|
Circus, n. A place
where horses, ponies and elephants are permitted to see men, women
and children acting the fool.
Ambrose Bierce
DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
The Darkhold –
the veritable Pandora’s Box, an ancient book of arcane evils, root
of vampire and werewolf among man’s world.
Satan, Lucifer and the Devil – the Triumvirate rulers of
Hell.
Erebus – Vampire God, imprisoner of Blade.
Man-Thing – monstrous Gatekeeper of the Nexus of all
Realities.
Satana – Daughter of Satan, dissident of Hell.
Doctor Strange – the Sorcerer Supreme.
Blade –
vampire hybrid ‘day-walker’, banished to Hell.
Cain Marko / The Juggernaut – super-strong super
villainous inheritor of magical bands.
Craig Hollis / Mr. Immortal – over-excitable and
suicidal would-be hero cursed to live forever.
Frank Drake – descendant of Dracula, veteran
monster-hunter
Jack Russell / Werewolf – cursed as a werewolf, and has
mastered it as a weapon against darkness.
Will Talltrees / Red Wolf – bears a Native American Wolf
Spirit, superb tracker, protector of the abandoned.
Cassie St. Commons / Dusk – a living dead girl empowered
with many abilities by unknown sources.
Elsa Bloodstone – a superhumanly able monster-hunter,
daughter of famed immortal Ulysses Bloodstone.
Jennifer Kale – a powerful sorceress of Atlantean magic.
Samantha / The Valkyrie – a powerful Ancient Nordic
warrior woman
Victoria Montesi – a chronicler of the Darkhold and
solely able to bear it without taint.
Topaz –
able sorceress and friend of Jennifer Kale.
Hellspawn of many stripes.
Scenes – Places around
Citrusville,
Florida;
Sanctum Sanctorum; Places around Hell
|MOTEL 6,
CITRUSVILLE, FLORIDA|
A flash of
light in the parking lot welcomed patrons to the large motel,
featuring a bright lighted sign visible for miles that read
clearly Free HBO. Five men and four women looked amongst one
another as they settled. Cain, the largest of them all at
nearing seven feet, brushed off his sleeves as if the magical
transportation left some kind of fairy dust all over him.
“I’ve got
it,” Frank offered. The group had managed to clean themselves
from their deeply mystical experience in the desert some half
the country away, before dressing and appearing in the very
place they’d launch their battle into Hell from. With his guitar
case slung over his shoulder, Frank walked towards the bright
Welcome sign that hovered over the reception office. Reaching
the door, it jingled as he entered, causing the older woman
behind the desk to look up with a kind of bitter disdain. She
lowered her National Enquirer and put on a smile.
“How can I
help you, sir?” she asked, trying her very best to appear
friendly and welcoming to the prospect of business.
“I’d like a
few rooms,” Frank suggested as he pulled out his wallet. The
teller watched him with some consideration and glanced out the
window behind him, to see three blondes and a black-haired woman
in the prime of their lives hanging around a few weathered
looking men. She stared unknowingly into the organization of the
world’s blood-sworn Order, posed to balance the dangerous forces
of the Mystic throughout the world, each possessing power or
knowledge far beyond man. To her, it looked like they were about
to destroy her hotel, and it was her only true concern.
“How many?”
she asked, her wiry rat-nest of hair hung haphazardly and
groggily over her undernourished skin, framing her gaunt and
aged features. The nameplate she wore, which read ‘Myrtle’,
spoke of the precise manner of woman she was - forgotten and
unloved. Despite her age, no ring graced her finger, and
bitterness seeped into her voice against all her efforts to
quiet it.
“Nine,” he
said, clearly. They made the decision en route – they all
deserved one good night, undisturbed, to sleep. They would sleep
tonight, because tomorrow, they were fully prepared to die.
Well, most of them; Craig and Juggernaut were unconcerned. Elsa
had supplied the funds her wealthy family possessed into Frank’s
bankrupted hands, and he paid each of the rates for their rooms.
Myrtle processed the order meticulously and without hurry,
causing the others gathered outside to shiver in the cold.
The mop of a
near-platinum blonde girl, Elsa Bloodstone, opened the door and
stepped in, rubbing her arms up and down to gain some much
needed circulation. “Frank, hurry up, we’ve got things t’discuss
‘fore our heads hit th’pillows. Vicki and Cain’s gettin’ a bit
res’less ou’ there, an’ the wolves’re ‘bout t’start comparin’
battle stories ‘gain. Which, I don’t need t’tell y’, is a bit of
a yawn.” By her impatience and blathering, her face obviously
told the truth – the word teen still affixed itself to the end
of her age.
“Done now,
sir,” Myrtle cut in before Frank, who stood glowering to the
face of his former apprentice, could say anything to demean the
young warrior. He turned back to Myrtle and took the nine pass
keys and nodded his head in appreciation. Turning to leave, she
interrupted him and drew his attention back. “Enjoy your party.”
“Oh, no.
It’s really more of a job conference,” Frank explained with a
small smile as the door jingled on his departure from the
renting office.
“…what all
you boys got business with?” she asked, her curiosity slowly
piqued by their increasingly vague sense of mystery. Frank loved
his drama, and paused as he held the door open, to look back to
her with that growing smile on his lips. He enjoyed the
showboating the most of all.
“Oh, right.
We’re going to storm Hell to kill a Vampire Lord and fight Satan
for the soul of my late best friend. Say, is there a mini-bar?”
She shook her head no, and her curiosity was instantly replaced
with disgust for the man pulling her leg. Burying herself once
more into her tabloid, Myrtle listened to the door close behind
the Midnight Son and scoffed darkly.
“Damned
smart-ass son of a bitch....”
|SANCTUM
SANCTORUM|
Wong stepped
into the dining hall to address the tenants within – Topaz and
Doctor Stephen Strange. He looked slightly confused, but bowed on
entrance and began his explanation with the utmost of tact. “I
believe they fled in the night,” Wong managed in his subtlest way,
his eyes turned towards Topaz, before he glanced back to Strange.
“Obviously, Valkyrie and Kale are complicit. They likely are going
to go to Hell to fight these things. I will return with both your
meals.”
Wong bowed and
left, calmly, while Strange simply sat there, soaking it in, his
eyes widened and fingers gripping the table tightly. His knuckles
went white with their pressure, and he inhaled with calculated
breaths, his eyes refusing to meet Topaz’ just yet. She shrunk
into her seat, her hand found firmly in the cookie jar.
“I imagine
they have a considerable head-start then. They have at least a few
hours on us, with a sorceress of incredible power and a large band
of would-be heroes. Do you know what you’ve done to them, Topaz?”
the Sorcerer Supreme asked, his voice filled with a silent kind of
ire, a chilling cool to his tone that he doesn’t appreciate using
before breakfast is even made. His head finally turned to regard
the Indian sorceress, his eyes narrowed into pointed slits that
regarded her with apparent contempt.
