M2K 2017 HALLOWEEN SPECIALFeaturing:
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BY DAN DOLAN
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As Jason Macendale placed the Styrofoam skull on the desk he couldn’t help but think everyone had it wrong; death wasn’t what people should be scared of… life was.
This muddling montage of monotony and hopelessness that the world heaped at you day after day. You have to fill it with things: events, adventures and escapades and the secret was: the closer these adventures brought you to death the more they made you happier to be alive at all. |
As Jason Macendale placed the Styrofoam skull on the desk he couldn’t help but think everyone had it wrong; death wasn’t what people should be scared of… life was.
This muddling montage of monotony and hopelessness that the world heaped at you day after day. You have to fill it with things: events, adventures and escapades and the secret was: the closer these adventures brought you to death the more they made you happier to be alive at all.
Jason used to do that. Jason used fill his days and nights pursuing death, just in his case it was usually other people’s. He was good at killing, not the best, but pretty good. He’d made something of a life out of it, some time ago at least… these days? He was the one being pursued and not by death, by life: a life sentence that is. Not one he was serving of course, though at times he wished he was… given the alternative. No more daring aerial fights, no more grand Goblin battles, no Spidey even… he had been forgotten by all but Johnny Law.
And his face, his handsome face that he had fought so hard for and finally recovered was now his greatest curse.
He had lately been taking a page from the Chameleon’s playbook complete with makeup and fake mustaches that would put a telenovela star to shame.
The one thing he refused to do? Leave the city.
Leaving would be of course the smartest option but this was also the same man who felt negotiating with a demon was a smart idea.
He got by, barely. He took odd jobs, dirty jobs, cash only jobs, etc. stole from those jobs, got fired, lather, rinse, repeat.
His current gig was one night only. One very particular night.
Elton, the night watchman of Golden Crest, one of the oldest retirement condominiums in the city, had a gambling problem. Jason factored into this because he happened to share a crash pad with the poor down on his luck bastard and was offered fifty bucks on the downlow to watch the place on Halloween night so that the man could catch a fight.
Elton usually just left but it seems every Halloween the local misbegotten youths liked to take out their teenage hormonal conflicts on the old folks and made a pretty nasty mess of the place.
So Jason was to watch the place and to, embarrassingly enough, pass out candy.
So here he stood: decorating of all things as far from the grip of death as he could be. Instead he was pinning streamers and laying out candy corn. It was only as he laid out a plastic Jack O’ Lantern filled with year old candy that a thought came to him… Why not him?
He looked at that Jack O’ Lantern another face he knew all too well. If a crime was destined to hit this building every Halloween: Why not him?
It wasn’t fighting Spider-Man in the skies over Manhattan but it was something.
Jason raced around the counter, he found Elton’s half scribbled notes. Most were about illegal fights and competitions he was vying to bid on but buried within was something he could use: “Mr. Goldstein’s in Cabo, hold mail.”
Jackpot.
It was like sleepwalking. His body remembered its way around a crime without any help. Before he’d even realized he had the letter opener in his hand he had successfully picked the lock with it. Suddenly he was in the old man’s apartment and it was all laid out before him: great big piles of nothing.
This man had nothing. Nothing he could hock, nothing he could probably even give away.
Dusty clothes that even Good Will wouldn’t want, towers of old newspapers and magazines, ceramic knickknacks as far as the eye could see and not one without a chip.
Jason flopped onto the probably bedbug ridden sofa without hesitation as he felt the ennui that was his existence reassert it’s clammy grip on him. He might as well have bed bugs… that will be his risk for tonight he supposed.
Then he saw him.
The Spider-Man himself. Wasn’t that him? Crawling along the adjacent building, sun bleeding out behind him as it set? He rose to feet to get a better look, sky darkening, but then instantly realized how stupid that was and ducked away from the window as fast as he could. Pushing himself up to the side of one of the many towers of tchotchkes that wallpapered the apartment.
He stood there frozen, his entire body pressed as hard against the shelf full of proverbial crap as he could be. His hands frozen in a rictus around the two nearest pieces of said crap.
“Shit.” Jason whispered quickly, like a prayer, his breathing quickened to nigh hyperventilation. He was freaking out inside but to be honest, a small part of him hadn’t felt this “alive” in months… years even. It was like a high, not that drugs had ever been his thing, riding this rush he peered over his shoulder out the window once more. Had it even been his old foe or just a trick of the light? He’d never be sure because whatever it was… was gone.
He began to regulate his breathing, adrenaline falling, smiling as he came down. He laughed to himself, spinning around a bit with glee. He realized he still had the old man’s knickknacks in his hands, looking down he saw in one had a porcelain ballerina hippo, missing its left leg and in the other: a magic 8-ball. A kitschy campy completely preposterous by its very existence: magic 8-ball.
“Huh.” He said to himself, tossing the hippo aside, vaguely hearing it crack as it hit the floorboards and focused on the 8-Ball.
Something about the out-of-date toy seemed to draw him in, like it was the only thing in the room in focus. Once more his body seemed to be on autopilot, it was as he actually had done as a child, he shook the toy and turned it over. He watched as the die within rose to the surface reading: “Hello Jason.”
“What the Hell?” He said almost dropping the ball.
“Appropriate turn of phrase.” The die now read when he looked once more.
After years as a criminal, murderer, a demonic avatar, even a cyborg it was only now Jason thought to himself that he may be going mad. He took a breath and with great deliberation shook the ball again and, sweat on his brow, he then turned it once more to read the message:
“It’s me: Jeff. We need to talk.”
It had been a few years ago, another life, Jason met a kindred spirit another grifter who had become a costumed rogue, even somewhat superficially similar weaponry if completely different in aesthetic. He called himself 8-Ball but his name was Jeff Hagees and… he was dead.
///
The night seemed to choke Jason as he ran, breathless, out onto the street below. The air heavy, the sky blacked out by the glaring lights of the still very awake city around him. But the lights were different, harsher, sharper…
Jason still had the 8-Ball gripped too tight in his hand. The former mercenary looked around him wildly now gripped by the sudden fear that someone was watching him, someone had set this up. Roderick Kingsley? Norman Osborn? Who could have done this…?
As he looked for some phantom enemy. Some grinning goblin in the shadows he did notice something was off but he couldn’t tell what it was until he stopped looking for someone and started looking for [i]anyone[/i].
The streets were empty. It may have been close to midnight but this was New York… on Halloween of all days! These streets should be packed.
He cursed silently under his breath.
“Fine. What is going on Jeff?”
He looked down at the 8-Ball once more, cringing as he did so.
“I’m trying to help you.” It read.
“Fuck that.” Jason spat shaking the ball harder than at all nesecary, “What is going on?”
“This is a lesson. No, a question. You must answer.” The 8-Ball read now as the die rose through the foamy dark within.
What did that even mean? Why must mystic mumbo jumbo always be so damn cryptic?
“Hello?!” He shouted running into the night.
There was no answer…
///
It seemed like hours passed, the darkness taking on more contrast against the bright and garish Halloween decorations strewn about and still Jason had not come across one person. No moon in the sky yet…? What time was it? He had left his phone at the building but… somehow he didn’t recognize the way back despite still clearly being in the city.
Jason resisted the urge to look down at the ball, instead he began to wander, aimlessly: straining his ears for any sound and coming up empty.
At some point during his haunted promenade he came to the conclusion he was dreaming.
Just as this thought brought him some comfort… he finally heard a soft sound in the distance.
He raced toward it and as he did so it grew louder. He realized that it was a song he knew.
It was a hymn, one his aunt used to sing to the children, as a taunt but here its melody was slower (almost poignant) and the very male voice was, like the song, also quite eerily familiar.
“Come, ye sinners, poor and needy,
Weak and wounded, sick and sore!
Jesus ready stands to save you,
Full of pity, love and power.
He is able, He is able, He is able,
He is willing, doubt no more…”
At this Jason looked back at the 8-Ball’s message;
“He’ll be happy to see you.”
Not comforting. Jason backed away from the noise. Horror slowly slipping into his features, much to his chagrin. He knew who was singing that song.
Jason turned quickly and made to run but standing just behind him, somewhat obscured by the shadow of a nearby alley, was a young trick or treater. A boy, Jason assumed, dressed in a dime store approximation of his own Hobgoblin outfit, all wispy plastic and a too big mask complete with the white “Nixon mask” grin all those old timey costumes seemed to bear. The tot held out his satchel to Jason expectantly: silent and unmoving.
Somehow this child was more horrifying than the chanting hymnals, the empty streets and the possessed child’s toy. There was some kind of aura or feeling emanating off the boy that was overwhelming…
Jason almost violently turned away and back towards the song, coming ever closer and in the distance, what was that? A smidge of blue and red on the skyline? Was he here too…?
“Okay say I believe you’re Jeff. Say I believe something supernatural is going on here,” He scoffed knowing that was long since passed being in question, “God knows I’ve been through that before. Why? Why me? Why now? What is happening?” He turned the 8-Ball over:
“This is what’s waiting for you Jason. Over here.”
“Over where?” Jason asked but he knew the answer, he raised the ball anyways.
“The veil always lifts on this night but you came through by choice.”
By choice. He acted on his baser instincts tonight for the first time since he took off the Goblin mask a few years ago. He took a chance of being caught in order to break his prolonged monotony. Could he have been chancing more than jail time?
Never one to focus on the consequences of his actions, Jason was finding it difficult to avoid them entirely now that they were manifesting in such overt ways.
“I came through first. To repay a debt. To help.” “Jeff” or the 8-Ball read as he looked at it now, the song and its singer practically right around the corner: Jason forced himself to keep looking down at the ball and suddenly he knew he had been found. He heard the minstrel’s approach and the song now surrounded him.
“Let not conscience let you linger,
Nor of fitness fondly dream;
All the fitness he requireth
Is to feel your need of him.
This he gives you, This he gives you, This he gives you:
'Tis the Spirit's glimmering beam…”
“Why him…?” Jason asked shaking the ball in his hand, still not looking up:
“He is you. You are him.” The ball read.
Even as he read the word a throng of people circled in on him, he felt their voices like a wave.
Finally he brought himself to look up, knowing denial had never gotten him anywhere. There were at least four dozen people dressed in modest clothes, a tad antiquated, carrying candles and crucifixes. This pious procession was led by the figure who immediately drew Jason’s focus, the figure he dreaded most. Dressed in the hooded flowing robes of an orthodox priest now but the face was the same: Demogoblin.
The ghoul smiled, such as his smile was, at Jason and led the parade towards him as he and his disciples continued to sing.
“Come ye weary, heavy laden,
Bruised and mangled by the fall;
If you tarry till you're better,
You will never come at all.
Not the righteous, Not the righteous, Not the righteous;
Sinners Jesus came to call.
Agonizing in the garden,
Lo! your Maker prostrate lies!
On the bloody tree behold Him:
Hear Him cry, before He dies:
“It is finished!” “It is finished!” “It is finished!”
Sinner, will this not suffice?”
“Not by a fucking long shot.” Jason mumbled to himself, bracing himself as he walked forward towards his demonic counterpart.
The Demogoblin held his arms to embrace Jason and seemed unflinching as the man instead lunged forward violently. Shock hitting him about the same time he hit the pavement instead of the relatively softer body of the demon priest.
He turned and sat up, brushing his face with his forearm to see the grotesque face he knew all too well still smiling down at him.
“You’re doing this… aren’t you?” Jason spat popping to his feet with a feral energy.
“I’ve always been here for you brother but it was you who found me…” Demogoblin murmured adoringly.
“What is it huh?!” Jason snapped, “What’s the fucking lesson? What do you want?”
“I want you to join us.” He gestured to his ghastly parade. “Walk with us.”
“Where are we walking?” Jason sighed.
“The road to salvation.” This was said without grandiose or flair, a simple answer said with sincerity, “We linger in the middle, like you, but it need not be. We can reach the promised land yet.”
“I’m not lingering.”
“Oh but you are. You’re a Will O’Wisp. You’re betwixt… like us. Neither here nor there. Come, take a foxfire and join us!”
Jason backed up and looked on the faces of those who stood around his devilish doppelganger. Gaunt lost souls… but there was something in their eyes, something altogether alien to him… hope.
The child was gone apparently, it was getting late… wasn’t it? What time was it? The moon seemed to have vanished from the sky but the quiet streets still held an eerie illumination.
“What is happening… where am I?”
He stepped back further, looking back at the 8-Ball as he did so.
“Don’t ask me. Ask him!”
At this Jason whipped his head up in time to see a familiar red fist coming toward him.
///
Waking up webbed to a wall should not feel as familiar to a man as it did to Jason Macendale.
Before him, upside down, hung the Spider-Man and despite his full face mask Jason just knew the bastard was grinning at him.
“Jason, nice to see you again.” He smarmed.
Jason noticed the 8-Ball hanging from a web just over Spidey’s shoulder, it currently read: “You’re in more trouble than you think.”
“Yeah it’s a real joy.” Jason sighed, “So what now? You caught me. I stole a magic 8-ball… uh oh I hope I don’t get the chair.”
Spider-Man laughed, he usually did but this was different more intense. Then he reached out and laid a hand on Jason’s forehead and with another small laugh casually slammed the criminals head into the wall behind him.
Jason screamed in pain, his vision swimming… the taste of blood in his mouth.
“What the… You caught me?” Jason questioned and despite himself fear slipped into his voice a tad.
“And what if I don’t want you?” The Spider-Man cackled, “What if I decide to dump you like the rest of the trash in this god forsaken city?”
Jason was speechless, for once, he’d never seen the web-slinger like this. It must be part of this fever dream or whatever he was having at the moment, he thought to himself, this panic attack… this endless night.
“Maybe.” Spider-Man hissed reaching up slowly to Jason’s mouth as the con tried to fight him off fruitlessly, “I’ll do the world a favor…” He place the opening of his webshooter directly over Jason’s mouth, “You of all people should know how long my webs last… think you can hold your breath that long?”
Jason was panicking now. Say, best case scenario, that this was a dream: he was trying to remember if that old wives tale about if you died in a dream you die in real life as well was ever debunked… praying, as ludicrous as that sounded, that he was dreaming regardless.
“Please…” Jason said in a desperate whisper… even surprising himself with the naked fear in his voice.
“Please what? Go on… beg me… to arrest you.” Spider-Man taunted
Jason was sure this was just part of the crappy “It’s your life” episode he was apparently in but the super strong hands of the wall crawling Spider-Man clutching his very breakable human head like a melon he was about to cave in… felt all too real.
“You’re not a killer… like me. You’re a hero.”
The Spider-Man laughed knocking his head back into the wall once more.
“Take me in…” Jason groaned.
“Why?” Spider-man asked, sounding vaguely bored.
“Why…?” Jason sputtered in disbelief.
“Yeah, why go to the trouble? What would I want with you? I never wanted your soul back when we first met… why would I want that trash now?
‘Soul?’ rung in Jason’s mind ominously before muttering aloud: “You’re not…”
“Just getting that?” The 8-Ball read over the faux Spider-Man’s shoulder.
“N'astirh…?” Jason gasped almost in the same exact moment that “Spider-Man” ripped off his “Face” revealing the face of the demon. His long tendrils of “hair”, his mouth like a horse skull, his eyes like fire.
Jason remembered it all so vividly: Hell raining down on New York… something to do with the Mutants if he remembered correctly. Nothing to do with him, until he met a demon.
“You’re doing this… aren’t you?”
“No. You are. It was always your choice Jason.” N’astirh whispered wrapping his hand around Jason’s arm, claws pressing into his skin… his flesh tearing.
He was right of course. He was there in the thick of the chaos, N’astirh standing before him.
Other would have run, others would fight but Jason? He tried to make a deal. N’astirh refused his soul but gave him power anyways… for fun. Which led to him losing himself anyways… and gaining Demogoblin… and all the other horrors.
“Do you know the tale of Stingy Jack?” N’astirh asked suddenly, conversationally, as he tore at Jason’s flesh.
“Please…” Jason sobbed, like a child.
“No need to beg, I’ll tell you. He was a foolish boy who met the Devil. At a moment when he felt he had the upper hand and offered him a deal. He’d help to fiend if in turn the Devil promised not to take him to Hell when his time came… but he didn’t think things through. When he did die? Just because he didn’t go to Hell didn’t mean he’d get into Heaven. He had nowhere to go: so he went to the Devil at the brimstone gates and then the demon laughed in his face. Threw him a cinder from the eternal hellfire to light his way as he wandered for all eternity lost and unwanted. The fool took it and placed inside a shelled out gourd and do you know what they called him?”
“Jack O’ Lantern.” Jason said reluctantly, gasping in pain.
“Oh yes.”
“Remind you of anyone? How fitting that that was your first special little nickname for yourself.” N’astirh giggled a small wet laugh as the pain in Jason’s arm became so great he refused to look down at it for fear it had been ripped from his body.
“There is just one major difference though.”
“What’s that?” Jason snapped, trying to regain some agency.
“The original Jack was trying to save his soul, making the demon promise not to take it… but you? You offered it to me sight unseen and… I didn’t want it. You couldn’t have paid me to take it off your hands.”
“What now then? What do you want?” Jason rasped.
