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Post By The Hooded Hood takes the story beyond the Celestian barrier Fri Feb 09, 2007 at 04:59:13 am EST |
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#303: Untold Tales of the Parody War: Enemy Lines - Complete | |
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| #303: Untold Tales of the Parody War: Enemy Lines Previously: After a conflict that shattered the conceptual plane Earth’s scattered heroes have mostly escaped – but some are missing. Legionnaires Yuki Shiro, Trickshot, and the Manga Shoggoth are amongst those whose locations are not known. Hatman and Dancer were captured by the Parody Master. After a brutal struggle the Hooded Hood escaped the Parody Master only to fall foul of treachery in his own stronghold. Now both sides of the terrible conflict regain their strength and prepare themselves for a final battle. Previous chapters at The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Descriptions of cast at Who's Who in the Parodyverse Locations explained in Where's Where in the Parodyverse  The Parody Master powered his gauntlet into the Hooded Hood’s stomach, then brought his knee to drive his spiked greave into the cowled crime czar’s face as he doubled over. A backhand smack sent the Hood tumbling backwards grovelling in the floor barely conscious. The Parody Master stood over him, reached down, and dragged him up to dangle by the scruff of his neck. “Please…” begged the Hooded Hood, his face one red mess of broken flesh, “Enough. I s-surrender.” The Parody Master stared at the opponent who had dared plot against him. “You are pathetic,” he scorned. “A fool. And now it seems a coward.” “Please…” All the fight was gone from the former archvillain. One arm hung at an odd angle, the broken bone protruding from his flesh. The Parody Master tossed him away. “Live then,” he said. “You are not worthy killing. Crawl away and die.” The Hood tried to move but his injuries were too great. He laid on the ground sobbing softly until the Portal of Pretentiousness opened around him, shifting him away, broken. The Parody Master raised his soul axe high above his head in triumph. The crowd went wild. On half a million worlds across the Parodyverse the images flooded from every TV, monitor, sensurround unit, scrying frame, telebox, and experience node. It was streamed out every half hour, between the commentaries about the fight and the pundits praising the Parody Master. The Parodyverse had to know that it’s Master was undefeated. Yuki Shiro’s automated systems went through another reboot cycle. This time the repair systems had done their job. Her cyborg body responded, sending adrenaline into the secure chamber where her human brain was encased, trying to stimulate it from its stunned slumber. Yuki blinked back to consciousness at last. There was a moment of sheer panic as she checked that she if could move, that she could see. The darkness around her wasn’t blindness, it was night. The pressure preventing her legs shifting was merely rubble that the servos in her limbs could lift away. She was alright. A systems check showed she was at 81% capacity. If the time clock was correct she’d been down for nearly twenty-four hours, but her robot parts had been quietly auto-fixing as she slept. Internal power supplies were at 59%. Not too bad after fighting a war. Memories of the recent past spilled into her mind. She’d been there at the great conflict on the conceptual plane, that strange interdimensional space where the Parody Master had erected his power-enhancing Infinity Forge. The mission had been to destroy the artefact. Yuki Shiro, cyborg P.I., had been given the job of scouting the location for the main assault force. Then there’d been brutal battle; an assault from one of the Parody Master’s grotesque, overpowered brides; a running fight alongside her team-mate Trickshot; an earthquake that tumbled them both into some strange ancient temple… Thoughts of Trickshot prompted Yuki to pull herself free of the debris covering her and look for the irritating archer. He’d been right beside her when the temple broke up as the whole conceptual plane dissolved into nothing. She remembered him trying to hook a steel line to one of the larger chunks of debris. Even her sensors couldn’t hear his shouts above the noise of a dying plane, the screaming of vortex winds. And then… nothing. She switched to infra-red vision. Trickshot was lying a few yards away, also covered in rubble. He wasn’t moving, presumably because of the red gash on the side of his skull, but his vital signs were strong. Yuki hurried over and heaved the debris away to check him. Her touch waked him. “Hey, sunshine,” he smiled dazedly. “Hi, snookums,” Yuki replied, guessing she wasn’t actually the object of the greeting. “Time to come back to the real world, Bastion.” Trickshot’s eyes focussed – a good sign. “Damn,” he said as he looked up at the cyborg P.I. “Only you.” “Next time I’ll try and arrange for your dream girl to haul your butt from the wreckage,” Yuki said testily. “Assuming you’ve worked out which one that is, of course.” Carl Bastion shifted painfully, sat up, and checked his bow and quiver. Then he inspected his grazed, bruised body. “Okay, I’m back in the real world,” he promised Yuki. He looked around the darkened chamber and held up a rain-smeared discarded wrapper with alien writing on it. “Only question is which world,” he concluded. “This makes no sense at all!” A cloaked Xnylonian scout ship floated on the edge of the constellation Cassiopeia. It watched the dimensional dreadnaught Glory of Destruction as the vast killing construction waited motionless in space. At the controls of the hidden stealth vessel Kit Kipling watched the monitor readouts and frowned. “This makes no sense,” Captain Courageous repeated. “Glitch?” The orange and green transformer robot from the edge of the universe lifted her head from her calculations and shrugged. “They’re just waiting,” was her tactical assessment. “But why?” Kit asked. As Captain Courageous he’d been trained in tactical assessments. It bothered him that the dreadnaught had suddenly stopped in its flight towards the star system Caph and was now simply hanging there. “There’s something going on that we don’t understand. Something that stopped it.” Ham-Boy looked around. “Kerry? Danny?” “I didn’t do anything,” objected the probability arsonist. “Yet.” “Me neither,” denied Denial. “Really.” “But you were planning it,” guessed Lindy Wilson, Falconne. “I certainly hopeth so,” complained Harlagaz. “I art bored and wish to breathing things.” Kid Produce stirred from his brooding. “Well I sure hope so. We don’t want that thing getting to Caph before us.” “But it’s stopped,” Kip persisted. “Why?” Prince Kiivan, exiled Emir of All Caph, glanced over the consoles. “There’s a lot of signal traffic going to and from it. Can you break the codes, Glitch?” The robot snorted. “Do Danny and Kerry fight like cat and dog? Of course I can break their little codes. Hold on.” “Do we need to get Hacker Nine up here as well?” Fashion Accessory asked. “He’s spending a lot of time in his room lately.” “Maybe he’s avoiding Lindy?” speculated Ham-Boy with more accuracy than tact. “I’ve got it,” Glitch told them, decoding the transmissions. “They’re on a holding pattern because of delays in the handover talks between Prince Aarmus and the ruling Thonnagarian council that’s trying to sell Caph to the Parody Master. Some sort of arguments about protocol.” “You can tell the PM is busy somewhere else,” Danny noted. “I don’t think he’s a protocol type of guy.” Kiivan considered this. “Well, the delay works in our favour. Instead of a desperate and probably suicidal attempt to blow up the dreadnaught we can move ahead of it and get to Caph. If we can overthrow the Thonngarians before a Parody Forces occupation we can use the planet’s resources to hold off offworld enemies.” “How?” Ham-Boy demanded. “Unless you have another Celestian barrier up your sleeve?” “Not exactly,” Kiivan replied. “Kip, please get us heading towards Caph. Samantha, would you ask Hacker Nine and Ohanna to join us? Perhaps the time has come for me to explain the campaign plan at last.” “No problem, I’m here,” Zack Zelnitz called out, hurriedly entering the flight room having just been secretly returned to the ship after his efforts with the Purveyors of Peril. “And I have good news about the PM’s Andromeda shipyards. Former shipyards. Um, that I got from my computer hacking. Yes. That’s how