upon by the press…obviously the upper-class as well. The media seemed to walk the thin line, everyone with too much money was a bad person and everyone who did not have enough and was common was also a bad person. Everyone it seemed was trying to stick between the two. He wondered how they would view him an eccentric millionaire who funnelled his entire fortune into fighting magical evil…which no one knew so it seemed it just vanished.
His search finally came to an end on Sunday morning. He had several possible leads and links up till that point but when he read this final one he knew instantly that this was the place to go.
In a small new town (a town built on the outskirts of an already existing city) in the north of the country having a whole new ‘wing’ added to deal with the housing crisis and inject new business into a run down area. Since the ground had been broken in turning the old and overrun wilderness into a new housing estate there had been a series of deaths.
He found the latest on the front page of the local paper website ‘The Echo’ reported how a father of three returning home from the pub where he had been with friends had been killed. The death was in the most bizarre of forms. It seemed a giant pole or spear of some sort had been thrust through him and into the ground for several feet before being pulled out. Smaller incisions… ‘like those of the teeth of a big cat’ were found across his body. The sixth in as many months. Locals apparently heard nothing because of a massive localised thunderstorm.
It was because of this report which Kyle found himself now in the small town moving through the reels of information looking for any similar occurrences before six months ago. It seemed there wasn’t.
There was however something he was expecting. Since the inception of the paper and according to the report for several hundred years before there had been a high number of reporting of The Wild Hunt across the skies.
The rumbling of the horses and hounds as ghostly figures gallop across the skies above the surrounding villages and cities. The vision had been seen in most areas of the country but there was a high number in this particular area.
That however seemed to be it, that was interesting. Since gaining his gift Kyle had travelled the world to battle the things he saw and in all places, all reports and history books there were stories of demons and ghosts. Local legends of spirits and monsters. Britain was packed from head to toe with different monsters and ghoulies…but not this area.
Looking through the reports and the local history books there was no mentions of ghosts. No slaughtered woman who haunts the town hall, no haunted theatre, ghostly children or women standing at the sides of the road. It seemed other than the hunting party in the clouds this area was completely flat of all paranormal activity. It sent up a red flag for one as experienced as him, it was something he had never seen.
He thought for a second perhaps The Wild Hunt kept their numbers down hunting the spirits in someway, perhaps now the usual abundance there should have been had died out and they were forced to move onto the living? But he couldn’t help but think that wasn’t the answer.
Kyle grabbed up his long brown coat and checked his watch, the sun had been down for about an hour. He began to leave.
He had already managed to put two and two together based on the news reports and the visions he had been having in his sleep. He remembered a time in his youth when he didn’t believe in ghosts and found them silly, how he hated the past version of himself and envied him at the same time. The Wild Hunt was led by king Herla’s spirit forever seeking rest, the breaking of the ground on the new housing estate ‘luckily’ managed to disturb the ground where they had lost their friend as he alighted his mount. It appeared they were not happy about it.
He got in his car and fired the engine up and set off towards the building site. He found it of course given the late hour and weather conditions completely deserted. He sat in his car with the lights out and the heating on.
It wasn’t the usual modus operandi of superheroes to sit in a parked car but he no longer considered himself as such. He wasn’t really the same Nighthawk he had once been. He didn’t fight Hydra or bank robbers, he didn’t even wear his costume to hide his identity. He did the jobs that the others couldn’t do, he saw evil wherever it was and sought it out. He did them for the most part without quips of big speeches, the dead and evil spirits he tended to come across weren’t impressed or interested in it.
He was helped in his quest by the curse of his gift. He could see evil but the eyes of the devil seemed to shine out from beneath his human flesh to all manor of spectre and demon and draw them to him like a beacon.
It was something he was both counting on and dreading tonight. He let the hours pass until they slowly reached midnight.
Midnight was naturally the hour for supernatural occurrences. The witching hour where one day passed into the next and provided a psychic nexus in time for things to bleed through.
The rain was letting up by now and despite the late hour Kyle was not tired. His body was surging with adrenaline as he tried to prepare himself for whatever was to come. He had not even managed to figure out a way to stop the killings.
One option was obvious. He would have Herla and his men freed from their curse by getting the hound to leap from the horse but how to do that after all these years was not something he new how to do.
