The
Darkhold – the veritable Pandora’s Box, an ancient book of arcane
evils, root of vampire and werewolf among man’s world.
Lucifer – one of the Triumvirate rulers of Hell.
Erebus – Vampire God, imprisoner of Blade.
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 supervillainous 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.
Hellspawn of many stripes.
Scenes – Places around Hell, New York City rooftop, Sanctum
Sanctorum
|HELL|
She looked on to
the battle that waged on the craggy, red-rocked, fire-blasted
expanse laid out before them to see. The divining fire that
allowed them distant sight seemed no less painted in the fire-licked
hues of the inferno, and the frustration was evident on the
face of the young, beautiful, terrible face of the small-horned
first-born whore of Hell, Satan’s whelp, Satana. She watched
with a fervent interest, focused on the ball of flame in her
hand while she paced before his throne. In scale was the war
that waged beyond, a distance that could have been twenty feet
or five thousand years. “Is this truly necessary?” she asked,
furiously, of her father in his so-called infinite wisdom, severity
in her vicious eyes.
“It serves our
purpose,” he responded, feeling rather bored of the matter,
his long fingers slowly sliding over his throne’s right arm,
while his left hand splayed against his forehead, moving to
stroke his temple out of a growing irritation with the prattling
that continued before him, his impudent and ignorant daughter.
“This is an affront,
” she argued, as her eyes left from the flames to her father,
“This is cowardice, we should strike like a hammer, if your
conviction cries for such blood!” she crowed out in rebuke to
her stubborn and immovable father, who regarded her as one might
a petulant child; and he did.
“This is law,”
he commanded, his voice bored and disinterested yet seeming
to thunder to the Heavens, if it perhaps dared. “Besides. Divine
mandate. I can do nothing to intercede. What would you have
me do?” he asked, with a growing little smile as she snarled,
understanding the unsubtle tease of his words.
Looking into the
fire, she watched as a pair of wings, one feathered, one leathered,
struck in the stony heights of Hell, a tapestry of violence
painted in flame. “Then you can not stop me from ruining your
plans, can you, Father? Impotent in all ways,” she sneered,
before the fire in her hand erupted, and engulfed her in entirety.
Left behind, however, was not a fury or a passion on the face
of Satan. Where she expected him to react quickly, to see if
he could outrace her impatience, he merely sat with a pleased
smile on his lips, eyes closing as if to savor the moment.
|ELSEWHERE IN HELL|
Saga is from the
Icelandic, söga, a word that in the ancient Scandinavian
tongues meant ‘what is said’. Paralleled to the word ‘say’ in
English cognate. It did not mean story, or tale, or legend,
so much as it meant history – accountings of facts. Accountings
of facts disputed to this very day. Of course, in a world where
Gods walk amongst men once more, the disputing of accounts has
grown significantly less stringent when one can simply ask Thor
what he recalled of the history of Hervarar.
Even so, in the
ages where Valkyrie called Earth ‘home’ last, the word for the
day was Söguöld, Icelandic for the Age of Sagas, an
entire era of time known for the glory of battle, epic heroism,
and grand tragedy. The time may have passed, but she had not.
Reborn into a vessel willing to accept her divine power, she
is a face known well to those Sagas, but with only one of her
own. In the Volsung and Nibelungenlied Saga, she was the mighty
lover of the nigh immortal Siegfried. One less common, but no
less grand, Helreið Brynhildar, speaks of her ride to Hel,
wherein she comes to final blows with a giant.
Now, looking across
the battlefield, as she screams an unholy bloodlust, her winged
horse flying fearlessly forward towards the demonic visage of
her once-friend with his orange hide and gnarled visage, one
could clearly understand why she managed to ride back out of
Hel. Her steel armor stained with the blood of lesser demon,
her skin burnt with the ichor of their spilt veins, she roars
as fire engulfs her. It burns free blood; it singes her hair,
and purifies her, as she comes through its other side to meet
her blood-sworn foe.
Gargoyle was once
a man named Isaac Christians. A World War II soldier, he yearned
for the safety of his people, a small town named for his family
in Virginia. A deal for which he sold his soul. As the stories
are wont to go with such a shortsighted transgression, he was
swindled; they never ask for what one thinks they do. Allowed
to become nestled dearly within the ranks of heroes, they monitored
him while he exalted himself. Eventually, however, his dues
were called in – and no more was Isaac a friend to Valkyrie
and the once-Defenders. No more was Isaac a man of pride and
virtue and values. Isaac, now, was a slaved defiler, a monster,
who sowed discord, raped his friend Valkyrie, killed friends
who entered Hell to oppose him, and now was a general on high
of Hell.
Now, looking across
the battlefield, as his beaded red eyes narrowed yet further
in the recessed brow of his horned face, it was impossible to
mistake the demon, no matter how self-aware, for the man he
once was. No veneer of age or mortality remained, as the sculpted
and deformed monster flew under his own power, his leathered
bat-wings crashing against the air to keep him suspended as
a mighty Pegasus rushed for him, with its owner, the Queen of
Valkyries, astride its back. No sign of mercy remained in this
hero, as his hands converged to release a mighty torrent of
fire, to wash over the body of his former teammate and victim.
She snarled as she emerged from the other side of its flames
unmarred.
Below them, the
battle waged on; two wolves, two men and two women, a witch
and a juggernaut went to war. The path was carved in slaughter
upon a road of bones leading to a dread Keep. Yet all that was
but a pale reflection of what took the endless cave’s sky in
challenge. The winged steed navigated in a whir around the fired
blasts of mystical flames that scoured the air, unleashed from
the clawed hands of the orange-skinned Gargoyle, letting only
a few feathers get scorched in its quick steps. It maneuvered
as quick and ably as it could, but the Gargoyle kept himself
free in the air, out of the bounds of the Valkyrie’s blades,
while laying damnation to the sky to ensure his safety.
She screamed in
impotent fury, challenging him from his safe postures. “COWARD!