“Jennifer is a
capable woman, as are her companions. Many of them have even been
Midnight Sons before.” Her words slipped out before she could
manage to contain them, and Doctor Strange’s eyes widened
drastically at her accidental confession.
“They’ve reforged the Midnight Sons? How did you simply let this
escape my Sanctum, Topaz? This goes specifically against my
mandates! This danger is far beyond them, and Blade is a cause
well lost. Hell has been strengthened since last the Defenders
rallied within it for our lost ally, Hellcat.” Anger rose in his
voice and his ruined hand pounded the table with their
frustration. Topaz halted her shrinking, and grew, her shoulders
straightened and back righted in her own defense.
She spat his
own words and destiny back in his face. “We had no choice! A true
threat was posed against the Light. They go to their deaths, now,
because you were too afraid to make the choice first! They will
succeed, live or die, and it is a worthwhile sacrifice, to beat
back this darkness. You despised Blade – if he looked as pretty as
your sweet, flirty Patsy, would you have been so quick to leave
him to his death? You have no idea how this pains me.” Topaz stood
and pushed in her chair, only to turn and leave the room in a
huff. She passed Wong as he returned with two plates for
breakfast, and he sighed in defeat.
Wong walked
forward and placed the single plate in front of the Sorcerer
Supreme. “So it is only you this morning, then.”
“Do you agree
with them, Wong?” Dr. Strange asked, both his face formed and
voice uttered placidly, without emotion apparent to taint them.
“No, sir. I
only helped them evade your wardings. You obviously desired for
them to go alone; otherwise you would never have forbidden them.”
Wong bowed to the Sorcerer, and walked out of the room crisply.
Dr. Strange’s lips turned into a broad smile at his assistant’s
words, and shook his head in the amusement. Taking a bite of his
omelet, he paused briefly to let out a soft, bemused laugh.
|VICKI’S
ROOM, MOTEL 6, CITRUSVILLE, FLORIDA|
The eclectic
group of would-be-heroes gathered in the small motel room, which
bulged with the overflow of its visitors. They sat wherever they
could space – on counters and desks, on the beds or leaned
against walls for support while the center floor found the
red-haired Frank Drake looking over his fellow hopeless and
destined heroes. An uncomfortable silence settled for far too
long as Frank gathered his thoughts on the day ahead of them.
“Any time
now,” Cain insisted with an impatient scowl, his head peeked up
from over the mini-fridge, where he rooted around inside it for
the miniaturized bottles of whiskeys and vodkas, uncapping them
in his massive hands and throwing them back as if they’d even
manage to intoxicate them. This found the quiet Red Wolf,
sitting on the sink’s countertop patiently, shaking his head in
disapproval of the brutish nature of the red-clad man that
seemed to barely fit within the confines of the modest hotel
room’s space – after all, how many places accommodate men that
crest seven feet?
While Frank
obviously struggled to find the words he knew they expected,
Victoria scratched behind her neck where she rested against the
wall, before she stepped forward and opened her lips to speak,
dark eyes scanning the room for support as she dared to go
first. “Okay, here’s the thing,” she ventured forward, “We’re
going into Hell. The doubled up H – E - hockey sticks, right,
well, so what. We have no idea what to expect from where this
guy sends us through, correct? So we stick tight together, and
let the Mystic Nine thing guide us a little – the resistance
forces should point the way to Erebus.”
A collection
of confused glances made their rounds, to which
Victoria
shuffled slightly, awkwardly. Frank cleared his throat and stole
the attention from the nervous shifting in the group. Elsa
shuffled on the bed, her awkward mannerisms picked up on by
Craig, who offered a weak smile to her when her eyes glanced his
way. The British monster-hunter hazarded a weak curve of her
lips in response, and settled slightly once Red Wolf, apparently
out of nowhere, stepped forward from his place on the counter.
“May I?” he
asked, curiously, and Frank gave him a confused nod.
“Good. I
have a thought, then. Vicki’s right. The magic of the Circle of
Nine gives us a certain synergy. The whole is greater than the
sum of its parts; we’re stronger, faster, better in the company
of each other. So she’s right – to a degree – we need to stick
together.” Clearly on a roll, Will Talltrees commanded their
attention and even Cain ceased his endless sidebar commentary.
”More accurately, we need to fight together. Coordinated. To
that, we need to accept we’re weapons – tools – of a mission.
And sorry to say this – no one is more hateful of this than me –
but we can’t be just people. Some of you have never been part of
a proper ‘strike force’. Some of us have. I’m one of them. We
don’t have time, unfortunately, to train. But we do, to
discuss,” he paused in his explanation to answer the objecting
expressions painted on the faces of those gathered in the
cramped room, especially with Cain’s mass. Frank Drake’s mixture
of confusion and hurt pride at being upstaged showed, but Will
persevered.
Lobo’s head stretched upward to William Talltrees from where it
sat to receive its appreciated scratches right behind its left
ear in its favorite spot. “As stereotypical as it is – I know I
don’t want to be called someone’s ‘tool’.”
Groaning
loudly, Cain offered his peanuts to the gallery yet again, “Oh,
don’t make this a ‘the poor Indians’ thing, Tonto. We get what
you’re sayin’ – we got strengths. Play ‘em.” As Will glowered at
the titan, Cain offered him his middle finger for consideration.
“Down, boy. Now get with the St. Crispin’s Day speech already.”
As even Jack rose up, hairs raised in growing anger in defense
of his lupine teammate, Kale steadied his arm. “Shh, Jack,” she
whispered, pleadingly. “Settle down, everyone. I know we’re
scared.” She let the air hang for everyone to accept the term,
their faces turned in denial. “We are. We’re all scared, or –
well, we at least should be. But we can’t let that stop us – or
tear each other apart. We’re the Nine now. The
Midnight
Sons.” She glanced over at their impromptu leader again.
“William,” she bid him and removed her hand from a calmed
werewolf, and relaxed back onto the bed.
“…thanks,
Kale,” the Southwest’s Protector started anew, “We have a basic
need for strategy; a thing we can default to in times of duress,
something simple and efficient, so we can make the most of our
journeys below. Kale, you are very simply the most powerful of
all of us. We need you to drop an opening volley on any engaging
force; if you can take them out, great. If not, don’t worry –
it’ll be too involved very quickly. At that point, we need you to
focus on the primary threats. Frank Drake – and your gun, what
is it? Emily? – will be watching everyone’s back, and picking
off imminent threats, when not coordinating strikes. I’ll be
busy as scout, so you’re the point man, Frank.” There’s a
nodding of understanding from Kale, and expectation printed on
the faces of the rest, before he continued. Drake seemed
annoyed, but smiled at being denoted the obvious field commander
of the group.
”Werewolf and Juggernaut, land-bound as they are, will present
the primary crowd control; Valkyrie will be our forward. Your
job is to take out the obstacles precluding us from engaging
primary targets. These primary targets will be intercepted by
Kale, as previously mentioned and by Bloodstone, unless it
requires a brutish approach – in which case the tanks redirect
from crowd control and Frank should take up the cover fire
technique to pick up their slack. It’s your job, Kale, to
transport them to the needed location in this instance.”