The second and in all honestly the most likely one was that he would end up in some fight most probably with the king himself which would result in his dissolution when Kyle after taking a large beating found the right charm he had collected to loosen their grip on this world.
He opened the car door and prepared to climb out. He expected it wouldn’t be long until his ‘powers’ brought the band of hunters down on his head. The second his foot touched the curb he heard the horn blasting above him. He swore.
The barking of the dogs was all around him. They sounded wild and savage, hungry and angry all at the same time.
The thunder of the hooves which could easily be mistaken for true thunder was the next thing he heard filling his ears. The air shook around him under the power of the hooves which were roaring across the skies.
The dogs, the hooves and the horns were deafening around him. The darkness of the night was near complete as the street lights suddenly cut out around him.
It was only as the clouds parted above him letting the full moon shine down that he realised it had stopped raining. He looked on that as a piece of good luck. The hounds suddenly broke through the cloud line above him and began to charge down.
King Herla and his men mounted on their horses followed shortly behind separating the cloud translucent in the moon light as they charged towards him weapons and teeth gleaming.
The dogs were the size of large lions, their chops covered in their own drool and the blood of the things they had killed. The horses the size of elephants and the men the size of giants.
The legends of The Wild Hunt increased the psychic energy of the ghosts and thus increased their power and size.
Kyle fixed the lead dog with as icy a stare as he could…the devils eyes could add nothing to such a feat to scare a ghost animal. Normal animals yes most certainly but enchanted creatures such as these Kyle very much doubted.
He waited until it crashed towards him. It’s fangs bared and then he leapt into the air. His coat burned away as he fired up the jet pack he wore under it and let his cape billow out behind him like wings. He may have retired himself as a superhero in his mind but he would not deny the things he used in his previous career were still coming in handy to this day.
The creature snapped and snarled beneath him as he rose out of it’s grasp. The dogs behind it changed their camber however and charged up through the air towards him. Kyle circled away from them as best he could. “Clifford, was most F*$king misleading to giant dog’s temperaments,” he thought with a growl.
The barrage of ghostly arrows which began to rain upon him from the heavens were not making it any easier. The ground and buildings they struck seemed to explode as they were driven into the human structures below and then evaporated leaving just their destruction.
He circled behind a row of the under construction houses hoping to escape the dogs and buy himself time but they simply bounded through the walls of the structures and gained more ground on him as they gave chase.
He let out a scream as the dog closest to him snapped it’s jaws shut at his heels and forced his ankle down before he managed to pull it clear just as the ghostly jaws snapped shut.
He altered his course. He was going to try something he had no idea why he thought it would work but he had to try something. He span in the air on all three axis and then let his jet pack kick in once again at full strength.
Herla was facing him down and charging towards him across the skies. Kyle hurtled back towards him with equal speed. The dogs which were giving chase ceased their barking and scattered. Trained not to run at the horses lest they be shot with an arrow or be trampled it seemed their training continued into the afterlife.
Herla held his spear in one hand and his sword in the other as he spurred his horse on to move faster. Kyle gripped the long string of charms which was attached to his belt and wrapped it around his hand like a knuckle duster. He stood his fists out way in front of him and wished he had something a little more offensive.
The two prepared to meet in the air.
Kyle gritted his teeth as Herla raised his sword and then they collided. Kyle passed harmlessly into the giant forms of the horse and the king. He wasn’t sure which charm was of use but he thanked God silently and quickly that one of them had been.
He moved his eyes from his hand and almost did a double take at when he could see. The world was different now before his eyes. Different to what it had ever been even given his new type of vision.
It glowed and pulsated with some kind of energy. All of the land and all of the buildings. Only himself and the ghosts remained the same.
A vortex stretched up from the ground in the far distance almost like a tornado glimpsed on the horizon. It arced in the air like a rainbow and came down in the centre of the new town where they stood.
The ghost of the king quickly passed through Kyle who had come to a halt simply hovering in the air as he viewed this new world.
He dove away from the followers of the hunt who were right behind the king. He pulled up out of his low dive to suddenly notice that he was in fact not being followed by either man nor dog ghost.
Herla regarded him and bowed his head. Kyle wasn’t sure how but as he’d passed through the ghost he’d gained some new vision and it seemed Herla had gained some perspective. If he had to guess he’d say the king now knew what Kyle was trying to do.
