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Issue #1 by William Sinclair
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“SEED OF EVIL – Part One”
The sky was screaming.
Through fire and pain it had come to this, a final night of misery, a final toll against a broken bell, the final moments of Mankind. The earth was awash with the blood of billions, the skulls of the dead stacked high upon the bones of the fallen, a mountain of the deceased, a throne of the damned.
Only one still hissed upon this barren world, a single figure, crumbling too dust before his very own eyes. He stumbled too his shattered knees, the jagged bones cracking against his thin and fragile flesh, a pair of gaunt and lidless eyes starring too the heavens. Tears stained his sunken cheeks, twin trails of blood streaming down his ragged features, his lipless jaw betraying his grinning and sharpened teeth.
He hissed his disdain towards the very sky, the heavens a churning mass of misery and pain, great fingers of white hot hate blazing across a pitch black pit. He hissed and screamed, an unholy cry that tore through his punctured lungs and out from a ragged throat, a inhuman yell of unleashed torment. The dying sound of a dying world, a defiant shrill too the screaming sky.
The wicked wind tore at his very bones, the howling cry ripping away his ragged flesh, battering his very soul. Through it all he hissed and cried, his lidless eyes staring at the screaming heavens, his bent and fleshless hands clutching a single thing.
His lungs, punctured and broken, collapsed and fell, his final and dying sound reduced too nothing but a spitting gurgle. He wept all the more as he clutched a single thing within his broken fingers, a single sphere of brilliant light. He wept as the heavens above howled and screamed all the more, fingers of white hot hate striking the shattered ground all around him, searing the scattered ash too glass.
He wept as the very ground beneath his shattered bones groaned and shifted, broke and parted, tumbling him too his shattered side. There he wept, his broken jaw against the poisoned dirt, his blood wept tears polluting where they fell.
He wept and cried as he thought of his only love, the very howls of heaven striking out against that single, fragile thing. A memory almost lost, a single moment in a life of torment, a stolen kiss, a flashing hope, an eternity of sacrifice.
Like a greedy child, to his shattered chest, he clutched the sphere of brilliant light. A single moment captured within a single thing, the only moment that was left.
He wept like a lost and lonely child, he wept and clutched the sphere too his torso, he wept as the heavens screamed, he wept as the earth buckled and collapsed, he wept as the Universe died.
Through fire and pain it had come too this.
A stolen kiss.
The final moment of Mankind.
# # # # #
Five Years Ago, Earth 13,211...
Northampton.
That had been the name of this place once, long before it had become just another patch of shattered earth. Little remained of what had come before, the houses and shops, the churches and schools, now empty shells and skeletal foundations. Each of them reaching towards an uncaring sky, echoing the cries of an endless sea of souls.
The casualties of greed.
Bran Bardic had said little in the past hour, keeping silent vigil, standing amidst the shattered ruins in his battered armour. The colours were still bright, the flag of his people wrapped around his torso, a proud announcement of his heritage.
In silent reverence, the champion of this Nation removed his helmet, the bitter breeze sweeping through his golden hair. His eyes were as bright as sapphire, worn by years of conflict, and yet powered by strong conviction, dimmed only by the sights before him.
After half a centaury of constant war, one that had begun for reasons no-one could remember, instigated by men who had long since died, and fought by those who should know better, much of Britain was the same as this. A Nation reduced too rubble, the grave for its fathers, the cradle for its children.
His right hand made its way too the pommel of his sword, a gift from an otherworldly being, the strength too save his people. Captain Albion of Earth Thirteen-Two-Eleven cast his gaze across the landscape, the shattered earth his men had fought and died for, a dream of freedom that only a few of them could live.
The war was over now, already fragmenting into history, and yet not every demon had been put too rest, not every sin had been absolved.
There was still a stigma in the air, a taint in every breadth, the taste of ash and ruin. He felt it in his heart, as he looked upon the bodies piled up before him, the reason he was here, the pyre of flesh and corpses that had been stacked up high, some two hundred of his kin laid too slaughter.
A sacrifice if he had ever seen one.
His fist tightened upon the pommel of his sacred blade as he looked upon it now, as he had this past hour, staring into the empty eyes and broken jaws of those who had been slain, of those that had been burned alive. He could hear them, even now, screaming deep into the hearts of men.
The war was now long over, and yet something evil still walked his lands, laying his people to blackened ruin. Leaving them to rot and burn and cry and weep.
Something from the deepest dark...
# # # # #
One Year Ago, Earth 616...
The trees had become as black as coal.
Brian Braddock gently pressed his fingers against the bark, frowning as it broke beneath his touch, a wet residue staining his hand. The twisted mockery of life had been an oak once, ancient and strong, its great limbs reaching towards the sky and digging deep below the ground. It had been a bastion, a vanguard, life incarnate, a creature that was eternal.
Now its very existence was a mockery.
The great limbs had become withered and deformed, horrifically contorted as it screamed silently into the void. Its bark had become wet and fragile, oozing some unnatural thing into the very air, perverting the world around it.
The once proud oak was not dead, not yet, even in its blackened and twisted state, somehow he knew it was still alive. He could feel it, the life beat of his country that he couldn't really understand, he could feel the pitiful cries of the tortured thing before him. The dying thing that had not been allowed too end.
