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#3 May 2006 |
MARVEL 2000 PRESENTS...
CHAPTER THREE:
"Bar Brawl"
Written by Ben Wolfert
Previously, in Marvel Fantasy: Scott Summers, on his eighteenth birthday, was sent forth from his village of Westchester to deliver a message to Dr. Strange, headmaster of the Strange Academy for the Magically Gifted. His trip was slowed when he and his chocobo, Kirby, were attacked in the forest by a demon known as the Owl. He was saved, with the help of a mysterious gun toting man. Upon reaching the Strange Academy, Scott passed out. He awoke in the company of Hank McCoy, a teacher at the school. Scott and Hank departed for Wundagore Castle, where Dr. Strange was meeting with King Steven. En route, they were attacked by a group of thieves led by a man who referred to himself as Gambit. It wasn’t until the timely intervention of some knights from Wundagore, led by Clint Barton, that the thieves were forced to retreat, allowing Hank and Scott to resume their trek…
Now…
“Is your right ocular okay? You’ve been rubbing it rather vigorously since our confrontation with those hooligans,” Hank was concerned, looking across the cabin of their carriage at Scott. The right hand of the eighteen-year-old boy had been lingering over his red bandana since they had climbed back into the carriage after being rescued. Scott looked up at Hank and quickly dropped his hand down.
“I’m fine…just a bit shook up…” was the only excuse Scott could muster, and it was half-assed at that. He was glancing out the window of the carriage almost as soon as he had made eye contact with his large companion. It was clearly a subject he preferred not to discuss.
“Might I inquire as to your threats towards that Gambit fellow? In all of our travels, I never truly thought to ask about your bandana,” Hank was now leaning a little bit closer to Scott, propping his hand beneath his chin and studying the bandana curiously. Scott pressed himself as far back against the seat cushion as possible, feeling more uncomfortable. He hadn’t even known this man for a full day.
“It…it was nothing,” Scott stammered, running his hand along the clothe of the bandana before looking back to Hank. There was nothing but concern and curiosity on his scholarly face. His bi-focals sat at an odd angle, having been bent up a bit in the tussle with the thieves. On most men this would’ve appeared foolish, but the glasses only reinforced the image Scott had of Hank McCoy; that of a kind genius. The sort of kind genius that could rip both arms free from your body if he wanted to. “It was a bluff…to see if he would back down. I…I guess it didn’t work. He just laughed,” Scott’s voice dropped a bit. Without any further provocation, like a man who had something to prove, Scott pulled the bandana down, revealing his right eye to Hank. “I’m not crazy, right? My eye is red, and that’s it? Right?” Scott’s tone went from quiet to hysterical at a pace that astonished Hank, who wasn’t prepared for the sudden insecurity and delirium.
“Yes…please…Scott…you have to calm down,” Hank said in as soothing a manner as possible. He placed a large, heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder, partially to assuage him, and partially to hold him down. It wasn’t until then that the scholarly man took the time to examine the eye that had suddenly become the center of attention. It was indeed, as Scott had described it, red. Closer to a dark shade of crimson, every bit of eye visible was the opaque shade. The sight was certainly a bit on the disturbing side, but nothing more.
“I’m sorry…it’s just…never mind,” Scott said, pulling his shoulder away (although this took considerable effort) and replacing the bandana over his eye. It was clear that seeing his right eye for the first time had been a trying experience. The boy shrunk within himself, and Hank could only wonder what it was about the red eye that had Scott so off center. He could remember being that age; it was always the odd things that would upset you. What would upset a grown man wasn’t the same sort of thing that would upset a teenager on the cusp of maturity. Pursuing the topic any further would be pointless, as Hank noted they were approaching the grand stonewall that surrounded Terrigan. McCoy intended to find out later though, and had all but forgotten about the thieves they had encountered just a little while ago…
Gambit was dejected. You could see it in his face. His eyes were open, but he was staring aimlessly at the ground with those eerie red eyes. A small fire seemed to burn within each of them, and he was constantly wringing his hands together, practically burning holes into the leather gloves he wore. He sat slumped in a wooden chair, occasionally slamming his fists against the table top in front of him. The makeshift mug of ale sitting in front of him would leap into the air every time, spilling some of its contents around him. Those who had been sitting at the table had long since moved away from him, to various other nooks and crannies of the thieves den they inhabited. Soft whispers were carried throughout the small cave, situated a ways off from Terrigan and Wundagore Castle, among the hills and rock formations. The only other noise to be heard was the soft crackling of the fires that lit the caverns.