Kyle for the most part knew what he had to do too…though the details were sketchy. He moved through the air so he hovered before the king’s face and bowed his head. He had seen much of the king during his visions, he was a good king and a good man.
“Ah the classic good guy fight eh? Now we team up to solve the problem…never thought it would happen with a ghost.”
Kyle began to move away and the king and his men followed slowly behind their horses trotting gently through the air now rather than thunderously galloping. They were silent.
The ‘rainbow’ was now only just in front of them. Kyle pressed his hand against it and felt it’s power. He turned back to Herla who sat waiting patiently it seemed that they were unable to see the energy as he now could.
He thrust his arm inside of it and was swept away in an instant. The hunters gave chase.
The next moment Kyle was spat out. Water lapping at his side. He sat bolt upright and found himself lying on a beach. He was miles and miles from the new town whose lights he could only see on the horizon several miles inland.
The king and his men were lined up behind Kyle while their dogs sat at the horse’s feet. They each pointed ahead of them.
The cave which they pointed too glowed brilliantly with the energy Kyle could see. He recognised it as he guessed so did the ghosts. He had seen it in his vision, it was the gateway to the otherworld.
He began towards it and started to pull out something from his utility belt. He had all manor of potions and charms he had managed to buy and collect which were useful fro different things…it was none of these he removed.
He reached the mouth of the cave and began to set the C4. Explosives had often been the answer to many problems in the past and he prayed the small portion he had would be enough.
He moved back unwinding the small spool of wire as he went. He pushed it into the detonator and ducked behind some rocks as he flicked up the protective catch and pressed down on the button.
There was a flash of light and noise...the second carried on as the rocks began to tumble down. He looked up to the sky and watched as the arc of energy began to dissipate.
Kyle suddenly heard the horn again. He turned to watch as the hunters charged off back in land. He fired up his jets and launched into the air. He was hoping that blowing the cave and severing the link to The Otherworld would have been enough to free them from their curse.
He swore under his breath as he saw what now hovered over the new town and it’s surrounding area. It was some many tentacled beast…as these inter-dimensional beings seemed to be.
The ghostly hunters grew in size and solidity as they grew closer to it. The dogs were upon it first and then the hunters who slashed and stabbed at the beast.
The beast roared and lashed out with it’s many tentacles. It’s physical impact was more than Kyle’s. He saw several f the giant hunters fall from their horses and explode into massive storm clouds of dust and ash.
The beast seemed to absorb them into itself and just grow in size and ferocity as it slashed at them. Their power and their legend feeding it well.
Kyle wished there was something he could do to aide his new found friends but the battle was too far and in all probability too grand for his particular brand of supernatural violence.
There was a flash of light and a scream from the beast as the final thrust from Herla finished the beast. Kyle watched as the beam of light shone into the heavens. He could see the individual souls rising into the heavens released from within the beast.
Kyle finally understanding what was going on. When they had went to Otherworld all those years ago something else had came through. It had kept the gateway open. It was something which absorbed spirits and souls which was why there was no other ghost stories in this area. They had all been absorbed upon their deaths.
If the men leapt from their horses the same would have happened to them and they would never have found peace this was why the hound had yet to alight.
The hunters turned and began to gallop back towards Kyle. They dragged behind them the carcass of the beast which they had killed in what would be their final hunt. The King and his hunters stopped next to Kyle.
They all turned to look at the hound which lay on the back of The King’s horse. He lifted his head and sprung to the ground. The other dogs greeted him with great enthusiasm and then began to fade from sight until they were gone all together.
Herla and his men smiled and dismounted themselves. They each began to fade from sight. They each bowed their heads and raised their swords in salute of their comrade who had helped them after all these years before they finally vanished from sight.
Herla remained a few moments longer than the rest and sunk his blade into the sand before him as he began to fade. The sword remained.
Kyle looked to the heavens for a moment and watched the last disperse of energy from all the freed souls. He walked across the wet sand and pulled the ghostly white but solid sword from the sand.
“I’m getting way to old for this,” he sighed as he shook his head and turned back inland. He didn’t even manage to take his first step before his next vision began to play behind his eyes. The next mission, the next evil to fight.
The End.
