Warehouse Complex, Brooklyn – 12th July, 2013
With a yell of triumph, the bald man dressed in a low-cut red 'V' necked polo short, faux leather pants and jeans levered the front of the packing crate off with a crowbar to reveal his prize.
"Gentlemen," The man opening the case stated to the small group of thugs standing around him, "may I present to you the figurehead of the Ship of Fingernails." He added as he motioned to the wooden serpent head protruding from the avalanche of packing peanuts that had poured onto the floor.
"Sorry if we don't take your word about that Paul." One of the thugs sneered, "Boss Morgan wants proof that is genuine. After you scammed your last client with that 'empty painting' scandal last month."
"Firstly its 'Dead' Paul." Paul sighed as he pulled a glove onto his right hand. "And secondly that painting was the real deal, it was empty when I appraised it"
"Why would we care about the details of the scam you pulled on the Owl?" The thug grunted as a sound radiated from out in the corridor. "What you will be is 'Very Dead' Paul if you try and scam us the same way."
Paul nodded, there was little point in arguing since that was likely a fast track ticket down to Hades. Pulling on the other glove and reaching into the case he heard the doors fly open, accompanied by the sound of guns cocking. Daring to turn around he saw a man dressed in a silver and blue jumpsuit complete with mask, a pistol in each hand.
"Who the fuck are you?" The lead thug asked as he and his men kept their weapons on the intruder.
"My name is unimportant and I have no quarrel with you or the man you represent." The intruder stated calmly as he looked over at Paul. "I'm here for 'Dead' Paul Porter."
"Well I'm flattered that they sent the Enforcer after me, but from one occult expert to the other," Paul hissed as he wrenched the figurehead out of the case and rose it up in all its grandeur for all to see, "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Fine by me, the Owl doesn't mind if your dead or alive when I deliver you." The Enforcer stated as Paul shook the figurehead in a vain attempt to make it do something. All in all, this artefact was somewhat of a let-down, yes it was grandiose but ultimately, he'd felt weird the moment he'd first laid eyes on it. And now he was touching it, he could swear that the wood felt more like reptile scales then any kind of timber he'd ever felt.
Over to his right the thugs were mumbling, sizing up the severity of the situation. Paul sighed, not only was he surely going to die, but now the course scale like bark had torn through his glove.
"For fuck's sake, if you want the appraisal done then shoot him!" Paul swore as the thugs all jerked their heads up at once, followed by a quick salvo of shots and the sound of six bodies hitting the floor.
"Now Paul, you don't need to swear at the help." The Enforcer stated as he advanced on the appraiser. "Put down the figurehead and come quietly, it'll be better in the long run for you. The Owl said himself that if you fix the painting then he'll only give you ten minutes of rat torture at the most."
"Th... that doesn't sound like the Owl!" Paul stuttered as he clenched onto the figurehead so hard that the scales cut into his hand, a trickle of blood running down the wood. As if being awoken, the serpent unfurled a pair of wings from the nape of its neck, the dark gemstones that formed its eyes glowing green.
"Yes, it's working!" Paul exclaimed. "You'd better run before I vaporise you!" Unfortunately, the Enforcer wasn't focused on him, rather his gaze was fixed on the now twitching bodies of the thugs he'd killed, as they slowly got to their feet.
"Paul you know better than this." The Enforcer sighed as he backed off slightly to put range between him and the living corpses. "Zombies are slow, predictable and easy to kill." He added as he fired six shots, four of which landed strikes to the head, the other two hitting the upper torso of his targets.
The zombies didn't fall down, didn’t even wobble, they just kept coming.
"I control death!" Paul howled as the Enforcer backed into the corridor and removed a grenade from his belt before tossing it into the room and bolting. He made it to the end of the corridor and out the second story window before the thermobaric charge he had released detonated, the pressure wave and following heat flash charring the entire floor of the structure.
Or almost everything on the second floor. As he picked himself up the Enforcer saw at least two of the undead thugs crawl out of a window further along the building, falling to the floor their bones cracking as they landed. Not that stopped them from crawling towards him. Putting a shot into each of them, the Enforcer sprinted towards his car, a battered old Toyota Hilux just as the remaining thugs smashed out of the first-floor doors and sprinted towards him.