I know.” “I’ll go call Ohanna,” agreed FA, “but only because you’re so damn cute, Kiivan.” Samantha searched for the Caphan girl, but she was no longer anywhere on the ship. The Portal of Pretentiousness worked two ways. The streets above were dark. There were no lights at all except the pale luminescence of stars in unfamiliar constellations. Yuki and Trickshot moved cautiously amongst the shadows trying to get their bearings. It was an advanced civilisation in partial ruin. The buildings were tall and silver-faced with black plastic trim, as if a 1970s cassette recorder had been extrapolated into an entire planet. The windows were mostly grey smoked glass, but many of them were shattered now exposing the interiors of the round-edged buildings. “I’m picking up electrical activity in that direction,” Yuki mentioned, pointing down the darkened street. Half a dozen burned-out hovercars were blocking the road, their melted plastic frames half-dissolved into the pavement. The overhead transit belts were motionless. “This place is creeping me out,” Trickshot admitted. “Where is everybody?” “I don’t think this is a residential district,” Yuki reasoned. She’d been checking the contents of the places they’d passed. “This seems more like offices. Lots of paperwork. I’m running a translation subroutine but it’ll take a while. If the computers hadn’t been looted I could maybe check a hard drive.” “What about those giant TV screens everywhere?” the irritating archer asked. “They don’t hold data. They were linked to some kind of internet but the system’s down and dead. We need to get somewhere where there’s a live feed.” The Legionnaires moved through the broken city. After a while they found a flaring street lamp flickering on and off. Then there were some neon strips still lit around some kind of burned-out eatery. On the horizon the starscape was obscured by ground lights. “That’s where we gotta be,” admitted Trickshot. Yuki’s enhanced senses warned them in good time to take cover as the Avatank rumbled past, its troopers shining searchlights into the ruins to check for curfew breakers. “Great. So we know we’re behind enemy lines,” grumbled Trickshot. “Sure be nice to know where, though.” Yuki finished tinkering with one of the monitors in the derelict shop where they’d taken refuge. It fizzed to static, blacked out again, then shimmered to life with images of the Parody Master battling the Hooded Hood. “We really have missed a chapter,” Yuki admitted as they watched the bloody combat. “No way this happened, though,” Carl Bastion proclaimed, shaking his head. “The Hood begging for mercy? This is a guy whut let the Hellraisers gouge his eyeballs out to make his plan work.” “That feed is going out universally,” Yuki noted, checking the feed. “There are over ten thousand commentary sub-channels in different languages.” “I don’t suppose any of ‘em’s English?” “Nope. But I’m getting a Skree talk-over. Apparently that’s a big battle from yesterday when the PM kicked the crap out of the Hooded Hood after he kicked the crap out of the Lair Legion and beat the Earth armies.” Trickshot frowned. “You’re sayin’ we lost?” “I’m saying they’re saying we lost. We have to find the truth.” The irritating archer nodded. “The truth and an asprin. Let’s head on.” Another half hour’s covert movement brought them to a shopping district. The plastic frontages were more colourful here, and in better condition. Clearly the city wasn’t uniformly devastated. Massive videoplates covered the buildings like Times Square to the power of a hundred, filled with advertisements and product information. But the streets were still deserted. “I know where we are now,” Trickshot told his comrade. “From the people in those adverts. I recognise them.” “Astrovids,” Yuki supplied. “A pacifistic race with advanced communications technology. Their artificial homeworld is a planet-sized construct called Astrovidia.” “Nice guys except fer their fetish fer baggy tinfoil jumpsuits,” Trickshot reported. “They pulled our fat outta the fire at the end of the Transworlds Challenge. Wanted our autographs.” He preened a little. “Well, who wouldn’t want Br’er Tricky’s moniker?” “The Astrovids were willing to join Sir Mumphrey’s alliance against the Parody Master,” Yuki remembered, “but the PM struck first, with a surprise attack that devastated their civilisation. We never heard what happened after that.” Trickshot looked round. “Well now we know,” he said grimly. “The question is,” asked the woman in the shadows, “what are you going to do about it?” The lone woman walked the forest path as the sun vanished behind the trees. The land darkened, adding unpleasant shadows to the thick undergrowth. A league to the south the ravens feasted on a great battlefield where the dwarves, elves, and men had fought the legions of the Parody Master. The battle had been inconclusive. The Oldmanson’s warriors had pushed the enemy from the field but at great cost. The campaign to save or take the Mythlands carried on, a gory tussle that swallowed lives and lands and left only death. Many of the dark things from the Field of Bel Cormallis had retreated into the dark woods. There they nursed their wounds and their hatred and stalked such wounded warriors of light as dared take refuge beneath the dripping trees. The lone woman was an unexpected delight. “Are you lost?” asked a rough-looking character in ragged leathers. He had a two-handed cleaver strapped across his back and he led a troupe of muddy, grizzled wild men. Many of them had the slanted eye-cast of half-orc lineage. “A lady like you, all alone in the dark on a night like this?” “I’m not lost,” the maiden replied. “I know where I’m going.” The mercenaries flanked her as she walked. “And where might that be, my lady?” asked the bandit leader. “In such a hurry.” “I’m looking for someone.” The mercenaries blocked her way. “And you found someone,” their chief said. “Well done.” “Let me pass, please. I don’t have time for this.” The leader spat. “You’ve got time for us, girl. We are the Wolves of Fenrir, and what we want we take.” The traveller shook her head. “No. I’d know if you were wolves. You have the smell of jackals. Now step aside.” The bandits didn’t take the warning. They’d not been listening to the right stories. This wasn’t the tale of the lone girl lost in the dark. Zdenka Zarazoza lost patience with the people who were keeping her from her quest. She cast off her human form and dealt with the interruption. This was the story of the Big Bad Wolf. Trickshot had an arrow nocked and oriented on the newcomer before she’d even finished her sentence; before he’d even recognised her. “Yesmin?” He grinned. “Yesmin o’ the Klayhogs?” Yuki did a quick database search. “The people who allied with us in the Transworlds Challenge, space nomads combing the asteroid belts for salvage. Yesmin was their seeress, wife of Clan Heir Broto, mother of… of Whitnos Keika Argo Klayhog?” she read. “That is right,” Yesmin admitted with a small smile. “And Whitnos grows every day, stronger and louder and impossible to restrain.” “Awlright,” beamed Tricky. “But what the heck are you doin’ this far from home lurking in the ruins of some Astrovid boutique? Is Aunt Sally with you?” The Austernal exploration ship could perhaps get the lost Legionnaires home. “Aunt Sally and my clan are… out there,” Yesmin explained. “Fighting the forces of the Parody Master. There are still pockets of resistance, whatever the vid feeds might tell. We fight.” “I always liked the Klayhogs,” approved the irritating archer. “But why are you here, seeress?” demanded Yuki. She didn’t believe in coincidences this broad. “I dreamed it,” Yesmin answered simply. “I dreamed you would be here, and I would tell you what the three of you have to do.” “The three of us?” Yuki did a quick count. “I will tell you how to find the few Astrovids who still resist the Parody Master. They are few, and fewer every day. They do not have the resources or experience to last long against the Parody Priests and Interrogators and spybots and war drones. You have to help them in their mission before all is lost.” “What mission?” asked Trickshot. Yesmin handed them a data slug. “To broadcast the truth,” she replied. “To show the Parodyverse what is really happening.” Yuki audited the contents of the media. Images flashed through her brain of the battle between the Lair Legion and the Parody Master, the destruction of the conceptual plane, the devastation of the Andromeda shipyard, the real fight between the tyrant