“Just a little fun. That’s all you’ve ever been good for. Why do you think I put that demonic fetus you call Demogoblin inside of you without asking for anything in return? It was a joke… like you.”
Jason heard the shuffling of footsteps but he was too out of it to look around.
“So now.” N’astirh continued, “I have my fun.” The pain strengthened…
“And after?” Jason whispered.
“After?” The demon laughed once more, “After tonight I go back. How does the song go? Below, below, down where the goblins go and you? You stay here… forever.”
“No…”
“Did you think you’d get into Heaven? What good have you done in your pitiful excuse for a life? Has he ever done any good by you?” N’astirh turned, addressing whoever had stepped up to them, “Has he ever tried to be there for you?”
Jason raised his head weakly but a part of him knew who it was, on more than one level. As he looked up he saw him the boy, the trick or treater who had shaken him before and now he knew why…
It was his son.
There he stood, standing meekly holding his bag. Despite the goblin mask he still wore… he knew for certain it was his kid. He had only met him a handful of times, one time in particular where his boy: Jason Macendale numero two, had been put in danger because of him only for Jason to abandon him again.
Jason stared at the boy, N’astirh was still rambling but he managed to tune him out his eyes bored into the goblin mask trying to “see” behind it as he finally realized why the sight of the kid was so horrifying to him… he couldn’t remember what he looked like.
“Take off the mask.” He rasped but the boy still said nothing, “Say something.” It was quiet but it was a demand and still the boy was silent.
“He doesn’t owe you anything. I’d say you owe him.” N’astirh’s voice finally cut through, “You’re why he’s here.”
“He should be older by now… and he’s not dead…. Is he?” Jason asked frantically.
“No, not yet at least. He’s having a nightmare, dreams have always been a gateway to other realms. I hope he doesn’t get caught here…” N’astirh hissed, “It can happen you know. People can pass away in their sleep like that and you’ll never know they’re caught like flies in some hellish otherworld.”
“Don’t. You want me, not him.”
“I don’t want you. Didn’t we just cover that?” N’astirh grinned, if that was possible with his skeletal grimace.
Jason stared at the boy, hearing that old melody pick up again, and soon another figure came up behind his son placing a gentle hand on the kid’s shoulder.
“I gave my life on Earth to save a child.” Demogoblin said gently, “You can do the same… I’ve always been a part of you.”
Jason looked back to N’astirh and then over his shoulder to the 8-Ball.
“You just have to decide.” It read now.
“Is any of this even real…?” Jason gasped reaching for the 8-Ball with his arm that he know saw was in one piece despite the sensations he had felt.
“Is your life? …stingy Jack?” the 8-Ball read now in his grip.
Jason stared at the boy again his image darknening as the sun began to finally rise behind him. He slowly started to remove the mask just as the sun came up, completely shadowing him and blinding Jason’s sight.
When he blinked again he was in the alley still but the webs were gone, the demons, the boy… but the 8-Ball was still in his hand. He didn’t look at it, instead he let the experiences wash over him. What did it all mean? Obviously he was stuck… between two extremes. He needed to choose. Try to be better, serve that elusive jail sentence perhaps, or hell try and be worse… so the devil would want him, take him in from the cold.
He just had to decide.
“What do I do?” He asked, shaking the 8-Ball and slowly holding it up again to see what his old pal Jeff would say:
“Ask again later.”
The End.
This muddling montage of monotony and hopelessness that the world heaped at you day after day. You have to fill it with things: events, adventures and escapades and the secret was: the closer these adventures brought you to death the more they made you happier to be alive at all.
Jason used to do that. Jason used fill his days and nights pursuing death, just in his case it was usually other people’s. He was good at killing, not the best, but pretty good. He’d made something of a life out of it, some time ago at least… these days? He was the one being pursued and not by death, by life: a life sentence that is. Not one he was serving of course, though at times he wished he was… given the alternative. No more daring aerial fights, no more grand Goblin battles, no Spidey even… he had been forgotten by all but Johnny Law.
And his face, his handsome face that he had fought so hard for and finally recovered was now his greatest curse.
He had lately been taking a page from the Chameleon’s playbook complete with makeup and fake mustaches that would put a telenovela star to shame.
The one thing he refused to do? Leave the city.
Leaving would be of course the smartest option but this was also the same man who felt negotiating with a demon was a smart idea.
He got by, barely. He took odd jobs, dirty jobs, cash only jobs, etc. stole from those jobs, got fired, lather, rinse, repeat.
His current gig was one night only. One very particular night.
Elton, the night watchman of Golden Crest, one of the oldest retirement condominiums in the city, had a gambling problem. Jason factored into this because he happened to share a crash pad with the poor down on his luck bastard and was offered fifty bucks on the downlow to watch the place on Halloween night so that the man could catch a fight.
Elton usually just left but it seems every Halloween the local misbegotten youths liked to take out their teenage hormonal conflicts on the old folks and made a pretty nasty mess of the place.
So Jason was to watch the place and to, embarrassingly enough, pass out candy.
So here he stood: decorating of all things as far from the grip of death as he could be. Instead he was pinning streamers and laying out candy corn. It was only as he laid out a plastic Jack O’ Lantern filled with year old candy that a thought came to him… Why not him?
He looked at that Jack O’ Lantern another face he knew all too well. If a crime was destined to hit this building every Halloween: Why not him?
It wasn’t fighting Spider-Man in the skies over Manhattan but it was something.
Jason raced around the counter, he found Elton’s half scribbled notes. Most were about illegal fights and competitions he was vying to bid on but buried within was something he could use: “Mr. Goldstein’s in Cabo, hold mail.”
Jackpot.
It was like sleepwalking. His body remembered its way around a crime without any help. Before he’d even realized he had the letter opener in his hand he had successfully picked the lock with it. Suddenly he was in the old man’s apartment and it was all laid out before him: great big piles of nothing.
This man had nothing. Nothing he could hock, nothing he could probably even give away.
Dusty clothes that even Good Will wouldn’t want, towers of old newspapers and magazines, ceramic knickknacks as far as the eye could see and not one without a chip.
Jason flopped onto the probably bedbug ridden sofa without hesitation as he felt the ennui that was his existence reassert it’s clammy grip on him. He might as well have bed bugs… that will be his risk for tonight he supposed.
Then he saw him.
The Spider-Man himself. Wasn’t that him? Crawling along the adjacent building, sun bleeding out behind him as it set? He rose to feet to get a better look, sky darkening, but then instantly realized how stupid that was and ducked away from the window as fast as he could. Pushing himself up to the side of one of the many towers of tchotchkes that wallpapered the apartment.
He stood there frozen, his entire body pressed as hard against the shelf full of proverbial crap as he could be. His hands frozen in a rictus around the two nearest pieces of said crap.
“Shit.” Jason whispered quickly, like a prayer, his breathing quickened to nigh hyperventilation. He was freaking out inside but to be honest, a small part of him hadn’t felt this “alive” in months… years even. It was like a high, not that drugs had ever been his thing, riding this rush he peered over his shoulder out the window once more. Had it even been his old foe or just a trick of the light? He’d never be sure because whatever it was… was gone.
He began to regulate his breathing, adrenaline falling, smiling as he came down. He laughed to himself, spinning around a bit with glee. He realized he still had the old man’s knickknacks in his hands, looking down he saw in one had a porcelain ballerina hippo, missing its left leg and in the other: a magic 8-ball. A kitschy campy completely preposterous by its very existence: magic 8-ball.
“Huh.” He said to himself, tossing the hippo aside, vaguely hearing it crack as it hit the floorboards and focused on the 8-Ball.
Something about the out-of-date toy seemed to draw him in, like it was the only thing in the room in focus. Once more his body seemed to be on autopilot, it was as he actually had done as a child, he shook the toy and turned it over. He watched as the die within rose to the surface reading: “Hello Jason.”
“What the Hell?” He said almost dropping the ball.
“Appropriate turn of phrase.” The die now read when he looked once more.
After years as a criminal, murderer, a demonic avatar, even a cyborg it was only now Jason thought to himself that he may be going mad. He took a breath and with great deliberation shook the ball again and, sweat on his brow, he then turned it once more to read the message:
“It’s me: Jeff. We need to talk.”
It had been a few years ago, another life, Jason met a kindred spirit another grifter who had become a costumed rogue, even somewhat superficially similar weaponry if completely different in aesthetic. He called himself 8-Ball but his name was Jeff Hagees and… he was dead.
///
The night seemed to choke Jason as he ran, breathless, out onto the street below. The air heavy, the sky blacked out by the glaring lights of the still very awake city around him. But the lights were different, harsher, sharper…
Jason still had the 8-Ball gripped too tight in his hand. The former mercenary looked around him wildly now gripped by the sudden fear that someone was watching him, someone had set this up. Roderick Kingsley? Norman Osborn? Who could have done this…?
As he looked for some phantom enemy. Some grinning goblin in the shadows he did notice something was off but he couldn’t tell what it was until he stopped looking for someone and started looking for [i]anyone[/i].
The streets were empty. It may have been close to midnight but this was New York… on Halloween of all days! These streets should be packed.
He cursed silently under his breath.
“Fine. What is going on Jeff?”
He looked down at the 8-Ball once more, cringing as he did so.
“I’m trying to help you.” It read.
“Fuck that.” Jason spat shaking the ball harder than at all nesecary, “What is going on?”
“This is a lesson. No, a question. You must answer.” The 8-Ball read now as the die rose through the foamy dark within.
What did that even mean? Why must mystic mumbo jumbo always be so damn cryptic?
“Hello?!” He shouted running into the night.
There was no answer…
///
It seemed like hours passed, the darkness taking on more contrast against the bright and garish Halloween decorations strewn about and still Jason had not come across one person. No moon in the sky yet…? What time was it? He had left his phone at the building but… somehow he didn’t recognize the way back despite still clearly being in the city.
Jason resisted the urge to look down at the ball, instead he began to wander, aimlessly: straining his ears for any sound and coming up empty.
At some point during his haunted promenade he came to the conclusion he was dreaming.
Just as this thought brought him some comfort… he finally heard a soft sound in the distance.
He raced toward it and as he did so it grew louder. He realized that it was a song he knew.
It was a hymn, one his aunt used to sing to the children, as a taunt but here its melody was slower (almost poignant) and the very male voice was, like the song, also quite eerily familiar.
“Come, ye sinners, poor and needy,
Weak and wounded, sick and sore!
Jesus ready stands to save you,
Full of pity, love and power.
He is able, He is able, He is able,
He is willing, doubt no more…”
At this Jason looked back at the 8-Ball’s message;
“He’ll be happy to see you.”
Not comforting. Jason backed away from the noise. Horror slowly slipping into his features, much to his chagrin. He knew who was singing that song.
Jason turned quickly and made to run but standing just behind him, somewhat obscured by the shadow of a nearby alley, was a young trick or treater. A boy, Jason assumed, dressed in a dime store approximation of his own Hobgoblin outfit, all wispy plastic and a too big mask complete with the white “Nixon mask” grin all those old timey costumes seemed to bear. The tot held out his satchel to Jason expectantly: silent and unmoving.
Somehow this child was more horrifying than the chanting hymnals, the empty streets and the possessed child’s toy. There was some kind of aura or feeling emanating off the boy that was overwhelming…
Jason almost violently turned away and back towards the song, coming ever closer and in the distance, what was that? A smidge of blue and red on the skyline? Was he here too…?
“Okay say I believe you’re Jeff. Say I believe something supernatural is going on here,” He scoffed knowing that was long since passed being in question, “God knows I’ve been through that before. Why? Why me? Why now? What is happening?” He turned the 8-Ball over:
“This is what’s waiting for you Jason. Over here.”
“Over where?” Jason asked but he knew the answer, he raised the ball anyways.
“The veil always lifts on this night but you came through by choice.”
By choice. He acted on his baser instincts tonight for the first time since he took off the Goblin mask a few years ago. He took a chance of being caught in order to break his prolonged monotony. Could he have been chancing more than jail time?
Never one to focus on the consequences of his actions, Jason was finding it difficult to avoid them entirely now that they were manifesting in such overt ways.
“I came through first. To repay a debt. To help.” “Jeff” or the 8-Ball read as he looked at it now, the song and its singer practically right around the corner: Jason forced himself to keep looking down at the ball and suddenly he knew he had been found. He heard the minstrel’s approach and the song now surrounded him.
“Let not conscience let you linger,
Nor of fitness fondly dream;
All the fitness he requireth
Is to feel your need of him.
This he gives you, This he gives you, This he gives you:
'Tis the Spirit's glimmering beam…”
“Why him…?” Jason asked shaking the ball in his hand, still not looking up:
“He is you. You are him.” The ball read.
Even as he read the word a throng of people circled in on him, he felt their voices like a wave.
Finally he brought himself to look up, knowing denial had never gotten him anywhere. There were at least four dozen people dressed in modest clothes, a tad antiquated, carrying candles and crucifixes. This pious procession was led by the figure who immediately drew Jason’s focus, the figure he dreaded most. Dressed in the hooded flowing robes of an orthodox priest now but the face was the same: Demogoblin.
The ghoul smiled, such as his smile was, at Jason and led the parade towards him as he and his disciples continued to sing.
“Come ye weary, heavy laden,
Bruised and mangled by the fall;
If you tarry till you're better,
You will never come at all.
Not the righteous, Not the righteous, Not the righteous;
Sinners Jesus came to call.
Agonizing in the garden,
Lo! your Maker prostrate lies!
On the bloody tree behold Him:
Hear Him cry, before He dies:
“It is finished!” “It is finished!” “It is finished!”
Sinner, will this not suffice?”
“Not by a fucking long shot.” Jason mumbled to himself, bracing himself as he walked forward towards his demonic counterpart.
The Demogoblin held his arms to embrace Jason and seemed unflinching as the man instead lunged forward violently. Shock hitting him about the same time he hit the pavement instead of the relatively softer body of the demon priest.
He turned and sat up, brushing his face with his forearm to see the grotesque face he knew all too well still smiling down at him.
“You’re doing this… aren’t you?” Jason spat popping to his feet with a feral energy.
“I’ve always been here for you brother but it was you who found me…” Demogoblin murmured adoringly.
“What is it huh?!” Jason snapped, “What’s the fucking lesson? What do you want?”
“I want you to join us.” He gestured to his ghastly parade. “Walk with us.”
“Where are we walking?” Jason sighed.
“The road to salvation.” This was said without grandiose or flair, a simple answer said with sincerity, “We linger in the middle, like you, but it need not be. We can reach the promised land yet.”
“I’m not lingering.”
“Oh but you are. You’re a Will O’Wisp. You’re betwixt… like us. Neither here nor there. Come, take a foxfire and join us!”
Jason backed up and looked on the faces of those who stood around his devilish doppelganger. Gaunt lost souls… but there was something in their eyes, something altogether alien to him… hope.
The child was gone apparently, it was getting late… wasn’t it? What time was it? The moon seemed to have vanished from the sky but the quiet streets still held an eerie illumination.
“What is happening… where am I?”
He stepped back further, looking back at the 8-Ball as he did so.
“Don’t ask me. Ask him!”
At this Jason whipped his head up in time to see a familiar red fist coming toward him.
///
Waking up webbed to a wall should not feel as familiar to a man as it did to Jason Macendale.
Before him, upside down, hung the Spider-Man and despite his full face mask Jason just knew the bastard was grinning at him.
“Jason, nice to see you again.” He smarmed.
Jason noticed the 8-Ball hanging from a web just over Spidey’s shoulder, it currently read: “You’re in more trouble than you think.”
“Yeah it’s a real joy.” Jason sighed, “So what now? You caught me. I stole a magic 8-ball… uh oh I hope I don’t get the chair.”
Spider-Man laughed, he usually did but this was different more intense. Then he reached out and laid a hand on Jason’s forehead and with another small laugh casually slammed the criminals head into the wall behind him.
Jason screamed in pain, his vision swimming… the taste of blood in his mouth.
“What the… You caught me?” Jason questioned and despite himself fear slipped into his voice a tad.
“And what if I don’t want you?” The Spider-Man cackled, “What if I decide to dump you like the rest of the trash in this god forsaken city?”
Jason was speechless, for once, he’d never seen the web-slinger like this. It must be part of this fever dream or whatever he was having at the moment, he thought to himself, this panic attack… this endless night.
“Maybe.” Spider-Man hissed reaching up slowly to Jason’s mouth as the con tried to fight him off fruitlessly, “I’ll do the world a favor…” He place the opening of his webshooter directly over Jason’s mouth, “You of all people should know how long my webs last… think you can hold your breath that long?”
Jason was panicking now. Say, best case scenario, that this was a dream: he was trying to remember if that old wives tale about if you died in a dream you die in real life as well was ever debunked… praying, as ludicrous as that sounded, that he was dreaming regardless.
“Please…” Jason said in a desperate whisper… even surprising himself with the naked fear in his voice.
“Please what? Go on… beg me… to arrest you.” Spider-Man taunted
Jason was sure this was just part of the crappy “It’s your life” episode he was apparently in but the super strong hands of the wall crawling Spider-Man clutching his very breakable human head like a melon he was about to cave in… felt all too real.