You find it easy to impale a woman, yet fear the chance she
may do the same!” she taunted, with a furious sneer, as she
took up the reins of Aragorn, her winged horse. The two hung
there both, wings beating the air violently as the Gargoyle
and the Valkyrie considered each other, calculating. She was
mere paces away, and he stood there expectant, flames licking
his fingers. Her finger slid through the grips of the sword,
testing its weight, as both their eyes met. Neither of them
could bear to look away, eyes shifting to stay constant as the
heights of their ascents changed with each strike of feather
and leather.
“Let it come,”
the Gargoyle taunted, and she shrieked aloud, a woman driven
mad by her vengeance. A loud kyah! was sounded to alert her
horse, and Aragorn surged forward. The wind rushed around them.
His wings struck air time and again, and they gained speed enough
to cover the distance in the blink of an eye. As if in slow
motion, she rushed forward, and his hands rose, claws tipped
forward, fury driving her and survival driving him. Their yearnings
were near equal.
Only near.
His claws caught
the face of the horse as it impacted him, and the fire released
consumed the beast before it had a chance to whinny out its
death cry. The winged steed’s wings beat one last, and stilled,
as he pushed himself free while a sword rushed down to meet
him in the sudden crash of flesh. Dragonfang, the blessed sword
of the Valkyrie, raced through the demon’s arm as if paper,
and tore it free of his body. His wings racing in panic, he
pushed free and she leaped desperately from the back of her
friend, the dead Pegasus, her sword clamped tight in her hands
and poised forward, back arched, her form perfect.
The sword led her
aim, her face knotted in graceless rage, but her ride through
the air could not have been more graceful if she were an angel.
The massive longsword bore true, and it sunk through the demon’s
chest and tore down as she ripped him from the sky. They dropped
to the Earth, his wings striking the wind uselessly as gravity
took its sacrifices even in this realm outside of the world.
The bodies below were not even considered as she screamed, and
rended her sword through the form before her, tears burning
her cheeks as she tore through him even as the life clearly
left the demonspawn. Consumed with her vengeance, all she knew
was this moment as the wind raced against her, her hair trailing
above her as she gutted the bastard during those seemingly unlimited
years suspended.
The time was not
measured in years, however, but seconds, and demons below them
barely slowed their incredible sky-fall, much less broke it,
as with a sudden and sickening thump both of them came to rest
on the Earth, the Gargoyle skewered and a shower of blood and
horror. There was a long silence, amongst the battlefield, as
they examined the bodies newly grounded.
Limp at first,
the Valkyrie, seeming sore with her motions, picked herself
back up from the bone-scattered floor and reached out to Dragonfang,
hefting it as if it weighed what it obviously did, instead of
the seemingly weightless nature she usually gave it. As the
denizens of Hell looked upon her, her body was clearly painted
in the life of the man that was once her friend, once her defiler,
and now no more.
Those of Hell had
paused its attacks, as on one side of her stood the veritable
armies of the Abyss and on the other were the small team chosen
to face them. Her face tensed, her hand clenching on the sword,
and raising it in her bruised and tired arms, looking prepared
for that final curtain to finally fall and the battle to resume.
Their General had been slain; picked solely from the detritus,
Gargoyle had fallen and left the forces leaderless. They hesitated,
and for the length needed.
The sky erupted
with fire. In its absence, as it receded again, the silk-robed
Satana, Daughter of the Devil, appeared before them all. The
hackles were raised on all sides; an armored villain redeemed
in the bowels of Hell clenched his fist. A domesticated man
unleashed into the primal wolf sharpened his claws on the rocks
below. A tribal leader far askance from his tribe readied the
staff in his hand, wringing it under his fingers. A demonslayer,
in her element, took in one sharp breath as she readied for
the challenges to stack yet higher. A mystic felt words fall
on her lips in preparation, and two true mortals found themselves
forced to hesitate.
They prepared for
her assault, and she turned instead to those that they faced,
her back exposed to her enemies. Satan’s spawn addressed another
Lord’s armies, and they wondered for a moment, if they would
have preferred her to simply strike.
“Your Army has
a General, hellspawn; his name? Erebus. Erebus forfeited you,
Army Most Damned, upon the trust of another,” she spoke, and
looked once to Valkyrie, who took a step back, and she reached
down for the mangled body of Gargoyle, tearing free his skull
with her hand, to raise it up for them all to see. “He, who
was only ally, not servant; by law, having served as the Gargoyle’s
claw, you are indebted now as his army, and defaulted to his
masters. By law, you are no longer Lucifer’s chosen but the
Master of your newest and dead Master; you are Satan’s. I am
Satana. I speak for my father Satan, and command him to deny
this claim if he does not.” The demonspawn glanced about, unsure,
waiting for the crack of thunder or boom of destruction or screams
of angels to sound the presence of the Great Defiler. No sound
came.
Smiling, as if
she expected no response and knew with determination her own
words, the Daughter of Lies continued her orders to the confused
and deformed masses. “You will come with me. You have no further
claim to this land. Return to the pit. Travel to my father’s
circles and find your further eternal torments there,” she declared,
her voice sundering over the walls, which ascended to the very
height of human misery. They murmured in tongues best not understood,
and she created fires before them, which they began to pore
through, disappearing in eruptions of smoke.
Looking back to
the crowd behind her, with a snide little smirk, she was taken
rather by surprise as she found a shotgun placed suddenly at
her throat. Frank Drake at the other end of it had his finger
readied at the trigger, and she felt the cold burn of the necro-magic
within it, and felt fear for the first moment in many years.
“I’m… saving your lives,” she whispered, as the demons disappeared
by scores within the fires that reached so high none could see
this sudden difference. Her stolen army continued to dissolve
behind her, as she suddenly found the temperature of Hell worth
sweating, and considered her options again.
Seeing the panic
in her eyes, Frank knew two things, and was willing to tell
her just that. “I believe you,” he said, and his arm slacked.
He could hear the relief as she released a sigh; for a creature
not wholly human, it was an unnecessary breath. It would be
her last.
His eyes snapped
back to her, and his muscles tightened back up. “But I’ve made
enough deals with the devil for one lifetime.” With the simplest
application of force, the trigger was squeezed, and she screamed
for help, only to find none existed behind her. Her army gone,
tricked by her chicanery into departing the very grounds where
she now found her rest, her body collapsed, her beautiful face
decimated by the demon-rending flames of the weapon he called
Emily. There was a haunting sound of howling winds, which ushered
in to fill the void left by the discharging of his well-cared
weapon.