“Remy…you cannot allow the disappointment of one failed job to depress you so much. It is not becoming of the heir to the Thieves Guild,” the crackled voice of an elderly man spoke from behind Gambit. An old, but steady hand reached out to grip Gambit’s shoulder. The younger thief remained in silence, drawing his hands to his chin in deep thought. Jean-Luc, the patriarch of the Thieves Guild, removed his hand and moved to sit across from Gambit. Jean-Luc’s years of crime and debauchery appeared to be catching up to him quickly. His skin was smattered with various dark blotches and small portions of excess flesh hung from skinny old bones. His white hair was thin and matted, and his beard dropped to the end of his neck.
“I know dat…” Gambit said reluctantly. He looked up to Jean-Luc. To the man that had taken him in when his own parents had abandoned him. This elderly thief had long been the head of the Thieves Guild, a collective of thieves’ dens scattered across the land. While it often shocked outsiders, thieves had their own code of law, and all the smaller dens looked to Jean-Luc for guidance. The man certainly had enough responsibility with this role. But he took precious time from his career, from his life, to teach Gambit. To mold the boy into the son he never had. In exchange, he taught Gambit all the tricks of the trade. “I’ll kill dose knights…dat treasure was mine,” Gambit clenched his fist again.
“What happened out there Remy? The other boys told me it was a carriage from the Strange Academy…they always carry nice things. But then a big ape-man and a boy got out of the carriage. Wha,” Jean-Luc started, placing his hand on Gambit’s arm.
“Dey didn’t have any treasure…dis route isn’t worth anything,” the volume of Gambit’s voice rose slightly. He pulled his arm away and his red eyes burned greedily into Jean Luc’s. “De road you picked never has any loot! Dere’s too many demons, and de only time dere ain’t demons is when de guards are patrolling!” Gambit’s ire continued.
“Remy my son…calm yourself. The scouts have confirmed a large payload due to be shipped soon from Terrigan. Now, you must tell me; was there anything odd about the ape-man and the boy? Specifically the boy,” Jean-Luc’s interest seemed to be focused solely on those who had foiled Gambit’s heist. It was a sore subject that Remy found aggravating to focus on.
“No…nothing odd at all,” Gambit said after a pause. Why was Jean-Luc so interested in the boy with the creepy eye? For a moment he had considered mentioning the opaquely crimson eye the boy had, but he held his tongue. The eye had been lame anyways; it wasn’t as if it did anything special. How could it be important?
“Fine…go get some rest, you’re going to need it.” Jean-Luc’s tone abruptly turned sour, and he turned away from the closest thing he had to a son. Unease seemed to permeate throughout the entire den.
“I’d take you kids to the castle with me, but Ca…I mean, King Steven, is a bit uneasy nowadays. I’ll head up and tell Dr. Strange you’re here. Now you two duck in here and stay out of trouble,” Clint Barton, captain of the king’s guards, addressed the two travelers he had rescued from thieves. There was something in his gut that told Clint these two, especially the boy with the tissue wrapped around his head, were important. And the man many-called Hawkeye always went by his gut instinct. That was the reason he had remained here in Wundagore after the war. “Just pop into this place and tell the keep you know Barton. He’ll treat ya right,” Clint instructed before turning his horse and taking off towards the castle that loomed above the village.