Before he
could continue his long diatribe, Craig interrupted. “Right.
Frank’s got the great super-gun, Elsa’s the Vampire Slayer, but
Vicky and me… you a little too… we’re not especially suited for
devil-warfare.”
”Which is why you and I will have our single most critical task:
make sure
Victoria
does not die. She’s the key to our success, and not especially
robust. No offense,
Victoria.
Neither are we, or Frank for that matter, but he’s got a nice
gun and I’m not particularly crucial to the plan, so we can all
die with little effect.”
Victoria
responded with daggers in her eyes for Will’s assessment of her
abilities, but offered nothing, coldly, as they continued the
planning.
“We get to
the mission site. The spell is cast. This is the basic plan. But
all plans, inevitably, fall apart upon first encountering the
enemy. We don’t know what’s going to happen out there. We just
need to trust each other to do these things, to the best of our
abilities. Stick together. Fight for each other. Or we won’t
make it out alive – none of us,” he finished simply, eyes heavy
with their intensity. He stiffened in the silence of
consideration, and glanced to Cain with an expectance of
mockery, to which the mammoth of a man shrugged disinterestedly
and offered a dismissive thumbs-up.
“No such deal for a damned soul is ever so free as you seem to
expect it – spell or no spell,” Valkyrie asserted finally, her
arms crossed and jaw set as she addressed the Nightstalker. “In
the end of all this – if he requires such a sacrifice – are you
prepared for that,
Franklin?”
she asked, threateningly, head turning to the descendent of
Dracula. An uncomfortable silence settled again over the crowd,
with
Victoria
seeming to appear lost yet again in thought. Drake seemed
prepared to open his mouth when Craig interrupted yet again.
Craig looked
up from his lap to pipe up in the gap of breath after Valkyrie’s
guilt trip, and spoke clearly. “I’ll do it. They might actually
be able to remove my curse. It’s no big deal,” he promised.
Shock resonated around the room at the Great Lake Avenger’s
continued bouts of suicidal heroics.
”…your curse?” Kale asked, completely puzzled at the logic he
offered.
“The one
that keeps me from dying, shuffling off into the afterlife or
whathaveyou,” the Immortal kicked back to them dismissively.
Elsa reached across the bed to squeeze his hand firmly in hers,
and he smiled gently at her caring contact.
Drake just
watched the supposed spandexed hero in perplexion, and Red Wolf
offered his words for him. “You’re mad, Hollis.” Will shook his
head and looked away from the group in the midst of their
planning, quietly acquiescent.
“I
disagree,” Jack finally spoke. “Let the man die. Some things are
not worth the suffering. And if he wants to make this call, who
the hell are you to stop him, Talltrees? If I had the courage, I
would have saved the world a deep pool of the innocent blood on
my hands. Who knows his demons. Do not judge him.” The werewolf
stood and walked for the door, and allowed it to slam to note
his exit. The rest of the Midnight Sons looked amongst each
other and Montesi ended it for them.
“We covered
what we’re going to be able to. Get some sleep. We have a very
busy day tomorrow. This might be our last night alive. You
deserve some rest, and whatever time you need to say your
prayers and make your phone calls. Goodnight.” She gestured to
her door. “Me included. You don’t have to go home. But you can’t
stay here.”
[LATER]
[FRANK’S ROOM, MOTEL 6,
CITRUSVILLE,
FLORIDA]
When he
retired to his room, Frank sat quietly on his bed. It was a
long, awkward silence that lasted as he stared longingly at his
bedside table. In his sterilized pre-fabricated bedroom, his
room was furnished with two twin beds. Across the way from the
bed he sat on the edge of awkwardly was another bed. His face
fell as he reached into his pocket and pulled free his wallet,
which bore in its plastic sleeves the images of his long
forgotten family. Frank’s fingers slowly slid over the plastic
sheet, until he found its seam, and hesitated at pulling it out.
His hand fell, slightly, his wallet hanging limply from his grip
as his eyes came back up to the sight of the off-white phone, as
it sat serenely on that damned bedside table, above the empty
drawer that no doubt possessed a Gideon bible and a phonebook.
His hand reached for the phone, and lifted it from its post,
slowly, hesitantly to his ear. With a heavy, deep breath, he
began to dial. Distantly, a phone rang on the other end.
“Hello…?” a voice asked on the other side, a woman’s voice,
curious and unassuming.
Frank choked slightly at the sound of his estranged wife. “Hey,
Marlene… it’s me.”
The other side was quiet for a long time. “I told you not to
call me unless it was over. Is it over?” her voice was harsh
now, and pessimistic.
With a deep sigh, Frank hunched forward, holding his forehead in
his hand to steady himself. This hurt him to do, to call her;
much less to tell her what he was planning to say. His face was
scarred with a frown, one that curled his skin downward from his
lips all the way to his forehead, worried with sadness. “It will
be over soon.”
Marlene, for her own sake, was far from inexperienced in Frank’s
world. She knew what that kind of sound meant, and he heard her
fight back tears. “Do you want to talk to your daughter?”
“Rachel doesn’t talk yet, Marlene.”
A much longer silence was held between them. Neither of them
wanted to speak, or wanted to breathe loudly, because despite
their hurt feelings … they both knew this might be their last
call. “Marlene, I love you,” he whispered to her.
Tears could be heard through the phone shattering their slight
silence, and she screamed at him in fury over the line. “Don’t
you fucking say that, Frank! I know what that is! Don’t tell me
goodbye! Don’t you say goodbye!” her words were barely
audible over the wracking sobs that shook her voice.
With a heavy heart, Frank managed to control his own tears, and
whispered quietly what he had to say. “If I don’t get to, you
tell our baby I was … make something better up than this life I
led, okay? And let her know I loved her and...”
She was already denying his words, and he forced his voice over
her own complaints and refusals, so filled with emotion and
crushing despair. “Goodbye, Marlene.”
Setting the phone down with a shaking hand, Frank’s face
collapsed into his spread fingers, holding himself as he quietly
let go; on the eve of what he knew might be his last ride –
every night may, but he never got to see it coming. Never had
the time to make the phone calls and say his goodbyes. He had
the time tonight… and he was worried it might destroy him with
fear.
He wished he didn’t have time to think about it.
That always made it easier to throw his life away.
|CRAIG’S ROOM,
MOTEL 6, CITRUSVILLE, FLORIDA|
The man that
to circles of heroes received a terribly pitiful reputation,
laughter having always accompanied his name, ‘Mr. Immortal’, sat
alone in his room, perhaps to contemplate the mockery that his
life had become. Perhaps he sat to debate his own death for the
thousandth futile time. Perhaps he just couldn’t handle the
stress. None of these were true; tears caressed his cheek while
he held a weathered photograph cradled in his hand, eyes focused
on a crinkled and aged picture of him with a beautiful blonde
girl draped off his side, freckled and smiling. Imagining the
day in his mind, he saw a face so much younger than his in the
worn image, untouched by pain. His lips curved up in a smile
that seemed bittersweet as it crowed its edges into his cheeks.