As her body lay
smoking, her fires die down and reveal to the entirety of the
Midnight Sons, worn down and bloodied in their own and the hellspawn’s
blood, an empty road where once it ran to overflowing. An empty
road built of bones, leading one step at a time slowly to a
now quiet keep, owned by a demon named Erebus, a Vampire God,
where the tortured soul of a hero laid in torment.
“Long walk,” Frank
whispered quietly, and no one spoke a word to him as he started
forward.
|EREBUS’ KEEP|
There was not silence
in the Keep of the demonic Vampire Lord, despite what the Sons
might have thought; but what remained was as near as it could
be. The captured and tortured wreck of a man, the half-blood,
the Day Walker, hung in the irons that had him fixed to the
wall. His arms removed at the elbow, his legs removed at the
knee, his tongue torn from his mouth, he spattered wet and dried
blood into the air as he laughed as hard as he could, his throat
nearly unable to make noise over the trauma he had endured.
It was clear, however, in the shake of his ruined body. It was
evident in the mirth on his usually stoic face. The vampire
slayer, Blade, tortured for so long for the affront of his existence,
could not stop laughing, to the frustration of the pacing Lord
of the Domain.
There was a snarled
out fury from the twisted face of the high-ranked demon, the
forbearer of Varnae turning to stalk directly for the mangled
form of his hated prisoner. His long tail lashed against the
ground behind his heavy steps, mottled skin flexing over an
obscene musculature. Furious, and now tormented by his own prisoner,
his clawed hand raced forward to clasp Blade’s neck within it.
Blade, unthreatened, met Erebus with the only challenge he was
allowed to retain – he stared down Erebus hatefully, a smile
covering his torn lips, explaining the comfort that he had found
that he could not vocalize anymore… and had no need to.
“YOU THINK YOUR
VICTORY AT HAND, BLADE? THINK AGAIN. THEY RAIL FOR NAUGHT. DO
YOU TRULY THINK ME UNDEFENDED, SOLELY FOR THE ABSENCE OF THOSE
DREGS ONCE CALLED MY INFERNAL ARMY?” The Demon Lord laughed,
his voice echoing the cold of the abyss, the hunger for life.
Blood yearned for him at his voice, Blade’s very veins singing
back to the darkened gravel of its enemy’s words. “THEY COME
FOR DEATH – BUT THEY COME FOR NAUGHT. WHO AMONGST THEM STAND
ABLE TO BREAK DOWN THE DOORS TO HELL?”
Blade’s eyes did
not flinch. There was no hesitation as this demon seethed and
snarled, and if anything, his ruined face only smiled brighter.
It was clear to Blade, and that clarity reflected in his eyes;
Erebus saw it, understood, and the ancient horror grew only
angrier. The prisoner was laughing at him. The prisoner grew
complacent, suspecting the more Erebus roared his own greatness,
the more that it was clear his greatness was not all he anticipated.
The demon saw this and roared; the sound shook the firmament
of Hell, and he tore Blade from his bounds, the Day Walker struggling
not to show his pain as his limbs tore free from the iron shackles,
bones breaking under the force. Erebus dangled his prisoner
before him, his other hand poised to rip the very face off his
wasted foe.
“ENJOY THIS MOMENT
OF MIRTH, CHILD. I WILL FORCE YOU TO FEED FROM THE BLOOD OF
THE LINE DRACUL. WHY, BLADE, DO YOU REALLY THINK I HELD YOU
ALIVE SO LONG? YOU WILL BY HIGH LORD IN THE EARTHLY REALM BY
THIS NIGHT’S FALL,” The creature possessed no clear features,
and its eyes were an impossible black – there should be, by
all perception, no way to know what it was. However, the beast,
clear now to Blade … was smiling. The Day Walker, the only vampire
who could feel the warmth of the sun, now grew cold. “WE HAVE
TIME, DAY WALKER. LET ME TELL YOU OF YOUR TRUE DESTINY.”
[OUTSIDE; THE GATES
OF EREBUS’ KEEP]
The walk was long,
and slow going enough to make it seem yet longer. This path
of bones, treacherous, seemed easier to pass over in the fog
of battle. Now, with not even the bodies of the slain covering
the battlefield, it was the difficult stepping through bone
and detritus along the ivory-toned trail to the base of the
gates. Gates which stood hundreds of feet high; they formed
to the desire of their owner, shaped of torment and force of
will, and it stood as imposing as the challenge they knew they
faced ahead. Mutely, they stood for a long minute, staring at
the immense gateway, considering their options.
“Do you think it’s
older than the Ishtar Gate?” Craig asked, randomly, the first
to say a word. His words, by the expression on those around
him, were rather puzzling.
Their de facto
leader, Frank, stared at him suddenly, his brows furrowed. “What
the hell is wrong with you?” he snarled out, pressure clear
on him, and confusion even more so.
“The entry to Babylon.
King Nebuchadnezzar the Second built it in honor of the God
Ishtar in 575 BC. Saddam was building a reproduction of it in
Iraq, but obviously that’s not going so well for him… you know…
the oldest city gate ever… you think this one’s older, I was
just asking…” Craig protested, as if to explain the position.
They stood poised to battle for their lives, and Mr. Immortal
found it incredibly important, apparently, to cite to them trivialities.
Nervous and overcome
by the moment, she actually started laughing, weakly, a nervous
and terrified laughter, the first betrayal she has made of the
gravitas of their situation since they left the bogs of Florida
for the craggy, blood red panorama of Hell. “What – how do you
even know this kind of thing?” she asked, puzzled, “and what
does it have to do with any of this?”
Scratching his
neck, the immortal shrugged. “A lot of Discovery Channel,” he
defended idly. “I talk when I’m nervous.”
Dismissing him,
the group once again addressed the door. “We’re going to need
in,” Frank said clearly, and he looked behind him, pointedly
towards Jennifer Kale, who shook her head quickly and suddenly,
dismissing the notion that she’d be of any use whatsoever. The
blonde, Atlantean-studied magi seemed adamant and saddened in
her way.