“Come on Scott, you must be parched,” Hank turned to his young companion after watching Hawkeye ride into the crowd. Scott had kept his head bowed throughout their entire entrance to Terrigan. He would have been fascinated at the sheer size, which dwarfed his smaller village of Westchester. The village square closed at sundown in Westchester. The convention of closing didn’t seem to exist in Terrigan. Night was slowly beginning to fall, and the streets were still packed with those bartering their goods…and services. But Scott hadn’t observed the magnificent scale of the town, preferring to dwell within his thoughts, almost too embarrassed to look around with his one “good” eye. He proceeded through the rickety wooden door into the pub known only as Harry’s, more as a result of Hank’s urgings than anything else.
As crowded as it had been out on the cobbled streets of Terrigan, the inside of Harry’s seemed to pack just as many people. Except that Harry’s was a lot smaller. Smoke from wooden pipes whispered into the air and collected at the ceiling, and one practically had to yell in order to be heard. The entire establishment reeked of ale and dirt, and for a moment Hank wondered if Clint had sent them to the right place. Scott simply followed Hank through the crowd of people. The larger man left a substantial wake and many irritable customers, as there wasn’t really any room for Hank to maneuver. No one wanted the two travelers to sit near them either; whenever Hank moved towards an empty seat, the people nearby would do their best to make the space appear…cramped. This hunt for a place to settle down continued for several moments, and Hank was just about at the end of his fuse when he heard someone call out to him from a nearby booth.
“Hey, big man! Over here! We’ve got some seats open!” Scott could hear through the crowd, even though he couldn’t see who was talking to them. Just as he had from the moment they entered Harry’s, he followed Hank, staring blankly at the back of the large man’s vest. When he could finally see something besides spun cloth, there was a corner booth in front of him. Sitting on either side of the spacious table was a man, both with exotic appearances. On the right was a man with skin darker than Scott had ever seen; it was a stark brown hue. He had a baldhead that glistened in the available lamplight, and an intimidating gaze. His body, while nowhere near as massive as Hank’s still appeared toned and threatening. This was quite a feat, considering he was wearing a long black cloak over his body. Across from him sat a slightly more congenial looking man, whom Scott guessed was the one who had called out to Hank. He was a smaller man with fair skin and light blonde hair, cut close to his scalp. While this man appeared normal, his attire spoke differently. He appeared to be clad in a silk green jumpsuit that opened at his chest, revealing a chiseled set of muscles. Scott had never seen a man dressed so…scantly. At least, not in public.
“Thank you friends…your hospitality is much obliged,” Hank thanked the two men in his own verbose dialect, placing himself next to the man with the brightly colored clothes, who had to plant himself firmly on his side of the bench for fear of flying off. Scott, somewhat reluctantly, placed himself alongside the man with the dark skin. With wide eyes he looked to the side, for only a second. The man was staring across the table at his companion. Scott quickly looked back at Hank and refused to glance anywhere else.
“My name is Hank, and my young friend here is Scott,” the professor offered his ape sized hand to the blonde man, who showed no reluctance in shaking it as firmly as he could, considering he couldn’t really get a grip. Scott proceeded to shake his hand and offer his first smile since that afternoon.
“My name is Danny, and this is my buddy Luke.” The large black man simply nodded to Hank, and glanced at Scott. “Luke’s not a big talker, you’ll have to excuse him. And don’t mind the people here…they’re just a bit closed minded…just lookin out for their own,” Danny offered an excuse for the patrons’ rude behavior. Hank seemed dissatisfied for a moment, but quickly changed his demeanor. Scott had begun to notice there wasn’t much that phased Hank. He was normally rather cheerful. “There’s been some…enchanted individuals, you could call them, hanging around the kingdom. Roughing people up. Word is the king would set them straight…if he wasn’t busy being king,” Danny said.
“You haven’t been here long?” Scott spoke up, his first words since the carriage had pulled up to Terrigan. He had heard many stories about the King of Wundagore. His bravery was legendary, although the marvelous tales about him had ceased to circulate as often as soon as he took the throne.
“Nope. Luke and I just came over from Latveria,” Danny took a swig of the mug in front of him, placing it down and wiping the froth from his lips.