of galaxies and the Hooded Hood. “Oh,” she breathed. “Yes, that’s got to be broadcast.” “It is insanely dangerous to attempt to breach the main transmission tower,” Yesmin warned. “Perhaps impossible.” Yuki and Trickshot looked at each other. “And what’s the downside?” Tricky asked. Ohanna left her room to return to the flight deck – and found herself of Caph IX. “W-what?” she stammered, looking around her. She knew she was home. The décor of the chamber, the bulbous arches of doors and windows, the tall pastel minarets of the city beyond, even that special kind of sunlight that filtered through the nebula clouds above confirmed it. The spicy smell of Caph filled her nostrils. Then she realised she was not alone in the chamber. She swivelled round, reaching for her needle-daggers. “Don’t,” said Kriije of Aarixus. “I’d hate to have to mark you.” It was a grand court of one of the high houses. The House of Aarixus. And that meant… Ohanna recognised Kriije’s master, Prince Aarmus. Aarmus the usurper, who had betrayed his Emir and given up the royal family to slaughter; the puppet ruler of occupied Caph on behalf of the Pigeon Warrior survivors who had taken the planet by guile. “You!” she hissed. “That is not the correct way to address one’s Master,” Kriije warned Ohanna. Aarmus’ leman held a correction whip in her hand and she knew how to use it. Ohanna’s mind raced. She had no idea how she’d passed the interstellar distances from Kiivan’s side to the stronghold of his deadliest enemy in the space of a heartbeat. She could think of no way to escape. “Aarmus the traitor isn’t my master. He’s the vilest coward ever to pretend to nobility in the history of Caph. He has shamed his house and stained its honour to the last generation.” Aarmus held his hand to stay Kriije from replying with the lash. Instead he tossed a scroll at Ohanna’s feet. “I’m told you read,” he scorned. The girl cautiously picked up the document, keeping her eyes on Kriije and Ohanna. There were a dozen other guards present too, too many for her to possibly escape. She scanned the contents of the scroll and went pale. “No!” she protested. “This cannot be!” “I’m sorry for the lack of a vina drea,” the Prince smirked. “But the deed of transfer is quite correct. Your Master the Hooded Hood had sold you. To me.” “He wouldn’t do that!” Ohanna protested. The fear almost choked her. Kriije snorted. “Of course he would. “He was a vile treacherous villain and now he is dead. But before he was slaughtered by the Parody Master he bargained with Caliph Aarmus – and you are what he sold.” Ohanna looked at the scroll of transfer. It was sealed and witnessed in the proper form. It bore the Hood’s mark, a complicated scrawl that shifted depending on perspective and could not be forged. The sale appeared to be genuine. And that meant… “Bow,” demanded Prince Aarmus, “before your Master.” After a night and a day in the vastness of Broadcast City, Trickshot and Yuki were developing a sense of life on Astrovidia. “It’s like Hollywood got cloned and crossed with a Betamax,” Trickshot summarised. “And then the whole thing got redesigned by Industrial light and Magic.” “It’s more like it got redesigned by the Yurt,” Yuki pointed out as they skirted another shattered dead zone where dimensional dreadnaught gravity cannons had punched miles-deep holes through the artificial world’s infrastructure. “The Parody Master didn’t need to do this. These people have no standing army, no weapons of mass destruction.” “You saw some of their game shows, right?” Tricky retorted. “If they could’a just sent the Parody Master onto an island with five other wannabees and made him do a hot tub challenge they could’a saved the Parodyverse.” “They didn’t need to do this to these people,” Yuki insisted. “You’ve seen their faces. You’ve seen the troopers on every corner. And even now these people won’t fight back!” “’Cept fer the ones our gal Yesmin set us up to meet in the abandoned depths,” the archer pointed out. The deeper beneath the once-glittering surface one went the older the installations. The poorer classes dwelled in the first sub-tier. Below that was just abandoned, which made it an ideal place for resistance conspirators to gather. “You really think they exist?” Yuki asked. As a private investigator it was her job to be suspicious. “How much can we trust this Klayhog woman?” “Sorcy saved the life of her baby,” Trickshot explained. “Delivered the kid, in fact, an’ faced down the Chain Knight ta do it.” Yuki overrode the security lockout and opened the maintenance vent down to the interior. “From what I’ve seen of this world these people are cowed. Docile. I find it hard to believe there’s anybody here who can help us get to the main broadcast tower and transmit this data across the Parodyverse instead of the PM’s propaganda.” “You underestimate how attuned this species is to their media.” Yuki turned to Trickshot. That didn’t sound like him. “What?” “What?” the irritating archer asked, returning her stare. “Sorry toots, but this studly’s off the market. You should have made your move earlier.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Yuki snorted. “As if… But you said something just now. Something intelligent. It didn’t sound like you at all.” “That is because it was not him. It was I.” “Whoa,” Trickshot said, freezing. “Maybe that whack on the head’s still affecting me. Did my quiver just talk to us?” “No,” said the voice from the quiver. “Although if you wish it imbued with sentience I could probably arrange something given a suitable workspace and some of your primitive DNA.” Yuki reached into Trickshot’s quiver and pulled out an arrow. A glass bulb was attached to the end. “This is talking,” she said. “And it sound like…” “The Shoggoth!” identified Carl Bastion. “That’s one of my elder being arrows whut I had to blow up dimensional dreadnaughts. I’ve got three of ‘em left. And they’re filled with Shoggy.” “That is so,” agreed the arrow-head. “I am somewhat confined in them at the moment and would be gratified if you would break them open and allow me to coalesce.” Trickshot carefully cracked open the three shaft-tips and poured the sticky liquid inside them together on the ground. “Is he usually this… runny?” asked Yuki, frowning. “I am having a temporary difficulty in maintaining my protomatter,” the Manga Shoggoth said with dignity. “The Parody Master destroyed my primary biomass and this was all I could jump to. And then there was the problem of the conceptual plane disintegrating.” “Yeah, we got that too,” Trickshot sighed. “We almost died.” “You most certainly would have,” agreed to little pile of gelid goo, “except that you had stumbled upon the former repository of some item of great narrative power, and I was able to direct things just enough to drop us back into what you mortals call your universe before the plane you were on reverted to a free chaos state in which molecules no longer existed.” “You brought us here?” Yuki asked. “But it wore you out?” The Shoggoth bubbled a little, which might have been a loathsome elder being’s sigh. “The main Shoggoth can replicate biomass from and of mys…himself, because he is powerful enough to bend the rules of your Parodyverse around him to something that makes a little more mathematical sense. I am a contaminated fragment, so when I replicate I require mundane matter from round about me as part of the mix. On the conceptual plane this was obviously conceptual material. And when the plane ceased to be…” “All the goo you’d made from it went blooey too,” understood Trickshot. “Approximately. I could talk you through the maths but it would involve installing an extra three dimensions in your brain.” “I’ll pass,” shuddered the archer. “There’s likely not room for the dimensions he has in there,” noted Yuki. “I had little choice in where I took refuge or where I jumped you to,” the Shoggoth explained. “I am very weak for the moment, oppressed to conform to your universe’s dimensions like time, space, and flargh. It will take me a while to recover. The narrative energies brought you here because it made the best story. What kind of story I cannot say.” “Well, great to have you on board,” Tricky congratulated the elder being. “Um, shall we scrape you up and take you with us? I have a spoon arrow in here somewhere.” One other point troubled Yuki. “You said about the Astrovids. About them being attuned to their media.” “Why yes,” amplified the Shoggoth. “They live in a world of media input. It is their world. The Parody Master has