Sliding the picture back into his jacket that lay across the
back of the chair before him, Craig breathed slowly, focusing
for that which stood directly in front of him.
He focused
for clear reason; beside him a phantom of shadow stood and
howled darkly to him. “Do you really think you’ll be any help
to them?” the tenebrous demon whispered to his eternal
victim, who finally paid attention, lost in the reverie of a
long buried love, his tormenter’s tone richly filled with a
malicious mirth. “I’m terrified of what you’d contribute.
After all, your only marketable skill is … what again? Getting
yourself killed? Gosh. How handy. Perhaps you can be a kind of
guide – get them all killed, too. Just like your girlfriends.
Just like those close calls with your team.
“Look at
you. Who the hell do you think you are? Going to fight demons?
Going to fight demons in HELL? YOU? Mister Immortal?”
Craig
whispered gently, “I’m not listening to you,” his eyes sealed
shut in denial of the haunting devil that hounded his every
moment and every thought. His hands rose and gripped his ears,
sealing away the tormenter’s voice as best he could. Even so
muffled, however, he thought he heard a knock. Glancing up, the
specter had left him – it had momentarily surrendered its
assault, but he heard the knock again.
Clambering
up to his feet, Craig crossed the distance and opened the door
to his cheap motel room, both cautious and curious. Unafraid of
much of anything personally, he opted to grab a knife, but he
didn’t bother to stop and look through the peephole first; the
door parted to reveal the demon huntress and newly minted
understudy to Frank Drake, Elsa Bloodstone. She smiled and
nodded to him, awkwardly. “Ello,” she began, sheepishly. “I… I’m
a little nervous. I thought y’maybe could answer…. answer
somethin’ for me,” she managed to ask, one arm cradling the
other cagily. Craig looked befuddled, but ultimately shrugged
his shoulders, gesturing for her to come in, admiring the young
beauty obviously and overtly as she entered.
She acted
like she didn’t notice, and he wasn’t sure whether she did or
not, but she sat down on the bed impetuously, leaving him to
close the door and walk over to her, where he stood and crossed
his arms. Inclining his head, he looked very curious. “What’s
up, Elsa?” he asked, helpfully, a smile rising on his face which
belied the terror still in him, praying she couldn’t see the
burning salt of tears.
“So, I was …
thinking … ‘bout tomorrow,” she treaded the water verbally, then
apparently sank, unable to continue. He waited a moment for her
to go on, but when she didn’t, he prompted her for more. Rolling
his hand in a permissive gesture, he watched her from where he
stood.
She grinned
warily, and nodded her head, moving to tuck a strand of hair
behind her ear. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect she was
just any other girl … instead of the demon-slaying mystical
heroine she was. “What happens when y’die?” she whispered,
frightened. Looking up to him, she saw his face collapse in
shared sorrow and he moved to sit beside her on the bed, running
a hand over her shoulder, and pulling her close.
“Shhh,” he whispered to her quietly. “You’re not going to die,
Elsa,” he promised the British slayer.
“You don’t
know that,” she responded in a hush.
With a
shrug, he admitted as much, “True,” nodding his head slowly.
There was a
long silence between them, and she rested her head against his
shoulder for several minutes as they stood there in silence. He
took a deep breath, and took in the smell of her hair and found
it pleasant, especially when he was so lonely. “What’s it like?”
she asked again, finally. This caused him to wince, and he
hesitated. She nudged him with her elbow to speak.
“It hurts a
lot. But then it’s over, and there’s this … there’s this calm as
you kind of just … but that’s all I know. I don’t make the full
trip. I always get off the ride early, and it kinda makes me
angry, heh. Don’t think this time’ll be much different for me...
but I don’t know what’s past the calm for you.” Glancing over at
her, he hoped he provided some comfort – but he already could
tell he had done a terrible job of answering her.
She frowned,
and ducked into him disappointedly. “Y’could’f told me what I
wanted t’hear, with th’symphonies and all th’pretty lights...
I’m scared, and it’s cuz we could… die tomorrow. But I mean, I’m
… to be totally honest, also kind’f… morbidly curious after all
this killing I do…”
With this,
he turned suddenly to face her, lifting her off his shoulder in
the process. Taking a grip of her upper arm, the other moved to
cup her chin, to bring her gaze to meet his, showing her blue
eyes that glistened with barely formed tears. “Dying isn’t as
cool as people think,” he told her, firmly. She leaned in
slightly, expectantly, with how he held her… and then he pulled
away to stand. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked,
apparently unaware.
She just
blinked in shock. “Aren’t you … aren’t I attractive?”
“Excuse me?” he asked, turned back to her in shock, his voice
completely puzzled.
“I’m … really vulnerable righ’ now. There was th’whole talk an’
– y’were… why didn’t you kiss me?”
“I was
supposed to kiss you?”
“Well,
y’were supposed t’make some kind of move!”
This gave
him a long, confused pause. “Oh,” he whispered, disappointed. “I
screwed that up, huh? Because I – uh – I didn’t know.”
Tucking her
hair behind her ear again, she stood up and closed the distance,
reaching for his hand that rested by his side. “…you still can,
if you want,” she said, with a small grin, and made her move
instead.
Outside the room, two red eyes stared curiously through the
slightly parted window. As the two collapsed into the sheets,
her eyes closed. A sound, as if wind sucked through a vacuum,
was the only hint of her disappearance as the cloaked woman in
black disappeared from her place at the windowsill.
[ELSEWHERE]
The smoky
mist parted in a clear orb once more, revealing the faces of
Hell; Erebus sharpened his claws on the stones of his keep, as
what appeared to be thousands of spawns of the pit itself cloyed
excitedly at its walls, desperate to be thrust into battle and
feel the blood of mortals sweep over their flesh. At the back of
the Vampire God – the conqueror of the station of Varnae – stood
a ruddy orange-skinned monstrosity with bat-wings and spiked
features known as the Defenders’ traitorous subhuman The
Gargoyle. He sneered irritably, beady gold eyes focusing
intently on the Hell Duke before him with suspicion and ire.
A sudden
rushing sound of wind distracted the man that oversaw this
infernal progress curiously, his head jerking to focus on the
noise as breeze appeared from nowhere, rustling ritual leaves
and arcane pages, the crystal ball returning to mists. “Who is
there?” the man asked, still draped in shadow. An eye that hung
at his chest opened suddenly, and awareness dawned upon him as
Dusk stood before him.
“Why are you here, Undead?” he insisted, stepping forward to
face her. She studied him, curiously, as he studied her in turn.
The sorcerer’s hands rose, and he directed his hands forward to
her, arcane runes carving in the air as he presented a defensive
shield before him, in preparation.
She pulled
free her black hood, revealing her red-hued eyes and intricate
facial designs, tattoos that turned and rolled in on themselves,
painted on pale skin and framed by black hair. Dusk’s ire was
clear, her voice rumbling with the darkness of the Pit from
which she returned, and was forever cursed by. Suicides do not
go to Heaven, she learned, long ago. “You
can’t send them on this path! They’re expected! They’ll be
killed! Their deaths will be on your hands, you lying son of a
bitch!”