“Ah, Latveria! I have yet to voyage there, although I hope to soon. I would love to study their land,” Hank said, revealing his inner scholar. Danny began to laugh at the man’s professed interest, and even Luke chuckled a bit. Scott could feel the man’s chest rumble just by sitting next to him.
“I wouldn’t be in such a rush to get there, if I were you,” Danny informed Hank.
“Might I inquire as to why not?” Hank seemed disappointed that the two natives of this foreign land advised against him going there. When Scott thought about it, he couldn’t help but laugh a bit.
“Well, the place itself isn’t so bad. Very exotic, compared to this plain land you’ve got here. But the ruler? Doom? The man has some issues. Luke and I served in his royal guard. He’s a bit of an ass, if you ask me. It’s odd, because the woman he married, Susan, she’s a real sweetheart. I always figured she’d be better off with Doom’s advisor, Reed. But hey, who am I to guess at love. Anyways, Doom keeps a close eye on visitors to his kingdom. Actually, he keeps a close eye on everyone. Doesn’t trust anyone besides Sue and Reed. Luke and I couldn’t do what we wanted to do, so we came here.”
“And what is it you do?” Scott asked before Hank could ask another academic question, which might have moved the conversation off topic.
“I dunno…I guess you could call us mercenaries…knights for hire?” Dan asked, looking from Scott to Luke with a questioning gaze. Lucas pulled his hands away from his mouth and uttered one word in a deep, baritone voice. It was a word that put Scott at ease about sitting next to the rather intimidating fellow.
“Heroes,” Luke Cage bellowed.
“Right…heroes for hire,” Danny Rand nodded his head in agreement. “We’ve been doing the clean up work that the king and his knights have been too busy to get around to. Ever since that big throw down between Avalon and Wundagore, demon attacks have been increasing. We just help the people the knights can’t get to.”
“I could have used you guys yesterday…some creep demon jumped me in the Westchester Woods,” Scott spoke up. He was slowly becoming more relaxed, and was less and less focused on his eye. It was pointless to dwell on something he couldn’t change. He had brooded enough for the time being.
“You were?” Hank was actually the first to question the story. During the entire time they had spent in the carriage, Scott had never spoken of this attack. Hank almost felt hurt. But more than anything else, he was concerned. Like Barton, he too had developed the perception that there was something special about Scott Summers.
“Yeah. The Owl. That’s how Kirby was hurt. But some guy saved us,” Scott was almost gushing at this point. Retelling the story made him feel dashing; like an adventurer. “He had a long black coat, and two hand cannons. I couldn’t see much of him, but he had a white skull painted on his shirt,” Scott was speaking almost too quickly to be followed at this point. Whereas he had been terrified while these events had actually been proceeding, he relished in the ability to tell his story in the safety of the pub. All of this talk about knights and heroes was starting to have an effect on him.
“Castle,” Cage said while looking across at Danny.
“Who?” Hank asked, now feeling totally out of the loop.
“The guy’s name is Castle. He’s part of some underground demon-hunting guild. The guy’s one bad mother. Never met ‘im, but I’ve heard plenty of stories,” Danny said. He seemed prepared to continue when a large commotion broke out at the entrance of Harry’s. This was saying something, considering the place was already packed and it filled with noise. Scott leaned out of the booth, trying to peer through the crowd and see what all the fuss was about. He practically jumped when he felt the bench beside him shift as Cage stood up to look over the crowd.
“Trouble.”
Gambit knew something was wrong as soon as he woke up. The caverns were silent, save for the gentle crackling of flames licking at the air. The den was never this quiet; it was populated by thieves. No matter how closely these men bonded, there would always be a thin layer of mistrust among them. Because of that, there were always whispers to be heard. There were no whispers anymore, and Gambit knew it before he even opened his eyes.
He was on his feet a split second later, and the moment after that he had his bo staff in hand. He used the weapon to part the curtain marking the entrance to his chamber before craning his head out to look into the hallway. Nothing except for the torches that lit the way into the cavern. Were they being attacked by the Assassin’s Guild? Had the guards from Wundagore traced them back to their den?