shut down so many of their channels it’s like rendering them blind or deaf. And he is feeding them his images and they cannot help but let those shape their worldview.” “So if we broadcast this tape of the LL and the Hood kicking crap out of the PM…” Yuki reasoned. “Then their worldview will change,” agreed the little pool of Shoggoth. Oxo was watching. It was what he did best. One of the race of Observers tasked with preserving knowledge of all events in the Parodyverse he was delighted to be the representative of his people who had finally been allowed to penetrate the hallowed Central Repository of the Intergalactic Order of Libraries. The Observers and the Librarians had always had their differences before both groups had yielded to the Parody Master rather than be destroyed. Right now, Chandra of Vorthir, one of the former Council of Nine Governors who had run the IOL for millennia, was having a screaming match with Inquisitor Lash of the Parody Master’s elite interrogation forces. Chandra had been appointed pro-tem ruler of the Central Repository but she hadn’t been coming up with the information the Parody Master required. Oxo rather suspected he was about to watch her summary execution. “I cannot provide you with the information because we do not have the information!” Chandra shouted at the worm-faced man in the greasy leather cloak. “The… former Head Librarian transferred every single piece of data from the great archive into the head of the renegade Bookman. All we have in the repository systems now are the volumes we had incarnate at that time and what we have been able to retrieve from our satellite branches.” “The Master has no interest in excuses,” Lash replied. Inquisitors felt it was unholy to wash off the bloodstains of their victims, so his squirming face, his feeler-hands, and his inquisitorial robes were all dappled with dried brown and green stains. “Our Master simply wishes to know where his Lady Jury may have concealed the Storyheart from him. It was not on the now-destroyed conceptual plane. So where?” “We’re a library, not an oracle,” Chandra scorned. “As you would know if you read books before you burned them.” “The Master’s oracles have failed, and are being punished,” Lash declared. “Are you telling me you have failed too, Librarian?” “I’m telling you that you are seeking information we no longer have – if we ever had it – about the personality and likely choices of the most recent incarnation one of the most mysterious cosmic office holders in existence,” the Governor scorned. “Do try to bend your inadequate intellect around that fact. Do try to…” She stopped in mid-sentence then because of Interrogator Lash’s pain spike in her chest. The shouting phase of the discussion was over. It was time for the screaming phase. Oxo settled back to watch the death of another Governor. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t wanted to do it himself had he not been sworn to non-interference. “Murderous thoughts,” said a quiet voice behind him. “Sometimes that’s enough.” Oxo felt a rough blade at his throat. His senses warned him that a fellow Observer was dragging him away from his post and into the shadows of the deep library stacks, but no Observer ever used force against another. “Oh, it’s happened,” his captor promised him. “You just didn’t see it.” The Observer’s advanced perceptions penetrated the shroud of deceptions around his attacker. “You are the Doomherald,” he recognised. “The former god of murder whom the Parody Master restored to be his emissary and who recently ran renegade.” “Nice to have a rep, eh?” Exu replied. “Now why shouldn’t I kill you?” “Kill me? Why should you kill me? You can’t kill me. There are things I have observed here, things I must share with my brethren for the universal record!” The knife pressed harder into Oxo’s throat. All the cosmic power the Observer possessed couldn’t override the direct intent of the Doomherald if he chose to slay with a simple mundane sharp edge. “For me the question is always why shouldn’t I kill you? Murder is the default in any meeting I might have. And the answer is I won’t kill you if you tell me what I want to know.” “I do not know the location of the Storyheart,” Oxo answered. “If I did I would surely have spared my brethren the wrath of the Parody Master.” “Who cares about that?” snorted the Doomherald. “I’m really more interested in me. And recently I had some very disturbing thoughts put quite literally in my head that I need to investigate. So what I want from you is the exact way I can locate an entity known as Dr Xeno Phobia, who used to go by the same name as me, Exu. We need to chat.” Oxo wanted to live so Oxo told him. The Doomherald thanked him and moved on. “Legends tell us that our broadcasting technology derived from the Second Oldest Race itself,” M-Vor lectured as his hands danced over the mixing desk in the ancient catacombs in the deep infrastructure of Astrovidia. The surfaces here were of older materials, bakelite and even wood. Dials and manual switches took the place of touch screens. “The media is sacred to us. We live all out lives surrounded by a sea of information and culture. It is every Astrovid’s right.” “Before the Parody Master,” Trickshot noted. “Before that,” M-Vor agreed. “Now the media is his, and we are enslaved. Why, he has taken our blessed J-Kyle and converted her into his bride!” “She has the gift of controlling electromagnetic frequencies,” the Shoggoth warned. “And star quality.” “Well we need to, um, reopen the frequencies,” Yuki told M-Vor and the little knot of rebels who hid in the ancient studio. “We need to get into the master broadcasting suite and put this out across the Parodyverse. A trans-light transmission, all channels.” The Astrovids shook their heads. “That is not possible to schedule,” M-Vor apologised. “We would all be cancelled.” “Let me show you a little movie,” Yuki suggested, pulling out Yesmin’s data slug. “And then see if you think it could be a ratings smash.” The war had not been kind to the little village of Camilla’s Scarf. Most of the beehive-shaped huts were broken open. The protective hedge of thorns around the perimeter was a burned mass of char. The fields beyond were trampled flat, the orchards stripped bare and cut down for soldiers’ firewood. The surviving villagers huddled in the remains of their homes and trembled at the outcome of the latest conflict to shatter their centuries-long peace. In the village meeting place a witch and a rakshasa stared at each other. “Mortal wench, I am Devos Jaggarnath, Prince of Rakshasas. I eat dainty morsels like you for appetisers every morning.” “I know what you are, kitty,” Whitney Darkness answered. “I was there when the Lair Legion kicked your asses in the Contest of Challenge. I was one of the kickers.” The main company of rakshasa warriors looked on. There were forty of them, tall proud tiger-headed knights in silk and steel, each with a massive bastard sword across their backs in case they got tired of using their claws, jaws, or illusionary powers. Only one of them had broken ranks to sit on the edge of the village well and enjoy the confrontation. “You know she’s a sorceress, right brother?” Amar Jaggarnath checked. “Well, the Sorceress, really?” “I command here,” Devos snarled back. “We have fought hard in the campaign against the Parody Master. Our knights are tired and hungry. This village is our rightful spoil.” “It doesn’t work that way,” Whitney argued. “Not even here in the Mythlands. When you agreed to join the alliance against the Parody Master you agreed to play by the alliance’s rules.” The rakshasa rukh snorted and looked around him. He towered over the Earth witch by almost two feet. “And who is there to report us to the Oldman if we take some sport? You? You will be the first to fall, even though you may be the last to die, pretty Sorceress. Him, my feckless brother? He knows better than to face my wrath.” “It’s true,” Amar agreed. “One day I’ll stab him in the back. I’ve got it all planned out. It’s a topic I enjoy thinking about.” “Go now and leave these people alone,” Whitney warned the rakshasas. “I will not let you hurt them.” “Stop me,” mocked Devos. “Take your best shot.” The Sorceress’ eyes narrowed. “You wish is my command.” The skies darkened. Devos Jaggarnath caught the curse as it span towards him and shredded it with his claws. “A nice try, pretty meat,” he purred, “but not enough.” “Oh, I don’t know,” judged Amar, folding his arms and leaning back with a critical discernment. “That