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New York City in the middle of winter is a cold place to be. If the frigid temperatures don’t get you the damn busty breezes blowing between the skyscrapers will. And not just any type of breeze, but the type of wet, damp breeze that blows in off of the Atlantic and digs itself deep into your bones. You have to be either really desperate, really stupid, or really lost to be out on a night like this. Unfortunately for me I am none of those things.

Please allow me to introduce myself: I’m a man of fortune and taste. Well…not exactly. My name is Charles Blackwater, former defense attorney in the great city of New York. That was until the night I met Reeve Calder of the Beyond Reason Spiritual Fellowship and found myself not only dead, but a focal point in a dream war against an ancient demon named Aan Taanu that Calder’s cult had summoned. What began as a case of “He Said/She Said” accusations of extortion, kidnapping, drug trafficking, and along with criminal charges of tax evasion quickly turned into a struggle across various dimensions, dream worlds, and a big fat nasty monster named Fin Fang Foom tearing up lower Manhattan. And that was the least of my problems.

Somewhere along the way I was transformed into a forbidding creature called Omen and led a group of unlikely people into the preconscious soul of the monster Fin Fang Foom. There we fought against the presence of Aan Taanu inside the monster’s dreams and on that night we won. Since then I…or rather my other identity has been facing off against various swarms of lesser demons possessing unwilling victims, trying to recover the Anten Decan, an ancient tome written countless of years ago, so that Aan Taanu could find his next Reeve Calder to summon him forth.

I never had any interest in the occult and not once in my wildest dreams did I think I ever would be as involved in it as I am now, but with my life almost constantly being assailed from every side by demons from Aan Taanu’s dimension, I have found it not only a smart thing to educate myself about what I am now having to face, but also to learn how to be prepared for what might happen next. It began slowly at first, the demons striking from Aan Taanu’s dimension, but it quickly escalated into almost a full blown war on my psyche.

At one point I was no longer Charles Blackwater, Defense Attorney. I was Omen. A creature from another part of my soul that I really wish I didn’t know that existed. In the end I had lost my firm, lost my girlfriend Allison, lost my identity…Hell I even lost my mind a few times during the process. However, just when it seemed that I was reaching my breaking point…the attacks ceased abruptly. No more demon possessed rouges. No more nightmares. Nothing.

It wasn’t apparent at first just why the attacks had stopped. I had a small measure of hope that Aan Taanu had either finally given up on his quest, which I doubted, or had met some untimely fate, which I doubted even more. However, it was quiet and would remain so for a while. I was actually beginning to relax a bit until I learned of the grisly fate of Reeve Calder. His mangled body had been found rotting in an old tenant building in Hell’s Kitchen. You see, Calder was the last person who had physical possession of the Anten Decan and had been in hiding since the night he unleashed Aan Taanu upon the world. My anticipation grew high and I have been waiting for what I knew was going to be a flurry of renewed attacks from Aan Taanu. You see I…or rather Omen, has been a hindrance to his plans from the beginning and the best way for Aan Taanu to get to Omen is to get to me. So I have been waiting for him and his demons.

I have been waiting for almost two years now.

After a while the human spirit has a tendency to become complacent, lazy, and slowly lets down its guard when it is not consistently challenged. After a long period of time battling all sorts of dark manifestations, whether in my mind or physically as Omen, I have unwillingly become lax. Or shall I say as Omen does physically. I am sorry but I just can’t accept the fact that that creature is a part of me. Supposedly we are connected to each other until the day I happen to die, so hopefully we will be stuck together for a long, long time.

The problem is that we won’t be together much longer if I don’t find myself some shelter from the cold. Even after two years of no more attacks and not even a slight indication of Aan Taanu or his presence at any time, I still have been constantly on the move from borough to borough. Last time I saw a doctor, when I could afford a doctor, I was diagnosed with schizophrenic paranoia, and to be honest, could you blame me?

Some of the sights I have seen.

My condition does not allow me to stay rooted too long in one place or hold a job for that matter. Everything is fine at first, but after a few months I begin to see things that aren’t really there. At least I am trying to convince myself that they aren’t real, but very soon after I begin to see those…things. I have to move on or they would be peeling me from the walls as my fear consumed me. That’s what happened tonight.

All was quiet at the shelter tonight. Well, as quiet as it could get when it was packed to capacity and then some, but still I hadn’t been seeing any of those things that my paranoia seems to want to pop into my vision every now and then and I was privy to a rare occasion. I could finally relax a little bit.

That was until I saw it.