Remy took off towards the entrance to the cave. Anything trying to attack them would have to go through the three or four men left at the entrance on guard duty. Had he failed to hear the alarm? Confusion racked Gambit’s mind as he continued to move through the empty hallway, each abandoned corridor compounding the nagging feeling he had about all of this. There was certainly no way that the front guard could have been compromised from the outside without the den being alerted.
Gambit rounded the corner to the cave’s entrance and found himself skidding to a halt. Eyes opened wide as they beheld the sight at the cavern’s maw. All four of the men on guard duty lay dead on the ground. They all lay face down, and it didn’t take long for Gambit to realize that each and every one of them, these men that he had had lived and worked alongside, had been stabbed in the back. He slammed his eyes shut and bowed his head, making sure this was really happening. When he re-opened his eyes, he noticed something he had failed to on his way out. The poorly lit caverns had failed to reveal a thick trail of blood. But now the moon was casting its light down, and Gambit was all too aware of the crimson path… leading back into the den.
That was when a shrill cry pierced the air.
Harry’s was clearing out awfully quickly. Scott’s eyes moved frantically around the tavern as everyone seemed to funnel for the exit. His companions showed no sign of panic though. Luke had resumed his place beside him, and Dan was whistling softly. Hank appeared a little bit less relaxed, but seemed to be taking his cues from Cage and Rand.
“What is it? Why is everyone leaving?” Scott turned to Danny, who had been the most vocal person at the table thus far.
“Four thugs who call themselves the Wrecking Crew. The stooges got lucky and managed to lay their hands on some enchanted weapons. Now they go around roughing people up and offering their “protection”…for a price, of course. But don’t get the impression that these guys are doing society any good. They’re just a bunch of losers,” Dan said distastefully, casting his eyes towards the bar. Scott turned and followed his gaze. Enough patrons had cleared out so that he had a clear line of sight to the Wrecking Crew.
At the bar stood four large men, all in rather colorful uniforms. The first one, the ringleader of the group, wore a deep green tunic and pants with an even darker purple shirt on beneath his tunic. He had wrapped a long strand of purple cloth around his head, giving it a dome like appearance and leaving openings for his eyes and mouth. All in all, he appeared kind of pitiful to Scott. Then again, all four of the Wrecking Crew looked a bit ridiculous. But the fact that their leader was the shortest made him appear even more so. Every other of the Crew wore a similar set of tunic, shirt, and leather pants, simply with different color schemes. One of the men had dark skin similar to Luke, and a large spiked ball attached to a chain sat at his feet. How the man could wield such a heavy looking object was beyond Scott. He wore a green tunic with a yellow shirt. The man beside him had ragged blonde hair and donned a red tunic and a white shirt. But this one wore oversized stark white gloves, which made him appear almost as ridiculous as the purple man. Then again, the last man wore a clunky steel domed helmet on his head that appeared as if it would threaten to drag the man to the ground if he ever leaned his head to either side.
“What’re youse gawkin at kid? You eyein' the Wrecker?”
Scott had been caught staring by the ringleader of the group, who, in three large steps, managed to close the distance between the bar and the table where the four travelers were sitting. What was even more startling was that, somewhere between the bar and the table, the man had managed to brandish a pitch-black colored crow bar. The Wrecker was waving his weapon menacingly, and Scott felt himself inching closer to Luke.
“What’s with the tissue, one eye?” Wrecker asked, reaching out for Scott’s bandana.
“So, in addition to dressing like a bunch of clowns, a sharp lack of vocabulary is also required to be in the Wrecking Crew?” Danny asked before Wrecker could get his hands on Scott, giving the thug paused. When he looked to Danny there was a glimmer of anger in his eyes, and his crowbar was now being waved in Rand’s general direction. “I guess we don’t meet the qualifications, eh Luke?” Daniel even went as far as to laugh after his joke, despite the metal object hovering close to his face.