“This is all
necessary,” he responded to her placidly, even as she advanced
on him, a shield formed of blue light and marked by glowing
runes protecting him from any of her dark intents that he
imagined she might fling. “You cannot possibly comprehend the
true intentions – the absolute necessity of their act. My power
does not extend so strongly into those realms... but they will
learn that theirs will.”
This hardly
seemed to abate her, and she strode forward, until her
black-gloved hands found the impenetrable mystic barrier. She
struck it angrily, her hand impotently rebounding off of the
magical force between them. “You’re a
monster. You know they’ll die!”
“Their sacrifice is worthy, Miss St. Commons,” he responded
casually, moving to place a small black shawl over the
still-swirling orb that he had moments ago seen through clearly
to another realm.
“…if
only they knew you forced their hand into this… that you could
have stopped it…”
“They will.
You’re going to tell them. But you will be too late to stop
them. Their path had been set long before you became aware of
its steps. Even now they march to this fate.”
Staring at
him in horror, she closed her eyes. The room seemed to take a
deep breath in, as the air retracted suddenly, leaving a void
for the windows to slide open and wind to blast inward. Light
inverted into black and she was gone in the swirl of her cloak.
Moments
later, there was a knock. His head perked, and he looked towards
the hard wood beyond. “Yes, come in,” he obliged gently, and
turned to see his age-old friend and ward step through the door,
bringing with him a tea-pot and fine china.
“Your tea,
sir,” he offered politely, as he prepared it presumptively
without awaiting a response.
“Thank you,
Wong.”
Handing his master and friend the drink, his eyes peered
quizzically into him. “You are making enemies again, sir.”
Dr. Strange smiled back. “The Sorcerer Supreme must simply be in
the right. It is not required that he be liked.”
[THE REST IN BRIEF, MOTEL 6,
CITRUSVILLE,
FLORIDA]
Red Wolf opened his door before Jack even bothered to knock.
Jack stood there in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and
flip-flops, scratching the back of his head. “Hey,” he started,
eyeing around awkwardly past where Red Wolf stood, still in his
clothes from that night.
“So, Will,”
Jack continued. “This might sound like a weird … thing to ask …
but um… I was … over there, in my room, and thinking to myself.
Of my options here… what’s the one thing I’d like to do? In case
I’m not alive tomorrow?”
Will Talltrees just watched, while his brow rose at the werewolf
in front of him, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The werewolf looked exceptionally uncomfortable, continuously
dropping into long pauses as he tries to word it right,
confidence slipping in the face of the oddity of the situation.
“Do you and Lobo want to … you know. Go for a run? There’s a
decent woods out there. Just … y’know. Just go.”
The spirit warrior can’t help but smile, and slowly nodded his
head. “Sure,” he said, and whistled for his wolf companion.
Elsewhere, Valkyrie kneeled with her sword planted into the
carpet in front of her, leaning on its handle as Dragonfang
supported her. She whispered fervent Nordic, praising to the
Gods she knew as family, knowing they would welcome her into
their home beyond were she to fall – she kneeled there, praying
quietly for a glorious death.
Meanwhile, in each of their own rooms, Jennifer and Victoria
both went to bed early. Knowing how desperately she needed her
rest, Jennifer had enchanted herself with a charm of Sleep,
while
Victoria
– with no such respite – found herself unable to rest. She
flipped pointlessly through the basic cable options for the
first hour, before she finally tired of it and grabbed her
jacket and dressed briskly. Tying her hair into a ponytail, she
went to see her closest friend here – Jack. But no one answered
his door.
Without any
other options occurring to her, she saw a bar across the street
and took a deep breath before she ventured to go get herself a
nice drink and prayed it would help settle her mind.
When he entered, she found a familiar sight – a hulking
redheaded man sat at the bar, a wide array of drinks set before
him. Slowly, the raven-haired Darkhold specialist ambled to the
seat next to him and ordered herself a drink as well. “Cain,”
she greeted amiably, as she took her beer and sipped at it,
letting it linger.
“Vicki,” the booming voice of the titanic man responded, nodding
to her. “S’on me,” he offered, placing another few dollars on
the table. She nodded her thanks, as they both drank, quietly,
neither looking at the either for minutes. Neither of them
figured there was much to really say, and so sat in silence.
“Wanna go screw?” Cain finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Oh god yes,” Vicki responded, taking a long swig. Cain glanced
over, his head practically snapping from how fast his gaze
affixed on the lovely woman to his right. “But I don’t think any
of the girls on our team swing my way.”
With a steady stare, her words slowly occurred to Cain and he
sighed in irritation. “Bitch,” he muttered as he sipped his beer
again.
“Oh god yes,” she echoed, smirking broadly as she finished her
beer.
|THE NEXT
MORNING|
|EVERGLADES OF CITRUSVILLE, FLORIDA|
Kale walked
ahead of them all through the marshland, with Russell at her
back, Red Wolf’s wolf Lobo and Valkyrie’s summoned Pegasus
Aragorn milling at the edges, their eyes alight and heads
flickering with seemingly jangled nerves. The weather was humid
and oppressive, sweat beading on the faces of all but the
spirit-possessed Red Wolf, who seemed uncaring of the heat. All
others, however, seemed ready to collapse simply from their
short trip in that early morning, the sun presenting itself as
their growing enemy quickly. “Christ almighty, how far damn out
is this idiot? This is ridiculous!” Cain complained audibly,
wiping sweat from his monstrous brow as they marched on
impervious and insensible to most pain but apparently not to
Florida’s
swampy heat.
Victoria
found herself agreeing in frustration, dabbing at her eyes with
her shirt sleeve, blinded by her own sweat as it burned into her
eyes. “Seriously, this is…” she confessed, her words
disappearing into the ether as the heat seemed to steal her
breath. The others suffered similarly, but silently, whether it
was from self-control or from conserving their strength.
The animals
stopped in their tracks several paces beforehand, and gave both
Valkyrie and Red Wolf pause.
“We’re
there,” Kale whispered as she came to a stop, with one more
branch swept out of the way to reveal what lay ahead. The rest
gathered behind her, one after another, staring forward at the
obscene sight that rested before them. There, in an abysmally
small ‘clearing’, stood an affront to even the chaotic nature of
the bog. An abomination of moss and misshapen growth stood
rooted in the midst of the swamp’s damp wastes. This
otherworldly creation, perhaps mistaken for a horrible tree
hidden amongst its similarly malformed brothers in the desolate
landscape of the Floridian wetland, seemed almost to sway
despite the lack of any wind kissing their cheeks.