“You’re not a killer… like me. You’re a hero.”
The Spider-Man laughed knocking his head back into the wall once more.
“Take me in…” Jason groaned.
“Why?” Spider-man asked, sounding vaguely bored.
“Why…?” Jason sputtered in disbelief.
“Yeah, why go to the trouble? What would I want with you? I never wanted your soul back when we first met… why would I want that trash now?
‘Soul?’ rung in Jason’s mind ominously before muttering aloud: “You’re not…”
“Just getting that?” The 8-Ball read over the faux Spider-Man’s shoulder.
“N'astirh…?” Jason gasped almost in the same exact moment that “Spider-Man” ripped off his “Face” revealing the face of the demon. His long tendrils of “hair”, his mouth like a horse skull, his eyes like fire.
Jason remembered it all so vividly: Hell raining down on New York… something to do with the Mutants if he remembered correctly. Nothing to do with him, until he met a demon.
“You’re doing this… aren’t you?”
“No. You are. It was always your choice Jason.” N’astirh whispered wrapping his hand around Jason’s arm, claws pressing into his skin… his flesh tearing.
He was right of course. He was there in the thick of the chaos, N’astirh standing before him.
Other would have run, others would fight but Jason? He tried to make a deal. N’astirh refused his soul but gave him power anyways… for fun. Which led to him losing himself anyways… and gaining Demogoblin… and all the other horrors.
“Do you know the tale of Stingy Jack?” N’astirh asked suddenly, conversationally, as he tore at Jason’s flesh.
“Please…” Jason sobbed, like a child.
“No need to beg, I’ll tell you. He was a foolish boy who met the Devil. At a moment when he felt he had the upper hand and offered him a deal. He’d help to fiend if in turn the Devil promised not to take him to Hell when his time came… but he didn’t think things through. When he did die? Just because he didn’t go to Hell didn’t mean he’d get into Heaven. He had nowhere to go: so he went to the Devil at the brimstone gates and then the demon laughed in his face. Threw him a cinder from the eternal hellfire to light his way as he wandered for all eternity lost and unwanted. The fool took it and placed inside a shelled out gourd and do you know what they called him?”
“Jack O’ Lantern.” Jason said reluctantly, gasping in pain.
“Oh yes.”
“Remind you of anyone? How fitting that that was your first special little nickname for yourself.” N’astirh giggled a small wet laugh as the pain in Jason’s arm became so great he refused to look down at it for fear it had been ripped from his body.
“There is just one major difference though.”
“What’s that?” Jason snapped, trying to regain some agency.
“The original Jack was trying to save his soul, making the demon promise not to take it… but you? You offered it to me sight unseen and… I didn’t want it. You couldn’t have paid me to take it off your hands.”
“What now then? What do you want?” Jason rasped.
“Just a little fun. That’s all you’ve ever been good for. Why do you think I put that demonic fetus you call Demogoblin inside of you without asking for anything in return? It was a joke… like you.”
Jason heard the shuffling of footsteps but he was too out of it to look around.
“So now.” N’astirh continued, “I have my fun.” The pain strengthened…
“And after?” Jason whispered.
“After?” The demon laughed once more, “After tonight I go back. How does the song go? Below, below, down where the goblins go and you? You stay here… forever.”
“No…”
“Did you think you’d get into Heaven? What good have you done in your pitiful excuse for a life? Has he ever done any good by you?” N’astirh turned, addressing whoever had stepped up to them, “Has he ever tried to be there for you?”
Jason raised his head weakly but a part of him knew who it was, on more than one level. As he looked up he saw him the boy, the trick or treater who had shaken him before and now he knew why…
It was his son.
There he stood, standing meekly holding his bag. Despite the goblin mask he still wore… he knew for certain it was his kid. He had only met him a handful of times, one time in particular where his boy: Jason Macendale numero two, had been put in danger because of him only for Jason to abandon him again.
Jason stared at the boy, N’astirh was still rambling but he managed to tune him out his eyes bored into the goblin mask trying to “see” behind it as he finally realized why the sight of the kid was so horrifying to him… he couldn’t remember what he looked like.
“Take off the mask.” He rasped but the boy still said nothing, “Say something.” It was quiet but it was a demand and still the boy was silent.
“He doesn’t owe you anything. I’d say you owe him.” N’astirh’s voice finally cut through, “You’re why he’s here.”
“He should be older by now… and he’s not dead…. Is he?” Jason asked frantically.
“No, not yet at least. He’s having a nightmare, dreams have always been a gateway to other realms. I hope he doesn’t get caught here…” N’astirh hissed, “It can happen you know. People can pass away in their sleep like that and you’ll never know they’re caught like flies in some hellish otherworld.”
“Don’t. You want me, not him.”
“I don’t want you. Didn’t we just cover that?” N’astirh grinned, if that was possible with his skeletal grimace.
Jason stared at the boy, hearing that old melody pick up again, and soon another figure came up behind his son placing a gentle hand on the kid’s shoulder.
“I gave my life on Earth to save a child.” Demogoblin said gently, “You can do the same… I’ve always been a part of you.”
Jason looked back to N’astirh and then over his shoulder to the 8-Ball.
“You just have to decide.” It read now.
“Is any of this even real…?” Jason gasped reaching for the 8-Ball with his arm that he know saw was in one piece despite the sensations he had felt.
“Is your life? …stingy Jack?” the 8-Ball read now in his grip.
Jason stared at the boy again his image darknening as the sun began to finally rise behind him. He slowly started to remove the mask just as the sun came up, completely shadowing him and blinding Jason’s sight.
When he blinked again he was in the alley still but the webs were gone, the demons, the boy… but the 8-Ball was still in his hand. He didn’t look at it, instead he let the experiences wash over him. What did it all mean? Obviously he was stuck… between two extremes. He needed to choose. Try to be better, serve that elusive jail sentence perhaps, or hell try and be worse… so the devil would want him, take him in from the cold.
He just had to decide.
“What do I do?” He asked, shaking the 8-Ball and slowly holding it up again to see what his old pal Jeff would say:
“Ask again later.”
The End.
BY JOHN CHEESE
|
Forks, Washington
The woman ran through the unlit back alleys of Forks, looking over her shoulders as something large and stinking of dried blood and vomit chased after her. Crossing a deserted street into the grounds of a church she skidded to a stop on the steps of the holy space she was seemingly seeking shelter in. Flipping her braided red hair over her shoulders she balled her fists as her pursuer caught up with her, long delicate eyes quivering as it took a deep sniff with the leaf like nose set in its bulldog like face. |
“What do you think I am niña?” The creature hissed in a thick Hispanic accented English as it stretched its skeletal arms to reveal thin white webbing crisscrossed with blue veins. “That I’m some-kind of vampire, the cross doesn’t scare me.” It added as it stalker over to her, its wings ready to fold round her like some macabre tent.
“I know that, you’re one of the Camazotz’s Brood.” The woman replied, her statement causing the creature to stop, a look of shock at being identified appearing on its face. “While fire and silver is a problem for you, it would take a big stake to end your life. You’re a long way from Guatemala, are you on vacation, maybe a business meeting?”
“I’m here because there is food here!” The creature hissed, as it looked the woman dressed in red chinos and a white blouse up and down as it tried to determine who or what she actually was.
“I suspect that there’s another reason for this move.” The woman stated before extending a hand. “Sarah Hannigan AKA Zombie Master, pleased to meet you.”
“Enough of this, I’m going to suck the blood from your neck and spit your head into the vestry!” The creature snarled, only for Hannigan to yawn and point to his feet. Looking down he saw a circle etched into the dirt surrounding his feet, one that was surrounded by ancient Mayan glyphs that it recognised to well.
“Entrap.” Sarah stated softly, the circle rising up and forming a crimson pair of jaws around her former pursuer’s leg. Stepping round her prisoner, she held her hand out and slapped a hand of someone standing behind the entrapped Mayan monster. “It’s all yours Nero.” She added, as the child of Camazotz tried to pull its leg out of the magical bear-trap clamped round its shins. It stopped when it felt the barrel of a gun rest against the back of its head.
“You’re going to waste your shot, and then I’m going to rip your arms off vato!” The creature hissed, its bravado vainly trying to mask the anguish and panic spread across its inhuman features.
“I have six bullets here, five are lead, and the last one is gold plated.” The voice behind the monster stated in a cold voice. “Lead hurts like hell, gold kills you quick, so answer the ladies question and we’ll avoid any further cruelty.” It added as the sound of an ammo chamber spinning echoed from behind the trapped monster causing it to flinch as its ears strained to catch any sound that may give it an advantage or way out.
“Earthquake, it collapsed the roost.” The creature hissed in a disgusted tone. “I survived while my brothers and sisters were buried. Then I went north where the meat was…more stuffed. Your countries obesity epidemic makes your ninos and ninas good eating.” It added, as the gunmen walked round to let the monster look at its executioner. The silver mask and blue hood his the man’s features, but it was enough to make his victim cringe and cower in fear. “Wait you…you’re the Enforc…” His words were cut off by a gunshot entering his skull, its body collapsing, a golden splash of metal smeared across its forehead.
“Yeah how about that.” The masked man sighed as the mystical trap holding the body up deactivated, sending the body collapsing forward onto the steps of the chapel. Removing the mask to reveal an angular face with short blonde hair and gleaming blue eyes, the man opened the chamber of his weapons and removed a single spent casing from the otherwise empty slots.
“It’s more than he deserved.” Sarah mumbled as she cocked her head slightly.
“Yeah but we try and not be cruel.” The masked man replied. “It separates our treatment of him from what he did to the three children it took from the area around Forks.”
“Not to mention however many people it killed between here and Guatemala.” Sarah added as her partner picked the creature up and shouldered it. “We need to get rid of the body, as obsessed as this town is with vampires, I doubt that they are ready to see this on the way to morning mass.”
“No one is, we’ll take it out to the woods and burn the body, then think about breakfast before the flight back to JFK.” The masked man suggested, as the pair of them walked towards the gate out onto the street and a battered pick-up truck sitting just off the road.
“It’s a date Mike.” Sarah purred as she unlocked the truck, just as her compatriot slipped the body into the truck’s flatbed, a sheet pulled over the inhuman features of the corpse. “But not a date.” She added, as the pair slipped into the cab.
“It never is.” Mike joked, as Sarah started the engine and headed down the road out of town towards the dark fringes of the forest, the first wisps of sunlight sparking over the eastern horizon.
# # # # # #
Offices of Nero and Hannigan Supernatural Consulting, Greenwich, New York
The tiny office space rented by Nero and Hannigan Supernatural Consulting, was a cramped couple of rooms filled with books and artefacts of the spiritual persuasion. The two desks were loaded with paperwork, mostly bills and demands for payment. While works was good, not a lot of people were willing to pay, and saw supernatural problems more as sector that was suited for voluntary work. As Sarah and Mike returned home, jet-lagged and cheap airport coffee in hand, they knew that there was another job waiting and another bill demanding to be paid lurking behind it.
“We have another report of a Labyrinth Serpent in the sewers.” Sarah suggested as she looked over a report with a few photos of venom melted bodies attached to it.
Not if it’s a city contract, they still owe us for the last job we did.” Mike replied. “We have abductions from Central Park, possibly from militant Wood Nymphs.”
“No more Wood Nymphs ever.” Sarah hissed as she stretched her hands and yawned. “A couple from Long Island are being haunted by a Will ‘o’ Wisp, they are willing to pay and it will get us on the good side of the NYFD after we burnt down that warehouse back in April.” She suggested. “Even if it was infested with demonic corpse maggots.”
“Maybe, Wisps are more on the spirit side of things, lots of work for you not so much for me.” Mike answered as he dug out an old battered mobile phone and went through the list of missed calls displayed on the cracked screen. “We have a call from Dean Woods from ESU form yesterday evening. Woods pays on time and in full, and we always get some interesting cases from him, especially in Fresher’s Week.”
“Is it that time of year again.” Sarah asked, as she got up from her chair and looked at the calendar on the wall, the scenic vista for September damaged by a pair of gunshots drilled through the stone bluffs of the Grand Canyon. “Whatever, it sounds like the ESU job is the way to go, we’ll drop him a call later and set up a meeting.”
# # # # # #
Empire State University, New York
Dean Robert Woods was an older man, his face wrinkled by worries both past and current. His office was tidy with nothing out of place save for the file of fraternity rings piled on the centre of the desk, the slight smell of blood wafting through the room. After polite introductions Mike and Sarah sat down in two empty chairs, while Woods returned behind the desk.
“Thank you for coming in.” Woods sighed as Mike and Sarah’s eyes gravitated down towards the pile of rings on the desk. “Those were found scattered around the Theta Psi House earlier this week. There was no sign of the young men who wore them, no sign of any disturbance save for a few specks of blood and the abandoned rings of course.”
“Frat house.” Sarah stated. “What do you think, demon summoning, that’s usually what happens with this kind of thing.” She added, as Mike picked up one of the rings and turned it in his hand.
“Perhaps, there seems to be a pattern in the blood, almost like a void under the signet.” Mike replied as both Woods and Sarah picked up a ring each.
“Like a concentric circle?” Sarah asked, with Mike nodding in confirmation. “This one has it too.”
“Same here.” Woods grumbled. “These men are the sons of influential donners, there return would be worth a lot to both the university and to you.”
“We’ll need access to the house to start the investigation.” Mike announced as he placed the ring down on the desk. “Can you direct us to the officer in charge of the scene, the last thing we need to do is clash with the police over this.”
“The police haven’t been notified.” Woods replied coldly. “By the request of the missing boy’s families. They feel that it would bring a certain amount of negative press to them and their businesses. They would appreciate a discrete resolution to this matter if at all possible.”
“Of course.” Mike gasped as he looked over to Sarah, an odd look of disbelief on her face. “We’ll try our best, but the safety of the victims comes first.”
# # # # # #
“I’ll never understand rich people.” Sarah mused as they opened the door into Theta Psi house, the hinges creaking slightly. “Surely it would be best to inform missing persons.”
“Wealth changes the way people think.” Mike replied as they walked into the atrium. “Although for the record, I would be more comfortable with the police being notified, and that’s coming from me, a career criminal.”
“Former career criminal.” Sarah added, as they placed the two duffel bags they had brought on the floor of the living room. “So usual sweep for evidence; blood spots, runes carved into the floor, demon scat, vapour clouds…”
“Yeah the usual.” Mike answered as he removed two tape recorders and handed one to his partner. “Set it to the EVP channel, that way we can cover spirit abduction as well. If I take the ground floor, can you cover the first floor?” He added, as Sarah slipped the EVP box on her belt and removed a foot long pair of divining rods covered in bands of tape.
“Sure leave me with the bedrooms.” Sarah complained, as she held the rods out and stomped towards the stairs.
After a few hours the pair reconvened back in the living room with little to no sign of any magical disturbance, although Sarah had found a Jin Chan ornament in the bathroom, and had dutifully returned the ‘money toad’ to the living room, if nothing to restore the Feng Shui of the house. Between them they had located thirty concentric rings of blood, each one possibly coinciding with where a ring had been found, but despite this they shed little evidence on what had happened.
“Any more tests that we can run?” Mike asked Sarah as she packed her gear back into her bag. “You’re the Magical Theorist after all.”
“No idea, we’ve tried all the standard procedures.” Sarah replied, as she glanced at a picture on the wall before turning back to Mike. “It almost feels like a prank rather than an abduction. I’m half expecting for someone to jump out of the closets and yell surprise.”
“I know how you feel, Woods isn’t going to like our findings.” Mike replied, as Sarah reached down and ran her hand across the wooden floor. “What is it?”
“Not sure, I thought I could see a bulge in the floor.” She replied as she dropped onto her knees and removed a knife from her bag. “Not big enough to hide a body but definitely a bulge.” She added, as Mike dropped down and watched her cut a slither of dark wood off the floor.
“Let’s get a proper sample.” Mike stated, as he removed a crowbar, hammer and chisel from his bag, before sticking the former in between the wooden planks and began to lever the wood up. It took less than a second for the walls of the house to start rattling and shaking. Continuing his task, Mike didn’t see the horrified look on Sarah’s face as a man hewn from wood pushed its way out of the walls and lumbered towards them.
“Mike.”
“Almost done.”
“Mike!”
“One second.”
“MIKE!!” Sarah screamed as the timber figure loomed over him, one for her partner to finally free the board and thrust it backwards, the blow staggering the attacker. Getting to his feet, Mike shouldered his bag, just as the wooden figure got to its feet in a single fluid movement, its body bending unnaturally as it did so.
“Got any spells?” Mike asked, as he held the wooden plank out like a shield.
“Just one.” Sarah whispered as she took the knife she was holding and murmured something in a forgotten language, the blade setting alight with a vivid green flame. Darting forward she buried the blade in the figure’s leg, flames spreading upwards across its body, only for the now blazing timber figure to march onwards. “Okay I have none.” She added, as the pair of investigators backed towards the door, before an unseen force blasted them through the doors and down the steps onto the campus, before sealing the opening with a palisade of thick vines.
“Senior Magico?” Mike asked.
“Senior Magico.” Sarah confirmed.