He was only thankful that Meggan was not here. His wife’s affinity with the natural world was a hundred times greater than his own. As Brian turned his eyes away from the single, blackened tree before him, his gaze sweeping across the many hundreds that surrounded him, he could only be thankful that she was not here too suffer through this mockery of life.
This sickening stain of evil that had infected the very centre of Sherwood Forest. An open pit of despair.
One that would cut deep into her very soul.
"CAPTAIN!"
Brian was broken from his sombre musing as someone called out his former title, the frown remaining on his chiselled features for a moment longer. Although his former life was no longer secret, his title within the Corps was no longer his, nor was it one he really wanted.
An ongoing life of manipulation was not one he longed for.
Others were more difficult too convince.
"That isn't my title, Agent Baynam" Brian forced himself not too sigh as he folded his hands behind his back, his broad shoulders squared. He turned his eyes too the young woman in question, although he fond it hard too tear his gaze from the twisted mockery of life all around them. He found it hard too ignore the silent screams that were hanging in the air, deep beneath a cold and shadow sky.
"Of course it isn't" Michelle Baynam corrected, although her tone suggested that she had no intention of remembering.
Her eyes were like amber, alight with something ancient that stretched back too the very dawn of man. Brian had deemed not too question, during the short time the two had known one another, but he knew something was amiss with the young woman, something that was not entirely human.
Given Brian's own heritage, he was hardly one too cast judgement.
"Only for today, I’m afraid it is" Agent Baynam continued, ignoring any potential protests from the taller man before her, seemingly unaware of the bristling in his shoulders. Her tone was muffled by the mask she wore, one that covered her mouth and nose, one that prevented her from inhaling the foul stigma that was thick in the air.
She wasn't the only one taking such precautions, every member of the MI-13 Task Force, some two dozen men in total, each of them scouring the scarred landscape, were similarly attired. Brain was the one exception, drafted too the site of this sickening destruction as a 'consultant', the only man present to not wear a protective mask.
He didn't need one.
"We may have found the source" Michelle was quick too inform him before Brian could utter another word, motioning his attention past them both too the small group behind them.
Any thoughts of annoyance that Brian may have harboured quickly vanished as he saw the man in question, huddled beside a medic and shaking like a leaf. He looked like death; his flesh had turned a sickly grey, gaunt and sticky by a layer of mattered sweat. It was his hands that were the worst, contorted into talons and held out before him, twisted bones without flesh, burned to be as black as night, as dark as the dying trees around them.
"Good God man!" Brain's sapphire eyes were suddenly bright with concern, his powerful frame quickly crossing the ground between them. He was caught aghast as the man looked up too him, his eyes sunken deep within his skull, his lips peeled back and baring a set of grinning teeth, his cheeks awash with tears.
"Beautiful..." the man was weeping with perverse joy, a man who had been in the peak of health just an hour before, now reduced too a shaking, skeletal figure of his former self. He wept as no man had wept before, his eyes staring off into the great beyond.
He wept and he cried and he had never been so happy.
"Beautiful..." he whispered with his dying breadths.
"Beautiful..."
# # # # #
Earth 616, Tokyo.
Now...
The arcade machine exploded in a flash of light and fury, a thousand different sounds cascading on top of one another in a single moment of ear splitting chaos. Psylocke spiralled away from the dying screeches of the machine, a vicious blade of ebony black slicing it clean in two, the scything weapon aiming for her torso. Time stood still as she pivoted from hand too foot, a trail of purple hair whipping through the air, the flashing lights above washing her spinning form in a thousand different shades.
She landed on her feet, barely a breadth ahead of her opponent, a blade of silver light flashing from her hand, the katanna slicing through air and flesh with equal ease. The creature that pursued her, a phantom of sickly shadows and sticky breadth, its limbs twisted and contorted in a perverted manner, squealed like a horrific child as it was sliced in two.
The arcade was bursting at the seems with light and fury, thousands of different lights and ill fitting sounds cascading about the massive room, bathing the snarling phantoms with pointed jaws in grotesque relief.
Psylocke dived again, her speed and agility spiralling her through the moments between breadths, just as a pair of scything shadows screeched through the air and tore into the ground where she had just been standing. Silver light flashed again, the Katanna piercing the air with a silent scream, the wielder of its fury flipping too her hand and then her feet, just as another howling demon met its end.
People were screaming, running for the doors as demons from the deepest dark ripped into their world, climbing and ripping through both machines and fragile humans with equal ease. Both blood and sparks, fire and fury filled the air, the screams of both dying and fleeing men rebounded off the walls, as dozens of the shadow monsters descended towards their prey with a single minded and savage purpose.
Psylocke cursed as one such phantom strayed too close, the scything talons that were its limbs slicing at her shoulder as she barely made some distance. She landed atop one machine, her body arched as crimson blood flowed from her wound, a dozen others doing likewise, a patchwork of pain across her body.
Time stopped once more, her breathing becoming still and silent as she whipped around in a rapid circle. Silver flashed, her mane of purple hair whipping like a trail of rapid lighting, a second blade as dark as night was summoned too her other hand. Time sped up, a blinding moment of steel, thought and vengeance tearing through the air, the twin blades striking out with outright fury and rending three of the phantom creatures clean in two, the howls of unholy things splitting the heavens all around them.