Gunning the engine, the Enforcer retreated as Paul appeared in the window still clutching the figurehead, his eyes glowing with the same sickly green glow of the gemstones in the artefact he'd claimed.
"Forget Mark Nero!" Paul boomed as he watched the Toyota speed off down the road. "We march to the shore, we march to victory!"
With a yell of triumph, the bald man dressed in a low-cut red 'V' necked polo short, faux leather pants and jeans levered the front of the packing crate off with a crowbar to reveal his prize.
"Gentlemen," The man opening the case stated to the small group of thugs standing around him, "may I present to you the figurehead of the Ship of Fingernails." He added as he motioned to the wooden serpent head protruding from the avalanche of packing peanuts that had poured onto the floor.
"Sorry if we don't take your word about that Paul." One of the thugs sneered, "Boss Morgan wants proof that is genuine. After you scammed your last client with that 'empty painting' scandal last month."
"Firstly its 'Dead' Paul." Paul sighed as he pulled a glove onto his right hand. "And secondly that painting was the real deal, it was empty when I appraised it"
"Why would we care about the details of the scam you pulled on the Owl?" The thug grunted as a sound radiated from out in the corridor. "What you will be is 'Very Dead' Paul if you try and scam us the same way."
Paul nodded, there was little point in arguing since that was likely a fast track ticket down to Hades. Pulling on the other glove and reaching into the case he heard the doors fly open, accompanied by the sound of guns cocking. Daring to turn around he saw a man dressed in a silver and blue jumpsuit complete with mask, a pistol in each hand.
"Who the fuck are you?" The lead thug asked as he and his men kept their weapons on the intruder.
"My name is unimportant and I have no quarrel with you or the man you represent." The intruder stated calmly as he looked over at Paul. "I'm here for 'Dead' Paul Porter."
"Well I'm flattered that they sent the Enforcer after me, but from one occult expert to the other," Paul hissed as he wrenched the figurehead out of the case and rose it up in all its grandeur for all to see, "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Fine by me, the Owl doesn't mind if your dead or alive when I deliver you." The Enforcer stated as Paul shook the figurehead in a vain attempt to make it do something. All in all, this artefact was somewhat of a let-down, yes it was grandiose but ultimately, he'd felt weird the moment he'd first laid eyes on it. And now he was touching it, he could swear that the wood felt more like reptile scales then any kind of timber he'd ever felt.
Over to his right the thugs were mumbling, sizing up the severity of the situation. Paul sighed, not only was he surely going to die, but now the course scale like bark had torn through his glove.
"For fuck's sake, if you want the appraisal done then shoot him!" Paul swore as the thugs all jerked their heads up at once, followed by a quick salvo of shots and the sound of six bodies hitting the floor.
"Now Paul, you don't need to swear at the help." The Enforcer stated as he advanced on the appraiser. "Put down the figurehead and come quietly, it'll be better in the long run for you. The Owl said himself that if you fix the painting then he'll only give you ten minutes of rat torture at the most."
"Th... that doesn't sound like the Owl!" Paul stuttered as he clenched onto the figurehead so hard that the scales cut into his hand, a trickle of blood running down the wood. As if being awoken, the serpent unfurled a pair of wings from the nape of its neck, the dark gemstones that formed its eyes glowing green.
"Yes, it's working!" Paul exclaimed. "You'd better run before I vaporise you!" Unfortunately, the Enforcer wasn't focused on him, rather his gaze was fixed on the now twitching bodies of the thugs he'd killed, as they slowly got to their feet.
"Paul you know better than this." The Enforcer sighed as he backed off slightly to put range between him and the living corpses. "Zombies are slow, predictable and easy to kill." He added as he fired six shots, four of which landed strikes to the head, the other two hitting the upper torso of his targets.
The zombies didn't fall down, didn’t even wobble, they just kept coming.
"I control death!" Paul howled as the Enforcer backed into the corridor and removed a grenade from his belt before tossing it into the room and bolting. He made it to the end of the corridor and out the second story window before the thermobaric charge he had released detonated, the pressure wave and following heat flash charring the entire floor of the structure.