“I can’t do it
anymore,” she said plainly, feeling her throat drier than she
would like. “The longer I’ve been in Hell, the more my power
seems denied me. My power, it’s a power of Light, not … not
this. It’s like a battery in a place like this, and there’s
only so much charge. After holding back the tide on the path
there, it … I don’t know if I’m going to be of any use to us
at all, inside. But I … I know I definitely can’t break in.”
She bit her lip for a second, and ran her hand through her soot-stained
hair, letting it fall down her shoulders, before she moved to
re-adjust her ponytail, re-setting the hair-band around it as
if this was a mundane moment. “I’m really sorry, Frank.”
Snapping his fingers,
Craig was clearly about to throw some new tidbit out; there
was an audible groan from Drake, who almost began to swear.
“You want to tell us about some stupid Animal Planet crap and
I swear I will--” Even Frank, who was interrupting Hollis, was
himself suddenly interrupted as a woman dressed in all black
appeared from the ether, an audible BLEENK heard in her summons.
Shadows fell around her as she manifested, and she didn’t have
time to react before Emily was placed against her chest and
the trigger pulled.
Entropic energy
scoured the air and surged through the intruder, her pale white
skin unmarred by the terrible blast. It traveled through her
as if she was a figment of imagination, and it clarified the
issue for Frank, who lowered his weapon. It destroyed demons;
it had no effect, now, on those who were not of an infernal
nature inherently. It seemed the woman before them was clean,
and he seemed relieved some, even if she seemed absolutely horrified.
“Your name. Right now. Because I promise you, we are not patient.”
She looked to Hollis,
who seemed to have his own quizzical expression. Looking to
Juggernaut, Craig whispered something to the oaf of a man. “I
think I recognize her from somewhere,” he informed the towering
giant.
“Yeah, I got you,
all them goths look alike. It’s all mascara and cloves with
those freaks,” Cain admitted, “but the girls, some’a them do
like a challenge, know what I mean?” The Juggernaut smirked
down to his teammate, who looked completely unsurprised by the
commentary, even if Montesi bit down her temper as she heard
it behind her, while she focused on the actual meeting ahead.
Despite Frank’s leadership, she clearly took responsibility
for this.
After all, it was
her Formula that was defiled here.
The black-garbed
shade of a woman seemed to relax a little from the horror that
had passed her face at being shot, even if there was no damage
– the fear was still the same, even in a living dead girl. Old
habits die hard, and she remembers New York muggings clearly.
“Dusk. My name is Dusk. You’re all making a terrible mistake.
I just talked to Dr. Strange. He’s watching you. He’s watching
this. He planned this. He knows some of you will die, it’s why
he didn’t join – he didn’t want it him. He’s manipulating you.
This is a trick!” she cried out, desperate for them to listen.
She was looking, however, straight at Craig, across the distance.
This had immediate
reactions. The cries of fowl were raised instantly, a cacophony
of anger mounted amongst them. Red Wolf, alone amongst them,
seemed to remain impassive. He had parted from their group and
had begun to scout around, glancing at the wall’s heights and
all its smaller details. His eyes were analyzing and careful,
while the rest were preoccupied even in the midst of war, by
the sudden revelation – no matter how questionable its revealer.
None were louder,
however, than Jack, who had for a brief moment returned to his
human form, wearing the tattered remainder of the jogging sweatpants
he had decked himself out in before their journey to the Underworld.
“That son of a bitch,” the bestial man sneered loudly, and pounded
his fist on the wall angrily, which did not even resound from
his weak strike. “Again and again I’ve trusted him, and again
and again he’s manipulated me. Used me. This is bull. He could
have stopped this himself! But he just sits there and watches
us. Why? Why?” he questioned loudly, and definitely did not
expect anyone amongst them to have an answer.
Valkyrie was infuriated,
clearly, the blood-soaked warrior, still charged from the battle
she warred, was conflicted – this moment had brought her the
purity and glory she demanded of herself, but it was clear now
– she was betrayed by her friend. Her ally. Her leader. He had
sent her to the Hell she was too broken to attend when last
Strange attended it. “Before Hell was reformed in this image,”
she whispered darkly, “Strange led the Defenders to this place.
I … was … ill-fit for the journey then. But I recall … his mentioning
the weakness of his power here. So, too, is it the weakness
of his character. He sends us to die. So that he will not.”
Her face was taut with disgust, and she shook her head, as she
tried to retain her presence for battle, as they stalked just
yards from death given form.
“And yet I can’t
bring myself to give two damns,” Elsa spoke finally, as she
looked down to her blades, both broken stubs of swords, shattered
during the battle, and tossed them aside, pulling free a pair
of knives strapped to her thighs. “We came here to free the
greatest vampire slayer; we came here to destroy the Eldest
Vampire. We came to Hell to finish this. Don’t give a damn who
set us up to die; we knew it might happen. Get your heads in
this game – we need you on this battle. We need all of you.
If all of us fight, forgetting this nonsense, like we might
not live til tomorrow – then I promise you, the most of us that
will live til tomorrow… they will. I don’t plan to live through
this. But I plan to take him with me. So stuff it, if you’ve
issues. Eat it, if you’ve pride. Man up, for Christ’s sake.
And I mean that, perhaps – for Christ’s sake. This is Heaven
and Hell, people; and we’re storming the bad one’s house tonight.”
“NO!” Dusk screamed
out, tears streaking her cheeks. “I know you plan to truly sacrifice
Craig, but this is – this is death. Just go back home. Please.
I can’t … I can’t watch him die again. Not for … not for good.
Please, you have to go back. I’ll take you. I’ll take you all
home,” she pleaded, desperately, spreading her cloak, which
seemed ready to envelop them all. But Victoria shook her head,
and Craig crossed his arms, both confused and showing his solidarity
in the same motion.
The once-mother
of Chthon shook her head. “We’re not going anywhere, girl. But
if you can get us from here to Earth in one go, I’m sure you
could get us inside. Please. We could use your talents, you
could make a huge difference for our side. He wouldn’t see it
coming. He’d be surprised. We could take him down before he
knew to stop us. Please.”