The brave
sorceress Jennifer Kale wandered forward to the massive growth,
a thing that rose above even the tallest of them, the towering
Cain. The creation looked as if it was birthed, appropriately,
from the very swamps of this underprivileged town. The creature
stood, undisturbed by their arrival, until their sorceress
strode forward to place a hand upon the massive trunk that, upon
closer inspection, seemed almost like a leg. Suddenly, the
creature shifted and groaned, a mouth forming from the mossy
wreath around its highest peak that clearly became a face once
they paused to look upon it. Its head craned down to the young
Kale, and a limb – its arm – swept down to place a hand upon her
shoulder, while it said nothing.
The Nine
seemed surprised, at least many of them, as the creature roused
from its slumber. What appeared to be nothing but an incredible
growth of tree and swamp had come to life, lurching forward.
Without hesitation, their sorceress Kale spoke to the creature
as if it was an old friend. If anyone was its friend, it was
her. “We need your help. We need you to overcome the magics of
the Nine Levels of Hell; we need you to open the doorway for us,
to Erebus’ realm. Can you do that for us? I’d really appreciate
it,” she asked, hopefully, eyes fixed on the strange glowing
orbs of the Man-Thing that impassively regarded her.
It did not speak. It simply dropped its arm from her shoulder,
and looked away. “We need – please. A whole lot of the world is
in danger, and a friend is trapped… and we’re just trying to
help,” Jennifer pleaded. “We need to go near a place in Hell –
Erebus’ Keep, within Lucifer’s realm. I know with the changes in
the landscapes of Hell, it might be hard, but… we need your
help…”
“Let’s just
make ‘em listen,” Cain whispered ominously to the throng that
stood far back from the creature apprehensively, bowing up in
preparation, the crimson bands that covered his body somehow
flexing with his obscene musculature as he competitively
eyeballed the Man-Thing, weighing his chances favorably for
himself. Mr. Immortal nodded along to this suggestion,
supportive of the impatient method, but they were met by short
laughter on the part of Werewolf, Valkyrie and Red Wolf.
Smirking in amusement, Red Wolf entertained Cain’s delusion
tauntingly. “You’re welcome to try, Avatar,” he mocked the
giant, gesturing him forward towards the epic creature of myth
and legend that stood across from them, inviting him
threateningly.
Leaning
down, Cain whispered to Valkyrie, the tall blonde warrior to his
side, conspiratorially. “What’s that s’posed to mean?” he asked,
quizzically. She looked up to the mountain of a man, then back
to the looming creature, and finally once more to the Avatar of
Cytorrak to her right.
“I doubt you
would win,” she promised casually, simply and uninformatively,
then absentmindedly stroked the long mane of the glorious white
steed that flexed its wings apprehensively, waiting for Kale to
seal the deal, while Cain muttered obscenity and seemed even
more interested in testing that challenge out than before, his
beady eyes tightened in appraisal of the massive creature in an
one-sided stand-off, waiting for a threatening move from the
creature
Meanwhile, Jennifer had plenty of coaxing to do. “Please,” she
inquired again, pleading with the Man-Thing. “Ted,” she
whispered, hoping, to which she saw a sudden motion of its head,
inclined to her, its thick tendrils swinging with its maw as the
creature she called friend lowered its ruby gaze to hers.
“You owe me,
Ted,” she urged, desperately. The creature lurched, slowly,
before it turned. The massive trunks of its arms seemed to
slowly rise through the air, and as his hand lowered, a small
gleaming line appeared to be carved in the air. He slowly moved
back, and as he stepped free, the air seemed to tear open; a
rift that lead to a black morass appearing in the midst of the
clearing. Slowly, but surely, this rift increased to the size of
the largest of doors – large enough even for the epic Man-Thing
to trespass.
Jennifer mouthed ‘thank you’ to her old friend, and stared at
the portal with some concern. The rest stood with baited breath,
and it was clear they spent these minutes trying to remember the
instance of their loose plan. No one spoke, for a seeming fear
that it meant they’d be forced to commit to the reality of this
situation.
They were storming Hell to take back a friend and put a God into
the grave. Understandably, they kept reservedly quiet for a few
minutes.
“So. Um,”
Craig began, awkwardly, without any true goal to his words,
searching their faces, and stopping on Frank’s, who was the
apparent picture of resolution. The man didn’t speak to any of
them as he cocked his arcane weapon and then stepped forward
through the mass of black, disappearing into the seeming ether.
The rest looked slightly less motivated. With a heavy sigh, Jack
stepped forward next, followed briskly by Jenni, Valkyrie with
Aragorn, and Elsa. Craig’s eyes followed Elsa, but she didn’t
even bother a glance, and left him feeling quite awkward.
Bowing to a
knee beside his faithful wolf, Will gripped it behind its ears
and rubbed tenderly at the hair there, smiling into its dutiful
face. “^I have to go,^” he began, speaking in
Tsėhesenėstsestotse,
the
Cheyenne
language, to his loyal companion. “^Where I go, only a promised
Nine may; you are a Tenth. You give me strength, Spirit of
Owayodata. But your death within is promised; mine is merely
likely. Stay with this creature; safeguard him, as he is our way
home. And if I fall … find another to carry my mantle.^” With
this, slowly, Red Wolf pulled off his satchel and laid it at his
wolf’s feet. It contained many things; the ceremonial garb the
most of it. He stood tall, and with a flick of his hand, a coup
appeared in his hand, and a tomahawk in the other, where he
turned and ventured forward into the swirling portal.
It left only
three, who stood quietly in the marsh for a few silent moments.
“…whatch’waiting for?” Cain nervously asked the remaining
Immortal, Craig, once even
Victoria
stepped forward into the gate.
This surprised Craig, who seemed unaware Juggernaut was even
still there. “Just … kind of making peace. If all goes well,
this is the last time I’ll ever see Earth.” He smiled oddly, and
then stepped forward, leaving the massive titan of a man by
himself, to contemplate his own answer to the question he had
poised. With a heavy, beleaguered sigh, the hulking mystical
Avatar of Cytorrak, swathed in red mystically alloyed bands,
Cain began to step forward.
“I was hopin’
I wasn’t the only one a little scared,” he admitted to the
impassive Man-Thing as he too entered possible oblivion with a
great deal of hesitation.
|BEYOND THE
GATE TO HELL|
Cain entered
last, and saw it last; it was a fiery landscape that seemed to
erupt with copper hues, shadows cast farther than they’ve any
right – blackness cast that is again swallowed by the light
beyond. Thousands of lights extinguished by the darkness of the
suffering; a thousand such shadows cast by each flickering,
waving luminescence. Their chests were tight as the lummox and
sometimes bane of Xavier arrived latest of them all, to take in
a sight he had never wished to see; images of similar worlds
floated through his mind, cast there by the embodying spirit of
Cytorrak, but he still was not ready for such a vision.
“Wow,” the
gigantic man offered, to the quiet appreciation of his
teammates.
They all had
their own unique looks; Cain’s a mixture of awe and rarely seen
fear, Victoria a resignation that speaks of familiarity,
Valkyrie a furious rage that promised she had more reasons to be
here than merely saving the world, Craig a look of sadness and
expectation; Red Wolf, Frank Drake, the Werewolf, and Kale all
bore a stony stoicism.