# # # # # #
Senor Magico’s Shop, Harlem, New York
Senor Magico was a long time contact of Sarah’s, and a man who despite his humble Harlem premises and bland appearance, was a powerful sorcerer. Over the years he had helped Sarah and Mark with many things, and while nature magic, which is what Sarah suspected was possessing the house, was outside of his comfort zone, he was their best bet on deciphering what was going on at Theta Psi house.
“Where did you find this?” Magico, a rotund individual with long black hair wearing a red cape and a sweatshirt and jeans asked.
“Theta Psi House on Empire State Campus.” Sarah replied as Magico ran his hands up and down the board.
“I always thought there was something wrong with that house when I was a student there.” Magico sighed as he looked through a thick lensed magnifying glass at the wood grain of the recovered artefact. “And there was a ‘wood golem’ too you say?”
“Yeah it took a burning knife and a plank to the chest and kept on coming.” Mike mumbled, as Sarah shot Magico a longing look. Sarah had a crush on Magico, despite him being older than her, as well as being in a quasi-romantic relationship with him.
“This looks very similar to Myrkvior Timber from the Black Forest in Germany.” Magico mumbled. “It has some very nasty properties while alive such as animating trees, inspiring terror and causing animals to go feral. But I’ve never heard of dead wood possessing any magical powers. But if it does contain all the same abilities as living wood, it is imperative that it is destroyed, the forest quickly spread from a single tree, or so the legends suggest.”
“And how do we destroy it?” Sarah asked.
“Kill the root and the tree dies, although in this situation I don’t think that’s helpful.” Magico gravely replied.
# # # # # #
Empire State University, New York
Mike cradled the log splitting axe as he stood outside the Theta Psi House as he waited for Sarah to arrive with a way to breach the front of the house. His wait didn’t last long as the ground shook and a JCB rumbled round the corner, its pneumatic arm and toothed bucket glinting in the fading light. Without even a word Sarah slammed the arm of the ‘borrowed’ piece of construction equipment through the front of the building, before ripping the vine palisade open as the arm was pulled away.
“Subtle.” Mike stated snarkily, as Sarah turned the engine off and dismounted, before offering the axe.
“In your dreams.” Sarah purred as she bent down and picked up the chainsaw they had rented for the job, before walking through the damaged entrance into the living room. “So how do we kill a house?”
“Maybe we start with the occupants.” Mike suggested as at least thirty wooden golems emerged from the woodwork and lumbered towards them. Standing back to back, the two investigators got ready for the attack, the chain saw roaring to life as the golems closed in. What followed was a blood bath, as wooden limbs went flying and heads rolled, the combined assault overwhelming the bodies the house had generated to defend itself. Eventually after what seemed like an age, the bodies stopped coming, the remains absorbed by the floor ready for reuse as a second wave.
“I’m out of fuel.” Sarah wheezed as she dropped the chain-saw and removed a portable sickle from her belt. “We need to do this now before they come back.” She added, as Mike found the missing plank and slammed the axe down in the one next to it, the house shaking in anger.
“We can hurt it, but we can’t keep it down.” Mike stated as he pointed to the entrance they had created, vines already working to seal up the wound in the front of the house. “This thing doesn’t really have roots to rip up.”
“Maybe. Cut me a bigger hole.” Sarah ordered, as more wooden golems emerged, this time from both the walls and floor, hands grabbing at the two living humans daring to destroy their home.
“Cover me.” Mike grumbled, as Sarah elegantly sliced through the arm of the nearest golem. Turning to a second she delivered a scything cut to the neck, before pushing the body over with a thud, before sizing up a third, her lips mouthing a soundless spell that sunk an advancing golem into the ground, chips of wooden skin flying everywhere.
“Hurry, the house is regenerating bodies as quickly as I can destroy them!” Sarah snarled as she gestured at a table, the piece of furniture shooting over to her like a missile, bisecting the two golems in the way. “I’m running out of spells too.” She added, as she stabbed the sickle into the nearest golem, the weapon getting stuck in its wooden chest. “Weapons too.” She added, just as Mike stood up from the meter square hole he had excavated.
“One hole.” He wheezed as he knocked the sickle chested golem away with the haft of his axe. Darting in, Sarah placed her hand on the concrete foundation and removed a pair of melted chocolate bars from the back pocket of her overalls.
“Loa, hear my call, bring life to the lifelessness and let the harvest come forth.” Sarah pleaded as she placed the chocolate on the floor. Seconds later the house shook and the timber began to ripple as if a wave was running through the building. With a groan the timber of the floor and the wood golems were sucked into a tornado, their bark fusing until they formed into a monstrous ash tree that smashed through the roof of Theta-Psi house.
“Well now we have some roots to dig up.” Mike stated as Sarah ran over to the JCB and squeezed into the cab.
“Luckily I have a shovel big enough to dig it up.” Sarah replied as she gunned the engine before slamming the toothed bucket into the base of the tree. Roaring in pain, the tree shuddered once, twice and finally three times before it toppled over, its root plate exposed to the elements and the mechanical arm of the JCB.
“Let’s chop some us some fire wood then.” Mike stated as he swung the axe down on one of the roots, the tendril slicing open, even as the plant tried to re-root itself back into the ground. As he continued to slash open the roots, Sarah disembarked from the JCB and looked at the destroyed house and dying tree.
“I have a feeling…” She sighed as she picked up her dropped sickle and began hacking away at the remaining roots, “…that we are not getting paid for this.”
END
“I know that, you’re one of the Camazotz’s Brood.” The woman replied, her statement causing the creature to stop, a look of shock at being identified appearing on its face. “While fire and silver is a problem for you, it would take a big stake to end your life. You’re a long way from Guatemala, are you on vacation, maybe a business meeting?”
“I’m here because there is food here!” The creature hissed, as it looked the woman dressed in red chinos and a white blouse up and down as it tried to determine who or what she actually was.
“I suspect that there’s another reason for this move.” The woman stated before extending a hand. “Sarah Hannigan AKA Zombie Master, pleased to meet you.”
“Enough of this, I’m going to suck the blood from your neck and spit your head into the vestry!” The creature snarled, only for Hannigan to yawn and point to his feet. Looking down he saw a circle etched into the dirt surrounding his feet, one that was surrounded by ancient Mayan glyphs that it recognised to well.
“Entrap.” Sarah stated softly, the circle rising up and forming a crimson pair of jaws around her former pursuer’s leg. Stepping round her prisoner, she held her hand out and slapped a hand of someone standing behind the entrapped Mayan monster. “It’s all yours Nero.” She added, as the child of Camazotz tried to pull its leg out of the magical bear-trap clamped round its shins. It stopped when it felt the barrel of a gun rest against the back of its head.
“You’re going to waste your shot, and then I’m going to rip your arms off vato!” The creature hissed, its bravado vainly trying to mask the anguish and panic spread across its inhuman features.
“I have six bullets here, five are lead, and the last one is gold plated.” The voice behind the monster stated in a cold voice. “Lead hurts like hell, gold kills you quick, so answer the ladies question and we’ll avoid any further cruelty.” It added as the sound of an ammo chamber spinning echoed from behind the trapped monster causing it to flinch as its ears strained to catch any sound that may give it an advantage or way out.
“Earthquake, it collapsed the roost.” The creature hissed in a disgusted tone. “I survived while my brothers and sisters were buried. Then I went north where the meat was…more stuffed. Your countries obesity epidemic makes your ninos and ninas good eating.” It added, as the gunmen walked round to let the monster look at its executioner. The silver mask and blue hood his the man’s features, but it was enough to make his victim cringe and cower in fear. “Wait you…you’re the Enforc…” His words were cut off by a gunshot entering his skull, its body collapsing, a golden splash of metal smeared across its forehead.
“Yeah how about that.” The masked man sighed as the mystical trap holding the body up deactivated, sending the body collapsing forward onto the steps of the chapel. Removing the mask to reveal an angular face with short blonde hair and gleaming blue eyes, the man opened the chamber of his weapons and removed a single spent casing from the otherwise empty slots.
“It’s more than he deserved.” Sarah mumbled as she cocked her head slightly.
“Yeah but we try and not be cruel.” The masked man replied. “It separates our treatment of him from what he did to the three children it took from the area around Forks.”
“Not to mention however many people it killed between here and Guatemala.” Sarah added as her partner picked the creature up and shouldered it. “We need to get rid of the body, as obsessed as this town is with vampires, I doubt that they are ready to see this on the way to morning mass.”
“No one is, we’ll take it out to the woods and burn the body, then think about breakfast before the flight back to JFK.” The masked man suggested, as the pair of them walked towards the gate out onto the street and a battered pick-up truck sitting just off the road.
“It’s a date Mike.” Sarah purred as she unlocked the truck, just as her compatriot slipped the body into the truck’s flatbed, a sheet pulled over the inhuman features of the corpse. “But not a date.” She added, as the pair slipped into the cab.
“It never is.” Mike joked, as Sarah started the engine and headed down the road out of town towards the dark fringes of the forest, the first wisps of sunlight sparking over the eastern horizon.
# # # # # #
Offices of Nero and Hannigan Supernatural Consulting, Greenwich, New York
The tiny office space rented by Nero and Hannigan Supernatural Consulting, was a cramped couple of rooms filled with books and artefacts of the spiritual persuasion. The two desks were loaded with paperwork, mostly bills and demands for payment. While works was good, not a lot of people were willing to pay, and saw supernatural problems more as sector that was suited for voluntary work. As Sarah and Mike returned home, jet-lagged and cheap airport coffee in hand, they knew that there was another job waiting and another bill demanding to be paid lurking behind it.
“We have another report of a Labyrinth Serpent in the sewers.” Sarah suggested as she looked over a report with a few photos of venom melted bodies attached to it.
Not if it’s a city contract, they still owe us for the last job we did.” Mike replied. “We have abductions from Central Park, possibly from militant Wood Nymphs.”
“No more Wood Nymphs ever.” Sarah hissed as she stretched her hands and yawned. “A couple from Long Island are being haunted by a Will ‘o’ Wisp, they are willing to pay and it will get us on the good side of the NYFD after we burnt down that warehouse back in April.” She suggested. “Even if it was infested with demonic corpse maggots.”
“Maybe, Wisps are more on the spirit side of things, lots of work for you not so much for me.” Mike answered as he dug out an old battered mobile phone and went through the list of missed calls displayed on the cracked screen. “We have a call from Dean Woods from ESU form yesterday evening. Woods pays on time and in full, and we always get some interesting cases from him, especially in Fresher’s Week.”
“Is it that time of year again.” Sarah asked, as she got up from her chair and looked at the calendar on the wall, the scenic vista for September damaged by a pair of gunshots drilled through the stone bluffs of the Grand Canyon. “Whatever, it sounds like the ESU job is the way to go, we’ll drop him a call later and set up a meeting.”
# # # # # #
Empire State University, New York
Dean Robert Woods was an older man, his face wrinkled by worries both past and current. His office was tidy with nothing out of place save for the file of fraternity rings piled on the centre of the desk, the slight smell of blood wafting through the room. After polite introductions Mike and Sarah sat down in two empty chairs, while Woods returned behind the desk.
“Thank you for coming in.” Woods sighed as Mike and Sarah’s eyes gravitated down towards the pile of rings on the desk. “Those were found scattered around the Theta Psi House earlier this week. There was no sign of the young men who wore them, no sign of any disturbance save for a few specks of blood and the abandoned rings of course.”
“Frat house.” Sarah stated. “What do you think, demon summoning, that’s usually what happens with this kind of thing.” She added, as Mike picked up one of the rings and turned it in his hand.
“Perhaps, there seems to be a pattern in the blood, almost like a void under the signet.” Mike replied as both Woods and Sarah picked up a ring each.
“Like a concentric circle?” Sarah asked, with Mike nodding in confirmation. “This one has it too.”
“Same here.” Woods grumbled. “These men are the sons of influential donners, there return would be worth a lot to both the university and to you.”
“We’ll need access to the house to start the investigation.” Mike announced as he placed the ring down on the desk. “Can you direct us to the officer in charge of the scene, the last thing we need to do is clash with the police over this.”
“The police haven’t been notified.” Woods replied coldly. “By the request of the missing boy’s families. They feel that it would bring a certain amount of negative press to them and their businesses. They would appreciate a discrete resolution to this matter if at all possible.”
“Of course.” Mike gasped as he looked over to Sarah, an odd look of disbelief on her face. “We’ll try our best, but the safety of the victims comes first.”
# # # # # #
“I’ll never understand rich people.” Sarah mused as they opened the door into Theta Psi house, the hinges creaking slightly. “Surely it would be best to inform missing persons.”
“Wealth changes the way people think.” Mike replied as they walked into the atrium. “Although for the record, I would be more comfortable with the police being notified, and that’s coming from me, a career criminal.”
“Former career criminal.” Sarah added, as they placed the two duffel bags they had brought on the floor of the living room. “So usual sweep for evidence; blood spots, runes carved into the floor, demon scat, vapour clouds…”
“Yeah the usual.” Mike answered as he removed two tape recorders and handed one to his partner. “Set it to the EVP channel, that way we can cover spirit abduction as well. If I take the ground floor, can you cover the first floor?” He added, as Sarah slipped the EVP box on her belt and removed a foot long pair of divining rods covered in bands of tape.
“Sure leave me with the bedrooms.” Sarah complained, as she held the rods out and stomped towards the stairs.
After a few hours the pair reconvened back in the living room with little to no sign of any magical disturbance, although Sarah had found a Jin Chan ornament in the bathroom, and had dutifully returned the ‘money toad’ to the living room, if nothing to restore the Feng Shui of the house. Between them they had located thirty concentric rings of blood, each one possibly coinciding with where a ring had been found, but despite this they shed little evidence on what had happened.
“Any more tests that we can run?” Mike asked Sarah as she packed her gear back into her bag. “You’re the Magical Theorist after all.”
“No idea, we’ve tried all the standard procedures.” Sarah replied, as she glanced at a picture on the wall before turning back to Mike. “It almost feels like a prank rather than an abduction. I’m half expecting for someone to jump out of the closets and yell surprise.”
“I know how you feel, Woods isn’t going to like our findings.” Mike replied, as Sarah reached down and ran her hand across the wooden floor. “What is it?”
“Not sure, I thought I could see a bulge in the floor.” She replied as she dropped onto her knees and removed a knife from her bag. “Not big enough to hide a body but definitely a bulge.” She added, as Mike dropped down and watched her cut a slither of dark wood off the floor.
“Let’s get a proper sample.” Mike stated, as he removed a crowbar, hammer and chisel from his bag, before sticking the former in between the wooden planks and began to lever the wood up. It took less than a second for the walls of the house to start rattling and shaking. Continuing his task, Mike didn’t see the horrified look on Sarah’s face as a man hewn from wood pushed its way out of the walls and lumbered towards them.
“Mike.”
“Almost done.”
“Mike!”
“One second.”
“MIKE!!” Sarah screamed as the timber figure loomed over him, one for her partner to finally free the board and thrust it backwards, the blow staggering the attacker. Getting to his feet, Mike shouldered his bag, just as the wooden figure got to its feet in a single fluid movement, its body bending unnaturally as it did so.
“Got any spells?” Mike asked, as he held the wooden plank out like a shield.
“Just one.” Sarah whispered as she took the knife she was holding and murmured something in a forgotten language, the blade setting alight with a vivid green flame. Darting forward she buried the blade in the figure’s leg, flames spreading upwards across its body, only for the now blazing timber figure to march onwards. “Okay I have none.” She added, as the pair of investigators backed towards the door, before an unseen force blasted them through the doors and down the steps onto the campus, before sealing the opening with a palisade of thick vines.
“Senior Magico?” Mike asked.
“Senior Magico.” Sarah confirmed.
# # # # # #
Senor Magico’s Shop, Harlem, New York
Senor Magico was a long time contact of Sarah’s, and a man who despite his humble Harlem premises and bland appearance, was a powerful sorcerer. Over the years he had helped Sarah and Mark with many things, and while nature magic, which is what Sarah suspected was possessing the house, was outside of his comfort zone, he was their best bet on deciphering what was going on at Theta Psi house.
“Where did you find this?” Magico, a rotund individual with long black hair wearing a red cape and a sweatshirt and jeans asked.
“Theta Psi House on Empire State Campus.” Sarah replied as Magico ran his hands up and down the board.
“I always thought there was something wrong with that house when I was a student there.” Magico sighed as he looked through a thick lensed magnifying glass at the wood grain of the recovered artefact. “And there was a ‘wood golem’ too you say?”
“Yeah it took a burning knife and a plank to the chest and kept on coming.” Mike mumbled, as Sarah shot Magico a longing look. Sarah had a crush on Magico, despite him being older than her, as well as being in a quasi-romantic relationship with him.
“This looks very similar to Myrkvior Timber from the Black Forest in Germany.” Magico mumbled. “It has some very nasty properties while alive such as animating trees, inspiring terror and causing animals to go feral. But I’ve never heard of dead wood possessing any magical powers. But if it does contain all the same abilities as living wood, it is imperative that it is destroyed, the forest quickly spread from a single tree, or so the legends suggest.”
“And how do we destroy it?” Sarah asked.