Dusk, however,
was not swayed by this. Her arms wrapped around herself, and
she shook her head, desperately. “No. I’m not going to help
you. No. Not with this. Not with this. Please,” she said again,
and looked to Craig, “Please. I understand what it is you …
please come with me,” she begged, walking to the strange hero-of-circumstance.
Craig shook his head, and he began to speak, but she did not
allow him. Rushing forward, in a burst of darkness, she was
before him. Her hands raced to his cheeks, and she moved in
to kiss him. It was brief, but it was firm and very sincere.
She pulled away, and he could feel her tears stain his cheeks.
With a burst of
darkness, she consumed herself within her own shadows and was
gone just as she had left. Craig was left standing, confused,
blinking slightly. “Does anyone know who that was?” he asked,
to a puzzled silence.
With a soft thud,
the dusky ex-Army Sergeant, and hero of the Midwest landed before
them, finishing his scampers up the wall. “The task,” Red Wolf
reminded them as he came to stand from his crouch, “Is to get
inside these gates. I just clambered up the wall. No way in.
There’s some sort of mystical shield above its walls. So we
can’t go over. As far as I can tell, it’s just this door. Without
Kale’s abilities, we have to consider the only other alternative
we have for entry tactics,” he continued, having seemed to have
lost the pseudo-mystical nature of the Red Wolf persona. Now,
it was clear, it was much more important that former Army Staff
Sergeant William Talltrees was far more important for this kind
of an event.
“That is?” Frank
asked, the alpha male challenge showing in his posture and voice,
trying to undermine the other ‘lead’ male despite his own interests
in just getting this job done. Feeling undercut, he did his
best to undercut Will, and it was a clear tactic to Red Wolf,
who ignored his tone and his posture as he answered him honestly.
There wasn’t a world. It was just a pointed finger.
“Me?” Cain asked,
his mouth somewhat full, the beef jerky in his hand suddenly
feeling awkward. He put it back into his pocket, and swallowed
the rest of what was in his mouth. Looking to the door, and
looking back to the Midnight Sons, he shrugged his shoulders.
“Sure. Always up for beating down inanimate objects. Or, y’know,
animate ones,” the brute idly mentioned, and wandered towards
the gate himself, cracking his oversized knuckles, his hand
laced with the mystic bands of Cytorrak.
His hand rose,
before it slammed suddenly down into the door. This time, unlike
when Jack’s human fist struck it, there was a mighty thunder.
The wood clearly resounded with the impact, challenged by his
strike. “Heh,” Cain murmured, and everyone stood back. They
realized it might just be possible. Their own battering ram
went to work, and meanwhile they all prepared for the hopeful
eventuality. Returning to his bestial form, Jack was once more
the slavering Werewolf, Frank’s hands taut on his shotgun, Valkyrie’s
sword tight in her fist and her shield readied. Elsa’s fingers
flexed calmly over her daggers, Red Wolf readied his staff,
Jennifer let verses of ancient texts fall familiarly over her
lips, Craig holding his own set of daggers gifted on the night
they adopted him into their circle of nine, and Victoria holding
onto a scroll case like it might somehow protect her, while
standing in the midst of them, hoping upon hope for the best.
Repeatedly his
fist struck against its bloodstained, hell-forged metal. The
thick door shook and sounded with each of his impossible strikes.
Each strike seemed to shudder for longer, and soon, a creak
was heard. In its next strike, a crack appeared down its center,
the impenetrable gate shown to be anything but. “Tonight!” he
crowed out loudly, his voice booming near as loud as his fists,
as he sent one after another into the gate, willing it to bend
to his rage. “We dine,” he continued, and the metal began to
give way, the gate buckling forward with his most recent strike,
“in HELL!” A smile appeared on his face, the sort you’d see
on a young boy having swung a line drive in tee ball, and with
a final and mighty effort, he slammed his shoulder forward with
all his force, his head bowed down to let it drive with the
impact. With a mighty crash, the gate collapsed forward, and
Juggernaut stormed through into the courtyard, where his eyes
first managed to see that which stood before them.
“Bigger than I
expected,” he whispered, his neck craning and his eyes taking
it in.
After that, no
one could be bothered to care about his stupid movie reference.
|SANCTUM SANCTORUM,
EARTH| |HELL, REALM OF SATAN|
Two men, both
grand in power and majesty, stood before their divining pools.
One a bed of fire and blood, the other’s something nobler; a
summoned ball of luminescent light. Through both their scrying
tools, the Sorcerer Supreme and a Triumvirate Lord of Hell viewed
the same events, gifted by their magic an insight into the trials
set before the Midnight Sons. They watched the scene before
them as five men and four women stepped forward onto the field
of battle, meeting a giant of a creature. The demonic beast,
this Erebus, the so-called Vampire God and secret progenitor
of Varnae, the Earthly Lord of Vampires who begat in turn Dracula
as his own descendant stood high. He grew before all their eyes,
growing from his massive twelve feet over double it, slowly,
his muscles shuddering as he was spanned larger and larger.
Thirty feet tall,
he towered within his massive keep, and looked down upon those
who entered as if they were toys, or perhaps insects. Both men
watched not only with interest, but also with a sort of excited
apprehension. They were both certain, they were both concerned,
they were both pained by that which had been lost already. To
one, they had lost a long time friend and to the other, their
daughter. Yet, both of these men had one thing most dearly in
common… they thought they were the only one behind the curtain.
Then, whispered
from both their mouths, for no one but themselves to hear, were
the very same words. “Everything’s going just like I planned.”
[EREBUS’ KEEP]
The High Lord
of Vampires looked upon them as they poured through the gate.
Within his walls remained only two before their entrance; the
Demon itself, and the limp body of Blade which it held in its
hand casually, his fangs deep within Blade, draining what was
left of the Day Walker’s veins, it might seem. As they stepped
within, he dropped the limbless mass that once was Blade, letting
it strike the ground with a sick and blood-marked thump. A strange
look crossed the beast as they entered, and he began to advance
upon them. As he did, so too did he grow in size, growing half
as tall, and again and again, until he towered over those before
him. They stood there, for a moment, waiting for the first move,
his tail thrashing back and forth across the ground behind him.