Sweat poured from her body and blood flowed freely, as more of the phantom creatures tore their way into our world, twisted faces of hate, teeth and drool screaming both ecstasy and despair. One after the next they dived and screeched towards her, each blade as wicked as the last, screaming with their own life as they sought to impale her beating heart.
People screamed and died as the phantoms dived towards her, her body wracked by injury and building pain. Time slowed, a moment passed, and Psylocke spiralled through the air, a pair of blades flashing in the light and darkness, slicing through the blood and murder that came her way.
# # # # #
Earth 616, England.
Today...
Brian Braddock didn't drink.
He did, however, find it a little disturbing to know how comfortable it felt too hold a glass in hand. It was empty, the crystal goblet cupped by his palm, it had too be, he simply didn't trust himself enough for it too be otherwise.
He stood alone, in the warm firelight of his home, the ancestral estate known as Braddock Manor. The light of the world outside had long since died, the reds and yellows of the flames before him casting the social room in its only illumination. It flickered with a life of its own, casting shadows along the ancient walls, forever shifting too the whims of the elemental force.
Not least of all his own.
His eyes had not wavered for at least an hour, the reserved Englishmen in silent vigil, his evening attire well pressed, one hand cusped behind his back. His eyes had not wavered from the painting suspended above the fireplace, the life of his forbearers cast by an artists brush; their souls committed too silent canvas.
His parents.
He wasn't sure what too make of them, not since he had learned the truth of his conception, a birth that had been arranged by higher powers. If he was honest, he barely remembered them, the memories of his youth faded and unclear. The smell of his mother’s hair, the strength of his father’s hand, glimpses, nothing more, shadows.
The painting before him, forever silent, forever still, was all he really had left of them, his only consistent memory. His parents seen through the eyes of someone else.
He often wondered what they would have thought of him, were they still alive, present to cast their judgement and give advice. He looked too their eyes, forever frozen on the canvas, and sometimes believed he could see something there, some spark of life, something from the far beyond.
Sometimes, just sometimes, he dared too see pride, sometimes love. Far too often, however, as Brian looked too the empty glass cupped within his hand, he could only imagine that it would be disappointment. With a silent sigh, followed by a deep and filling breadth, Brian put the glass aside, returning it too stand by the others that had been in his family for generations.
Yes, more often than not, there was disappointment; he had made enough mistakes in his time too earn it, but not today. It may not be pride he saw in his parent’s eyes, not yet, but he could live with that, especially when he could see the love in those of his wife.
Meggan was asleep, mumbling quite secrets as she curled up into a smaller ball, cradled by the corner of the sofa and bathed in the warm glow of a near by fire. She was a gift, one he had come far too close too losing, in many ways; she was his one reason for living.
No, Brian decided with the smallest smile as he knelt down by the side of his sleeping wife, she was his two reasons for living. Not only for the love he had for her and the love she had for him, but also for the love that they could now both share. The small, rounded bump of her belly, the child that grew within her womb. Their child. Their son.
Without another thought he removed his jacket from his broad shoulders, dropping it down across her slender own, smiling a little more as she snuggled beneath it. Gently he ran his fingers through her hair, her quite mumblings coming too an end as she drifted into a deeper, more contented slumber.
Brian smiled more sincerely, under the ever constant vigil of his parents, content too look upon the most important part of his entire life. His wife, his child, his family, something that any man could treasure, something that any man could be proud of.
So why, Brian was forced too muse, the smile all too easily fading from his sombre features, could he still not see the pride in his parents eyes?
# # # # #
Earth 616, Tokyo.
Now...
Glass shattered and Psylocke screamed as the many fragments pierced her flesh, she tumbled without grace and she crashed backwards out the window and towards the unforgiving ground outside. Blood trailed behind her, a steam of crimson from her many wounds shining in the glare of the cities many lights.
Life exploded from her body as she hit the pavement, her lungs now empty and her every fibre wracked with pain. For a moment she convulsed, the savage impact shaking her every bone, and even through such pain she knew she could not linger.
The Phantoms creatures leapt towards her, the beasts from the deepest dark bounding outside with hideous agility and glee. They bounded with inhuman grace, twin scythes with a wicked edge dancing perversely in the light.
With gritted teeth, Psylocke still gripped her own two blades, the katanna of silver light now broken at the hilt, its edge now bent and broken. The second blade, one of ebony thought, one brought too life and powered by her will, still held strong, singing in the night.
A creature bounded at her fallen form, its jagged teeth snapping with its hate, its blades slicing through the air itself. Whipping together her reserves of strength, Psylocke swung her blade upwards with her remaining might, impaling the monsters chest and through its heart. With an ear splitting scream, and snapping jaws, the creature died, its heavy corpse sliding down her blade and pinning it too the ground.
Her breathing became rapid as many more demons bounded into sight, clambering down the walls, and tearing a way into the world. She couldn’t count them, as one the beasts of savage hate descended towards her pinned and helpless form.