“Kill the root and the tree dies, although in this situation I don’t think that’s helpful.” Magico gravely replied.
# # # # # #
Empire State University, New York
Mike cradled the log splitting axe as he stood outside the Theta Psi House as he waited for Sarah to arrive with a way to breach the front of the house. His wait didn’t last long as the ground shook and a JCB rumbled round the corner, its pneumatic arm and toothed bucket glinting in the fading light. Without even a word Sarah slammed the arm of the ‘borrowed’ piece of construction equipment through the front of the building, before ripping the vine palisade open as the arm was pulled away.
“Subtle.” Mike stated snarkily, as Sarah turned the engine off and dismounted, before offering the axe.
“In your dreams.” Sarah purred as she bent down and picked up the chainsaw they had rented for the job, before walking through the damaged entrance into the living room. “So how do we kill a house?”
“Maybe we start with the occupants.” Mike suggested as at least thirty wooden golems emerged from the woodwork and lumbered towards them. Standing back to back, the two investigators got ready for the attack, the chain saw roaring to life as the golems closed in. What followed was a blood bath, as wooden limbs went flying and heads rolled, the combined assault overwhelming the bodies the house had generated to defend itself. Eventually after what seemed like an age, the bodies stopped coming, the remains absorbed by the floor ready for reuse as a second wave.
“I’m out of fuel.” Sarah wheezed as she dropped the chain-saw and removed a portable sickle from her belt. “We need to do this now before they come back.” She added, as Mike found the missing plank and slammed the axe down in the one next to it, the house shaking in anger.
“We can hurt it, but we can’t keep it down.” Mike stated as he pointed to the entrance they had created, vines already working to seal up the wound in the front of the house. “This thing doesn’t really have roots to rip up.”
“Maybe. Cut me a bigger hole.” Sarah ordered, as more wooden golems emerged, this time from both the walls and floor, hands grabbing at the two living humans daring to destroy their home.
“Cover me.” Mike grumbled, as Sarah elegantly sliced through the arm of the nearest golem. Turning to a second she delivered a scything cut to the neck, before pushing the body over with a thud, before sizing up a third, her lips mouthing a soundless spell that sunk an advancing golem into the ground, chips of wooden skin flying everywhere.
“Hurry, the house is regenerating bodies as quickly as I can destroy them!” Sarah snarled as she gestured at a table, the piece of furniture shooting over to her like a missile, bisecting the two golems in the way. “I’m running out of spells too.” She added, as she stabbed the sickle into the nearest golem, the weapon getting stuck in its wooden chest. “Weapons too.” She added, just as Mike stood up from the meter square hole he had excavated.
“One hole.” He wheezed as he knocked the sickle chested golem away with the haft of his axe. Darting in, Sarah placed her hand on the concrete foundation and removed a pair of melted chocolate bars from the back pocket of her overalls.
“Loa, hear my call, bring life to the lifelessness and let the harvest come forth.” Sarah pleaded as she placed the chocolate on the floor. Seconds later the house shook and the timber began to ripple as if a wave was running through the building. With a groan the timber of the floor and the wood golems were sucked into a tornado, their bark fusing until they formed into a monstrous ash tree that smashed through the roof of Theta-Psi house.
“Well now we have some roots to dig up.” Mike stated as Sarah ran over to the JCB and squeezed into the cab.
“Luckily I have a shovel big enough to dig it up.” Sarah replied as she gunned the engine before slamming the toothed bucket into the base of the tree. Roaring in pain, the tree shuddered once, twice and finally three times before it toppled over, its root plate exposed to the elements and the mechanical arm of the JCB.
“Let’s chop some us some fire wood then.” Mike stated as he swung the axe down on one of the roots, the tendril slicing open, even as the plant tried to re-root itself back into the ground. As he continued to slash open the roots, Sarah disembarked from the JCB and looked at the destroyed house and dying tree.
“I have a feeling…” She sighed as she picked up her dropped sickle and began hacking away at the remaining roots, “…that we are not getting paid for this.”
END
BY TRAVIS HILTZ
|
Manipulated by Nightmare, lord of the dream dimension, Bruce Banner is no more and the Hulk has been rendered a raging, bestial force of nature.
Exiled to the other dimensional crossroads by Doctor Strange, he now roams the multi-verse, seeking a place where he can live in peace… At the center of the all reality, there is an oasis with a multitude of paths branching off of it. In the middle stood the signpost, a twenty-foot tall structure that resembled an enormous candle that had begun to melt. Protruding from it was a further multitude of arms, each pointing to a path. Most times, the crossroads was uninhabited. Recently it had been the home of the Incredible Hulk and his companions. Having just parted ways with the puffball collective, the Hulk had become resigned to dwelling alone in his otherworldly home. |
Much to his surprise, he was joined by an odd trio of beings, who seemed not just to provide company, but also were intent on guiding the Hulk, to raise his awareness beyond its current primitive state.
The quartet was scattered about the crossroads, each engaged in some time wasting activity.
Guardian, the elfin child-sized being was intently performing maintenance on the small bow and arrows he carried.
Glow a multifaceted, spiky gemstone floated from portal to portal, in some manner attempting to access which would be the optimal one to use.
Goblin, a scaly blue lizard creature, with fan-like fins on the side of his head, blood red pupil-less eyes and a mouth full of fangs sat perched, like some kind of otherworldly house cat upon one of the slumped Hulk’s massive shoulders.
“I’m bored,” Goblin groaned. “I’m going outta my frickin’ mind! How long we gotta sit here on our collective butts…excepting Glow, who I don’t think has one…”
“Until the Hulk decides to attempt another portal,” Guardian said, not looking up from his task. “We wait. We are not here to lead, but to guide, both to find Hulk a place in the universe as well as through his own, internal, maze.”
“Guardian speaks truth,” The glowing gem intoned, floating over to its comrades.
“We can advise and guide, but the Hulk must choose his way.”
“Yeah, well, slumping here till the end of time ain’t gonna make that happen,” Goblin grumbled. He leaned over, peering into the Hulk’s slack features. “Hey! Jade jaws, how about moving before you grow roots?”
The massive green creature glanced over at the lizard being, sighed and shrugged.
The small gesture was enough to send Goblin tumbling off. He landed with a thud.
“He did that on purpose…!” Goblin growled, rubbing his injured pride. He stalked back and forth in front of the seated behemoth.
The Hulk gazed around listlessly.
He got slowly to his feet and stomped across the inter-dimensional oasis. The triad followed close behind.
“Something caught his attention,” Guardian mused.
The Hulk followed one of the paths and soon came to a halt.
“What’s he looking at?” Goblin asked, trying to peer around the massive green figure.
“I am not familiar with this portal,” Glow stated, floating above the Hulk’s head.
The portal was smaller then the ones nearest. Its borders ragged. Despite the ever-present light of the crossroads, the portal seemed deep in shadows.
“Serious?” Goblin muttered, slithering between the Hulk’s massive legs. “That’s the one he picks…?”
“Curious,” Guardian frowned.
The Hulk plodded forward, stepping through the dark portal.
“Jeez, ain’t this place cheery,” Goblin muttered.
The quartet stood on a dirt path that snaked through a forest of skeletal, leafless trees. The sky was dark, heavy with clouds. A bright sliver of moon peeked through for brief seconds.
All three, despite their very different builds and metabolisms, gave a shiver against the chill in the air.
Goblin and Guardian scrambled up and perched themselves each upon one of Hulk’s broad shoulders.
“Any second now, a wolf is gonna howl in the distance,” Goblin said, looking around anxiously.
The Hulk peered about, distrusting the quiet and solitude of the forest. Some intangible element of his surroundings was reaching his bestial brain and even without any deep contemplative faculties, he still understood there was something amiss. At the same time, he could sense something down the path that was drawing him.
The darkness loomed, almost crowding against the path. Shapes, indistinct and unnerving seemed to move through the forest.
Guardian drew an arrow from his quiver and placed it to his bow, guardedly watching the trees.
“I do not understand what draws the Hulk here,” He said.
Suddenly, the Hulk stopped. He stood, his head slowly moving back and forth, as though looking for something… a sound that only he could hear.
“What’s going on?” Goblin asked.
“There is a light, in the distance,” Glow informed the others. “That must have drawn his attention.”
The Hulk continued on his way, following a fork in the path that led towards the beckoning speck of light.
The path soon opened up into clearing and in that clearing sat a house.
It loomed over the odd quartet, gothic and imposing, dark windows, like a dozen eyes watched the quartet as they approached.
The Hulk stomped up the set of three stone steps and faced the heavy, oaken door.
“Now what?” Goblin asked. “We just knock? Maybe say ‘trick or treat’?”
The Hulk raised a massive fist and struck the heavy wooden door a single earth-shattering blow.
For several moments, nothing happened. Then slowly with an ominous creak, the door swung slowly open.
“This seem suspicious,” Guardian frowned.
“Ya think…?” Goblin snapped.
The triad let the Hulk take the lead. The emerald behemoth seemed more annoyed than worried as he trudged into the houses’ high ceilinged foyer.
There were wide arched doorways to each side of the foyer and a large old style staircase straight ahead.
The color scheme was all dark wood and black. Thick cobwebs lurked in the corners.
The Hulk sniffed as he glanced around. Spotting a bit of flickering light from the doorway to the right, he headed that way.
The room was cavernous and decorated for a Halloween party: crepe paper bats swung from strings, black bunting hung above doorways and windows. The only light came from candles set in holders in the walls. Carved jack o’ lanterns rested upon nearly every flat surface.
“Very homey,” Goblin muttered.
Before the massive fireplace was an old-fashioned metal washtub, full of murky water with apples floating listlessly in it.
More hungry than in a mood to play games the Hulk crossed the room. He peered down at the fruit, thoughts struggling through the dim recesses of his brain.
He leaned forward, an enormous green hand reaching for an apple.
Suddenly the surface of the water erupted and a half dozen thick, blood red tentacles burst out wrapping themselves around the Hulk’s head and arms.
He gave a growl, but was unable to do anything else before he was yanked down below the surface of the water and disappeared, leaving barely a ripple.
“Wha?” Goblin exclaimed.
“Curious.” Glow mused.
“How?” Guardian added, as both he and his scaly companion rushed over to the washtub.
Halfway across the room a trapdoor opened in the floor and the two beings tumbled out of sight.
Glow hovered in the middle of the room, undecided which of his companions to follow.
Once the trap door clicked shut, the choice was made for the sentient gemstone and he plunged into the water after the Hulk.
# # # # #
Beneath the surface of the water the Hulk found himself being hauled down a long rocky tunnel. It and the tentacles seemed to stretch for miles.
He tugged at the crimson appendages, snarling angrily. While one hand clawed at the tentacles, his other flailed about, eventually digging blunt fingers into the wall, slowing down his progress.
Hulk and the creature spent several harsh seconds locked in this bizarre tug of war, until the rock crumbled under the jade giant’s efforts and he continued his tumble.
Struggling against the leathery tentacles and occasionally colliding with the stone walls enraged the Hulk to the point where he merely grabbed hold of the tentacles and strained until the creature’s flesh tore and burst.
A screech echoed through the tunnel, as the creature abruptly released its hold on the Hulk. This did nothing to slow the Hulk’s descent and by the time he had rubbed the ichors from his face, he arrived at the bottom of the tunnel.
He landed on a large wooden slab, and suddenly constraints clamped down across his wrists, legs and forehead.
# # # # #
Elsewhere, Goblin and Guardian landed roughly in a dungeon-like chamber of grey stone.
“What the heck is going on?” Goblin groaned, rubbing his bruised backside.
“We have stumbled into some strange pocket dimension,” Guardian said, working to gather up the arrows that had fallen out of his quiver in the fall.
“We better find Hulk and Glow before they get themselves in trouble,” Goblin grumbled, getting to his feet and looking around at the drab, ominous surroundings with disapproval and waddled towards the doorway.
Guardian hurried to join him.
The two diminutive beings came to a sudden halt in the arched doorway.
The room was the clichéd mad scientist’s laboratory, complete with Tesla towers, clunky banks of switches and levers and a massive body on a bench covered with a sheet.
The duo had barely gotten over that surprise, when two figures entered. One was a thin, pale man in a white lab smock, followed by a teenage hunchback with feathered hair and wearing a denim jacket.
“Rick! Activate the gamma electrodes!” The scientist announced, gesturing dramatically.
“Yeeess, Dok-tor Banner.” The hunchback mumbled, pulling a lever.
“Look!” Guardian said, pointing at the main Tesla tower. Glow rested on top of it flaring with energy.
“Oh boy…!” Goblin muttered.
The energy arced, striking the figure under the sheet. It twitched and groaned, lurched up into a sitting position, snapping the restraints and tearing the sheet.
The Hulk snarled at his surroundings, spotting the dimly familiar scientist. He leapt down from the slab and stomped towards the figure, smashing any equipment between him and his quarry.
“Dok-tor!” His assistant shouted in warning.
“It’s alive!” Doctor Banner exclaimed at the Hulk’s approach. “Alive, I say, and it seems to want to do me harm! Rick, release the harpies!”
Throwing a switch, on one of the few remaining undamaged banks of equipment, opened a half dozen large, wrought iron birdcages that hung from the heavy oaken rafters, unleashing dozens of green feathered harpies.
“Okay, fun’s fun,” Goblin said, scrambling up the largest tower. “But, this is getting weird! Time to scram!”
Guardian could come up with no contradictory argument and merely nodded, while notching an arrow to his bow. The first arrow he fired, not at the half women, half birds, but rather at the Hulk himself.
The arrow flew through the Hulk’s massive brow, melting into his leathery skin like it was made of water.
The Hulk paused, his rage cooled by a spark of inspiration. It lasted but a second, but enough for the odd duo to flee the chamber, and when the Hulk’s rage swept back, the harpies got his full focus.
The Hulk roared and swatted the vicious creatures. Any he missed he knocked out of the sky by flinging pieces of broken lab equipment.
Meanwhile, Goblin was busy prying Glow loose from the tower.
“Bang up job keeping an eye on the big guy, ya paperweight,” Goblin grumbled as the last member of the triad shook itself free and floated down, snubbing its friend’s criticism.
Guardian ran, leaping and dodging, both the attacking monsters and the monster that was in theory his ally.
“I do not like this dimension,” He said, sounding more annoyed then angry or fearful. “Something has made it a mirror of Hulk’s deepest hidden thoughts.”
“Great, how do we convince lettuce lips to activate the recall spell?” Goblin asked, diving under a lab bench.
“The Hulk is currently beyond reason,” Glow added.
“Ya think?” Goblin exclaimed.
“Our best course of action is not deter him,” Glow continued. “But allow his rage to run its course.”
“Now you’re talking!” Goblin said, racing across the room.
Guardian fired off several more arrows and then jogged after his companions, skeptical that this nightmarish flock would be enough.
He didn’t have to worry. No sooner had the Hulk clubbed down the last harpy, when the vaulted ceiling cracked down the middle and an enormous pair of hands pulled it apart.
The colossus that glared down at the Hulk was a middle-aged man with dark hair and a thin mustache. His suit was decades out of style.
To the green creature the giant man was just another threat, another challenge. If Bruce Banner had still existed, he would have recognized a distorted, nightmare version of his abusive father, Brian.
Perhaps some crumb of the tormented scientist still existed within the recesses of the Hulk’s mind, as an angry roar shook the dungeon.
# # # # #
Soon, the triad had scrambled through the house, wandering their way through the maze-like structure and soon found themselves back on the front steps.
Goblin slumped, struggling to catch his breath. Guardian stood sentry, bow at the ready and Glow floating about.
Within seconds, the ground began to rumble. All three started, as the house trembled. The three scrambled away from the shaking house for the questionable shelter of the trees.
The ground and house shook and groaned before the entire structure collapsed like it was made of wet cardboard.
An eerie silence encompassed the remains of the gothic mansion.
The triad grew tense, unsure what happened if the Hulk did not survive. Would they be trapped in this little nightmare world without the Hulk and the spell that allowed them to travel the multiverse?
Suddenly the wreckage exploded like a volcano and the Hulk slowly emerged.
He was scratched and coated with dust. Moving with weary effort, the bestial figure waded through debris. By the time he had cleared the wreckage, the battle had faded from the Hulk’s consideration to a past annoyance and he slumped back down the path, his companions following close behind.
With a brief flickering of reality, the quartet disappeared from view, returning to their other-dimensional resting place.
# # # # #
Seen from above the macabre corner of reality seemed to contain no more than the manor house and the forest, as though it was no more then some kind of bizarre snow globe.
Peering down upon it was a trio of dark beings, who gazed upon the scene intently.
“How curious,” Nox, Greek goddess of shadows said, thoughtfully. “This brute caused Nightmare so much consternation…?”
“Those little…creatures are a new addition,” The Dweller in darkness mused, his body every bit as grey and craggy as the stone throne he sat upon. “A formable physical force, but no match for the power and deception of Nightmare. There is more to this then meets the eye.”
The Scarecrow that hung from the wall merely chuckled to itself at its fellow Fear Lords puzzlement.