Saturday, October 30th, 11:30 am, Bob’s Internet Cafe, Coffee House, Gun Shop & Insurance Emporium
“Hey Wade! What’ll it be?”
“Double Skinny Mocha Espresso Machiatto with extra foam....and sprinkles.”
“Comin’ right up.”
If there’s one thing I just cannot abide, it’s a bad cup of joe. I mean coffee, not the glad handed editorials by the Marvel Comics EEK, Joe Quesadilla. In all of New York, there’s no better cup of legalized stimulant than ol’ Bob’s. That’s why I come here.
Well, that, and he is also one of my sources of paying contracts. Man’s gotta eat, ya know? Hey, these coffees don’t pay for themselves.
But I digress.
I sat down at the counter and looked around at the other patrons of the Internet Cafe, Coffee House Gun Shop & Insurance Emporium. In my line of work, having access to all four is nice to have in one place. 7-11 for mercs.
For those of you who didn’t read the title for this little diddy of a tall tale, I am the great and wonderful, yet ever so humble, Merc with a Mouth (yet always an ear for the ladies) Deadpool, aka Wade Wilson, aka Juan Valdez, etc. I’ve tangled with the best (Wolverine), the shortest (Wolverine) and the hairiest (Wolverine) the world has to offer. I’m loved by hundreds, hated by thousands and owe millions. Stupid World Cup....I really thought Canada had a shot, dammit!
Anyway, because of my gambling debts and my inclination to avoid my troubles through sweet blissful ignorance, I came to my friend Bob seeking employment. Something to do, make a few bucks and then bet it all on the Canadian Football League Grey Cup Championship in November! (Hey, I don’t like it either, but whattaya expect? This is fanfiction written by a Canadian. If you’re still reading this, then more the fool you, I say.)
“Here ya go, Wade,” said Bob as he served the sweet ambrosia. “Remember the rules: the mask stays on.” He threw a straw into the coffee. “Because I care.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “You know, my mug could liven up the joint. A man is not measured by his exterior alone!”
“You’d better hope so,” said Bob. “Anything else?”
“Yeah,” I said, “A menu, monsewer.” I sipped the coffee, burnt my tongue. “Sweet Charlie Xavier! That’s hot!”
“It’s supposed to be hot,” said Bob. He laid a paper in front of me. “Your menu, Garcon.”
I grumbled. “Garcon means ‘boy’.” I opened the ‘menu’.
TODAY’S SPECIALS
KIDNAPPING: JACK, JULIE, KATIE, ALEX POWER - $1,000,000 PAYABLE FROM A.I.M.
“I don’t do kids.”
ASSASSINATION:
WILSON FISK, KINGPIN OF NEW YORK CRIME - $2,000,000 PAYABLE FROM HAMMERHEAD
“I don’t do fat chicks.”
RECOVERY OF ARTIFACT FROM COUNT HANS VON GRUSLIG - $5,000,000 PAYABLE FROM LATVERIAN INTELLIGENCE.
“Nooooow we’re cookin’! Hey Bob, order up!” I slapped the counter with the menu and took a swig of my cup of legalized stimulant. “I’m gonna need a To-Go cup!”
Sunday, October 31, 8:00 PM local time, Castle Gruslig , Black Forest Mountain Range, Southwest Germany
Okay, with my teleporter in with the Tinkerer for repairs and him not letting me have it back until the bill was paid, I was forced into an embarrassing coach flight across the ocean (my image inducer was set on ‘Oprah’ and I couldn’t get the damn thing to shut off) I finally made my way to the little village of Angst Menschen at the base of the Black Mountains. My German sucks like a hooker with gum disease, so I had to use my best guess as to what people were saying. Luckily, Oprah is well known even here. I’ve never been offered more chocolate strudel in my life!
Castle Gruslig was looking down over the village. It was imposing, and the fact that thunder boomed when I looked up at it seemed overly dramatic and a little forced. I shut off the image inducer and made my way up the incline. I was now standing by the stone wall bordering the property. Time to get to work.
I got over the wall, no problem. I got past the poorly maintained yard no problem. It was the demon hounds from hell that were annoying.
I walked up to the Castle and heard a growling noise. In the shadows, I saw a shadow moving back and forth and realized it was a tail wagging. A cute little Chihuahua walked out to me, tongue hanging out and looking all cute and innocent.