Time stopped, moments became hours, the creatures from the deepest dark falling towards her with savage purpose. She turned within, as she witnessed the final moments of her life, and felt a sickness sweeping through her body. She felt it then, as she had done these past few weeks, the thing inside that never ceased too torment.
She felt the serpent, cold and heartless, as it tightly wrapped itself around her being, the serpent that yanked her down into the deepest dark too consume her soul.
# # # # #
Earth 616, England.
Today...
Brian Braddock had taken off his tie and undone the top buttons of his shirt, suddenly feeling far too restricted. He was alone again, his wife asleep and content upstairs while he had found himself, as was often the case, drawn too the lower foundations of the estate.
This chamber had once belonged too his Father, housing the equipment and experiments he had kept secret from his children. All of that was now gone, stripped down and packaged away, much of it having caused far too much trouble to be held onto for sentimental reason. Whatever his Fathers true goals had been, they would die with him, Brian had enough of his own affairs too deal with.
The chamber was well lit, not only by the lights above, but also by the equipment that had been set up. It wasn't much, an information network of sorts, a link too the recently founded MI-13 too keep him in the loop. It hadn't been his idea, nor his request, but there were elements within the specialised branch of the British Government who still seemed to think he would eventually return to being Captain Britain.
He should have just said no, his priorities had changed.
But he hadn't.
Just as he couldn't forget the lingering memories of another life.
All about the chamber, a series of glass cases had been arranged, each of them taller than himself. Within each one stood a mannequin, each one clothed in a different version of his uniform, each one depicting each incarnation from the first too the last. Captain Britain through the years, the man he had, apparently, been born too be.
Some believed he should be honoured, in truth, the reality only served to fuel his ire. Brian Braddock did not enjoy his choices being made for him.
Brian forced himself too sigh, undoing the second button on his shirt before rubbing his all too tired eyes. He had been over this before; he had already decided that he wouldn't let himself remember his past so poorly. It wasn't healthy.
He'd done some good as Captain Britain; Meggan would say that he had done a lot of good. But then, she always believed in him more than he did himself.
No, he decided as he looked back too the mannequins who stood in forever silent vigil, he had done good as Captain Britain. He had saved lives, he had inspired hope, he had made a difference. By in large, he had lead a life that he could be proud of, he had done his part.
So why, even down here, as he looked upon the many renditions of his former self, could he not see that same pride reflected in their sightless features?
Why could he only see their disappointment?
"Merlin, update" Brian’s voice suddenly cut through his sombre musings, knowing full well that he had already told himself a thousand times that he wouldn't do this. That every time would be the last, that he would move on, and yet, here he was, asking it again.
The information centre too his back sprung into life, the monitors flickering on and sprawling through commands as it awaited clarification. Brian's own attention remained focused on the forever silent mannequin before him.
They didn’t offer comment.
"Metahuman Activity..." Brian paused for a moment, before continuing "...Fatalities?"
>>Temporal Anomaly: Location: Manhattan: Designation: Kang: Query?<<
>>Temporal Anomaly: Location: Mongolia: Designation: Unknown: Query?<<
>>Metahuman Violence: Location: Muir Island: Designation: Brotherhood: Query?<<
>>Metahuman Violence: Locat<<
"Merlin" Brian cut off the monotone voice that was designated Merlin, already having heard enough of what he was certain was an expansive list. It always was, and some of it, he already knew, most of it concerned his friends.
He closed his eyes and proceeded too rub them once more. Not a day went by without some catastrophe. Not a day went by when events beyond the realms of normal men and woman would strike them down, and it only seemed to get worse.
It was always getting worse.
"I CAN HEAR YOU!!" Brain Braddock snapped without warning, his sapphire eyes flashed with anger as he glared at the silent mannequin before him. It's empty ones offered nothing in return. They never did.
"I can hear you..." he whispered too himself, feeling tired and in many ways frustrated. It wasn't him anymore, the figures before him were not his life, he didn't want it.
"Merlin" Brian cut through the silence, his shoulders square as he turned his back too the silent guardians at his back, looking instead too the monitors now before him.
"Update...Elisabeth Braddock...?" he dared too ask, as he always did, and never getting an answer.
>>Designation: Elisabeth Braddock: Location: Unknown<<
Brian slammed his fist onto the desk, shattering the metallic surface with the greatest ease and immediate regret. How could he be Captain Britain, how can he be the one to save lives when he couldn't even save his sister?
When he couldn’t even find her?
Time stopped, blood froze, and for a moment Brian had little understanding of what had happened. A blade was held against his throat, its vicious edge cutting into the upper layers of his throat, drawing out a thin bead of blood.
He didn't move as he felt another body pressed up against his back, a slender figure firmly holding the weapon too his neck. He barely breathed as felt the blood of his attacker seeping into his shirt, or her ragged breadth against his ear.
"Where!?!" Elisabeth Braddock hissed in a voice that was scarcely her own, the mutant known as Psylocke holding a blade too her brothers throat. For an eternity they did not move, their collective breadths becoming one.
"Where is it!?!" Elisabeth Braddock demanded to know, a flash of white hot fury slicing her ebony blade more fiercely, drawing more of her brothers blood.
"WHERE IS THE SPHERE!?!"
TO BE CONTINUED...
NEXT ISSUE: Brother and Sister have been reunited, but when something sinister infects the hearts of men, what purpose will it serve?