was a pretty complicated hex. I’d give it a five… four… three… two…” “What are you babbling about, brother?” demanded Devos. Then the Rabid Wolf ripped into him and tore his throat out. “Zero,” said Amar. The Primary Transmission Tower rose nine miles from the city below, its height pushing it up beyond the transmission-muffling atmosphere so it could beam its faster than light signals to appear almost simultaneously across the thousands of civilised worlds that subscribed to Astrovid Media Entertainment and Information. From a distance the spire looked like a bronzed art-deco needle. The high-end electromagnetics on its broadcast array meant the tip was always illuminated by luminous atmospheric discharges. Yuki fixed the target clearly in her combat computer then reached down and selected a music slug from under her bike seat and dropped it into the play slot. Something heavy and metallic and very loud felt right just about now. She sat astride one of the Thundercaster 2001s made popular by Ulf Stavilus in his long-running series of Mincemaster videos. The gleaming chrome and copper flying cycle was a lovingly restored collector’s item from before the age when flight control override systems became compulsory and velocity inhibitors were common. The grav-engines growled as Yuki tested the throttles. “Gen'rals gathered in their masses, Just like witches at black masses, Evil minds that plot destruction, Sorcerer of death's construction…” contributed Black Sabbath. “Are you really sure about this?” M-Vor checked nervously as he watched the cyborg P.I.’s pre-flight checks. “The tower is the best defended place on Astrovidia, even with the damage the Parody Forces did to its defences in capturing it. There are flying patrols, drone weapons platforms, surface to air laser batteries…” “Sounds like my kind of party,” grinned Yuki Shiro. “You’ll die,” warned M-Vor. “Been there, done that. Had the t-shirt but it got blown up in some explosion or other. Need another one.” “In the fields the bodies burning, As the war machine keeps turning, Death and hatred to mankind, Poisoning their brainwashed minds…” “Well, if I can’t talk you out of this… good ratings.” Yuki checked the mobile video drones flanking her bike. “Action,” she said, and gunned the vehicle forward. Trickshot accepted the award as the studio audience applauded. “I’d jest like ta thank all the little people whut made this possible,” he grinned as he held up the trophy. “And ta say that you’ve been a great crowd. Oh, and also yeah, you were right ta judge that I’m the breakout new talent in the show. Heck, I’m me.” He tucked the trophy in his belt and picked up his bow and arrows again. “And now one last trick fer the viewers at home. Watch very carefully boys and girls, cause this one’s my best one.” “What are you doing?” asked Vislor Caradian nervously. Suddenly the talent show host felt nervous of the no-hoper from nowhere who’d won the hearts of the voters. Trickshot grinned. “Bringin’ down the house, Vislor. You got me right into your Primary Transmission Tower. Now I gotta go blow stuff up. You know how it is.” And he loosed the first detonation arrow. There was chaos and panic. Trickshot had already marked the studio guards and they were the next down. He’d also spotted the Parody Master’s political control officer overseeing the live broadcast to ensure proper content. That Inquisitor went down next to a well-placed laxative arrow. Then the irritating archer took out the wall of the studio and began a running fight towards the tower’s power generators. “You’ll never get away with this!” Vislor screamed after him. “Interfering with the transmissions is a capital offence. You… you pirate!” Trickshot took out a defence drone and grinned back at the cameras. “And now a word fer your sponsor,” he called out. “The Parody Master is a…” Fortunately the auto-censor was still operating. Ohanna felt as if the whole world had shifted beneath her feet. “You are not my Master,” she told Aarmus, her voice trembling. And yet there was the scroll of transfer, legal and notarised. “A rebellious slave,” observed Kriije. “You know what happens to them.” “The women of Raael all seem to have that flaw,” Aarmus noted. “Her sister Miiri had the same problem. In the end I gave up trying to beat it our of her and simply sold her to the Lovetoads.” Ohanna flashed the Prince a furious look. “That was a vile betrayal too. You specialise in them, it seems. But your doom will come, sham usurper Caliph. Prince Kiivan is coming, and you will die.” “Yes, Kiivan,” Aarmus yawned. “All I hear about these days is Kiivan and Ohanna. You and he are inextricably linked in the sad folklore of the commonality.” “I imagine you’ll have a fair bit to tell us about his plans when I get you talking,” Kriije said with relish. “I imagine the mythmakers will fall suddenly silent when you appear chained beside me, my broken plaint toy,” Aarmus grinned unpleasantly. “Or will you now submit to your Master as the law demands and tradition dictates?” Ohanna dredged something up from her years of eclectic study. “The law is an ass.” And then, “In giving freedom to the slave we assure freedom to the free, honourable alike in what we give and what we preserve.” She met the Prince’s gaze. “You are not my Master. I have no Master. I am free.” Aarmus laughed. “Free, except for being in my stronghold, surrounded by my guards, at my mercy – and I have no mercy. Free to be held down, to be taken, to be punished, to be broken, to become a fearsome example of what it means to deny your Caliph and to betray your heritage. Kiivan shall hear of your fate and tremble!” Ohanna pulled a gem free from her traditional Caphan chainmail bikini. “Free to choose between death and dishonour,” she warned. “You know of the Naicluv. You’ll be aware that they can make point singularity bombs small enough to fit inside a single jewel.” The guards that were surrounding her froze. “Tiny things,” Ohanna warned, “but powerful enough to take your entire fortress with me if I detonate it.” “Weak, foolish woman,” snarled Aarmus. “Had you been a man you would have slain me while you had the chance.” He hit the teleport amulet he was wearing and transferred himself away to the safety of the Thonnagarian mothership. Bereft of their Master, the guards backed away cautiously. “Oh, get out all of you,” snapped Kriije. “I’ll deal with this. Go on, Flee.” Ohanna watched as the soldiers and attendants evacuated the chamber. Kriije flexed the whip in her hands. “You’re too young,” Aarmus’ leman said. “A little older, a little more training and you might have pulled it off. You fooled the Master, but I can read you, little girl.” Ohanna backed away. “You won’t be reading anybody ever again if I detonate…” “Oh please,” scorned Kriije. “I can tell a bluff when I see one. Quite clever of you, but desperate. Prince Aarmus will be livid when he finds he’s been tricked and made a fool of. But you’ll know all about that in due time.” Ohanna realised her gambit had failed. She tossed the worthless gem aside and reached again for her houri daggers. “I’m free,” she proclaimed. Kriije moved forward. “Allow me to teach you differently,” she replied. Tower Security Control was inexperienced. All the senior officers had been executed when the Parody Master had seized Astrovidia months ago. Many of the perimeter defences hadn’t been repaired yet. The sour-faced Parody Priest who sat watching everything the security team did was no help at all. And now there was a maniac on a Thundercaster weaving through the secure area on some kind of insane suicide run towards the Prime Transmission Tower. “Who is it?” the Parody Priest asked quietly, “And why is it not dead yet?” “She’s… well we don’t know who she is,” Security Control admitted nervously. “Her basic configuration and clothing is Terran, like from those Miami Vice classics? But she’s getting a 71% audience approval rating.” “Audience?” hissed the Priest. “What audience?” Security Control pointed to a monitor screen. “She’s broadcasting on local bandwidth and someone’s bouncing it off a really old relay to send this out planetwide. She’s getting a pretty reasonable audience share.” “Shut it off then!” snapped the Parody Priest. “And just kill her.” Security Control looked abashed. “You, um… your technicians stopped us being able to affect the signals from here. To stop us… being disloyal and all. I’d need over-ride codes to shut her down. It’s a really old transmitter she’s hooked into, something from before the