“Well, hello little Taco Bell doggie....aren’t you just adorable?”
Taco Bell doggie walked up to me and I reached out to pet it. That’s when it bit my hand off.
“Son of a @#$%&%$#@#$%$#!!!” I yelled. Hey, it hurt like @#$%#, what else could I say?
The Taco Bell doggie was now a six foot tall pit bull from hell with glowing red eyes and drools of glowing hot liquid. “You....are trespassing,” said the demon doggie.
“Bad dog! Bad, bad dog!” I said. “That was my wiping hand!”
“You are trespassing,” repeated the demon doggie, “You will pay for your transgression.”
“I forgot the thesaurus at home, Rover,” I said. “But I didn’t forget this.” I pulled out a handy dandy grenade and tossed it into doggie’s mouth. A second later the castle grounds were covered in puppy goo.
I looked through the mess for my hand and finally found it on the far wall. It looked like crap, but then again I looked like crap as a matter of course, so I stuck it on my wrist stump, duct taped it on and let the wonderful healing factor kick in.
By now of course, if the Castle residents hadn’t heard me at the door then they were either deaf or dead. The mood I was in, if they got in my way they were going to be the latter.
I pulled out the map Bob had given me when I accepted the assignment. It showed a path through the Castle into the lower levels where Count Gruslig kept a vault of crap that had been collected over the last 89 years of his life. I made my way down to level one and saw another Chihuahua. I didn’t waste any time. The ol’ plasma cannon came out of my holster and turned the wee beastie into mist. Level two brought out two Chihuahuas and I scorched one, but the other took on the form of a huge snake.
“SSSSSSS......you are trespassssssing,” said Rover the Snake.
“Hey, I’ve watched all the Harry Potter movies....twice,” I said. “I know what I’m doing with a big ass snake.” I unsheathed my katana and leaped up over the snake’s head. It was damn fast for a trousersnake and got me in its jaws. It began to bite down when I swung the blade and decapitated it. I fell to the ground inside the snake’s mouth and landed with another annoying owie....One of the snake’s fangs had gone clean through my torso.
“God dammit!” I said as I tore the tooth from the dead head. I tried to pull it out but it was in there good. I had to leave it for the ol’healing factor to push out....and man, that was gonna hurt.
I made my way to the third level and turned a corner. There was the vault, just as Bob said it would be.....and an old man.
“Outta the way, Geezer,” I said. “My wrist is sore for entirely wrong reasons and I have a big ass toothache....I’m not in the mood for geriatric stories of the good ol’ days, so unless you want your cane shoved where a proctologist would fear to tread, move your liver spotted ass...now.”
The old man laughed. “I am Count Hans Von Gruslig....and this is my home. These items in the vault....are mine. You will not have them, and neither will your employer. Tell Von Doom I said as much.”
“I’m not here for Dr. Doom,” I said, “I’m here for Latverian Intelig....ooooh, I get it now. Nice one, Count!” I put the sword back in my scabbard. “Look, we’re all men here, and I see you have a love for animals. How about you pay me not to get into your vault and I’ll be on my merry way, nes pa?”
“You will pay for what you did to my puppies,” said Count Gruslig. He waved his hands. “Like so!”
Hundreds of Chihuahuas appeared in a blaze of hellfire and brimstone. All with their tongues hanging and tails wagging. Scariest thing I ever saw in my life.
“Ok, maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” I said, “Maybe we could talk about this with a stein of beer in one hand and a schnitzel in the other?”
“The time for beers and schnitzel is over!” said Gruslig. “Puppies....sic balls!”
The two words no man wants to hear EVER, and I can grow mine back if needed...but still, not a good thing. I leaped up to a chandelier overhead as the puppies turned into various scary creatures. I was too high for most of the beasties to reach me, but that wouldn’t last long. As I swung there, wishing I had brought my portable hydrogen bomb, I had an idea.
I grabbed my image inducer and tossed it at Count Gruslig. As it hit him, his appearance changed from the old evil Count to....you guessed it, Oprah. The beasties looked at the Count with confusion....then I uttered the magic words:
“PUPPIES....SIC OPRAH!” Heh heh....it was taco time.
Within seconds, Count Gruslig was just another pile of kibble. As he died, the puppies all reverted to their original forms. Just a bunch of Chihuahuas....but still scary as hell.