Through fire and pain it had come to this, a final night of misery, a final toll against a broken bell, the final moments of Mankind. The earth was awash with the blood of billions, the skulls of the dead stacked high upon the bones of the fallen, a mountain of the deceased, a throne of the damned.
Only one still hissed upon this barren world, a single figure, crumbling too dust before his very own eyes. He stumbled too his shattered knees, the jagged bones cracking against his thin and fragile flesh, a pair of gaunt and lidless eyes starring too the heavens. Tears stained his sunken cheeks, twin trails of blood streaming down his ragged features, his lipless jaw betraying his grinning and sharpened teeth.
He hissed his disdain towards the very sky, the heavens a churning mass of misery and pain, great fingers of white hot hate blazing across a pitch black pit. He hissed and screamed, an unholy cry that tore through his punctured lungs and out from a ragged throat, a inhuman yell of unleashed torment. The dying sound of a dying world, a defiant shrill too the screaming sky.
The wicked wind tore at his very bones, the howling cry ripping away his ragged flesh, battering his very soul. Through it all he hissed and cried, his lidless eyes staring at the screaming heavens, his bent and fleshless hands clutching a single thing.
His lungs, punctured and broken, collapsed and fell, his final and dying sound reduced too nothing but a spitting gurgle. He wept all the more as he clutched a single thing within his broken fingers, a single sphere of brilliant light. He wept as the heavens above howled and screamed all the more, fingers of white hot hate striking the shattered ground all around him, searing the scattered ash too glass.
He wept as the very ground beneath his shattered bones groaned and shifted, broke and parted, tumbling him too his shattered side. There he wept, his broken jaw against the poisoned dirt, his blood wept tears polluting where they fell.
He wept and cried as he thought of his only love, the very howls of heaven striking out against that single, fragile thing. A memory almost lost, a single moment in a life of torment, a stolen kiss, a flashing hope, an eternity of sacrifice.
Like a greedy child, to his shattered chest, he clutched the sphere of brilliant light. A single moment captured within a single thing, the only moment that was left.
He wept like a lost and lonely child, he wept and clutched the sphere too his torso, he wept as the heavens screamed, he wept as the earth buckled and collapsed, he wept as the Universe died.
Through fire and pain it had come too this.
A stolen kiss.
The final moment of Mankind.
# # # # #
Five Years Ago, Earth 13,211...
Northampton.
That had been the name of this place once, long before it had become just another patch of shattered earth. Little remained of what had come before, the houses and shops, the churches and schools, now empty shells and skeletal foundations. Each of them reaching towards an uncaring sky, echoing the cries of an endless sea of souls.
The casualties of greed.
Bran Bardic had said little in the past hour, keeping silent vigil, standing amidst the shattered ruins in his battered armour. The colours were still bright, the flag of his people wrapped around his torso, a proud announcement of his heritage.
In silent reverence, the champion of this Nation removed his helmet, the bitter breeze sweeping through his golden hair. His eyes were as bright as sapphire, worn by years of conflict, and yet powered by strong conviction, dimmed only by the sights before him.
After half a centaury of constant war, one that had begun for reasons no-one could remember, instigated by men who had long since died, and fought by those who should know better, much of Britain was the same as this. A Nation reduced too rubble, the grave for its fathers, the cradle for its children.
His right hand made its way too the pommel of his sword, a gift from an otherworldly being, the strength too save his people. Captain Albion of Earth Thirteen-Two-Eleven cast his gaze across the landscape, the shattered earth his men had fought and died for, a dream of freedom that only a few of them could live.
The war was over now, already fragmenting into history, and yet not every demon had been put too rest, not every sin had been absolved.
There was still a stigma in the air, a taint in every breadth, the taste of ash and ruin. He felt it in his heart, as he looked upon the bodies piled up before him, the reason he was here, the pyre of flesh and corpses that had been stacked up high, some two hundred of his kin laid too slaughter.
A sacrifice if he had ever seen one.
His fist tightened upon the pommel of his sacred blade as he looked upon it now, as he had this past hour, staring into the empty eyes and broken jaws of those who had been slain, of those that had been burned alive. He could hear them, even now, screaming deep into the hearts of men.
The war was now long over, and yet something evil still walked his lands, laying his people to blackened ruin. Leaving them to rot and burn and cry and weep.
Something from the deepest dark...
# # # # #
One Year Ago, Earth 616...
The trees had become as black as coal.
Brian Braddock gently pressed his fingers against the bark, frowning as it broke beneath his touch, a wet residue staining his hand. The twisted mockery of life had been an oak once, ancient and strong, its great limbs reaching towards the sky and digging deep below the ground. It had been a bastion, a vanguard, life incarnate, a creature that was eternal.
Now its very existence was a mockery.
The great limbs had become withered and deformed, horrifically contorted as it screamed silently into the void. Its bark had become wet and fragile, oozing some unnatural thing into the very air, perverting the world around it.
The once proud oak was not dead, not yet, even in its blackened and twisted state, somehow he knew it was still alive. He could feel it, the life beat of his country that he couldn't really understand, he could feel the pitiful cries of the tortured thing before him. The dying thing that had not been allowed too end.