Elsa,
however, looked almost excited, while floored by what laid out
before them. “So this is Hell? Well. Guess we’re ‘ere, then,”
she offered and stepped forward. The world laid out before them
was a wasteland of fire; and there seemed to be blackness before
them. Craggy rock faces awaited them, and guided them towards a
seeming road of uneven rows of rocks that felt sticky to their
step; and upon inspection, it was redder than most rocks, and as
they looked even closer, it was not rock at all. The road
through Hell was stained with blood and paved with bone. Elsa
had little time to let her nausea take hold, when Red Wolf broke
the silence of their slow walk.
The blackness that seemed to snake in the distance became clear
to his enhanced vision, and his eyes widened. He ordered a halt
silently, holding a fist up as he had advanced ahead of them
all, scouting forward. The rest stopped in their tracks, and he
doubled back to the group at his back, letting his knowledge
calm in his mind before he spoke, with deep severity. “Thousands
march on us. I suspect we are nearer to the Keep than we
thought. Countless demons step forward, and fly on their
deformed wings… we’re nine against infinity,” he informed them,
carefully, his stomach tied in a knot of anticipation.
“Right,”
Frank said, as he readied his shotgun. “So they know we’re
coming. On the plus side – we won’t have to explain what we’re
doing here,” he smiled caustically and aimed his rifle in the
distance, sizing up the competition. They looked like specks
from here – and he knew they’d look a lot bigger soon.
“Time for
your formations, there, Geronimo?” Cain asked as he cracked his
knuckles. The smell of impossible battles seemed to put Cain’s
mind at ease; it’s when he had time to think that he worried.
Valkyrie’s
sword did not remain in its sheath and she hurled herself upon
the saddle of her flying steed, and then flew skyward, ignoring
their prattling. Just as the mission plan promised, it seemed –
she would be the point-woman, following the initial volley set
by Kale, who herself cast a spell to send the witch soaring
high, wrapped in a sheath of glowing arcane magics, Atlantean
spells wrapping her protectively, glinting runes that none
gathered among them could understand marking her in a floating,
swirling pattern.
The rest did something pretty straightforward, on the other
hand. They sprinted forward. Elsa pulled free her sword, Craig
unsheathing two massive knives and Red Wolf holding tight to his
fighting staff. Victoria
ran between them, clutching the page she bore and holding tight
to the rifle she carried, while Frank led their little charge,
Emily pointed forward. From behind them all, Russell launched
himself forward, gaining speed and distance with each powerful
step forward, as he mutated savagely into his most bestial form,
shredding clear his clothes with his inhuman transformation. He
roared loudly, letting his monstrous power flow through him in
anticipation.
The black
dots that lay before them slowly became more visible. They were
clear, now, to even the most short-sighted of them. Gaping maws
of impossible creations of the most deviant of minds and purest
of evils opened as if to devour the heroes that still stood
across a vast field; glowing eyes burned with the sins of Hell,
fire raging in their ireful stares. Claws like bloodied,
malformed knives hung from their over-stretched fingers, knotted
with rough leathery hide that bound itself to their muscled and
sinewy arms. The malformed beasts, of perverted flesh and damned
soul, rushed forward unbound.
And their leader, he flew amongst the throng; the countless
winged devils masked him amongst the crowd. Their leathered
wings, in deep reds and pure blacks, extinguished what light the
flames of Hell brought them; the creatures blotted out all of
the underworld’s sky. They had one advantage; it was a narrow
path. Excepting flyers, there was no way for more than a few
dozen to face the heroes on the path at once.
Considering the impossible numbers aligned against them, though,
this was small consolation.
Valkyrie saw
this man and cried, “Forward, to battle!” to those below, as
rage consumed her. She gave it little thought, and gave her
allies even less time to respond. She had seen her enemy, the
single golden yellow wings, however sullied by the blood that
has met its clawed and grasping fingers. Its colors shone clear
through the fog of enemies like a banner, and she urged to meet
it, breaking rank and the Pegasus’ wings battering the air as
she rode on.
It was all that Kale could do to cast a spell to buffet those
that lay between them. Eldritch words that lay unspoken from all
but her lips and those of her mentor, Dakimh, for thousands of
years now ushered forth unbidden. Her fingers splayed outward in
as fanciful and critical a dance as her beautiful, whispered
chant. With the components of verbal chant and somatic
performance, her magic was cast free; beautiful blue hues
illuminated the craggy rock faces, the bodies of the dead and
the transparent souls of the damned; it cast upon the flesh of
the demons beyond, and combated with the rolling blacks and reds
of the unholy fire that raged around them. A massive string of
indecipherable runes trailed through the air as if a shock of
lightning, and struck the ground at the front ranks of those
demons arrayed before them.
An explosion rocked the cavern, lit with crackles of blue fire.
Of those first of the legion, whether they survived the blast or
were rendered to death instantly, were sent hurtling skyward;
bones, rock and bodies soared into the air and crashed into the
winged forwards, crashing into the high ceiling of the cavernous
dimension they’d been placed within. Unholy screams sounded at
their pain, but Valkyrie pressed forward; bodies crashed around
her and buffeted her body as she flew through the heart of the
created carnage, knowing it would not be enough. Not enough to
stop her – and not enough to stop the Gargoyle.
Juggernaut
and the Werewolf rushed forward over the bodies of the fallen,
crashing into the opposing line as Drake began to release
vicious bolts of mystically destructive energy from his shotgun,
decimating what demons he could find as they charged, the
attacking men screaming the primal cries of fear, of pain and of
anger that lay hidden within them. They let the horror of battle
overcome their trepidations and hesitations, as they faced down
unspeakable horror. It was those long moments as their claws
glistened, fists clenched and wild shots were fired into the
fray that their stomachs bound tight into a knot.
With a
mighty crash of hair, metal, muscle and claw, blood splashed
across the ground in waves. Juggernaut crushed a wave of demons
into the near wall, letting their lifeless husks collapse below
him. Crimson stained the Werewolf’s deep sienna tufts of hair as
his massive claws tore through those that opposed him, as Mr.
Immortal cheered on, “There goes the nine foot chainsaw!” in
excitement as he they ushered forward from behind.
Red Wolf and
Mr. Immortal progressed slowly, on either side of Montesi, and
they each bore gleaming weapons; Wolf’s tomahawk was not yet
stained with the hissing blood of Hell’s children, and Mr.
Immortal’s two massive knives had yet to cut into even one
opponent. The rush of those ahead of them ensured that delay…
but they made no progress. It was obvious – they weren’t
advancing. They were a rock, and those bodies were the crashing
waves, wearing down the rock slowly over time.
And it was just a matter of time, in the end. Even as bodies
tore in half, were bitten headless, crushed into dust, they
surged forward into every crack they could find in the defenses
left open upon the walkway, threatening to overload the two
titans they focused their forces upon. Perhaps they’d be
directed for a mad rush past, to capture Montesi – but their
leader was otherwise occupied, and the savage nature in them
challenged the massive monstrosities placed as an unspoken and
bloodied barrier between them and the end of this bone-wrought
road.