integrated systems were locked together.” “And the killing her part?” “We’re trying, sir. Your, um, eminence. She’s somehow managing to anticipate our security systems. It’s like she knew the programs and has the algorithms to avoid our assaults.” On the main screen Yuki dropped her bike between two remote assault platforms and let them blow each other up. An alarm siren gave a second alert, this time to disturbances inside the tower. “Security breach on level 1014,” one of the crew warned. “One of the contestants on New Nova Search is going crazy with a primitive weapons system. Sir, he won the contest!” “What?” demanded the Parody Priest. “Why should that matter?” The Astrovids looked at him in disbelief. “But he won,” protested Security Control. “Show me the signal feed from when he went mad.” The monitors moved from Yuki to Trickshot. This time the security computers spat up an identity. Stars began to flash around the border of the screen. “What now?” The Parody Priest was thinking of ordering a mass execution of this insane media people. “Sir, we have a star identity!” Security Control reported. “Our internal intruder is Trickshot, of Planet Earth! Trickshot of the Transworlds Challenge!” He fumbled for the console. “We have to get this feed through to our news stations right away.” The Priest caught his wrist with frightening strength. “Are you telling me that we have one of Earth’s Lair Legion in this complex? That would probably make the girl on the flying cycle Yuki Shiro, also of the Lair Legion? And your first instinct as Security Control is to alert the news media?” “Sir – your eminence – it’s standard practice. People are going to want to see this!” “Idiot!” the Parody Priest spat. “Planet of idiots! Kill them. Kill them both! Then let your news media report their destruction.” A sly look came over the cultist’s face. “In face, activate your emergency protocol alpha.” “Sir?” “You heard me. Call her. Do it now.” Security Control swallowed hard. “But she’s…” “Do it!” screeched the Priest. “Now, or die!” Security Control had no choice. He slammed his hand down on the big gold star-shaped button on the emergency panel and spoke the sacred words. “Prime Transmission Tower to J-Kyle. We need your assistance with an attack of Lair Legion stars. Help us, J-Kyle. You are our last hope!” Zvesti Zdrugo pinned down the choking gasping Rakshasa rukh with her massive forepaws and dripped corrosive saliva onto his face. “Surrender,” she told Devos Jaggernath in a rasping frown, “or I tear your head off. Your choice, but in this form I’m hoping for the latter.” The wounds would have killed a human, but the rakshasa noble was tougher prey. He struggled but couldn’t overcome the primal fury embodied in the huge black beast that pinned him. “He surrenders,” Amar Jagganath called out, sliding off the well’s wall and wandering over to enjoy the sight of his brother bleeding and helpless. “He can’t talk right now on account of his windpipe being in your jaws, so I’ll say it for him. He’s totally beaten and he pleads for his life. He’ll take his knights away and leave the village in peace and never come back. Let him live.” Whitney Darkness watched events with a mild bemusement. She’d hurled the curse-hex without specifying the consequences. Giant talking wolves and sleek betraying brothers were an unexpected outcome. “I’ll require that promise is the form of a geas,” she warned. “Mystically enforced.” “Of course,” agreed Amar. “My brother entirely understands. Otherwise he’d be back here to crucify everyone in the village as soon as your back was turned and he’d hunt you down and rape you to death. I’d get the wording of the geas pretty tight if I was you.” The Sorceress cast the spell. Rabid Wolf backed away from her defeated foe. Amar gestured for the rakshasas to take up their wounded rukh and depart. “Ah, hello?” Whitney said cautiously to the huge gore-stained predator that stood beside her. She wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen next with this beast. Zdenka shifted back to her human form. “Hello, Whitney of the Darkness Clam,” she said. “What?” Sorceress was confused. “I think you mean Clan, perhaps?” Rabid Wolf considered her English. “It might be so,” she admitted. “But hello is good, yes?” “Under the circumstances, very good. You’re a shapeshifter? A lycanthrope?” “A goddess. How are you doing today?” “A goddess,” purred Amar Jaggernath. “How wonderful. I’m so going to enjoy telling Devos how he got his throat torn out by a deity. Well, telling everyone really.” Whitney looked at the dark-haired young woman in the travel-stained leathers. “You’re with the Oldman’s alliance?” she checked. Zdenka shook her head. “I am alone. I look for you, Whitney of Darkness. Your grandmother, she tell me where you are and send me to this place.” “Hagatha?” The Sorceress scowled. “What does that devious old crone want now?” “I went to her,” Zvesti Zdrugo explained quickly. “I wanted to find you. Needed to.” The rakshasas were out of the village now except for Amar. He bowed low to the ladies. “A real pleasure to meet you,” he told them. “Both of you.” It occurred to Whitney that the geas she’d set on Devos might not bind his brother. “If you cause any trouble…” she began. The rakshasa shook his head. “That would lack style,” he declared. “You have nothing to fear from me, Sorceress and goddess. Although if either of you would like to give me your phone numbers for when this is all over…?” “Go,” Whitney told him. “Take care of your brother.” “One day I promise I will,” Amar replied seriously. “A pleasure.” Sorceress turned back to Zdenka Zarazoza. “You needed to find me?” she asked. “Why?” “I need your help,” Rabid Wolf confessed, “to find and rescue Jay Boaz, the Hatman. He is in mortal danger/ Now he needs the help of the women he loves.” Whitney looked up. “What?” Superstar J-Kyle seared through the Prime Transmission Tower as an electromagnetic wave. As she passed through, every studio feed was interrupted to show her face on their screens and across the galaxy. Ratings spiked. She sensed the area where the intruder from Earth was running his ratings war and channelled herself back into humanoid form to face him down. She chose a designer jumpsuit with matching accessories to deal with him. “Surrender in the name of the Parody Master!” It wasn’t the best written line she’d ever had, but it was all about the delivery. After all, she loved the Parody Master more than she loved anything in the universe, even her awards collection; even herself. The inquisitors had shown her that over two months of intensive correction before she’d been privileged to become a bride of the conqueror of the Parodyverse. “Heya toots,” Trickshot called to her. “I’m guessin’ you’re not here ta give me your autograph.” “How dare you interrupt programming?” J-Kyle demanded. She tried to bracket the human with photonic bursts to take him down, but he rolled aside and she had to sear his approaching squid-ink arrows out of existence. “I saw your videos,” the irritating archer told her as he kept up the running fight. “You really used ta be something, before the PM got to ya, you poor kid.” “I am a superstar!” J-Kyle warned in deva tones. “I am the Parody Master’s superstar!” Trickshot almost got a skunk arrow past her defences. “Yeah, he’s a sonofabitch all right. But we’re gonna make him wish he’d never crawled out from under his rock. Then you kin go ta wherever has-been celebs go on Astrovidia. Maybe open up an animal shelter or save some rain forests or something, eh?” “Has been?” screeched J-Kyle. “Has been?” She stopped using non-lethal restraint. Now she was going to fry the upstart. Trickshot barely dodged the searing microwave bolts that burned through the bulkheads behind him. “Yeow!” he yelped as he felt the heat of the near misses. “Imagine whut that would have done ta Br’er Tricky if it had hit him instead’a blowing up the tower’s main defence generator.” J-Kyle blinked. “What?” she said. There was a muffled explosion from behind the three foot thick safety walls shielding the machinery. The tower’s security systems went dead. Yuki stopped her evasion patterns and went in straight for the tower’s pinnacle. “Everything is under control,” Holy Taus told the Parody Master. “Our enemies have damaged nothing that cannot be restored in the Andromeda nebula and elsewhere, but you have eliminated almost all their potent defences. The Celestian barrier around Earth weakens measurably every day. It cannot prevail much longer. Victory