He was only thankful that Meggan was not here. His wife’s affinity with the natural world was a hundred times greater than his own. As Brian turned his eyes away from the single, blackened tree before him, his gaze sweeping across the many hundreds that surrounded him, he could only be thankful that she was not here too suffer through this mockery of life.
This sickening stain of evil that had infected the very centre of Sherwood Forest. An open pit of despair.
One that would cut deep into her very soul.
"CAPTAIN!"
Brian was broken from his sombre musing as someone called out his former title, the frown remaining on his chiselled features for a moment longer. Although his former life was no longer secret, his title within the Corps was no longer his, nor was it one he really wanted.
An ongoing life of manipulation was not one he longed for.
Others were more difficult too convince.
"That isn't my title, Agent Baynam" Brian forced himself not too sigh as he folded his hands behind his back, his broad shoulders squared. He turned his eyes too the young woman in question, although he fond it hard too tear his gaze from the twisted mockery of life all around them. He found it hard too ignore the silent screams that were hanging in the air, deep beneath a cold and shadow sky.
"Of course it isn't" Michelle Baynam corrected, although her tone suggested that she had no intention of remembering.
Her eyes were like amber, alight with something ancient that stretched back too the very dawn of man. Brian had deemed not too question, during the short time the two had known one another, but he knew something was amiss with the young woman, something that was not entirely human.
Given Brian's own heritage, he was hardly one too cast judgement.
"Only for today, I’m afraid it is" Agent Baynam continued, ignoring any potential protests from the taller man before her, seemingly unaware of the bristling in his shoulders. Her tone was muffled by the mask she wore, one that covered her mouth and nose, one that prevented her from inhaling the foul stigma that was thick in the air.
She wasn't the only one taking such precautions, every member of the MI-13 Task Force, some two dozen men in total, each of them scouring the scarred landscape, were similarly attired. Brain was the one exception, drafted too the site of this sickening destruction as a 'consultant', the only man present to not wear a protective mask.
He didn't need one.
"We may have found the source" Michelle was quick too inform him before Brian could utter another word, motioning his attention past them both too the small group behind them.
Any thoughts of annoyance that Brian may have harboured quickly vanished as he saw the man in question, huddled beside a medic and shaking like a leaf. He looked like death; his flesh had turned a sickly grey, gaunt and sticky by a layer of mattered sweat. It was his hands that were the worst, contorted into talons and held out before him, twisted bones without flesh, burned to be as black as night, as dark as the dying trees around them.
"Good God man!" Brain's sapphire eyes were suddenly bright with concern, his powerful frame quickly crossing the ground between them. He was caught aghast as the man looked up too him, his eyes sunken deep within his skull, his lips peeled back and baring a set of grinning teeth, his cheeks awash with tears.
"Beautiful..." the man was weeping with perverse joy, a man who had been in the peak of health just an hour before, now reduced too a shaking, skeletal figure of his former self. He wept as no man had wept before, his eyes staring off into the great beyond.
He wept and he cried and he had never been so happy.
"Beautiful..." he whispered with his dying breadths.
"Beautiful..."
# # # # #
Earth 616, Tokyo.
Now...
The arcade machine exploded in a flash of light and fury, a thousand different sounds cascading on top of one another in a single moment of ear splitting chaos. Psylocke spiralled away from the dying screeches of the machine, a vicious blade of ebony black slicing it clean in two, the scything weapon aiming for her torso. Time stood still as she pivoted from hand too foot, a trail of purple hair whipping through the air, the flashing lights above washing her spinning form in a thousand different shades.
She landed on her feet, barely a breadth ahead of her opponent, a blade of silver light flashing from her hand, the katanna slicing through air and flesh with equal ease. The creature that pursued her, a phantom of sickly shadows and sticky breadth, its limbs twisted and contorted in a perverted manner, squealed like a horrific child as it was sliced in two.
The arcade was bursting at the seems with light and fury, thousands of different lights and ill fitting sounds cascading about the massive room, bathing the snarling phantoms with pointed jaws in grotesque relief.
Psylocke dived again, her speed and agility spiralling her through the moments between breadths, just as a pair of scything shadows screeched through the air and tore into the ground where she had just been standing. Silver light flashed again, the Katanna piercing the air with a silent scream, the wielder of its fury flipping too her hand and then her feet, just as another howling demon met its end.
People were screaming, running for the doors as demons from the deepest dark ripped into their world, climbing and ripping through both machines and fragile humans with equal ease. Both blood and sparks, fire and fury filled the air, the screams of both dying and fleeing men rebounded off the walls, as dozens of the shadow monsters descended towards their prey with a single minded and savage purpose.
Psylocke cursed as one such phantom strayed too close, the scything talons that were its limbs slicing at her shoulder as she barely made some distance. She landed atop one machine, her body arched as crimson blood flowed from her wound, a dozen others doing likewise, a patchwork of pain across her body.
Time stopped once more, her breathing becoming still and silent as she whipped around in a rapid circle. Silver flashed, her mane of purple hair whipping like a trail of rapid lighting, a second blade as dark as night was summoned too her other hand. Time sped up, a blinding moment of steel, thought and vengeance tearing through the air, the twin blades striking out with outright fury and rending three of the phantom creatures clean in two, the howls of unholy things splitting the heavens all around them.