I jumped down from the chandelier and kicked away Chihuahuas as I approached the vault door. A few well placed shape charges and the door blew open. As the smoke cleared, I looked inside....
There was a lot of crap in there.
Signs read names and descriptions such as ‘The Ancient One’s First Diaper’, ‘Dormammu’s Ashtray’, ‘Cytorrak’s Punchbowl’, ‘The Thin Man’s 30 Day Diet’....and on and on. Finally, I came across what I had been sent here to get.
‘The Ladle of Doom: Ceramic ladle created in 1786 by the Latverian Gypsy Family Von Doom, the Ladle can be used to create any potion or concoction imagainable. Simply fill a container with water, concentrate on what you desire and stir with the Ladle....the water will transform into whatever you have chosen.’
This thing had been created by Dr. Doom’s ancestors?? It could create any concoction I wanted?
I knew what I had to do....the only thing I could.
November 1, 12:00 noon, New York City, Safehouse of Deadpool (referred to affectionately as ‘The Deadpoolcave’ even though its above ground and is not anything close to a cave)
I came back down the Mountain after taking the Ladle and I used it to make Halloween Candy for all the kids in the village. Turns out Count Gruslig’s family had been tormenting the villagers for generations. He was the last of the line and now, the village, which translated to English meant ‘Scared People’ were truly free. Plus they had Halloween Candy and that’s always cool.
I created a potion that changed my appearance to that of Tom Cruise and flew back to the USA in style. Of course, the potion wore off as we landed at JFK and my normal face scared the stewardesses so I had to bail on the runway. Friendly skies my lumpy ass.
I reported to Bob that I didn’t find any ladle and that the Castle was full of useless crap that I left behind. I didn’t get paid for the assignment....but that was ok. I was sitting in my Deadpoolcave with a big pot of Kraft Dinner....unlimited Kraft Dinner Mac and Cheese thanks to the Ladle of Deadpool as I called it now. $5 million for this?? I think not! I’m keeping this puppy all for me. Plus, I don’t need Bob’s coffee anymore....I have discovered that I make a mean Deadpoolatte!
I think I’ll have chocolate mousse for supper tonight....
END ?
“Hey Wade! What’ll it be?”
“Double Skinny Mocha Espresso Machiatto with extra foam....and sprinkles.”
“Comin’ right up.”
If there’s one thing I just cannot abide, it’s a bad cup of joe. I mean coffee, not the glad handed editorials by the Marvel Comics EEK, Joe Quesadilla. In all of New York, there’s no better cup of legalized stimulant than ol’ Bob’s. That’s why I come here.
Well, that, and he is also one of my sources of paying contracts. Man’s gotta eat, ya know? Hey, these coffees don’t pay for themselves.
But I digress.
I sat down at the counter and looked around at the other patrons of the Internet Cafe, Coffee House Gun Shop & Insurance Emporium. In my line of work, having access to all four is nice to have in one place. 7-11 for mercs.
For those of you who didn’t read the title for this little diddy of a tall tale, I am the great and wonderful, yet ever so humble, Merc with a Mouth (yet always an ear for the ladies) Deadpool, aka Wade Wilson, aka Juan Valdez, etc. I’ve tangled with the best (Wolverine), the shortest (Wolverine) and the hairiest (Wolverine) the world has to offer. I’m loved by hundreds, hated by thousands and owe millions. Stupid World Cup....I really thought Canada had a shot, dammit!
Anyway, because of my gambling debts and my inclination to avoid my troubles through sweet blissful ignorance, I came to my friend Bob seeking employment. Something to do, make a few bucks and then bet it all on the Canadian Football League Grey Cup Championship in November! (Hey, I don’t like it either, but whattaya expect? This is fanfiction written by a Canadian. If you’re still reading this, then more the fool you, I say.)
“Here ya go, Wade,” said Bob as he served the sweet ambrosia. “Remember the rules: the mask stays on.” He threw a straw into the coffee. “Because I care.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “You know, my mug could liven up the joint. A man is not measured by his exterior alone!”
“You’d better hope so,” said Bob. “Anything else?”
“Yeah,” I said, “A menu, monsewer.” I sipped the coffee, burnt my tongue. “Sweet Charlie Xavier! That’s hot!”