END
BY D. GOLIGHTLY
|
Between the space ways, nebula rocketed by like trickles of water in a stream. If it were not for his cosmic awareness, the sleek form being propelled through the abyss might not even be able to register the shimmering scenes unfolding around him. Traversing at this speed had that effect; skewed space/time that created a stunning scene, but one that few could perceive.
Norrin Radd, the Silver Surfer, only occasionally took notice of the awe-inspiring streaks of light. He had grown used to it. Rarely would something this deep into space surprise him, and on his lonely voyage, he only had his end point in mind. The infinite avenues of direction no longer held interest for him. |
However, as he warped beyond several unknown planets, something between the twinkles of cosmic motes, for whatever reason, gave him pause. Perhaps it was a change in a certain pattern, barely registering in his peripheral vision. Whatever the cause, he slowed to take notice, which pulled the long threads of stretched light back into their balls of origin. One such string did not retreat as physics reasserted themselves around the Surfer.
It was as if something was pulling on the star, pulling it apart like taffy. A blackened gulf, a void of nothing, was sucking in the essence of the star, and while the star fought to retain itself, it was failing. Before long the star would be stretched so thin it would become brittle, if a star could be such a thing, and would be extinguished.
There were countless creatures and naturally occurring phenomena that the Surfer had witnessed in his travels that behaved this way, all of them innocent. Even the dreadful Galactus, with his dietary habits that could turn entire solar systems into chaos, acted in a similar manner, and he was only serving his purpose in the cosmic order of things. It was not the Surfer’s place to get involved and he had no reason to want to do so.
Except…there was a consciousness here. A stray thought that danced around his faculties, brushing against his mind at first, and then perhaps sensing his presence, quietly and deliberately trying to enter his mind.
The Surfer suddenly felt himself rocked back, his gleaming board beneath his feet sliding back with him to maintain his balance. The stray thought had grown as it had tried to push into him, expanding and curious, now desperate to latch onto him. The Surfer’s eyes flashed a brilliant purple for the span of a single second as he wielded the power cosmic, and the thought fled back to its owner.
The blackened spot in space, tens of thousands of leagues away, stopped feeding on the star and its strings of light snapped back. The Surfer sensed the consciousness turn its full attention toward him. It would seem that his flight would no longer be a lonely one.
-TRAVELER-
In the vacuum of space, there was only the impression of speech. Many races communicated this way, either through telepathy or another plane of existence. The Surfer seemed to feel the consciousness speak more than actually hear it, which was common enough among the stars. It was unusual, however, for there to be some kind of pulse lacing the words. There was a presence, a certain force of will, etched into the syllables that disturbed the Surfer.
-SERVE ME-
The words and that same invisible compulsion beckoned. Slowly the thoughts of another began to pelt him, and had it been anyone other than the Silver Surfer himself, perhaps their mind might fall into madness.
Repelling the intrusion with nothing short of a herculean effort, the Surfer brandished his power cosmic and launched himself upon his board toward the nothingness entity. Enslaving the mind was a capital crime by his understanding, no matter the origin of a species. Nothing in the cosmos should dare to assault him so, and he would make sure that it would not be able to do so again.
Pink and purple embers of swollen power erupted from his fists as he bore down on the inky void. Only when he swung into alignment with its oblong shape could he see between the folds of blackness, as if a veil was draped around an enormous creature to keep it concealed.
But enormous did not being to describe the monstrosity cloaked within. Lumbering tentacles were curled up upon themselves, slithering en masse, folded under a face that could have been born from hatred itself. Simply looking upon this thing, this putrid essence of wretched imagination brought to life, could have driven a person insane. Where a chin should be there were more appendages, slapping against the larger limbs that never stopped sliding over themselves, and perhaps hiding a mouth that would gladly inhale all life. Two slits glowed fiercely where eyes could be, its gaze penetrating beyond the physical. Behind it all was a body of such proportions to strain the concept of physical dimensions.
-BECOME MINE-
The words assaulted the Surfer like a wall, thrusting against his entire self, body and soul. There was now no doubt that he was charging against the embodiment of evil itself. Were such a creature left to roam free it would undoubtedly become the scourge of whatever civilization it crossed.
He unleashed the power cosmic from his outstretched fists as his board carried him into the silent maelstrom. Twin torrents of applied force, the focused elements of creation, sliced into the creature with ferocious accuracy. Their potency would vanquish an armada, decimate several legions, or cripple a god.
One of the tentacles was scorched and a roar of such magnitude to actually dismount the Surfer from his board erupted from within the veil. He gripped the sides of his head to try and stop his mind from rattling and he thought that he might actually lose his awareness, if not his entire sense of self. He felt something cold and rancid slide over his body and before he understood what had happened, his arms were lashed down to his torso by colossal limbs. His sheen was deadened wherever the tentacle connected with him and he felt his very life begin to dim.
The thing pulled him closer, yanking him across a span that could have encompassed a planet. He saw that its tip had split into hundreds of smaller version of itself, each one winding itself around him. The Surfer found himself struggling uselessly, and the pressure around him became so intense that he thought the shell of his body might begin to crack.
-YOU WOUND ME-
It did not sound to the Surfer like an accusation, but rather a curiosity. He sensed that this thing, with its slithering muscles that sucked at his body, was intrigued. Perhaps it had been trapped in endless space for so long that it had never even considered that it could be hurt.
Another tentacle reached out and began wrapping itself around the Surfer’s legs. A coldness that was chilling even in the depths of space worked its way into the Surfer’s body, as if his very spirit had been dipped into an icy bath.
Something in his chest cracked and he felt one of them wiggle beneath his skin. A glance revealed a protrusion pushing up inside of his body, now moving beneath his neck and toward his face. His silver coating, something that made him appear angelic to most societies he encountered, was now tarnished and crimped just below his chin. The pain nearly destroyed him.
-DEVOTE YOURSELF-
-WORSHIP ME-
Alongside the physical twisting of his own body, the Surfer was also tormented within. The disposition of this leviathan was pregnant with lust. It demanded to be sated. If it did not claim its servant it would have its sacrifice.
For the briefest of moments their consciousness touched again, and he saw the thing’s grotesque history. It knew so much of Earth, even though it had not been there for generations. It was an old specter, an ancient evil that desired nothing but to conquer free will. It had been banished to several other dimensions and over a millennia had finally restituted itself here, in the fringes of space, where it would feed and regain its power to come and reclaim its rightful place as the subjugator of worlds.
Even though it promised nothing more than eternal torment, it still had its followers. Its worshippers would praise it, and from the depths of its memory the Surfer heard an arcane chant: “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
The Surfer had known things like this before. He had encountered tyrants that begot despots, that begot chaos, that begot annihilation. This creature was all of this and more, wrapped up within its cloak of rancor. It was powerful, but it remained just as petty as any of them. Despite the violation of his sanity and the incursion of his anatomy, this challenge was nothing new to him.
-YOU ARE MINE-
As the tentacle glided beneath his skin, up passed his jaw and wrapping around his eye socket, he nearly gave himself over. It was sheer willpower that enabled him not to crumble in that moment, a determination to never again allow himself to become enslaved to another.
Instead, he opened his mouth and managed to issue a single command: “To me, my board!”
It was a part of him regardless of the fact that it was wholly separate. No matter where he was, no matter how far removed from it, the board was him and he was it. It was more than a source of locomotion, although that was its greatest function, able to leap across light years on a whim. It was also a supreme extension of himself, possessing the same power cosmic that boiled within him.
The board hurtled toward them, slicing through the limb that had first wrapped around the Surfer. Moving at speeds that would rupture atmospheres, the board circled back and carved off another tentacle, acting as a righteous blade to free the Surfer.
The creature bellowed as it lost one of its appendages and the Surfer finally found himself free once more. He gripped the thinned exploratory snake and yanked it out from his body, feeling it squirm beneath his skin as he did so. He coughed as it was wrenched out completely and it lashed wildly in his grip, nearly sliding free, but a flash from the power cosmic incinerated its tip.
The board carried him back to a safer distance and he now saw the damage that the thing had done to him. The luster had been extracted from his body. No longer would the starlight reflect off of his passing form, at least not until he could heal. But he could not leave to lick his wounds now, not when this corruption of nature was able to strike out against humanity once more.
Summoning the entity of the power cosmic, the Surfer blanketed the creature with sovereignty. Its flesh bubbled and the slits it gazed through were sealed off. Its face twisted as its own fluids churned from the assault.
As fierce as his power was, however, the Surfer knew he would not be able to kill the thing. Perhaps whoever had banished it before knew the same, and was the reason for the other precautions. Recognizing the wisdom of his predecessor, the Surfer was determined to replicate the punishment.
It was then that he realized that the blackened space around the thing was not naturally where it dwelled. Only one side had been punctured, which was why he did not even see inside it until he was directly in front of it. No, this was not a shell, or home for the creature. It was a binding, a wall between dimensions.
With his power cosmic ebbing fast, the Surfer reached between the creases of reality, pinching at the veil that seemed to house the creature, and pulled them shut. The mental onslaught was brutal to the point of condemnation, but the Surfer carried on. Tentacles lashed out, charred and smoking as they came close to his awesome supremacy, the power cosmic flooding off of his entire body.
And then there was nothing. The blankness of space snapped back into place, the blight upon the natural order now removed, and the Surfer found himself alone once more. He fell to one knee, clutching at his cracked chest to try and catch the energy spilling out. He would need time to recover, but the threat had passed and he had overcome the challenge.
He laid down on his board, drifting without any real sense of direction, and for the first time since he had ceased to be Norrin Radd, the Silver Surfer allowed himself to sleep.
END
It was as if something was pulling on the star, pulling it apart like taffy. A blackened gulf, a void of nothing, was sucking in the essence of the star, and while the star fought to retain itself, it was failing. Before long the star would be stretched so thin it would become brittle, if a star could be such a thing, and would be extinguished.
There were countless creatures and naturally occurring phenomena that the Surfer had witnessed in his travels that behaved this way, all of them innocent. Even the dreadful Galactus, with his dietary habits that could turn entire solar systems into chaos, acted in a similar manner, and he was only serving his purpose in the cosmic order of things. It was not the Surfer’s place to get involved and he had no reason to want to do so.
Except…there was a consciousness here. A stray thought that danced around his faculties, brushing against his mind at first, and then perhaps sensing his presence, quietly and deliberately trying to enter his mind.
The Surfer suddenly felt himself rocked back, his gleaming board beneath his feet sliding back with him to maintain his balance. The stray thought had grown as it had tried to push into him, expanding and curious, now desperate to latch onto him. The Surfer’s eyes flashed a brilliant purple for the span of a single second as he wielded the power cosmic, and the thought fled back to its owner.
The blackened spot in space, tens of thousands of leagues away, stopped feeding on the star and its strings of light snapped back. The Surfer sensed the consciousness turn its full attention toward him. It would seem that his flight would no longer be a lonely one.
-TRAVELER-
In the vacuum of space, there was only the impression of speech. Many races communicated this way, either through telepathy or another plane of existence. The Surfer seemed to feel the consciousness speak more than actually hear it, which was common enough among the stars. It was unusual, however, for there to be some kind of pulse lacing the words. There was a presence, a certain force of will, etched into the syllables that disturbed the Surfer.
-SERVE ME-
The words and that same invisible compulsion beckoned. Slowly the thoughts of another began to pelt him, and had it been anyone other than the Silver Surfer himself, perhaps their mind might fall into madness.
Repelling the intrusion with nothing short of a herculean effort, the Surfer brandished his power cosmic and launched himself upon his board toward the nothingness entity. Enslaving the mind was a capital crime by his understanding, no matter the origin of a species. Nothing in the cosmos should dare to assault him so, and he would make sure that it would not be able to do so again.
Pink and purple embers of swollen power erupted from his fists as he bore down on the inky void. Only when he swung into alignment with its oblong shape could he see between the folds of blackness, as if a veil was draped around an enormous creature to keep it concealed.
But enormous did not being to describe the monstrosity cloaked within. Lumbering tentacles were curled up upon themselves, slithering en masse, folded under a face that could have been born from hatred itself. Simply looking upon this thing, this putrid essence of wretched imagination brought to life, could have driven a person insane. Where a chin should be there were more appendages, slapping against the larger limbs that never stopped sliding over themselves, and perhaps hiding a mouth that would gladly inhale all life. Two slits glowed fiercely where eyes could be, its gaze penetrating beyond the physical. Behind it all was a body of such proportions to strain the concept of physical dimensions.
-BECOME MINE-
The words assaulted the Surfer like a wall, thrusting against his entire self, body and soul. There was now no doubt that he was charging against the embodiment of evil itself. Were such a creature left to roam free it would undoubtedly become the scourge of whatever civilization it crossed.
He unleashed the power cosmic from his outstretched fists as his board carried him into the silent maelstrom. Twin torrents of applied force, the focused elements of creation, sliced into the creature with ferocious accuracy. Their potency would vanquish an armada, decimate several legions, or cripple a god.
One of the tentacles was scorched and a roar of such magnitude to actually dismount the Surfer from his board erupted from within the veil. He gripped the sides of his head to try and stop his mind from rattling and he thought that he might actually lose his awareness, if not his entire sense of self. He felt something cold and rancid slide over his body and before he understood what had happened, his arms were lashed down to his torso by colossal limbs. His sheen was deadened wherever the tentacle connected with him and he felt his very life begin to dim.
The thing pulled him closer, yanking him across a span that could have encompassed a planet. He saw that its tip had split into hundreds of smaller version of itself, each one winding itself around him. The Surfer found himself struggling uselessly, and the pressure around him became so intense that he thought the shell of his body might begin to crack.
-YOU WOUND ME-
It did not sound to the Surfer like an accusation, but rather a curiosity. He sensed that this thing, with its slithering muscles that sucked at his body, was intrigued. Perhaps it had been trapped in endless space for so long that it had never even considered that it could be hurt.
Another tentacle reached out and began wrapping itself around the Surfer’s legs. A coldness that was chilling even in the depths of space worked its way into the Surfer’s body, as if his very spirit had been dipped into an icy bath.
Something in his chest cracked and he felt one of them wiggle beneath his skin. A glance revealed a protrusion pushing up inside of his body, now moving beneath his neck and toward his face. His silver coating, something that made him appear angelic to most societies he encountered, was now tarnished and crimped just below his chin. The pain nearly destroyed him.
-DEVOTE YOURSELF-
-WORSHIP ME-
Alongside the physical twisting of his own body, the Surfer was also tormented within. The disposition of this leviathan was pregnant with lust. It demanded to be sated. If it did not claim its servant it would have its sacrifice.
For the briefest of moments their consciousness touched again, and he saw the thing’s grotesque history. It knew so much of Earth, even though it had not been there for generations. It was an old specter, an ancient evil that desired nothing but to conquer free will. It had been banished to several other dimensions and over a millennia had finally restituted itself here, in the fringes of space, where it would feed and regain its power to come and reclaim its rightful place as the subjugator of worlds.
Even though it promised nothing more than eternal torment, it still had its followers. Its worshippers would praise it, and from the depths of its memory the Surfer heard an arcane chant: “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
The Surfer had known things like this before. He had encountered tyrants that begot despots, that begot chaos, that begot annihilation. This creature was all of this and more, wrapped up within its cloak of rancor. It was powerful, but it remained just as petty as any of them. Despite the violation of his sanity and the incursion of his anatomy, this challenge was nothing new to him.
-YOU ARE MINE-
As the tentacle glided beneath his skin, up passed his jaw and wrapping around his eye socket, he nearly gave himself over. It was sheer willpower that enabled him not to crumble in that moment, a determination to never again allow himself to become enslaved to another.
Instead, he opened his mouth and managed to issue a single command: “To me, my board!”
It was a part of him regardless of the fact that it was wholly separate. No matter where he was, no matter how far removed from it, the board was him and he was it. It was more than a source of locomotion, although that was its greatest function, able to leap across light years on a whim. It was also a supreme extension of himself, possessing the same power cosmic that boiled within him.
The board hurtled toward them, slicing through the limb that had first wrapped around the Surfer. Moving at speeds that would rupture atmospheres, the board circled back and carved off another tentacle, acting as a righteous blade to free the Surfer.
The creature bellowed as it lost one of its appendages and the Surfer finally found himself free once more. He gripped the thinned exploratory snake and yanked it out from his body, feeling it squirm beneath his skin as he did so. He coughed as it was wrenched out completely and it lashed wildly in his grip, nearly sliding free, but a flash from the power cosmic incinerated its tip.
The board carried him back to a safer distance and he now saw the damage that the thing had done to him. The luster had been extracted from his body. No longer would the starlight reflect off of his passing form, at least not until he could heal. But he could not leave to lick his wounds now, not when this corruption of nature was able to strike out against humanity once more.
Summoning the entity of the power cosmic, the Surfer blanketed the creature with sovereignty. Its flesh bubbled and the slits it gazed through were sealed off. Its face twisted as its own fluids churned from the assault.
As fierce as his power was, however, the Surfer knew he would not be able to kill the thing. Perhaps whoever had banished it before knew the same, and was the reason for the other precautions. Recognizing the wisdom of his predecessor, the Surfer was determined to replicate the punishment.