“No! Don’t -
wait for us!” cried out the sorceress as she fought to maintain
crowd control at the first maw of this writhing creature, this
beast formed of thousands of lesser ones, able to merely watch
as the immortal vanguard rushed forward, her mighty Dragonfang
tearing through the mass ahead of her to make way – she knew for
where and for what Valkyrie rushed, and she knew just what it
meant.
The sky was alight with colors; Kale, not tied to this or any
realm, found her magics worked surprisingly well given Strange’s
tales of his last adventures within it – and made the absolute
most of the situation. Fire that glowed white, blues and greens,
not reds and blacks, crashed along the landscape in explosive,
glowing pyres of light. The screams of the damned echoed from
their absolute destruction. Massive holes were formed in the
tight corridors by the flying sorceress, who stared stunned at
how long this road passed in front of them – the further she
looked, the further it seemed to run, with a steady stream of
the cursed placed ahead of them.
Between the surge of enemies, and her uselessness to help
Valkyrie, she felt like she was trying to empty a sinking ship
of its overflow with a leaky bucket.
The Viking
heroine’s face was contorted in a passionate fury; she had seen
her target, and she would seek it without hesitation. As she
moved through the battlefield, her eyes never wavered and her
Pegasus passed through the wake of the scattered sky of flying
beasts unhesitatingly; bodies obscured the Gargoyle’s view from
her and her massive sword cleaved through them, revealing him
again in glimpses and she pressed forward still. Never once did
their eyes meet, and this made her smile – she did not want him
to know she was coming until it was far too late. The Chooser of
the Slain cut a swath of blood with single-minded determination,
one hand on the scruff of the Pegasus’ neck, and the other
swinging with almost disinterested perfection her enchanted
blade. Wings tore free of bodies, dropped others into halves,
and maimed others, forming a path wherever the Pegasus’ massive,
powerful wings ushered them toward.
After what
seemed like eternity, the nearer figure of the gnarled and
deformed body of the Gargoyle turned amidst a snarled order, and
his beaded red eyes expanded incredulously. He had seen the
Chooser of the Slain, and knew that she had come now for him. ”Not
now, not ever,” he muttered darkly, and his hands formed
together to create a massive ball of energy, his biomysticism
long having become something darker. His hands erupted forward
with fire, which washed in a wave over Valkyrie, who screamed as
she passed even through the flame and rushed her blade forward
to her most hated of enemies.
Above the swirling masses of winged enemies buffeting them at
their sides they climbed, as the Gargoyle raced towards the
highest peak of the cavernous Pit. The Pegasus pursued him
fiercely, its mane bristling in the speed of ascent as the
orange-winged demon gave flight. The creature that was once
named Isaac hurled massive bolts of fire and magic that far
surpassed what once the creature was capable. With only the
deftest of reaction for Aragorn her steed, and the most skilled
of riding on her part, did the blasts seem to soar just inches
from them, singing their hair and leaving burns along their
flesh. “Know that this is your final day, Gargoyle! Your
betrayal will be met with a long death, denying you the glories
of battle!” she boasted, in ire, refusing to allow him the
honorable death that the traitor did not deserve. He laughed
once more and turned to face her.
“Not now, and not ever,” the
Gargoyle repeated himself darkly, and again his hands swirled to
life with energy.
“You will
suffer,” she sneered darkly, and rushed forward, her blade
searing with light as the two airborne combatants met far above
the impossible battle below.
|STEPPES OF
EREBUS’ BARONY|
The long,
willowy limbs of the dark, elder Vampire God stared out over his
highest walls at the distant battle. A long, bone-laid road winded
far away, and upon its distant horizon he could make out a wide
array of beings; unable to see their faces or much of them, he
could smell the blood from these many miles with ease and knew the
scent of spilt blood of demonkin and the mere tinge of human and
otherwise. Still he laid confident, as a smile creased his black
face, the tendrils of his hair flickering excitedly, his long tail
scraping over the rough texture of the stone blocks that made the
wall’s precipice he stood so proudly upon.
His expansive grip with its spindly fingers gripped over the wall,
scraping deep furrows of anticipation in its sides. A slow hiss
whispered from his throat as he stood alone in his castle, his
every force committed forward. Behind him, a laughter rumbled
slowly, choking and sputtering as it was.
The creature dropped suddenly from its perch and a blur followed
its motion as it found its way within a second to find the
blood-covered stump of a man that laid nailed to his wall as a
testament to his fury. “YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY, BLADE?” the
demon’s rumbling voice inquired imperiously of his ‘guest’, who
only spluttered in response, however quietly. His tongue having
been long ripped free of his mouth, the vampire hunter was still
able to communicate his meaning.
Erebus clambered closer, and leaned in, to better make out Blade’s
words. The imprisoned and tortured once-hero then spit a mouthful
of blood on the face of the God-King of Vampires, who reeled back
and slapped Blade across the face, leaving three massive clawed
scars to even further maul his now-limbless victim. “YOUR FRIENDS
WILL NOT SAVE YOU. THEY WILL ARRIVE TO ME SOLELY TO JOIN YOU. I
HAVE SAVED YOUR EYES; I HAVE SAVED YOUR EARS. I WISH FOR YOU TO
HEAR THEIR SCREAMS, BLADE. I PLAN FOR YOU TO SEE THEM BEG FOR
THEIR DEATHS.”
His claws
turn and rake painfully down Blade’s bare chest. “YOU WILL SEE
AND HEAR AS I GRANT THEIR WISH.” Then, a mighty blow, and
Blade’s ruined body slumped into his bonds.
TO BE CONTINUED...
WRITER’S NOTE:
Holy crap this
took forever, and I can barely express how sorry I am. I got
rather busy up here in
Iraq,
bla bla bla, excuses excuses – but it’s been a year since the last
issue – more! And I feel terrible about it. Still, I spent even
more time working on getting back to it, to make sure it didn’t
suffer from ‘delayed writing’ by making sure I was still in the
mind for it, and making sure it had a feeling of continuity. So,
here it is, issue Three.
My big regret
so far, I’ll admit, is that a title with this many people … it’s
really hard to focus on some. I did my best to give everyone a
voice, and kind of a ‘turn’, but I know I dropped the ball on
some, and will continue to do so. This being said, I hope you’re
enjoying the ride and I’ll do my best to close out the chronicle
in short notice. One more story to go, and it should be carnage.
Thank you all
for your support. The editors, Barry, Chris, they’ve all been
greatly supportive and I thank you. Here’s to getting Midnight
Sons off the Inactive list, and shortly to the Completed section
The next
issue, hopefully within two months, me with a guest stint on
AVENGERS IMMORTAL lined up, will be the final chapter in this
miniseries, and we will see wild transformations of characters
featured in this arc, Lucifer compounding our heroes – and someone
dies.
Let the
festivities begin.
-Bowie,
co-manning the
Mission
To Make Mr. Immortal Interesting. Word up to the Munn.
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