Sweat poured from her body and blood flowed freely, as more of the phantom creatures tore their way into our world, twisted faces of hate, teeth and drool screaming both ecstasy and despair. One after the next they dived and screeched towards her, each blade as wicked as the last, screaming with their own life as they sought to impale her beating heart.
People screamed and died as the phantoms dived towards her, her body wracked by injury and building pain. Time slowed, a moment passed, and Psylocke spiralled through the air, a pair of blades flashing in the light and darkness, slicing through the blood and murder that came her way.
# # # # #
Earth 616, England.
Today...
Brian Braddock didn't drink.
He did, however, find it a little disturbing to know how comfortable it felt too hold a glass in hand. It was empty, the crystal goblet cupped by his palm, it had too be, he simply didn't trust himself enough for it too be otherwise.
He stood alone, in the warm firelight of his home, the ancestral estate known as Braddock Manor. The light of the world outside had long since died, the reds and yellows of the flames before him casting the social room in its only illumination. It flickered with a life of its own, casting shadows along the ancient walls, forever shifting too the whims of the elemental force.
Not least of all his own.
His eyes had not wavered for at least an hour, the reserved Englishmen in silent vigil, his evening attire well pressed, one hand cusped behind his back. His eyes had not wavered from the painting suspended above the fireplace, the life of his forbearers cast by an artists brush; their souls committed too silent canvas.
His parents.
He wasn't sure what too make of them, not since he had learned the truth of his conception, a birth that had been arranged by higher powers. If he was honest, he barely remembered them, the memories of his youth faded and unclear. The smell of his mother’s hair, the strength of his father’s hand, glimpses, nothing more, shadows.
The painting before him, forever silent, forever still, was all he really had left of them, his only consistent memory. His parents seen through the eyes of someone else.
He often wondered what they would have thought of him, were they still alive, present to cast their judgement and give advice. He looked too their eyes, forever frozen on the canvas, and sometimes believed he could see something there, some spark of life, something from the far beyond.
Sometimes, just sometimes, he dared too see pride, sometimes love. Far too often, however, as Brian looked too the empty glass cupped within his hand, he could only imagine that it would be disappointment. With a silent sigh, followed by a deep and filling breadth, Brian put the glass aside, returning it too stand by the others that had been in his family for generations.
Yes, more often than not, there was disappointment; he had made enough mistakes in his time too earn it, but not today. It may not be pride he saw in his parent’s eyes, not yet, but he could live with that, especially when he could see the love in those of his wife.
Meggan was asleep, mumbling quite secrets as she curled up into a smaller ball, cradled by the corner of the sofa and bathed in the warm glow of a near by fire. She was a gift, one he had come far too close too losing, in many ways; she was his one reason for living.
No, Brian decided with the smallest smile as he knelt down by the side of his sleeping wife, she was his two reasons for living. Not only for the love he had for her and the love she had for him, but also for the love that they could now both share. The small, rounded bump of her belly, the child that grew within her womb. Their child. Their son.
Without another thought he removed his jacket from his broad shoulders, dropping it down across her slender own, smiling a little more as she snuggled beneath it. Gently he ran his fingers through her hair, her quite mumblings coming too an end as she drifted into a deeper, more contented slumber.
Brian smiled more sincerely, under the ever constant vigil of his parents, content too look upon the most important part of his entire life. His wife, his child, his family, something that any man could treasure, something that any man could be proud of.
So why, Brian was forced too muse, the smile all too easily fading from his sombre features, could he still not see the pride in his parents eyes?
# # # # #
Earth 616, Tokyo.
Now...
Glass shattered and Psylocke screamed as the many fragments pierced her flesh, she tumbled without grace and she crashed backwards out the window and towards the unforgiving ground outside. Blood trailed behind her, a steam of crimson from her many wounds shining in the glare of the cities many lights.
Life exploded from her body as she hit the pavement, her lungs now empty and her every fibre wracked with pain. For a moment she convulsed, the savage impact shaking her every bone, and even through such pain she knew she could not linger.
The Phantoms creatures leapt towards her, the beasts from the deepest dark bounding outside with hideous agility and glee. They bounded with inhuman grace, twin scythes with a wicked edge dancing perversely in the light.
With gritted teeth, Psylocke still gripped her own two blades, the katanna of silver light now broken at the hilt, its edge now bent and broken. The second blade, one of ebony thought, one brought too life and powered by her will, still held strong, singing in the night.
A creature bounded at her fallen form, its jagged teeth snapping with its hate, its blades slicing through the air itself. Whipping together her reserves of strength, Psylocke swung her blade upwards with her remaining might, impaling the monsters chest and through its heart. With an ear splitting scream, and snapping jaws, the creature died, its heavy corpse sliding down her blade and pinning it too the ground.
Her breathing became rapid as many more demons bounded into sight, clambering down the walls, and tearing a way into the world. She couldn’t count them, as one the beasts of savage hate descended towards her pinned and helpless form.
Time stopped, moments became hours, the creatures from the deepest dark falling towards her with savage purpose. She turned within, as she witnessed the final moments of her life, and felt a sickness sweeping through her body. She felt it then, as she had done these past few weeks, the thing inside that never ceased too torment.