Or almost everything on the second floor. As he picked himself up the Enforcer saw at least two of the undead thugs crawl out of a window further along the building, falling to the floor their bones cracking as they landed. Not that stopped them from crawling towards him. Putting a shot into each of them, the Enforcer sprinted towards his car, a battered old Toyota Hilux just as the remaining thugs smashed out of the first-floor doors and sprinted towards him.
Gunning the engine, the Enforcer retreated as Paul appeared in the window still clutching the figurehead, his eyes glowing with the same sickly green glow of the gemstones in the artefact he'd claimed.
"Forget Mark Nero!" Paul boomed as he watched the Toyota speed off down the road. "We march to the shore, we march to victory!"
Issue #1 (May 2018)
Written by John Cheese Featuring: The Enforcer
Zombie Master
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THE LANTERN OF HYRM - PART ONESenor Magico’s Shop, Greenwich
Mike limped into the magic shop he’d found in the Yellow Pages, the bell tinkling as he closed the door behind him. He had been in plenty of places like ‘Senor Magico’s’ and for the most part they were owned by two-bit hacks and peddlers who knew little about real magic and even less about good taste. Heading up to the counter Mike waited for the customer before him to leave, with her ‘likely fake’ love potion, before making the acquaintance of the short and pudgy Hispanic man who he guessed was the Senoor Magico in question. “Hola Senior, what can I help you with today?” The shop keeper asked, as Mike took a long look at the tatty cape, shirt and jeans he wore. It was clear that this man had little knowledge of real magic and was simply playing a part. Still beggars and choosers and all that… “I’m looking for some information about an artefact.” Mike stated as he looked round the store, in the hopes of spotting something that was akin to the item Paul had been totting. “We are not a library Senior.” The shopkeeper answered. “Or a tourist board, if you want to know something about a magical item, then test you luck and buy a book.” “Listen this is serious, there is a zombie creating idol out there!” Mike snapped as he banged his hands down on the counter. “I need help to destroy it, remove it or something, because I don’t get paid if…” “…if the guy you shot isn’t dead.” The shopkeeper said through gritted teeth. “I try and avoid business with murderers thank you.” “Listen it’s not like that, I am being paid to make sure said artefact was not to be handled until it reached its destination.” Mike lied as he reached for his pistol holstered on his belt. Besides the shop-keeper, there was one other customer, a red-haired woman in her early twenties dressed in a Dazzler concert T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Somehow if he was to turn his gun on them, he doubted they would prove little problem. “You spin a good story Jefe.” The shop keeper stated as his eyes flicked down to Mike’s pistol before a wide smile spread across his face. “On the off chance that you are telling the truth I will let you look at one book for free, after that I start charging.” Nodding in acknowledgment, Mike walked over to the library at the end of the store, and the massive book cases loaded with a wide range of tomes and treatises. Selecting a big red book bound in blue string, Mike pulled the tome off the shelf and looked at the title, trying to decipher a translation from the central European tongue it was written in. “That’s a good read if you are interested in the application of dung beetles in apothecary and alchemy.” The woman sitting on the bean bag beside him stated, as she removed the headphones of her I-Pod, a trance cover of Enya’s Orinoco Flow flooding the store. “Unfortunately, I am not.” Mike sighed as he slipped the book back into where it had come from. “I’m looking for figureheads on magical boats, particularly ones with necromantic properties, but all this magic stuff isn’t my wheelhouse, I’m more of a demon hunter then a sorcerer.” “Sounds like you want the Ragnarok Codices.” The woman replied as she got up and removed a thin book, damaged by fire from the shelf before handing it to him. Flipping open the cover, Mike could see that the writing was intact after a fashion, burnt ash white against the blackened paper by an obviously mystical fire. Unfortunately, the language wasn’t anything he recognised, but after a quick flip through he found a carving of the figurehead he’d seen back in the warehouse. “Can you read this?” Mike asked. “Sort of, its Asgardian a language most mortals would find hard to understand, but a