comes to those who stand the test of time.” “This is true,” the conqueror of the Parodyverse agreed. “I will crush them before long, and revenge will be sweet. And to the victor the spoils.” “Spoils indeed,” Holy Taus agreed. He saw that his Master was looking towards the fragment of frozen time that he’d wrapped around the chunks of conceptual plane which had slammed over the Probability Dancer. “Shall I call the Inquisitors to prepare your newest bride for you, Master?” The Parody Master shook his head thoughtfully. “They may take her to be corrected later on,” he considered, “but I think I shall enjoy this conquest raw. You may leave us, Taus. Leave me undisturbed to claim my bride.” “Of course,” the high priest replied with a deep bow. “I trust her screams and struggles will gratify you.” “They will.” The Parody Master was in the mood for breaking someone. When Taus was gone he gestured to dispel the timestop. The crumbled wedges of conceptual planar matter that he’d slammed Dancer between faded away like the rest of their realm. And there was nothing else there. No-one was inside the material. Dancer had gone. “No,” the Parody Master snarled, reaching out to try and sense how this could be. There was no way the Probability Dancer could have saved herself. He’d ensured that the chance was zero. And yet she was gone. That probably wasn’t the best time to alert him to the situation on Astrovidia. J-Kyle was livid. “Those people are cutting into my airtime! Nobody upstages me! Nobody!” She transformed herself into electromagnetic energy and seared through the atmosphere towards Yuki Shiro on the greatest deva-strop in history. She bounced off the standing field Yuki was broadcasting; the cyborg P.I. did her homework about the likely opposition. Yuki swerved her bike around the next remote defence platform and heard the explosion behind her as the security guards on their own one-man flyers didn’t. J-Kyle solidified into her perfect female form on the back of Yuki’s Thundercaster to rip off the cyborg’s head. “N-uh. We don’t do that any more,” Yuki told her with a grin, before planting a ratings-winning punch on the superstar’s nose. “By the way, I’m also resistant to that hard radiation you’re putting out and I’m shielded from your EMPs.” J-Kyle came back with a series of rapid blows that Yuki could only avoid by shifting from her cycle seat, handstanding on the handlebars, then twisting round to plant a boot into the deva’s face again. “I’d like to give you this award for your performance, darlink,” Yuki called. “Oh, and could I get your autograph before I spank your butt?” Behind the duelling women the defence systems went ape as Trickshot’s earlier damage continued to erode the control mechanisms. Force screens flared and flickered out. Disruptor cannons powered down and fell lifeless. A few confused defence drone platforms circled round to crash into the walls of the tower itself. J-Kyle wasn’t bothered. She smiled maliciously at Yuki. “I hope you enjoyed your fifteen minutes of fame, you talentless nobody. That was it. Now you’re cancelled.” Yuki leaped aside from the high-energy transmission but it sheared right through the bike, causing it to explode in a rose of fire, leaving the cyborg eight miles up with no means of support. Except for J-Kyle herself. Yuki grabbed the superstar and held on tight. “Putting a little weight on there, honey,” she noted. “Still, good to have handles to grab.” “Enjoy your downward mobility, skank nonentity,” scorned J-Kyle, and dissolved herself back into free-floating electrons. Yuki plummeted down towards the distant ground. They called it terminal velocity for a reason. Trickshot vaulted through one of the holes his percussion arrows had just made and avoided the laser rifles of the latest security team. These weren’t the rather inept studio guards of the lower levels. These men were carrying Parody Master ordinance and were better drilled and disciplined. The archer treated them to a laughing gas arrow. “Now if I wus a primary transmission studio where would I be?” he asked himself. He was hurled back into the wreckage as J-Kyle reappeared beside him. “Did you really think you’d have a long season?” she sneered at the unpowered intruder. “Did you think you could resist the will of the Parody Master?” “Well, I did kinda hope ta put a dent in his day,” Carl Bastion admitted. “And if you’d jest watch this video slug, darlin’, I think you’d see why.” J-Kyle snatched the small object from the archer’s hands. “This is censored,” she replied. “I shall win my Master’s praise by returning it to him personally. And now you’re going to be edited out. Totally cut.” “Could be,” agreed Tricky. “But whut you snatched from me wasn’t the data slug, it’s a neural stunner arrowhead set on timer.” J-Kyle had no time to remember her next line before the neural pulse slammed through her body rendering her unconscious. The curious newsdrone floating cameras caught it all live on film. “You think that’s a story?” Trickshot told them, limping across the rubble. “Here. Lemme show you whut’s on this data slug. Broadcast this, babies!” He took the slug and rammed it into the nearest player. A dozen newsdrones recorded the images of the Hood fighting the Parody Master. And exploded. “Did you think it would be that easy?” the Parody Master asked, striding through the smoke. “Did you think so puerile a trick would be your salvation?” “Uh oh,” swallowed the irritating archer. Yuki plummeted towards the silver and plastic surface of Astrovidia. She whispered something under her breath. Famous last words. As she’d planned, one of the floating camera drones came in close to try and pick up what she was saying. She grabbed it and used it to slow her fall. From there she jumped to the second remote and used that to swing onto the nearest automated defence platform. Its systems were still confused from Trickshot’s earlier damage so Yuki jacked herself into its operating system and directed it straight towards the prime transmission tower. Towards the wall of the tower Towards the point where the Parody Master had cornered Trickshot. “So old Hoody really kicked your ass, huh?” Trickshot snickered as the Parody Master picked him up by the throat and pressed him to a wall. “No wonder you needed your PR boys ta come up with a fake version.” “Where is Dancer?” demanded the Parody Master. “How did she escape me?” “Dancy got away? Must’ve been while you were looking fer where the Hooded Hood scattered your teeth.” The Parody Master surged energy through Trickshot that made every nerve scream in agony, making the captured archer jiggle like a marionette. Yuki Shiro piloted a remote weapons drone into the conqueror’s back. “Yeeeh-hah!” The Parody Master ignored the impact and gestured to hold Yuki motionless as well. “Are there any other desperate interruptions you want to attempt?” he asked disdainfully. In the deep bowels of the Primary Transmission Tower’s operating systems the trickling blob of elder goo that was the Manga Shoggoth finished seeping over the right circuit boards and used his protomatter to make exciting new configurations. “Yes, just one,” he bubbled happily. “Roll.” The diversions had done their work. Now he’d done his. The prime transmission tower interrupted all broadcasts for a very special bulletin. The Legion came in again and again at the wounded enemy: CrazySugarFreakBoy! then Epitome then Dancer then Lisa then Hatman, each unleashing attack after attack to keep the Parody Master on the ropes. The great axe-cleft in his chest spurted ichor. The Shoggoth burned him from the inside out. Across the Parodyverse on thousands of planets the transmissions burned, reminding people what they’d already seen once, what the Parody Master’s power had willed them to forget. The Astrovid transmissions, derived from the technology that the Second Oldest Race had received from the Celestian Space Robots, could not be easily overridden or denied. People saw and believed. “The Legion can’t come and kick your ass right now,” Lisa told him, sprawled on the floor. “We have so many more interesting villains to worry about. Ones that have more going for them than just an infinite force shtick. Hell, even the Resolution Prophesy had more personality than you do. You have to conquer all reality because you don’t have any other way of getting people to notice you.” “They faced him,” M’Vor said in reverent tones. “The Earth people, they defied the Parody Master. They stood up to him. They thwarted him. He distorted the