It was then that he realized that the blackened space around the thing was not naturally where it dwelled. Only one side had been punctured, which was why he did not even see inside it until he was directly in front of it. No, this was not a shell, or home for the creature. It was a binding, a wall between dimensions.
With his power cosmic ebbing fast, the Surfer reached between the creases of reality, pinching at the veil that seemed to house the creature, and pulled them shut. The mental onslaught was brutal to the point of condemnation, but the Surfer carried on. Tentacles lashed out, charred and smoking as they came close to his awesome supremacy, the power cosmic flooding off of his entire body.
And then there was nothing. The blankness of space snapped back into place, the blight upon the natural order now removed, and the Surfer found himself alone once more. He fell to one knee, clutching at his cracked chest to try and catch the energy spilling out. He would need time to recover, but the threat had passed and he had overcome the challenge.
He laid down on his board, drifting without any real sense of direction, and for the first time since he had ceased to be Norrin Radd, the Silver Surfer allowed himself to sleep.
END
BY TONY THORNLEY & ERIK FROMME
|
Eight years later…
Kyle Richmond tuned the small ham radio in to the same station he did every day at twilight. The remaining twenty-three hours, forty-five minutes, the radio was set to randomly circulate through all the frequencies available, hoping to catch transmissions from other, unknown clusters of humanity. Tonight however, Kyle knew it was different. Unless something changed, and quickly, this was the last night the radio would receive a transmission of any sort. Tonight would be the night that Kyle and his little colony would die. |
“Good evening,” started the rich voice they’d all become accustomed to. “This is Tony Stark, voice of the Human Avenger Alliance. I certainly hope that my voice finds each of us well.” Tony sighed. “The war in Wakanda continues on. The Panthers have fought valiantly, and have won another bat-”
“Kyle,” a voice said from the door. He looked up at the young woman and sighed.
“They’re here,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t know how-“
“The older ones can come out earlier,” he said. “Hierarchy doesn’t hurt. One of the queens may even provide a little cloud cover. Take your pick.” He stood, put his shoulders back, and grabbed the two weapons he carried since he’d founded the settlement- a short sword forged of silver and a handgun. They weren’t symbols of status. They were true implements of death, not that it would matter tonight. Tonight, they’d send sheer numbers, enough to overwhelm them quickly.
He walked out onto Main Street. The sun was just setting, but the clouds covering it made it difficult to tell. Only Kyle’s supernatural connection to the night, a connection that served him well as Nighthawk, told him it was still late evening and not early dusk. They knew that also. They knew he wouldn’t have that darkness-aided strength and speed that might have saved him.
He walked towards the edge of town, confident and assured. He glanced at the young woman, Rachael, and smiled. She seemed to relax. Good. She needed it.
“How far is the generator from working?” he asked.
“Two hours,” Rachel said.
“Tell them to keep working,” he said. “No matter what happens. Keep working.” He waved her away. This was a battle he had to begin alone. He found the man waiting at the edge of town. He wasn’t surprised at the person they sent.
“Jim,” he said. “Been a long time.”
“Since the fall of the Sanctum,” Jim Rhodes said.
“Looks like the armor fell apart.”
Rhodes smiled and lifted his gauntlets, the only still-functioning portion of the War Machine armor. “Looks like. I’ll have to thank Tony for that next time I see him.”
“How many are out there Jim?”
“Three of us,” he said. “And forty-seven of our support.”
“Thralls,” Kyle said. “Just use the damn word. They can’t support you if they have no free will.”
“You always had too much of a mouth for your own good,” Rhodes said.
“And your mouth is any better?”
Rhodes smiled, baring his teeth, particularly the elongated incisors that had replaced his natural teeth. “The queens just want you dead, y’know? They don’t even want to turn you. Trust me, I tried to convince them. Your powers would increase a thousand fold. I guess that’s why you should never trust one of us.”
“I’d rather die fighting than spend eternity as one of you bloodsuckers,” he said, drawing his sword and leveling it at Rhodes’ throat. “I may not be at full strength, but the sun is going down. I feel strong enough to take you.”
“Oh, and you are. But not all three of us.”
Suddenly, Kyle was surrounded. He took a deep breath and drew his gun. He would take one of these sons of bitches with him.
“Even if your ‘engineer’ gets your generator running in the next five minutes, this will be worth it,” Rhodes said. “I’ve been looking forward to draining you for a long time Kyle.”
“Come and get it,” he spat, “vampire.”
The three vampires rushed Kyle Richmond at once.
Rhodes was impressed. Richmond actually held them off for nearly five minutes. He may have even mortally wounded Anders, if the silver poisoning was bad enough.
He walked into the small communications room. He needed a moment to savor the taste of Richmond’s blood on his lips, away from the screams of the people that Nighthawk had failed to protect. He licked his right gauntlet clean, but paused when he heard the voice. He sneered.
“Brothers and sisters of humanity,” he said. “We will persevere. We will win this war. We possess the most powerful weapon in it- hope. Hope that we will live to see another sunrise, and hope that we will survive another day beyond that. Do not lose that hope. It will help you see it through.
“You’re as corny as the Midwest, Ton,” he said. He licked his gauntlet again. “I can’t wait to rip your booze-soaked head off that body.”
“This is Tony Stark, voice of the Human Avenger Alliance, signing off again. Good night. We’ll see you in the morning.”
# # # # #
2 miles west of Bangor, Maine
Scott Summers turned off his radio and sighed. His hand instinctively rose to the small twin scars on his neck. They would never fade away, and honestly, he’d prefer they didn’t. He needed a reminder every night. He left his tent to find the X-Men already on the move.
“Hey boss,” Julian Keller said as he saw Scott. The young man was barely ten when the war went public six years before. Now he was a battle-hardened veteran X-Man at only sixteen. The vampires were all he knew.
“Hellion, have we heard from any of the others?” he said.
“Cannonball’s squad is in Boston,” he said. “Sam said they may have a bead on both Madrox and Pietro. They’re following up on it.”
“Shit,” he said. “Both of them in one place. Have Network warn them to be damn careful. We don’t want another Dallas.” Julian nodded somberly. Dallas was before his time, but he knew the story. There was a reason why everyone spoke about that day in only whispers. Everyone except Scott.
A sudden hush filled the X-Men’s camp. Scott spun to see the cause and his eyes narrowed as he saw him. Alex stepped alongside him as the X-Men’s leaders walked forward to greet their guests, the leaders of the other X-Men.
Bishop smiled as he saw Scott, making sure to display his blood-darkened fangs, while Nightcrawler hung back in the shadows. They had killed one of their sentries. Scott muttered a curse.
“Such language,” Bishop said with mock indignation. “Is that appropriate for a leader of men?”
“When did you start talking like a pompous asshole?” Alex growled.
“The moment I became your better,” he said. Scott looked into the air, then back at Bishop.
“Tell Warren to land or I’ll shoot him down,” he said. He raised his hand to his visor and opened it just enough to allow reddish light to escape. Bishop scowled, but moments later Warren Worthington landed next to him. Warren’s feathered wings were long gone, replaced by leathery, bat-like wings. His complexion was ashen, and his eyes sunken. The X-Men behind Scott all recoiled at the sight of their former ally.
“What do you want?” commanded a new voice. Scott glanced over his shoulder long enough to see Magneto striding forward. He smirked. Erik had laced his clothing with silver and vibranium after the first vampire attack, and had also applied vibranium tattoos to much of his body after learning of the metal’s toxicity to the undead. The master of magnetism was vampire proof.
Bishop and Warren actually both took a step back as Magneto walked forward. His presence had always been intimidating, but now he was even more so to the vampires. The vibranium had a greater effect than making him toxic. It had restored his vitality. The wrinkles had virtually vanished, the old limps had dissolved. He was the younger man that had been able to raise armies again.
“We are sick of our feud,” Bishop hissed. “As are the queens. We have come to offer a truce.”
“Bullshit,” Alex said. “You’ve come to try to turn our people.”
“You are so short sighted Havok!” Warren hissed. “What we offer is power! Pure, unbridled power!”
“And for those of us you can’t turn?” Scott asked. Warren and Bishop both looked at the scar on his neck.
“You will be made… comfortable,” Bishop said. Scott’s eyes narrowed. The solar energy that powered his optic blasts had saved his life. He and Alex were both walking solar batteries, and that apparently meant vampires were allergic to them as well.
“None of our people want your perversion of life,” Magneto said. His eyes began to glow and silver stakes all around the camp started to shake. The X-Men began to gather behind their leaders, staring defiantly at the vampires.
“Go now,” Scott said. “The only reason you’re still undead is out of the memory of who you were in life.” Nightcrawler hissed from the shadows and teleported away. Warren’s eyes narrowed.
“You will regret this Summers,” he said.
“Doubt it,” Scott growled. “Tell my wife hello for me.” Bishop dissolved into mist and Warren rocketed into the sky. Magneto scowled as he released his hold on the silver all around him.
“A pity,” he said. “I looked forward to this confrontation.”
# # # # #
Denver, Colorado
Benjamin Reilly Parker sat back in his chair as Stark’s broadcast deteriorated into static. He rubbed his eyes and checked the clock. Nightfall was still an hour away. He had been awake for a full twenty-four hours now, with no sign of stopping. The UV lamps in sector 8B were still out. Sandman was in the area, ready for anything that tried to make it through, but no matter how powerful Marko was, they still needed to fix the lamps.
“Hey there Tiger,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. “Enjoying the white noise?” A pair of soft arms wrapped around his neck as Mary Jane Parker kissed the top of his head.
“Hey there,” he whispered. He turned and kissed his wife softly on the lips. “Benjy and Mayday down for the night?”
“Sleeping like logs,” she said. “You heard from Max?”
“Harry is on his way out to the lamps right now with the supplies he needs,” he said. “We’re praying he can have it done by nightfall.”
“Isn’t Flint with him?”
“Yeah, but would YOU want to do repairs in the middle of a pitched battle?” he asked. MJ grinned and shook her head.
“Guess not,” she said. “Are you…?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “I’ve spoken to Fisk… I don’t know if he’s going to cooperate.”
“You need to move those supplies to Colorado Springs tonight,” she said. “People are suffering.”
“I know,” he said. “I definitely know that. Wilson’s on a power trip though. I might have to…” He sighed. “…pay him a visit with Doctor Connors. To convince him.” He practically spat the last words out.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” MJ said with little conviction.
“I know.” Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Hey Tiger,” she said. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. You are a hero to these people. You have saved countless lives.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “But how much of a hero can you be when you slowly see yourself becoming a villain?”
# # # # #
18 Miles outside of Missoula, Montana
Harry Osborn worked as quickly as his half-numb hands allowed. The wind was biting into his knuckles, and he knew a few more minutes and he’d lose control completely. The Sandman paced nearby, his fists shifting form with each step.
“Har, we’ve got fifteen minutes to sundown,” he said. “Hurry up!”
“You think I don’t know that?” he said. “I am hurrying as fast as I can.” A sudden growl caught his attention. Both men turned and saw the creature pacing in the shade of several evergreens. Several VERY close evergreens.
“They’re here,” Flint muttered. “Dammit, they’re already here.”
“Son of a bitch,” Harry muttered. He rubbed his hands together quickly, trying to maintain circulation in his fingers, then looked at the assembly in front of him. The bulb was fixed, but the wiring was still screwed up. He quickly ran the wiring diagram through his head. Sandman looked at him and saw the wheels turning.
“How long do you need Goblin?” he asked.
“F-five to eight minutes,” Harry said. Several other growls echoed in their ears. They both looked into the trees for a beat before Flint responded.
“You have five,” he said.
One of the more daring vampires ventured forward, sniffing the air. Harry realized that she smelled his Goblin-serum enhanced blood through the cracks forming on his knuckles. It probably smelled sweet to them. Like dessert. He picked up his speed, hoping it wouldn’t come down to a fight.
The Sandman felt differently. He was ready for a fight.
The man once known as William Baker ran forward, his limbs shifting into a large hammer and a spiked mace. His body shifted form slightly, expanding and losing his more human appearance. Now he simply looked like a walking sandstorm.
He slammed into the first vampire with the spiked mace, impaling her. He slammed her into a tree before she exploded into a hot burst of flame. He spun and simply crushed another into the ground, bursting it in a spray of blood and ichor. Several jumped on his back and began clawing, trying to wound their prey.
Flint let his body begin to flow over the vampires, increasing the speed and intensity of his defense until he was a virtual sandstorm. The sand tore the quartet of bloodsuckers apart, leaving only bones in seconds.
He stopped spinning and solidified in his human form before he pounded another vampire into a pulp. He threw yet another against a tree, and it exploded with a burst of flame. Several started to rush him all at once, but an incredibly bright light suddenly flooded the area with UV light. Two vampires instantly burst into flames. Flint grinned as he heard the vamps start to retreat.
“Hell yeah Gobby,” he said. “Good work. How about I buy you a beer?”
# # # # #
San Francisco, California
“Short but inspiring tonight boss,” Abe Jenkins said. He stared at himself in the mirror, running his fingers along the subtle pattern of circuitry under his skin.
“Thanks Abe,” Tony Stark said, the audio piped through the speakers of the helmet sitting in front of Abe. “I’m getting less and less to talk about by the day. It just seems to get more and more bleak.”
“I know it,” he said. “At least Iron Man is getting some work done.”
“Thank you again,” Tony said. “What you’re doing… you’re saving lives, no matter how indirectly it might seem.”
“I’m seeing action every night boss-man,” he said. “I don’t care how indirect it might be. It’s like vampire hunting is in my blood.”
“Good,” he said. “I wish I could be there, but-“
“Tony, you’re living in that satellite for a reason,” he said. “Your mind is way too important. If these monsters were able to turn or enthrall you, the human race wouldn’t stand a chance. You’d be turning out iron coffins for them.” Stark began laughing, picturing the armed coffins flying through the air.
“How’s Pepper doing?” Tony asked.
“Good. She’s actually on her way to Seattle with a few hundred pounds of scavenged food. Any luck, she’ll be there well before nightfall.”
“Fantastic,” he said. “So I have our new target. I tracked down an old buddy of yours. He hasn’t been turned, but his old partner has. He’s willingly working for them.”
“Sounds like Fixer,” he said.
“Give the boy a prize!” Stark exclaimed. Abe chuckled.
“I’ll suit up. You uploading everything I need?”
“The data dump will be complete by the time you have the helmet on. Good luck angels.”
“That’d be funny if there was more than one of me.”
# # # # #
Iron Man rocketed over the Sierra Nevadas, and slowly veered right, directing his flight southward. Abe’s armor was a completely new iteration of Iron Man. Similar to the “Silver Centurion” armor, but less bulky, silver had replaced the typical gold accents of the design. A thick line of silver run up the armor, through the arc reactor and uni-beam in the chest.
There were several modifications to the armor to make it as vampire un-friendly as possible. The first was that the silver actually was silver, not stainless steel or chrome. One touch, and a vamp would have a rash that would make their un-life unpleasant. Hidden UV lamps were built into the shoulders, ready to deploy at his mental command. Two wrist mounted guns fired miniature silver stakes, enough to overpower a small coven of vamps.
The vampires were afraid of Abe. They needed to be.
“You are approximately thirty-seven miles from your destination, Mister Jenkins,” said JARVIS. Tony had installed the AI in the last update of the armor. The voice of Stark’s late butler was unbelievably comforting.
“ETA JARVIS?” he asked.
“Fourteen point seven minutes,” it said. “Las Vegas should be visible at any moment.”
“Give me GPS on my HUD,” he said. “Full radio access also.”
“Routing now…” A few moments later a map was superimposed on the landscape. A blinking red light revealed the location of his target. The light grew larger as he grew closer to the city. He let JARVIS do the flying until he was about a mile from the city limits.
Vegas was the only city on the planet where humans and vampires lived in peace. It was the nature of the city. The darkness, the sin, it fed the vamps as much as blood did. Although the drug trade got a spike from the vampire activity (apparently there was nothing quite like blood laced with heroin), the sex trade was booming, with prostitutes of both species selling themselves to anyone willing to pay. As an extension, Vegas was the only city where economic structure hadn’t fallen apart.
He rocketed low and fast over Vegas, skimming heads as he went past. He wanted them to know that Iron Man was in town. Intimidation was ninety percent of being alpha dog.
Abe crashed through the roof of an abandoned store front, creating a man-sized hole all the way to the basement. Six vampires turned and hissed at him. All of them were female, and very attractive. He scowled beneath his mask.
“You’ve got to be kidding me ‘Bert,” he muttered. “You’ve got your own harem?”
“Abe, Abe, Abe,” said a croaking voice behind the vampires. “The harem is the way to go. I guess one perk of being undead is that you’re always horny.” The six women parted to reveal the Fixer sitting in a wheelchair behind them. Norbert Ebersol had grown frail, his body somehow aged to around eighty.
“Oh my hell, what’s happened to you?”
“This is what happens when you’re fed on without being turned,” he said. “I guess the vamp blood is what you need for eternal youth. I don’t mind. The sex is great. So’s the health insurance.” Abe raised his arms, aiming his gauntlets at the vampires. They began to hiss.
“Sorry Norbie,” he said. “But you know why I’m here.”
“Stark doesn’t want anyone creating Iron Man armor for the vampires,” he said. “Tony Stark’s own little armor war.”