The crowbar was headed directly for Rand’s throat after that. In an amazing show of upper body strength, Danny gripped the seat behind him and flipped himself backwards; bringing his legs up through the table and smashing the wood furniture in the process. Wrecker’s lunge missed, but Luke didn’t; the large man moved forward and drove his fist right into Wrecker’s stomach before Scott could even register what was going on. Hank had tactfully stuck his foot out behind Wrecker, causing the oversized thug to slam to the ground after stumbling backwards. After that, the pace only increased.
The three remaining members of Wrecking Crew moved predictably forward, making them an easy target for Danny, who leapt forward from an adjacent table, slamming the heel of his foot directly into the jaw of the dark skinned man with the flail. The assailant ignored the blow and moved his spiked ball faster than Scott would have imagined possible. But Danny seemed ready, quickly dropping to his knees as the chained weapon swept right over his head.
Hank, in the meantime, was soaring over Scott’s head, flying towards the clunky looking helmet with a body attached to it. The Wrecking Crew member seemed ready to catch Hank in the gut with his helmet, but the professor from the Strange Academy seemed to be a split second faster, planting his hands onto the helmet and flipping so that he landed safely behind the goon.
Scott was in awe for several moments before realizing something. His eyes moved anxiously around the battle. Only three of the Wrecking Crew was to be accounted for. The realization came to Scott just in time for him to dive forward, just barely avoiding the oversized fists meant to crush his skull. By the time he rolled over onto his back there was another white fist aimed at the center of his forehead. He rolled over again not a moment too soon, as the stone ground beside his head cracked under the impact of the blow.
“Hold still ya little runt! Piledriver is gonna crush you real good!” the blonde haired man boasted, slamming his fists together over Scott’s prone form. After hearing the man’s ridiculous name, Scott had no qualms about what he did next, kicking his leg upward and delivering a strong foot to Piledriver’s crotch. The man breathed in sharply before groaning in pain, placing his ridiculous looking oversized hands over his crotch. Scott took the opening and quickly scampered to a safe position behind the now deserted bar.
Hank appeared to be toying with the helmeted man, playing the part of the matador with the Wrecking Crew man serving as the bull. Every time he would charge forward, head lowered and helmet gleaming, and every time Hank would side step or leap over the rushing man, occasionally going as far as to plant his hand on the helmet and push down.
“Clearly the size of your helmet is not an indication of your mental capacity,” Hank taunted the man with the orange tunic and silver shirt. “Come on metal head, can’t ‘youse’ hit me?” Hank was clearly taunting the man now, contrasting his educated and verbose demeanor with the crude language the Wrecking Crew seemed to utilize.
“My name isn’t metal head, it’s Henry! Now just hold still!” Henry yelled. The frustration of having missed hitting his target so many times was evidenced by the strain on his voice. His heavy footsteps caused the ground to shudder beneath Hank, who appeared ready to spring up at a moment’s notice. Henry continued to bulldoze towards Hank, refusing to lower his head just yet. He went to lower his head, and Hank took to the air. But Henry had caught onto this tactic, and sprung upward, catching McCoy in the chest with the brunt of his helmet. Hank bounced in the air and landed uncomfortably behind Henry, gripping his stomach in pain.
“Haha! Now ya can’t bounce so damn much! Bulldozer is gonna run you over!” Henry gloated, standing several meters from the fallen Hank McCoy. He began to charge, causing Hank to shake along the ground, eliciting a louder groan of pain. He had one…no, two, broken ribs. The salty taste of blood began to fill his mouth. And he was still able to roll over, watching as the towering figure of Bulldozer rushed forward. The one man wrecking crew was going to drive his head straight down into Hank’s chest. Bulldozer left his feet, diving down towards Hank with enough momentum to drive them both into the ground. Much as Scott had, Hank acted at the last possible moment, pressing his legs together and swinging them straight up in the air. Both ape-sized feet connected with Bulldozer’s stomach, hurtling him clear out of the bar. It was at this point that Scott ran from his hiding place to ensure that Hank was ok.