basic knowledge of Proto Norse allows you to get the gist.” The woman answered. “Why do you want to know?” “It’s complicated, let’s just say that its active and making zombies.” Mike replied as he squinted at the lettering trying to decide if the first letter in the caption under the carving was a c or an s. “Then you’ll need my help.” The woman announced. “Sarah Hannigan, Magical Theorist.” She added as she held out her hand. “Mike Nero,” Mike replied as he shook Sarah’s hand, “in desperate need of some help.” "In that case shall we begin?" Sarah asked as she headed out of the store. "What about him?" Nero asked as he ran to catch up. "I'm going out Senor Magico, see you later." Sarah called as she walked out through the door. "Good riddance." Senor Magico mumbled before gesturing for Mike to come closer. "If you don't bring her back alive I'll turn you into a ferret." "But you just said..." Mike protested, "...right fine I'll bring her back alive and unharmed." He added before darting out the door and onto the street where Sarah was sitting on a Honda Cub motorcycle, a pink helmet tucked under her arm. "Hope on." She chirped happily. "Not a chance." Mike replied as he gestured to his pick-up. "Now get in and read while we find the figurehead." Shrugging Sarah climbed into the passenger seat and placed the borrowed codices on the dashboard. "My mother warned me about getting in cars with strange men." Sarah joked as she took a deep sniff. "Is that aconite, St john's wort and traveller's joy?" "Mixed with holy oil and the fur of a snowshoe hare to form a protection charm." Mike answered as he started the engine. "You know your stuff to pick up on those individual scents." "Thanks, so how and where did you find the figurehead?" Sarah asked as she reached for the codices she'd brought with her. "A warehouse in Brooklyn and I guess because it's my job." Mike replied, knowing that the second part was at least partially a lie. "I'm a demon hunter among other things." "That's really cool." Sarah stated as she flipped through the pages to the one she wanted. "Okay so do you know that there are nine realms according to the scriptures of the Norse." "Yeah I read that I think." Mike replied as he stopped at an intersection. "Well there's this realm called Helheim where the dead go ready for the final battle Ragnarok." Sarah explained. "Ragnarok is basically the apocalyptic event that marks the end of Asgard and the Aesir gods." "I feel like maybe you should get to the point." Mark grumbled as he turned left towards Central Park. "I'm getting there." Sarah replied, a slight hint of a snarky undertone on her voice. "The armies of Hel reached the battle on a ferry named the Ship of Fingernails captained by the giant Hyrm." "Okay so shouldn't the figurehead still be attached to the ferry?" Mark asked before slamming on the brakes as he slammed into a woman crossing the road. Cursing loud enough to be heard over Sarah’s screaming, he leapt out and went to check on the woman before watching her half-decayed form squirm out from under the Toyota's front tires. With a moan, the zombified corpse grabbed him, her decaying nails tabbing into his neck. "What do I do?" Sarah asked, having hesitantly got out of the truck. "Weapons...trunk!" Mike groaned as he forced the decaying hands away from his skin. Nodding Sarah run around the back of the truck, popped the boot and gasped at what she saw before grabbing a cudgel with a row of obsidian teeth embedded into it. "Hey you over here!" Sarah yelled, the zombie turning to face its tormenter, only to see the cudgel swing into its face, the blow sending its head flying. With a kick Nero pushed the flopping body away. "How did you do that?" Mike asked as the zombie crawled towards the car. "I swung?" Sarah replied in a confused tone. "Why do you have enough weapons to start a small war in your car?" "Speaking of weapons." Mike stated as he took the cudgel from her and slammed it through the zombie's hand. "You never know what you'll encounter in the field, sometimes you need more unusual equipment." He added as he went around to the trunk and replaced the cudgel. "What did you use the grenade launcher on?" Sarah asked, as Mike stopped. They were in downtown Manhattan and yet it was silent. "Or that weird crossbow looking thing?" Sarah continued to ask. "Be quiet for the moment." Mike ordered as he looked up the street and saw that there was no pedestrian traffic, no traffic at all in fact. "If you didn't want to talk about it then..." Sarah began only to see Mike return to the front of the pick-up armed with a massive 'Street Sweeper' shotgun. "First lesson in field work is keep