It wasn’t as much as seeing this manifestation but more as smelling it instead. The overpowering sickly-sweet odor of rot and freshly dug earth mixed in with the shelter’s heating system and almost overcame me with nausea. I knew that if I turned towards the stench that I would again be tortured with another of my paranoid visions, but I couldn’t help myself. I peeked over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of the wraith silhouetted in the warm yellow of the shelter’s dim lighting. It stood hunched over dragging one shadowy leg behind it as it approached, its arms twisted like dried twigs on a dead bush and on its back stretched from wall to wall was a pair of tattered wings with most of its feathers molted and never replaced. His eyes glowed red and I felt as if I was going to burst into flames, steam almost realistically rising from my jacket. My paranoia was working overtime and before I could let my mind complete this waking nightmare I fled out into possibly the worst winter storm to hit New York this decade. I didn’t care. I had to get away.

I have to get away…have to get away from me.

You have to be either really desperate, really stupid, or really lost to be out on a night like this. Unfortunately for me I am none of those things. I am just simply stark raving mad. It’s been almost two years since I had to contend with Aan Taanu and his minions. I know these visions I am seeing aren’t real, because if they were Omen would release himself from within me and confront the demons. So as long as he doesn’t force himself out of my psyche, I know I am safe.

Too bad I am not safe enough.

The wind began to pick-up in intensity and no matter what doorway, car, or stand I would duck behind it always would seem to find me. Stumbling blindly in the fresh flurry of biting snow and ice I knew I had to find some sort of refuge before finally not Aan Taanu, but the elements themselves did me in. The winds, however, picked up fiercely and I could have almost sworn that they were purposely working against me. I slipped from the curb and fell ungracefully face first into the black-stained slush of the crosswalk. Trying feebly to wipe the grime and grit from my now soaked jacket I could see patches of ice forming unto the fabric. Forming too fast.

That’s when I saw the shadow pass over me in an all too familiar shape. I turned my gaze towards what I knew shouldn’t be there, but my eyes failed me again. The manifestation of my mind’s paranoia was swooping down through the brisk winter wind, his hands outstretched and his eyes glowing blood red. Even though I knew it was just my imagination I had the urge to move away from this thing as fast as I could before it could get its phantom hands on me. The section of crosswalk I had just picked myself up from suddenly exploded in a crimson ball of energy. Pieces of asphalt, steaming grime, and my own scorched body flew through the air in a horrific nightmare come real.

A trickle of fresh blood on my brow stung as it got into my eyes. Desperately, I wiped as much of the dirt and blood away to try and regain my vision but even through the blur…I saw something that I truly wished I hadn’t. The creature was advancing slowly towards me and I could see razor thin claws begin to protrude from the back of its hands as it came closer. I only had a second to scream before it was on top of me and was about to deliver the killing blow.

Omen…Where are you?

I cowered against the bumper of an off duty taxi and waited for the ensuing pain that I was about to receive from my assailant. Aan Taanu must be attacking me again, but if so then why isn’t Omen emerging to protect me and destroy this demon? Omen…Godammitt! Where Are You?!

It was then that I realized that I hadn’t been slashed to ribbons. Surely by now the creature or demon must have had ample time to deliver a multitude of blows against my helpless frame; however I had so far been untouched. I opened my eyes and was almost blinded by brilliant bright, golden light. The creature was now peeling itself from a fresh indentation in the far wall, leaving even less feathers on its tattered wings. The majority of them now sticking to crumbling mortar and ice it wrenched free of.

I could barely make out much of what happened next, only that a shadow approached me from the golden light and that the creature’s eyes seemed to glow even brighter as it lunged towards me.

“Eo ireitum”, the shadow spoke and the world became a brilliant white and then everything was silent.

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“By The Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth!” cried out a desperate voice into the darkness. A snapping of fingers sparked a candle to life as frantic eyes quickly scanned the room for any signs of intrusion. Vaguely satisfied, a clammy hand wiped the sweat from his brow, and then Stephen Strange greedily gulped down a lungful of cool air trying to catch his breath. He knew it was a dream, but it was a dream that seemed all too real.

The world was engulfed in a black flame and all manners of demons were feasting upon piled corpses of men, women, and children. A throne had been built out of the bones of the dead and a moat of deep blue blood encircled around its base. Seated upon the throne was an elderly man whose eyes burned with the same blackness as the flames that were burning the Earth. The face turned mockingly towards him and spoke.

“Welcome to my world, Stephen.”

And that was where the nightmare ended and Stephen Strange awoke. It wasn’t the vision that had startled him, nor was it the fact that the figure addressed him in his dream. It was, however, the face of the old man and the realization that this wasn’t a dream, but a premonition of a future event and for once he was truly afraid. He pulled himself a glass of water from the faucet of his bathroom and vainly tried to wet his parched throat. He stared into the mirror and swore under his breath.

“My God Mordo…What in the hell have you done?”

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The bitter wind blew cold as a shadow in the alley screamed out in a fit of anger and rage. A blast of crimson energy cutting through the winter storm. Slumbering out into the dim light of a deserted New York City street, the decaying and molted body of Calvin Rankin bellowed a hissing cry before taking flight into the darkness of the night. Charles Blackwater must die and the Mimic will die once again to make sure that he does.

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