“Yeah,” Abe said. “I’m sorry buddy.”
He opened fire.
# # # # #
Salem Center, New York
Ororo Munroe turned off the radio and turned to the other two queens. Jean Grey and Betsy Braddock lounged on silk couches, surrounded by thralls.
“Don’t be troubled sister,” Jean said. “Stark has less to report by the day. We have already won this war.”
“And yet we still suffer losses,” Ororo said. “We are the rulers of this planet. We should not be losing at the rate we are!”
“Minor setbacks,” Betsy sighed. “The moment we defeat your boyfriend in Wakanda, the world is ours. The Avengers will fall. The X-Men will be slaughtered. The Six will be turned.”
“Yes,” Ororo sighed. “I suppose so.”
“All that remains is that we wait until we win…”
END
“Kyle,” a voice said from the door. He looked up at the young woman and sighed.
“They’re here,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t know how-“
“The older ones can come out earlier,” he said. “Hierarchy doesn’t hurt. One of the queens may even provide a little cloud cover. Take your pick.” He stood, put his shoulders back, and grabbed the two weapons he carried since he’d founded the settlement- a short sword forged of silver and a handgun. They weren’t symbols of status. They were true implements of death, not that it would matter tonight. Tonight, they’d send sheer numbers, enough to overwhelm them quickly.
He walked out onto Main Street. The sun was just setting, but the clouds covering it made it difficult to tell. Only Kyle’s supernatural connection to the night, a connection that served him well as Nighthawk, told him it was still late evening and not early dusk. They knew that also. They knew he wouldn’t have that darkness-aided strength and speed that might have saved him.
He walked towards the edge of town, confident and assured. He glanced at the young woman, Rachael, and smiled. She seemed to relax. Good. She needed it.
“How far is the generator from working?” he asked.
“Two hours,” Rachel said.
“Tell them to keep working,” he said. “No matter what happens. Keep working.” He waved her away. This was a battle he had to begin alone. He found the man waiting at the edge of town. He wasn’t surprised at the person they sent.
“Jim,” he said. “Been a long time.”
“Since the fall of the Sanctum,” Jim Rhodes said.
“Looks like the armor fell apart.”
Rhodes smiled and lifted his gauntlets, the only still-functioning portion of the War Machine armor. “Looks like. I’ll have to thank Tony for that next time I see him.”
“How many are out there Jim?”
“Three of us,” he said. “And forty-seven of our support.”
“Thralls,” Kyle said. “Just use the damn word. They can’t support you if they have no free will.”
“You always had too much of a mouth for your own good,” Rhodes said.
“And your mouth is any better?”
Rhodes smiled, baring his teeth, particularly the elongated incisors that had replaced his natural teeth. “The queens just want you dead, y’know? They don’t even want to turn you. Trust me, I tried to convince them. Your powers would increase a thousand fold. I guess that’s why you should never trust one of us.”
“I’d rather die fighting than spend eternity as one of you bloodsuckers,” he said, drawing his sword and leveling it at Rhodes’ throat. “I may not be at full strength, but the sun is going down. I feel strong enough to take you.”
“Oh, and you are. But not all three of us.”
Suddenly, Kyle was surrounded. He took a deep breath and drew his gun. He would take one of these sons of bitches with him.
“Even if your ‘engineer’ gets your generator running in the next five minutes, this will be worth it,” Rhodes said. “I’ve been looking forward to draining you for a long time Kyle.”
“Come and get it,” he spat, “vampire.”
The three vampires rushed Kyle Richmond at once.
Rhodes was impressed. Richmond actually held them off for nearly five minutes. He may have even mortally wounded Anders, if the silver poisoning was bad enough.
He walked into the small communications room. He needed a moment to savor the taste of Richmond’s blood on his lips, away from the screams of the people that Nighthawk had failed to protect. He licked his right gauntlet clean, but paused when he heard the voice. He sneered.
“Brothers and sisters of humanity,” he said. “We will persevere. We will win this war. We possess the most powerful weapon in it- hope. Hope that we will live to see another sunrise, and hope that we will survive another day beyond that. Do not lose that hope. It will help you see it through.
“You’re as corny as the Midwest, Ton,” he said. He licked his gauntlet again. “I can’t wait to rip your booze-soaked head off that body.”
“This is Tony Stark, voice of the Human Avenger Alliance, signing off again. Good night. We’ll see you in the morning.”
# # # # #
2 miles west of Bangor, Maine
Scott Summers turned off his radio and sighed. His hand instinctively rose to the small twin scars on his neck. They would never fade away, and honestly, he’d prefer they didn’t. He needed a reminder every night. He left his tent to find the X-Men already on the move.
“Hey boss,” Julian Keller said as he saw Scott. The young man was barely ten when the war went public six years before. Now he was a battle-hardened veteran X-Man at only sixteen. The vampires were all he knew.
“Hellion, have we heard from any of the others?” he said.
“Cannonball’s squad is in Boston,” he said. “Sam said they may have a bead on both Madrox and Pietro. They’re following up on it.”
“Shit,” he said. “Both of them in one place. Have Network warn them to be damn careful. We don’t want another Dallas.” Julian nodded somberly. Dallas was before his time, but he knew the story. There was a reason why everyone spoke about that day in only whispers. Everyone except Scott.
A sudden hush filled the X-Men’s camp. Scott spun to see the cause and his eyes narrowed as he saw him. Alex stepped alongside him as the X-Men’s leaders walked forward to greet their guests, the leaders of the other X-Men.
Bishop smiled as he saw Scott, making sure to display his blood-darkened fangs, while Nightcrawler hung back in the shadows. They had killed one of their sentries. Scott muttered a curse.
“Such language,” Bishop said with mock indignation. “Is that appropriate for a leader of men?”
“When did you start talking like a pompous asshole?” Alex growled.
“The moment I became your better,” he said. Scott looked into the air, then back at Bishop.
“Tell Warren to land or I’ll shoot him down,” he said. He raised his hand to his visor and opened it just enough to allow reddish light to escape. Bishop scowled, but moments later Warren Worthington landed next to him. Warren’s feathered wings were long gone, replaced by leathery, bat-like wings. His complexion was ashen, and his eyes sunken. The X-Men behind Scott all recoiled at the sight of their former ally.
“What do you want?” commanded a new voice. Scott glanced over his shoulder long enough to see Magneto striding forward. He smirked. Erik had laced his clothing with silver and vibranium after the first vampire attack, and had also applied vibranium tattoos to much of his body after learning of the metal’s toxicity to the undead. The master of magnetism was vampire proof.
Bishop and Warren actually both took a step back as Magneto walked forward. His presence had always been intimidating, but now he was even more so to the vampires. The vibranium had a greater effect than making him toxic. It had restored his vitality. The wrinkles had virtually vanished, the old limps had dissolved. He was the younger man that had been able to raise armies again.
“We are sick of our feud,” Bishop hissed. “As are the queens. We have come to offer a truce.”
“Bullshit,” Alex said. “You’ve come to try to turn our people.”
“You are so short sighted Havok!” Warren hissed. “What we offer is power! Pure, unbridled power!”
“And for those of us you can’t turn?” Scott asked. Warren and Bishop both looked at the scar on his neck.
“You will be made… comfortable,” Bishop said. Scott’s eyes narrowed. The solar energy that powered his optic blasts had saved his life. He and Alex were both walking solar batteries, and that apparently meant vampires were allergic to them as well.
“None of our people want your perversion of life,” Magneto said. His eyes began to glow and silver stakes all around the camp started to shake. The X-Men began to gather behind their leaders, staring defiantly at the vampires.
“Go now,” Scott said. “The only reason you’re still undead is out of the memory of who you were in life.” Nightcrawler hissed from the shadows and teleported away. Warren’s eyes narrowed.
“You will regret this Summers,” he said.
“Doubt it,” Scott growled. “Tell my wife hello for me.” Bishop dissolved into mist and Warren rocketed into the sky. Magneto scowled as he released his hold on the silver all around him.
“A pity,” he said. “I looked forward to this confrontation.”
# # # # #
Denver, Colorado
Benjamin Reilly Parker sat back in his chair as Stark’s broadcast deteriorated into static. He rubbed his eyes and checked the clock. Nightfall was still an hour away. He had been awake for a full twenty-four hours now, with no sign of stopping. The UV lamps in sector 8B were still out. Sandman was in the area, ready for anything that tried to make it through, but no matter how powerful Marko was, they still needed to fix the lamps.
“Hey there Tiger,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. “Enjoying the white noise?” A pair of soft arms wrapped around his neck as Mary Jane Parker kissed the top of his head.
“Hey there,” he whispered. He turned and kissed his wife softly on the lips. “Benjy and Mayday down for the night?”
“Sleeping like logs,” she said. “You heard from Max?”
“Harry is on his way out to the lamps right now with the supplies he needs,” he said. “We’re praying he can have it done by nightfall.”
“Isn’t Flint with him?”
“Yeah, but would YOU want to do repairs in the middle of a pitched battle?” he asked. MJ grinned and shook her head.
“Guess not,” she said. “Are you…?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “I’ve spoken to Fisk… I don’t know if he’s going to cooperate.”
“You need to move those supplies to Colorado Springs tonight,” she said. “People are suffering.”
“I know,” he said. “I definitely know that. Wilson’s on a power trip though. I might have to…” He sighed. “…pay him a visit with Doctor Connors. To convince him.” He practically spat the last words out.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” MJ said with little conviction.
“I know.” Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Hey Tiger,” she said. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. You are a hero to these people. You have saved countless lives.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “But how much of a hero can you be when you slowly see yourself becoming a villain?”
# # # # #
18 Miles outside of Missoula, Montana
Harry Osborn worked as quickly as his half-numb hands allowed. The wind was biting into his knuckles, and he knew a few more minutes and he’d lose control completely. The Sandman paced nearby, his fists shifting form with each step.
“Har, we’ve got fifteen minutes to sundown,” he said. “Hurry up!”
“You think I don’t know that?” he said. “I am hurrying as fast as I can.” A sudden growl caught his attention. Both men turned and saw the creature pacing in the shade of several evergreens. Several VERY close evergreens.
“They’re here,” Flint muttered. “Dammit, they’re already here.”
“Son of a bitch,” Harry muttered. He rubbed his hands together quickly, trying to maintain circulation in his fingers, then looked at the assembly in front of him. The bulb was fixed, but the wiring was still screwed up. He quickly ran the wiring diagram through his head. Sandman looked at him and saw the wheels turning.
“How long do you need Goblin?” he asked.
“F-five to eight minutes,” Harry said. Several other growls echoed in their ears. They both looked into the trees for a beat before Flint responded.
“You have five,” he said.
One of the more daring vampires ventured forward, sniffing the air. Harry realized that she smelled his Goblin-serum enhanced blood through the cracks forming on his knuckles. It probably smelled sweet to them. Like dessert. He picked up his speed, hoping it wouldn’t come down to a fight.
The Sandman felt differently. He was ready for a fight.
The man once known as William Baker ran forward, his limbs shifting into a large hammer and a spiked mace. His body shifted form slightly, expanding and losing his more human appearance. Now he simply looked like a walking sandstorm.
He slammed into the first vampire with the spiked mace, impaling her. He slammed her into a tree before she exploded into a hot burst of flame. He spun and simply crushed another into the ground, bursting it in a spray of blood and ichor. Several jumped on his back and began clawing, trying to wound their prey.
Flint let his body begin to flow over the vampires, increasing the speed and intensity of his defense until he was a virtual sandstorm. The sand tore the quartet of bloodsuckers apart, leaving only bones in seconds.
He stopped spinning and solidified in his human form before he pounded another vampire into a pulp. He threw yet another against a tree, and it exploded with a burst of flame. Several started to rush him all at once, but an incredibly bright light suddenly flooded the area with UV light. Two vampires instantly burst into flames. Flint grinned as he heard the vamps start to retreat.
“Hell yeah Gobby,” he said. “Good work. How about I buy you a beer?”
# # # # #
San Francisco, California
“Short but inspiring tonight boss,” Abe Jenkins said. He stared at himself in the mirror, running his fingers along the subtle pattern of circuitry under his skin.
“Thanks Abe,” Tony Stark said, the audio piped through the speakers of the helmet sitting in front of Abe. “I’m getting less and less to talk about by the day. It just seems to get more and more bleak.”
“I know it,” he said. “At least Iron Man is getting some work done.”
“Thank you again,” Tony said. “What you’re doing… you’re saving lives, no matter how indirectly it might seem.”
“I’m seeing action every night boss-man,” he said. “I don’t care how indirect it might be. It’s like vampire hunting is in my blood.”
“Good,” he said. “I wish I could be there, but-“
“Tony, you’re living in that satellite for a reason,” he said. “Your mind is way too important. If these monsters were able to turn or enthrall you, the human race wouldn’t stand a chance. You’d be turning out iron coffins for them.” Stark began laughing, picturing the armed coffins flying through the air.
“How’s Pepper doing?” Tony asked.
“Good. She’s actually on her way to Seattle with a few hundred pounds of scavenged food. Any luck, she’ll be there well before nightfall.”
“Fantastic,” he said. “So I have our new target. I tracked down an old buddy of yours. He hasn’t been turned, but his old partner has. He’s willingly working for them.”
“Sounds like Fixer,” he said.
“Give the boy a prize!” Stark exclaimed. Abe chuckled.
“I’ll suit up. You uploading everything I need?”
“The data dump will be complete by the time you have the helmet on. Good luck angels.”
“That’d be funny if there was more than one of me.”
# # # # #
Iron Man rocketed over the Sierra Nevadas, and slowly veered right, directing his flight southward. Abe’s armor was a completely new iteration of Iron Man. Similar to the “Silver Centurion” armor, but less bulky, silver had replaced the typical gold accents of the design. A thick line of silver run up the armor, through the arc reactor and uni-beam in the chest.
There were several modifications to the armor to make it as vampire un-friendly as possible. The first was that the silver actually was silver, not stainless steel or chrome. One touch, and a vamp would have a rash that would make their un-life unpleasant. Hidden UV lamps were built into the shoulders, ready to deploy at his mental command. Two wrist mounted guns fired miniature silver stakes, enough to overpower a small coven of vamps.
The vampires were afraid of Abe. They needed to be.
“You are approximately thirty-seven miles from your destination, Mister Jenkins,” said JARVIS. Tony had installed the AI in the last update of the armor. The voice of Stark’s late butler was unbelievably comforting.
“ETA JARVIS?” he asked.
“Fourteen point seven minutes,” it said. “Las Vegas should be visible at any moment.”
“Give me GPS on my HUD,” he said. “Full radio access also.”
“Routing now…” A few moments later a map was superimposed on the landscape. A blinking red light revealed the location of his target. The light grew larger as he grew closer to the city. He let JARVIS do the flying until he was about a mile from the city limits.
Vegas was the only city on the planet where humans and vampires lived in peace. It was the nature of the city. The darkness, the sin, it fed the vamps as much as blood did. Although the drug trade got a spike from the vampire activity (apparently there was nothing quite like blood laced with heroin), the sex trade was booming, with prostitutes of both species selling themselves to anyone willing to pay. As an extension, Vegas was the only city where economic structure hadn’t fallen apart.
He rocketed low and fast over Vegas, skimming heads as he went past. He wanted them to know that Iron Man was in town. Intimidation was ninety percent of being alpha dog.
Abe crashed through the roof of an abandoned store front, creating a man-sized hole all the way to the basement. Six vampires turned and hissed at him. All of them were female, and very attractive. He scowled beneath his mask.
“You’ve got to be kidding me ‘Bert,” he muttered. “You’ve got your own harem?”
“Abe, Abe, Abe,” said a croaking voice behind the vampires. “The harem is the way to go. I guess one perk of being undead is that you’re always horny.” The six women parted to reveal the Fixer sitting in a wheelchair behind them. Norbert Ebersol had grown frail, his body somehow aged to around eighty.
“Oh my hell, what’s happened to you?”
“This is what happens when you’re fed on without being turned,” he said. “I guess the vamp blood is what you need for eternal youth. I don’t mind. The sex is great. So’s the health insurance.” Abe raised his arms, aiming his gauntlets at the vampires. They began to hiss.
“Sorry Norbie,” he said. “But you know why I’m here.”
“Stark doesn’t want anyone creating Iron Man armor for the vampires,” he said. “Tony Stark’s own little armor war.”
“Yeah,” Abe said. “I’m sorry buddy.”
He opened fire.
# # # # #
Salem Center, New York
Ororo Munroe turned off the radio and turned to the other two queens. Jean Grey and Betsy Braddock lounged on silk couches, surrounded by thralls.
“Don’t be troubled sister,” Jean said. “Stark has less to report by the day. We have already won this war.”
“And yet we still suffer losses,” Ororo said. “We are the rulers of this planet. We should not be losing at the rate we are!”
“Minor setbacks,” Betsy sighed. “The moment we defeat your boyfriend in Wakanda, the world is ours. The Avengers will fall. The X-Men will be slaughtered. The Six will be turned.”
“Yes,” Ororo sighed. “I suppose so.”
“All that remains is that we wait until we win…”
END