“It’s supposed to be hot,” said Bob. He laid a paper in front of me. “Your menu, Garcon.”
I grumbled. “Garcon means ‘boy’.” I opened the ‘menu’.
TODAY’S SPECIALS
KIDNAPPING: JACK, JULIE, KATIE, ALEX POWER - $1,000,000 PAYABLE FROM A.I.M.
“I don’t do kids.”
ASSASSINATION:
WILSON FISK, KINGPIN OF NEW YORK CRIME - $2,000,000 PAYABLE FROM HAMMERHEAD
“I don’t do fat chicks.”
RECOVERY OF ARTIFACT FROM COUNT HANS VON GRUSLIG - $5,000,000 PAYABLE FROM LATVERIAN INTELLIGENCE.
“Nooooow we’re cookin’! Hey Bob, order up!” I slapped the counter with the menu and took a swig of my cup of legalized stimulant. “I’m gonna need a To-Go cup!”
Sunday, October 31, 8:00 PM local time, Castle Gruslig , Black Forest Mountain Range, Southwest Germany
Okay, with my teleporter in with the Tinkerer for repairs and him not letting me have it back until the bill was paid, I was forced into an embarrassing coach flight across the ocean (my image inducer was set on ‘Oprah’ and I couldn’t get the damn thing to shut off) I finally made my way to the little village of Angst Menschen at the base of the Black Mountains. My German sucks like a hooker with gum disease, so I had to use my best guess as to what people were saying. Luckily, Oprah is well known even here. I’ve never been offered more chocolate strudel in my life!
Castle Gruslig was looking down over the village. It was imposing, and the fact that thunder boomed when I looked up at it seemed overly dramatic and a little forced. I shut off the image inducer and made my way up the incline. I was now standing by the stone wall bordering the property. Time to get to work.
I got over the wall, no problem. I got past the poorly maintained yard no problem. It was the demon hounds from hell that were annoying.
I walked up to the Castle and heard a growling noise. In the shadows, I saw a shadow moving back and forth and realized it was a tail wagging. A cute little Chihuahua walked out to me, tongue hanging out and looking all cute and innocent.
“Well, hello little Taco Bell doggie....aren’t you just adorable?”
Taco Bell doggie walked up to me and I reached out to pet it. That’s when it bit my hand off.
“Son of a @#$%&%$#@#$%$#!!!” I yelled. Hey, it hurt like @#$%#, what else could I say?
The Taco Bell doggie was now a six foot tall pit bull from hell with glowing red eyes and drools of glowing hot liquid. “You....are trespassing,” said the demon doggie.
“Bad dog! Bad, bad dog!” I said. “That was my wiping hand!”
“You are trespassing,” repeated the demon doggie, “You will pay for your transgression.”
“I forgot the thesaurus at home, Rover,” I said. “But I didn’t forget this.” I pulled out a handy dandy grenade and tossed it into doggie’s mouth. A second later the castle grounds were covered in puppy goo.
I looked through the mess for my hand and finally found it on the far wall. It looked like crap, but then again I looked like crap as a matter of course, so I stuck it on my wrist stump, duct taped it on and let the wonderful healing factor kick in.
By now of course, if the Castle residents hadn’t heard me at the door then they were either deaf or dead. The mood I was in, if they got in my way they were going to be the latter.
I pulled out the map Bob had given me when I accepted the assignment. It showed a path through the Castle into the lower levels where Count Gruslig kept a vault of crap that had been collected over the last 89 years of his life. I made my way down to level one and saw another Chihuahua. I didn’t waste any time. The ol’ plasma cannon came out of my holster and turned the wee beastie into mist. Level two brought out two Chihuahuas and I scorched one, but the other took on the form of a huge snake.
“SSSSSSS......you are trespassssssing,” said Rover the Snake.
“Hey, I’ve watched all the Harry Potter movies....twice,” I said. “I know what I’m doing with a big ass snake.” I unsheathed my katana and leaped up over the snake’s head. It was damn fast for a trousersnake and got me in its jaws. It began to bite down when I swung the blade and decapitated it. I fell to the ground inside the snake’s mouth and landed with another annoying owie....One of the snake’s fangs had gone clean through my torso.
“God dammit!” I said as I tore the tooth from the dead head. I tried to pull it out but it was in there good. I had to leave it for the ol’healing factor to push out....and man, that was gonna hurt.