She felt the serpent, cold and heartless, as it tightly wrapped itself around her being, the serpent that yanked her down into the deepest dark too consume her soul.
# # # # #
Earth 616, England.
Today...
Brian Braddock had taken off his tie and undone the top buttons of his shirt, suddenly feeling far too restricted. He was alone again, his wife asleep and content upstairs while he had found himself, as was often the case, drawn too the lower foundations of the estate.
This chamber had once belonged too his Father, housing the equipment and experiments he had kept secret from his children. All of that was now gone, stripped down and packaged away, much of it having caused far too much trouble to be held onto for sentimental reason. Whatever his Fathers true goals had been, they would die with him, Brian had enough of his own affairs too deal with.
The chamber was well lit, not only by the lights above, but also by the equipment that had been set up. It wasn't much, an information network of sorts, a link too the recently founded MI-13 too keep him in the loop. It hadn't been his idea, nor his request, but there were elements within the specialised branch of the British Government who still seemed to think he would eventually return to being Captain Britain.
He should have just said no, his priorities had changed.
But he hadn't.
Just as he couldn't forget the lingering memories of another life.
All about the chamber, a series of glass cases had been arranged, each of them taller than himself. Within each one stood a mannequin, each one clothed in a different version of his uniform, each one depicting each incarnation from the first too the last. Captain Britain through the years, the man he had, apparently, been born too be.
Some believed he should be honoured, in truth, the reality only served to fuel his ire. Brian Braddock did not enjoy his choices being made for him.
Brian forced himself too sigh, undoing the second button on his shirt before rubbing his all too tired eyes. He had been over this before; he had already decided that he wouldn't let himself remember his past so poorly. It wasn't healthy.
He'd done some good as Captain Britain; Meggan would say that he had done a lot of good. But then, she always believed in him more than he did himself.
No, he decided as he looked back too the mannequins who stood in forever silent vigil, he had done good as Captain Britain. He had saved lives, he had inspired hope, he had made a difference. By in large, he had lead a life that he could be proud of, he had done his part.
So why, even down here, as he looked upon the many renditions of his former self, could he not see that same pride reflected in their sightless features?
Why could he only see their disappointment?
"Merlin, update" Brian’s voice suddenly cut through his sombre musings, knowing full well that he had already told himself a thousand times that he wouldn't do this. That every time would be the last, that he would move on, and yet, here he was, asking it again.
The information centre too his back sprung into life, the monitors flickering on and sprawling through commands as it awaited clarification. Brian's own attention remained focused on the forever silent mannequin before him.
They didn’t offer comment.
"Metahuman Activity..." Brian paused for a moment, before continuing "...Fatalities?"
>>Temporal Anomaly: Location: Manhattan: Designation: Kang: Query?<<
>>Temporal Anomaly: Location: Mongolia: Designation: Unknown: Query?<<
>>Metahuman Violence: Location: Muir Island: Designation: Brotherhood: Query?<<
>>Metahuman Violence: Locat<<
"Merlin" Brian cut off the monotone voice that was designated Merlin, already having heard enough of what he was certain was an expansive list. It always was, and some of it, he already knew, most of it concerned his friends.
He closed his eyes and proceeded too rub them once more. Not a day went by without some catastrophe. Not a day went by when events beyond the realms of normal men and woman would strike them down, and it only seemed to get worse.
It was always getting worse.
"I CAN HEAR YOU!!" Brain Braddock snapped without warning, his sapphire eyes flashed with anger as he glared at the silent mannequin before him. It's empty ones offered nothing in return. They never did.
"I can hear you..." he whispered too himself, feeling tired and in many ways frustrated. It wasn't him anymore, the figures before him were not his life, he didn't want it.
"Merlin" Brian cut through the silence, his shoulders square as he turned his back too the silent guardians at his back, looking instead too the monitors now before him.
"Update...Elisabeth Braddock...?" he dared too ask, as he always did, and never getting an answer.
>>Designation: Elisabeth Braddock: Location: Unknown<<
Brian slammed his fist onto the desk, shattering the metallic surface with the greatest ease and immediate regret. How could he be Captain Britain, how can he be the one to save lives when he couldn't even save his sister?
When he couldn’t even find her?
Time stopped, blood froze, and for a moment Brian had little understanding of what had happened. A blade was held against his throat, its vicious edge cutting into the upper layers of his throat, drawing out a thin bead of blood.
He didn't move as he felt another body pressed up against his back, a slender figure firmly holding the weapon too his neck. He barely breathed as felt the blood of his attacker seeping into his shirt, or her ragged breadth against his ear.
"Where!?!" Elisabeth Braddock hissed in a voice that was scarcely her own, the mutant known as Psylocke holding a blade too her brothers throat. For an eternity they did not move, their collective breadths becoming one.
"Where is it!?!" Elisabeth Braddock demanded to know, a flash of white hot fury slicing her ebony blade more fiercely, drawing more of her brothers blood.
"WHERE IS THE SPHERE!?!"
TO BE CONTINUED...
NEXT ISSUE: Brother and Sister have been reunited, but when something sinister infects the hearts of men, what purpose will it serve?