“SURRENDER NOW. I PROMISE TO MAKE YOU THE DUKES OF MY ARMY,
THE GRAND SCOURGE OF ALL HUMANITY. WHEN I FREE MYSELF OF THIS
WORLD, AND RISE AGAIN, EACH OF YOU WILL BE GRANTED YOUR DOMINIONS.
ALL I ASK IS HIS HEAD, THE SON OF DRAKE,” the beast commanded,
pointing his finger for Frank, “WHAT FATE DO YOU CHOOSE?”
“Nuts,” Craig
spat out, as he lunged forward, first into the fray. Leaping
bodily into the air, he knew exactly what purpose he was serving
now, and later. He was the bargaining chip later; he was the
sacrificial lamb right now, the one who was going to buy them
a few seconds. Instantly, he was sent flying, a single swipe
of the monster’s backhand flinging Mr. Immortal as if he were
weightless. Striking the far wall with a violent force, he collapsed
in a heap. Satisfied, the fiend looked back to his allies to
see them already positioned.
The next man to
strike was the first man in. Juggernaut sent his titanic first
hurtling for the leathery hide of the tendril-headed, fanged
beast. It struck the monstrous thing and sent it hurtling backwards.
The creature slammed into its own rocky tower, and caved in
part of its wall, before it surged back forward, an inhuman
roar ushering from its lips as a response to their clear decision
in regards to their fate. Massive claws raked down the front
of Cain’s form, and left no signs of damage whatsoever. Cain
would have smirked if he had not noticed that there didn’t even
seem to be a bruise left behind on the thing, from his hardest
hit. “Nuts,” Cain echoed.
“Keep on him,”
Frank barked orders, “Jenny, I need you to weaken his defenses
now! Give us something we can hit!” His head jerked about, as
he held the gun, and he leveled it, firing just as the massive
tail whipped out for him, to stop him from managing such a succinct
victory over the beast. He flipped suddenly and crashed into
the floor below, his gun snapping its barrel as it took the
brunt of the impact, followed in quick succession by his face,
guarded only moments soon enough by his arm. The sound of a
crack was not solely in the gun, and Frank cried out in his
shock of pain, before the tail twisted around his ankle and
sent him flying. His voice grew distant as Erebus discarded
him.
“WHO BRINGS THE
PAGE?” Erebus queried them, his eyes casting about the assembled
group, fearlessly, his hands racing to intercept the Juggernaut’s,
ducking and blocking his blows, to the frustration of the giant,
who found himself suddenly helpless against another – a concept
he was not familiar with. Nothing could stop him, and yet he
could not find ground.
Then, Erebus’ head
snapped to focus, and looked through a mass of bodies. “YOU
HAVE IT. GIVE IT NOW,” the demon beckoned, leapt over the obstacle
before him, and lunged for those who protected her. As always,
Red Wolf was on the detail of protecting her at all costs. Frank
ostensibly was, as was Mr. Immortal. With both of them sent
awry, he growled and clutched tight on his staff, and held it
in position, readying for his defense. The demon only laughed.
They all moved
for her as quickly as they could, and time seemed to stand still.
Werewolf by Night, Vicki’s constant protector over this last
year, raced across the expanse, his bestial legs sending him
faster and faster with each pump of his strong legs; he saw
red as his own beast answered him. Protect her, it thought,
clear and instinctive. It was pure, animal instinct but he still
was not fast enough to save them both, and he knew it, as he
watched his newfound brother leap forward to reach his enemy.
Striking Erebus’
massive wrist with the staff with all the force he could muster,
it did nothing, but the spirit-staff did not break. The creature’s
hand raced to meet her protector, but the Red Wolf ducked it,
time and again, as the creature sought to land its blow upon
the agile and quick hero. Unable to pass him, as he seemed everywhere
at once, leaping and bounding and striking, Erebus was growing
frustrated quickly in those seconds that the battle stretched
into apparent hours. All too soon, it ended, when Red Wolf sent
a kick into the beast’s chest and pushed off, backflipping free;
in the air, he had no special speed over another, and Erebus
struck like a mantis. His hand raced forward to catch the spirit
staff and, with it, Red Wolf’s arm. “Die,” he growled out, and
flung the Red Wolf like a toy – but Red Wolf’s weapon, and arm,
stayed with the monstrous thing, who dropped the bleeding stump
and the weapon it bore to the ground. “NOW,” he commanded, “THE
PAGE.”
He leaned back
and rushed to drop his leg upon Vicki, whose eyes grew large
in anticipation of the end, just as the Werewolf surged forward
to intercept her. He shoved her violently out of the way, and
in her stead received the mighty demon’s full fury, the impact
shattering bone and crumbling him deep into the cobblestones
that made up the Keep. Vicki gasped as she collapsed against
the ground, rolling to a stop, before she looked up, her hand
still gripping the page, to see that her rescue had come just
soon enough.
The thing’s mighty
tail suddenly lifted up, Cain’s hands gripped firm around the
thing, and he put his shoulders into it as he spun the monster
with what looked like a serious effort. A struggle to lift it,
but he did, and twisted the thing around; he took it through
his own tower, which he allowed to collapse upon the creature,
as he stepped back, and cracked his knuckles, waiting for the
next show of force. Waiting, it seemed quiet for a moment, and
Juggernaut lurched forward… before there was a sudden shifting
in the ruins of the massive tower, which had come to rest in
a destructive torrent upon him.
With an explosive
amount of force, the stones were sent flying like shrapnel,
brushed off from him with titanic force. They soared through
the air, and Juggernaut turned, spreading his massive arms out,
trying to use himself as a shield for those who were left behind
him. The rubble crashed against him, buffeting him, and the
monster stood free in time to meet the only one amongst them
who was not broken or seeking desperate shelter from his destructive
tide. “FALL,” the Demon ordered her.