Wrecker was swinging aimlessly at Luke, taking sweeping shots at the cloaked hero for hire. Luke easily evaded each swing, simply stepping back outside of the crowbar’s range. Wrecker never pursued though, always keeping his distance. It was a dance of sorts, with each participant keeping their distance from the other, waiting for the right moment to strike. His language may have indicated a lack of intelligence, but it was becoming clear why Wrecker was head of the Wrecking Crew. All he had to do was connect once with his crowbar to yield deadly results.
The exchange between Daniel Rand and the man with the oversized flail was a little less graceful. The man swung his flail, throwing it towards Dan relentlessly. The ball never hit, although one of its spikes would occasionally graze the hero’s flesh, drawing blood and tearing the exotic cloth of his outfit. Rand was still managing to get his hits in though, usually when the wrecker’s chain was extended and the flail had just missed its mark. A punch and a kick, and then Danny would be forced to retreat as the man with the flail retreated and regrouped.
Wrecker was growing frustrated. He was tired of all this back and forth maneuvering. He wanted violence, and he wanted it now. How could this dark man in front of him appear so calm? He moved from side to side as if it was nothing, and it was driving Wrecker CRAZY. His eyes began to glimmer with this madness, and his swipes became more and more reckless. And then a strange thing happened. He drove his crowbar forward with all his might, and Cage didn’t move. This sort of blow would’ve caved in a man’s chest, with the prongs of the crowbar digging through flesh and ribcage before lodging itself firmly between the lungs. The crowbar landed directly between Luke’s breast muscles…and bent straight upward, at a 90-degree angle. Wrecker’s bottom lip dropped as far as humanly possible as his eyes examined the damage done to his prized weapon. Cage simply glanced down at the parting that had been created in his cloak. A coat of skintight silver armor shimmered enchantingly between the folds of his cloak. A coat of armor enchanted to serve as an unbreakable skin.
Daniel could feel the energy rising within his body. It was rare that he would ever get this far into a battle, where he would have to exercise his training. But he welcomed the opportunity to train further, and increased the distance between the attacker and himself. The Wrecking Crew member grinned, seeing the distance as an advantage. The flail he wielded so easily began to swirl over his head, picking up velocity. When he felt he had as much momentum as possible he threw the ball forward. Danny grinned. He bent at the knees, placing his left leg in front of him. He cocked his right fist back and waited until it came. The sensation. The split second flash of awareness. And then he threw his right fist forward with all his might, his hand shimmering with an aura of dark pink light. The flail shattered as it flew into his outstretched hand.
The man wielding the weapon appeared dumbfounded as the chain the flail had formerly been on went limp in his hands. He was stunned in disbelief until the Wrecker came cruising past him, heading for the door as quickly as possible.
“C’mon Thunderball, let’s split!” the Wrecker’s voice cried as he streaked out the door. Piledriver hobbled after him, still clutching at his crotch. Danny took a step towards Thunderball, and the goon finally snapped out of his stupor, taking two clumsy steps backwards before turning and running out the door. He just barely managed to avoid colliding with a man who wore an elaborate crimson robe trimmed in gold with a large collar that rose to just below the white in his salt and pepper hair.
“I trust you’ve been staying out of trouble, Hank?” Stephen Strange asked, examining the tavern before glancing back the three men running into the distance.
Without a moment’s consideration, Remy was running back into the catacombs that were his home. He knew exactly where the scream had come from, and whom it belonged to. He would occasionally glance into the other chambers of the den as he sprinted past. The dead bodies populating each room only made him run faster, until he burst through the curtains marking his destination. He was too late. The body of a young thief hung lifelessly in the grasp of what appeared to be a large, hulking, seven-foot tall man. The man had no definitive features; it appeared as if his entire body was a silhouette, except for his eyes. They glowed sickly amber.