I made my way to the third level and turned a corner. There was the vault, just as Bob said it would be.....and an old man.
“Outta the way, Geezer,” I said. “My wrist is sore for entirely wrong reasons and I have a big ass toothache....I’m not in the mood for geriatric stories of the good ol’ days, so unless you want your cane shoved where a proctologist would fear to tread, move your liver spotted ass...now.”
The old man laughed. “I am Count Hans Von Gruslig....and this is my home. These items in the vault....are mine. You will not have them, and neither will your employer. Tell Von Doom I said as much.”
“I’m not here for Dr. Doom,” I said, “I’m here for Latverian Intelig....ooooh, I get it now. Nice one, Count!” I put the sword back in my scabbard. “Look, we’re all men here, and I see you have a love for animals. How about you pay me not to get into your vault and I’ll be on my merry way, nes pa?”
“You will pay for what you did to my puppies,” said Count Gruslig. He waved his hands. “Like so!”
Hundreds of Chihuahuas appeared in a blaze of hellfire and brimstone. All with their tongues hanging and tails wagging. Scariest thing I ever saw in my life.
“Ok, maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” I said, “Maybe we could talk about this with a stein of beer in one hand and a schnitzel in the other?”
“The time for beers and schnitzel is over!” said Gruslig. “Puppies....sic balls!”
The two words no man wants to hear EVER, and I can grow mine back if needed...but still, not a good thing. I leaped up to a chandelier overhead as the puppies turned into various scary creatures. I was too high for most of the beasties to reach me, but that wouldn’t last long. As I swung there, wishing I had brought my portable hydrogen bomb, I had an idea.
I grabbed my image inducer and tossed it at Count Gruslig. As it hit him, his appearance changed from the old evil Count to....you guessed it, Oprah. The beasties looked at the Count with confusion....then I uttered the magic words:
“PUPPIES....SIC OPRAH!” Heh heh....it was taco time.
Within seconds, Count Gruslig was just another pile of kibble. As he died, the puppies all reverted to their original forms. Just a bunch of Chihuahuas....but still scary as hell.
I jumped down from the chandelier and kicked away Chihuahuas as I approached the vault door. A few well placed shape charges and the door blew open. As the smoke cleared, I looked inside....
There was a lot of crap in there.
Signs read names and descriptions such as ‘The Ancient One’s First Diaper’, ‘Dormammu’s Ashtray’, ‘Cytorrak’s Punchbowl’, ‘The Thin Man’s 30 Day Diet’....and on and on. Finally, I came across what I had been sent here to get.
‘The Ladle of Doom: Ceramic ladle created in 1786 by the Latverian Gypsy Family Von Doom, the Ladle can be used to create any potion or concoction imagainable. Simply fill a container with water, concentrate on what you desire and stir with the Ladle....the water will transform into whatever you have chosen.’
This thing had been created by Dr. Doom’s ancestors?? It could create any concoction I wanted?
I knew what I had to do....the only thing I could.
November 1, 12:00 noon, New York City, Safehouse of Deadpool (referred to affectionately as ‘The Deadpoolcave’ even though its above ground and is not anything close to a cave)
I came back down the Mountain after taking the Ladle and I used it to make Halloween Candy for all the kids in the village. Turns out Count Gruslig’s family had been tormenting the villagers for generations. He was the last of the line and now, the village, which translated to English meant ‘Scared People’ were truly free. Plus they had Halloween Candy and that’s always cool.
I created a potion that changed my appearance to that of Tom Cruise and flew back to the USA in style. Of course, the potion wore off as we landed at JFK and my normal face scared the stewardesses so I had to bail on the runway. Friendly skies my lumpy ass.
I reported to Bob that I didn’t find any ladle and that the Castle was full of useless crap that I left behind. I didn’t get paid for the assignment....but that was ok. I was sitting in my Deadpoolcave with a big pot of Kraft Dinner....unlimited Kraft Dinner Mac and Cheese thanks to the Ladle of Deadpool as I called it now. $5 million for this?? I think not! I’m keeping this puppy all for me. Plus, I don’t need Bob’s coffee anymore....I have discovered that I make a mean Deadpoolatte!
I think I’ll have chocolate mousse for supper tonight....
END ?