Her sword borne
high in her grip, her face became a stony figment as she raced
forward to meet the titan. “I SAY THEE NAY!” she crowed, Valkyrie
surging forward. Her sword came to meet him, and he moved his
arm to deflect the blade, only to cry out in his own horrible
pain, a sound that burnt their very minds, as half his hand
was cleaved free from his palm, the useless flesh collapsing
suddenly to the ground. Reeling back, Valkyrie raced forward,
and left a mighty slash after another, landing incredible blows
of righteous fury, gaping wounds appearing upon his flesh. Horrified,
confused, he looked forward, to see that one other still stood,
uncovered by rubble – the woman that Juggernaut stood in front
of, as a wall to protect her from his fury. Jennifer Kale. Her
words left him weak.
Valkyrie prepared
to plunge the sword within him, and he reached out to catch
her. He caught her wrists as they bore the sword, and leaned
forward while he did, pinning her beneath his foot and shattering
the bones in her wrists. She was forced to drop the sword. Then,
with her pinned still beneath his foot, he shrank nearer to
her size, and his fist came to find the pommel of the blade.
Twisting it about in his hand, he looked down to her and prepared
to plunge it into her chest, his fangs bored free with a look
of sadistic glee as he saw the want to run her bodily through
with her own blade.
She looked up
into his eyes with a look of satisfaction, and merely laughed
as the blade suddenly slammed through her, and impaled her into
the stone below. She coughed up blood and he dismissed her,
forgoing the sword and her slow and painful, withering death,
ignoring the blood seeping into the crags of ruined architecture.
He turned instead to meet his greatest foe of these, as Juggernaut
prepared to meet the man who now stood his own height – but
the Juggernaut paused, looking up, to the surprise of Erebus.
One of many surprises, and also his very last.
Struggled up from
beneath the rubble, she watched in horror as her teammate was
murdered. The brand of the Midnight Sons burnt on her, as it
did on all of them, and she sped across the battlefield. Her
hand gripped the pommel of the blade, and she did not even bother
to offer her apologies to her fallen teammate as she ripped
it free of her heart, allowing it to bleed yet freer. She propelled
herself into the air, and swung herself wholly around as she
fell, her arc graceful and perfectly coordinated; the first
Erebus felt the sheen of the blade’s edge touch his neck was
the very same moment it fled the opposite side; in one smooth,
slick motion, his head parted from his shoulders. Erebus’ look
of puzzlement etched onto his face, as it collided with the
ground, rolling as his body fell just moments later, leaving
what should be nothing but a ruined, and battle-torn castle,
haunted by the silence of mourning and pain.
“Vampire. Slayer,”
she repeated, breathing heavily, above his body, and dropped
the sword, crumbling to her feet. There was no relief of silence
and suffering. There was only a slow, casual clapping.
The kingdom began
to fall apart. The stones themselves were disappearing in the
absence of its owner. The stony expanse turned instead to the
rocky, ruddy red nothingness of the rest of Hell, flames licking
in the distance. And from amongst all the damage, a man dressed
in a fine white suit with perfect blonde hair and a seeming
glow about him, that seemed to hint at the vague shape of wings
suspended somewhere behind him cast in light. “So, then,” Lucifer
began slowly. “You’ve won. Good job. My commendations.” With
a flick of his hand, a portal of flame erupted from the air,
showing through it the clear image of a rooftop somewhere above.
“Now. Please leave,
before my grace runs out.”
He continued to
wave his hand, and their wounds sealed. The Red Wolf’s shoulder
ceased to seep its blood though his arm remained severed, Frank
found his arm broken but he returned to consciousness, and the
Werewolf’s body re-knit itself faster than even he expected.
They were given back what health he seemed willing; but those
complete destructions – Red Wolf’s loss, Valkyrie’s life – seemed
either beyond his power or beyond his will.
“No,” Vicki stated,
standing firm as she walked forward, clutching the page plainly
in her hand. Her voice began to read, the Italian she spoke
casting to their minds a wellspring of panic as the verses spoke
of cruelest damnations even beyond the constraints of their
knowledge of language.
Lucifer raised
his hand slowly, to his temple, and rubbed it gently, as if
frustrated. “Really? That’s what this is all about? Oh, just
be done with it – I don’t want Blade’s soul. It’s too tainted.
So. Fine. Contract of the page. You were to force my hand, so
why bother waiting? I’ll trade you one life for another. When
they die, they’re mine, and I’ll even restore Blade wholesale
to sweeten the pot,” he offered, rolling his eyes at the entire
spectacle. It even brought Vicki to pause in her reciting of
the word.
“We don’t trust
you,” Drake made clear.
“Well, if you do
it your way, I choose who replaces him on the rack, Francis,”
the Archfiend promised. “our options are limited, mortals. If
you want your precious Blade returned.”
“…I’ll do it,”
Mr. Immortal offered, again. He had said it aloud before, but
now he spoke it as a contract, praying for the damnation offered
in Hell to be greater than that on Earth. “I’m a hero. Selfless.
Please. If you let them use this page with me as the named,
I swear to you – when I find my final reward, it will be with
you owning my soul.”
Frank scowled.
“No! We’re not making deals with this asshole!” he began, but
Craig’s head snapped to meet his gaze, and his own narrowed.
“I don’t give a
damn what you want, Frank. This is my choice. I want release
one day. And Blade has done more good for this world than I
ever will,” he swore, and looked back to Lucifer, with determination
in his eyes.
“So, get it over
with—” Craig began to say, and the Archfiend before him wagged
his finger.
“No need,” Lucifer
promised. “It’s already done.” Gesturing with his hand, there
was one more body that rose from the destruction. Blade stood
up, slowly, on shaky legs, brushed free of the detritus around
him. Dressed in tatters of what he was the day he was taken
below by the mission gone awry to banish Erebus forever, he
seemed unsteady in his steps still, but it was clear. It was
Blade.
As they all visited
this sight, every eye on them, none – and certainly not Mr.
Immortal – saw the obvious progressing. Lucifer’s hand reached
out, suddenly, for Craig’s head and grasped him by the neck,
while his other hand grabbed his shoulder. Then, without a pause,
he tore Hollis’ head free from his body and cast the two aside,
the shower of blood incinerating on contact with the glowing
aura surrounding Lucifer’s form.
The next moment
was even further unexpected. A creature of pure black, with
eyes like diamonds, appeared from the nothingness of shadow,
his hand reaching forward into what seemed like nothingness.