your senses tuned to the environment around you." Mike announced as he blasted the zombified remains and then placed the shotgun on the hood of the truck, before returning to the boot and grabbing a sleek headed pike engraved with Sanskrit symbols. "Do you see anything unusual, hear anything unusual." "In other words, it’s quiet?" Sarah asked as he handed her the pike. "It's too quiet." Mike replied as he looked up and down the street again. "What else does the codices say about the Ship of Fingernails?" "It details..." Sarah paused before looking down at the still quivering pieces of zombie, "...certain construction elements of the ship. Let's just say it's made of what it says it's made of." "Nice, how about the actual zombies, or Hyrm what does it say about them?" Mike asked as an ambulance swerved into the road and slammed into a building. "On the dead very little." Sarah sighed as she and Mike raced to the end of the street. "Less is said on Hyrm, other than that he was a Jotun of considerable power." She added as they reached the stricken vehicle and heard the screams emanating from inside. "On my mark." Mike ordered as he shouldered the Street Sweeper and wrenched the door open, an undead man slumping out onto the pavement, leaving the two injured paramedics it had been menacing cowering at the back of the vehicle. Groaning the zombie got to its feet and slouched towards the park, ignoring the living humans it had to pass. "Did you see that?" Sarah asked as she and Mike watched the zombie shuffle away from them. "It didn't attack." She added as she clambered into the ambulance. "Did it hurt you?" She asked the paramedics, both of them now focused on the spear wielding woman standing before them. "No, it just scared us, broke the restraints and started clawing at the door." One of the paramedics gulped. "You two the driver's looking in a bad way, can you do anything for him?" Mike asked, his words spurring the medics into action as they raced round the front of the crashed vehicle. Walking away Mike saw Sarah sitting on the back of the ambulance flicking through the codices before stopping on a charcoal drawing of a massive man holding an oar and a lantern leading a file of ragged men down a deserted road. "Hyrm." Sarah explained. "Look at his lantern." She ordered as she handed the book to Mike. "Shit, I've seen that before." Mike cursed as he looked at the human skull the representation of Hyrm was holding. "That's the skull inside the figureheads’ mouth." "It explains why the zombies aren't attacking, at least not when they are left alone. This isn't war, this is a march, they are looking for the ferry." "How do you explain the additional zombies if they aren't attacking?" Mike asked as he shot a look at his truck. "Hyrm is gathering the dead, there's no reason to believe that he isn't doing the same now." Sarah explained as Mike handed her the codices back. "Yeah except Hyrm isn't here that cocky little prick 'Dead' Paul has it!" Mike sneered as he placed the shotgun on the ground. "Deadpool?" Sarah asked as the paramedics shot a look at the pair of them. "No 'Dead' Paul he's an appraiser for the criminal underworld." Mike explained, only to see Sarah shoot him a terrified look. "What is it?" He asked in concern as he looked round for any sign of the undead, completely missing one of the paramedics sneak up and grab the shotgun. "That's why you needed the weapons." Sarah stated as she dropped the pike and got to her feet. "You're a criminal, a killer." "I never killed anyone who didn't deserve it." Mike protested as a groan echoed from the front of the ambulance. "Yeah because that makes it alright." Sarah hissed in a sarcastic voice. "You used me and I fell for it, I thought I was actually being useful but instead you were using me to accomplish some petty assassination!" She snapped, her words accompanied by a crack and a feral scream. "What the fuck did you two do!" Mike snapped as he turned around to see the reanimated corpse of the driver dragging what was left of its body out through the window. "He...he's one of them!" The paramedic screamed as Mike grabbed the shotgun off him and blasted the attacking zombie. As the sound of the scuffle faded a scream taken up by a thousand decaying throats sounded as a horde of the undead filtered out of the side streets, buildings and the park. "Oh shit!" The paramedics yelled as one, before taking off down the street. "Hey wait..." Mike called as the undead converged on him. It was only as he readied himself for battle that he realised Sarah was gone. Not only that but she was alone and unarmed as the dead marched...and it was all his fault. |