“Ah…Remy…. I was saving you for last. I was going to relish breaking every bone in your frail little body…” the shadow bellowed before laughing maniacally. Gambit quickly shifted the bo in his hand into an offensive position. There were no words for the anger that raged within him. Only action. He took off in a mad dash towards the man, his jacket flapping angrily behind him as he shifted his weapon into a striking position. The shadow turned to face him fully now, gesturing for Gambit to come at him with everything the thief had. Gambit came well within striking distance, choosing to wait until the shadow man sung at him. Remy shifted to the side, bouncing off of the cavern wall before bringing his staff down on the creature’s back with all his might. The shadow stumbled forward but managed to grab a wooden chair as he did so, flinging the furniture backwards in retaliation. Gambit made an acrobatic leap forward over the chair. He was on his feet and running as soon as he landed, unleashing a wicked volley of blows upon the shadowed man. He swung with both ends of his staff, connecting over and over with the man’s sternum. There was no relenting, no stop to his assault; only a crescendo, as his strikes became increasingly stronger, until he drove the end of the staff into the shadow’s chin, sending the beast sprawling backwards.
“Such a waste of potential,” the shadow said, standing tall as if Gambit’s blows had done nothing. Those amber eyes seemed to glimmer for a moment. “Maybe if you cared for someone other than yourself, you would have been able to save your friends,” the man now taunted Gambit, who was breathing heavily, still gripping his staff firmly.
“Dog! I’ll kill you!” Gambit’s voice was filled with a blood lust normally reserved for murderers and vicious demons. His body was trembling, part out of exhaustion, but mostly out of anger. But he would need to find another way to kill this beast; his bo staff had appeared to do almost no harm.
“What I find most ironic,” the shadow continued, ignoring Gambit’s threat entirely, “ is that you, the ‘master thief’, failed to notice when the one you held closest was stolen from you. So obsessed, you are, with treasure and your own spoils, that you were unable to see the theft that allowed this all to occur,” the man laughed, his chuckle seeming to shake the entire cavern.
“What…” Gambit’s voice had lost all of its anger. What was this shadowed man referring to?
“Go get some rest Remy,” the shadow said while stepping forward. Gambit’s eyes opened wide as the shadows seemed to squirm and move like a liquid, shrinking. Each step closer, the shadowed man became smaller. The darkness began to taken on features, until Jean-Luc was standing right in front of Gambit. “You’re going to need it,” Jean-Luc finished his statement and shoved a dagger directly into Gambit’s stomach. He stumbled back in blinding agony, refusing to scream. The ground was hard and unwelcoming as he collapsed, gripping his stomach. “Your Jean-Luc has been dead for weeks now,” the figure that looked like Jean-Luc gloated, placing a foot to Gambit’s throat. The shadow man had become an exact double of Jean-Luc…except for his eyes, which were still golden. “But you were too obsessed with yourself to notice. A shame. This man considered you a son…begged that I not harm you. Oops…” Jean-Luc laughed, even as Gambit’s hand slid into his coat pocket. “I was sent here to gather information. The Sinister Six will soon return to this world, and nothing will stop them. You should thank me Remy, I’ll be sparing you the hell that will be their return to power!” a deranged look now came over Jean-Luc’s visage.
“Dere will be vengeance,” Gambit managed to gasp before flicking a small sphere into the stockpile of fireworks and other various loots that sat in the corner of the room. The sphere promptly exploded. Nothing tremendous, but just enough to start a chain reaction. Bursts of heat and bright red light filled the room, and the cavern began to shake violently. Fire began to spread amongst the room before moving out into the hallway.
“Fool! You’ve doomed yourself. But you will go to your grave knowing that you failed to save your father and your friends!” the figure impersonating Jean-Luc cackled before making a hasty exit among the spreading flames, leaving Gambit to die in the ensuing inferno. The flames encompassed more and more of the caverns, leaving the greatest thief in the land to burn with the corpses of those he had failed…
NEXT ISSUE: Wundagore Castle and Dr. Stephen Strange! Will Scott finally deliver the package he had been given in issue #1? Please feel free to send in your feedback to cyprismage@hotmail.com!