His grip seemed to struggle with Lucifer’s, and he snarled out
his protest. “NO! Give it to me!” the otherworldly manifestation
proclaimed. “I am D’Spayre! He’s under my protection, and I
have devoured his soul long before you sought to claim it, devil!”
To this, Lucifer
just smiled, as if things had played out much as he had anticipated.
“Oh, you. Do you have any idea how difficult a process this
was? Alternatively, in simpler concepts… no. You are a shard
of a cosmic force, and have the slightest dominion over the
beyond. This is all true.
“But you are only
a shard. Whereas I have dominion over all within this realm.
Moreover, ask yourself where you have just come, shade? By God’s
choice, you are no longer the true specter, but a shadow.”
D’Spayre suddenly
released the soul cast before him, and looked around, as if
he sought protection. The scene was silent but for this, even
the newly reformed Day Walker puzzling at the sudden events.
“Fine. Have him. I’ll leave you to it. He’s only trouble anyway,
altruistic and tiresome,” the shade attempted to say, fighting
away any display of the fear which began to seize even he, a
creation as old as time.
“Again,” Lucifer
began, “No. I deny your rights to walk free my plane. You say
you bear rights to the soul he sold me? So be it. You will take
his place.” With that final declaration, his hand moved forward,
and it captured the dark spirit before him. It dissipated suddenly,
and he seemed to shudder as if enjoying a particular pleasure,
before he looked back to the assembled.
“Leave,” he commanded,
and looked to Mr. Immortal, with a slight smile. “And in the
end times? You’re still mine. I promise you that, Mr. Hollis,”
he crooned, and in a blaze of fire, he disappeared, leaving
them alone, with a gateway before them to the freedom they so
deserved. Taking their wounded and dead with them, they stepped
through their portal to the safety promised above.
|NEW YORK CITY|
They re-appeared
in what was clearly New York City, a rooftop overlooking Times
Square from several blocks away. Behind them was a large billboard
presenting the greatest heroes famed of New York City. It was
a strange juxtaposition to the bloodied and plain-clothed mystics
who traipsed back into their own world. They are left to suffer,
but their mourning, the sight of the body laid before them all,
none of it allowed them to feel that unity they had with purpose.
They realized, suddenly, they were strangers. Violent, dangerous
men and women cast together to end a threat – and it was ended.
Yet, the cost was clear to them all in the end.
Jennifer, ever
pragmatic, focused entirely on doing something – she spoke whispered
words, and the Red Wolf found his arm regrowing itself, and
Frank’s set as he stood there, painless and efficient as the
Atlantean healing magic warmed them, returning them to their
most ready, cleansing them of the taint of below. In its resolution,
they were left as cold as they were before its warmth. Not from
the weather, that admittedly was a sharp drop from the blaze
of Hell. No, it was from the mood as silence overwhelmed them.
With the dead body before them, and the returned body beside
them, everyone reeled from the loss, the gain and the victory.
The victory that did not feel nearly as sweet as they all prayed
it would.
Blade spoke first,
of them all. His voice seemed tired, struggled out. His voice
was even more grated than ever. “How’s Marlene?” he asked, quietly,
of the man who led an expedition into Hell to retrieve him from
eternal torment.
“We’ve got a kid
now. Not a very good father. You left a lot of work. I did it.
And … she didn’t like that. You know. Marlene. Being Marlene.
She doesn’t want to see me until I’m ‘done with all this’, whatever
that means,” Frank responded, darkly, as if it took his mind
off the tragedy and horror of what just transpired. Of what
he just endured.
“I’ll pick up that
burden,” Blade claimed, firmly, and Frank nodded his head to
that.
Looking aside,
he said simply, “I know. Jenny?” Then, with his query, Frank
placed his hand on Blade’s shoulder. The Mark of the Midnight
Sons burnt into his dark flesh, and Frank’s eyes narrowed. “I’m
done now,” he breathed.
Anger grew in him,
and he looked Blade clear in the eyes, ignoring the hunger visible
in the man opposite him, unknowing of Blade’s secrets, of the
Destiny whispered in his ears just minutes before his death.
“This is the third time I’ve brought you back, Eric. I’m out
of the game. I’m going home. To my wife. To my kids. While they’ll
still have me.”
|FIRST EPILOGUE|
|SANCTUM SANCTORUM|
Staring into his
viewing pool, Stephen Strange shook his head, trying to fight
something in his gut, or perhaps caught in his throat, as he
heard a soft rapping against the door of his study. Aware already
of the presence, he called simply out to his constant friend.
“Wong, come in,” he spoke quietly, but Wong still heard, and
entered into his ally’s study, moving to address the Sorcerer
Supreme with a firm nod of his head.
“You have visitors
downstairs,” Wong informs him, quietly, his voice carefully
filtered to avoid any sense of condemnation.
Shaking his head,
Stephen gestured, and his orbiting Eye of Agamotto slid itself
into its position upon him, and he lowered from his slight hover
to stand on his own floor, turning his head to the door before
he turned his body, beginning his slow and careful steps. “Well,
let’s get this ugly business over with,” Stephen tells Wong
as he mists over the scrying tool behind him and began forward.
“Hard to be right,
is it, sir?”
“Please don’t patronize
me, Wong.”
They understood,
now, what their futures meant. The Mystic Order of Nine was
now Eight; yet, somehow, strangely, their sigils, their marks,
burnt brightly. The Circle was not broken, and it was uncertain
yet what that had truly meant for them. However, the rest was
much clearer. They had a purpose now – there was darkness in
this world, and they were there to wait for it. The Sorcerer
Supreme had corrupted its purpose, manipulated them against
him, but it had not changed their duties.
They were heroes.
They were monsters. They were villains and giants. Blade and
Jennifer Kale set the story, set their tone; they were the guard.
They were to stand ready to battle these threats – but even
now, from every day forward, their mark would be clear. They
might be separated a hundred miles from another of the Order
of Nine, but they were no less sworn to their duties.
Some returned to
what they were. Some sought to pursue this new duty directly,
daily, constantly.
They were all other
things, once, too: average.
Now, however, they
were the Midnight Sons.