transmission. He can be beaten!” The Astrovids looked up from their monitor screens and began to talk sequel. The Hood’s knuckles caught him again below the rib-case, pounding through the wreckage of his armour, hammering right into his belly. He retorted with a chest-shattering blow that sent the Hood barrelling backwards. The Parody Master tried to make a clever retort, but there was no breath in his lungs. “Interesting,” noted Broodmaster R’Pr of the Z’Sox assassin spiders. “We may need to reconsider whether we have given our allegiances prematurely.” The Parody Master tried to muffle his cry of pain as that fist crushed his head with each blow. He knew he could prevail. He could already sense the limits of his opponent’s power. But it hurt so much. “As I said, for all his power he is weak inside,” spat Granny Grimness, training-mother of all Apocalyspe. “The time for rebellion is nigh. Let all those who love their Granny and want to stay alive to love her more gather with their weapons at the Doom Tube interfaces.” The Hooded Hood laughed and allowed the Portal of Pretentiousness to spirit him home. He’d known he could never destroy the Parody Master in combat. What he’d done was better. “You’ve done well, Yesmin,” Gamona, the universe’s deadliest assassin congratulated the seeress of Klan Klayhog. “Here is the antidote to the poison I used on your child. You have done what the Hooded Hood demanded of you and now you are free to return to your family. Go in peace.” The Parody Master seized up his axe and lifted it in triumph. He had won again. His enemy had fled, beaten. He was undefeated. “Okay, we just set a new record for pissing off the Parody Master,” suggested Trickshot. “What’s the clever idea fer getting outta here? “I have to have the clever idea?” Yuki asked. “I thought it was your turn.” “You need not fear,” the Manga Shoggoth declared. “The narrative will provide. The story had to be told, and now it has been…” There was a flash of omniversal energy. Amazing Guy appeared from the narrative substratum. “There you are!” the protector of the Parodyverse called. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to track you guys even with cosmic awareness. But Mumph wants you back home and I’m the taxi. Come on.” The Parody Master turned to annihilate every one of them in his fury; but they were gone. Only the video remained. Next Issue: There’s plenty of mop-up to do after the events of the last few chapters. Broken lives, broken hearts, broken dreams, broken armies, and the ever-greater threat of the ever more vengeful Parody Master. So join us as we join the LL, Liu Xi, the Doomherald, Mr Papadapopolis, Marie Murcheson, Samantha Featherstone, Wangmundo, Asil, Baron Otto, Sir John de Jaboz, Princess Lileblanche, Miss Framlicker, Gamma Ray Gary, D’Ur, Queen Annj, Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Champagne, and probably a whole bunch of other people as they consider Fixing Things Actually that might take two issues. If It’s Tuesday This Must Be Footnotes The accurate versions of the Lair Legion’s battle and the Hooded Hood’s fights with the Parody Master may be found in UT#300 and 302 respectively. The Junior Lair Legion and Friends: Kerry Shepherdson, fiery-tempered probability arsonist Fashion Accessory (Samantha Bonnington), fabric transmuter Harlagaz Donarson, demihemigod of thunder Denial (Danny Lyle), reality-denying self-defined supervillain Kid Produce (Jasper Stevens), the vegetable-using vigilante Glitch, girl-Transformer robot from a distant star Captain Courageous (Christopher “Kit” Kipling), the world’s politest crimefighter Ham-Boy (Fred Harris), the world’s meatiest hero Falconne (Lindy Wilson), anarchist aviator in a combat flying suit Hacker Nine (Zach Zelnitz), computer geek interning with the Hooded Hood Prince Kiivan, Emir of All Caph Ohanna of Raael, Caphan slave girl formerly owned by the Hooded Hood The Astrovids made their debut as a race in the Transworlds Challenge. They aided the Lair Legion in UT#185: The Finishing Line. They fell foul of the Parody Master in UT#252: All of Your Base Are Belong To Us. Rabid Wolf (Zvesti Zdrugo in her native Candian), Zdenka Zarazoza, met and became romantically attracted to Hatman (Jay Boaz) in UT#252: Flesh and Mud. Their complicated relationship blossomed in The Call of the Wild series until she was recalled home by her government, the People’s Fraternal republic of Candia. She sensed Jay’s current plight and set out to save him in UT#301. Clan Klayhog were the Legion’s most faithful friends and allies during the Transworlds Challenge. The nomads from the Eridani cluster led by Clan Elder Broto and his daughter-in-law the seeress Yesmin were recently joined by the sentient vehicle Aunt Sally. They were last heard of in UT#186: Coming Home The Caphan Situation: Caph IX in the constellation of Cassiopeia is a lush tropical world populated by green-skinned photosynthesising humanoids who have developed a complex culture based on slave ownership. It’s the home of green-skinned slave girls much beloved of fantast stories. Caph recently fell to the space-faring Thonnagarian Pigeon-Warriors thanks to the treachery of Caphan Prince Aarmus of Aarixus. Unfortunately the invasion has not succeeded in overcoming resistance so the Thonnagarians now intend to barter the planet to the Parody Master in exchange for honoured places within his ranks. However, Emir of All Caph Prince Kiivan escaped with the assistance of the slave Ohanna and together they have been preparing to retake their homeland with their allies the Junior Lair Legion. Ohanna was technically the property of the Hooded Hood and has been legally sold to Prince Aarmus by her former master in exchange for Aarmus delaying the dimensional dreadnaught due to seal the transfer pact which will give Caph to the Parody Master’s empire. Oxo the Observer is one of an ancient race of beings pledged to witness and record all activity in the Parodyverse. Earth’s original Observer was cast from grace to become the Voyeur (he debuted way back in The Hooded Hood Chronicles #8, literally my eighth Parodyverse story) and was later killed by the demon Mefrothto. A new Observer, Utah, has recently been installed in the Turquoise Area of the moon. Oxo is the Observer now attached as liaison to the Intergalactic Order of Librarians, a first since the two organisations have rarely got on well over the millennia. The Intergalactic Order of Librarians is an organisation dedicated to preserving all forms of literature. Usually run by a Council of governors and a Head Librarian with branches on moons near significant civilisations the IOL was recently annexed to the Parody Master’s empire. However, the accumulated data of the great repository was smuggled out by Lee Bookman, Librarian of the Lunar Public Library, and is currently stored there. The Doomherald was formerly the Parody Master’s emissary. He recently defected, in part due to his exposure to human beings and in particular because of his relationship with Liu Xi Xian. He has few memories of his origin, dimly recalling his time as God of Murder to the Second Oldest Race. However, he is now aware of some relationship with Exu the GatewayTraitorGalaxyTraveller! and is actively investigating it. The Sorceress, Whitney Darkness, was formerly a member of the Abandoned Legion and the Lair Legion and lover of Hatman before being estranged from him by the machinations of the Hooded Hood. The daughter of Xander the Improbable and of Vervaine Darkness, one of the powerful line of Covenant Witches, Sorceress has a range of magical abilities but specialises in curses, elemental manipulations, and mind-affecting spells. Of late she has been wandering Faerie and the Mythlands seeking a new life. Rakshasas are a fierce breed of demons from Indian legend, a race of sophisticated, organised, martial flesh-eating raiders. They most often appear as humanoid with tigers’ heads, although at least one elephant-headed rakshasa is known to the Lair Legion. In addition to powerful combat abilities rakshasas can use magics, especially illusions and charms. Their rukhs (battle-commanders; from which the chessboard gets its rooks) are formidable opponents indeed. The Lair Legion clashed with the rakshasas who controlled the Indian underworld in UT #72: The Game of the Rakshasas and UT #73: Winners and Losers. J-Kyle (born Day of the Flame, Year of the Quantum Leap, on Deluxian IV, a little planet you’ve probably never heard of) is the Viddy Award winning Astrovidian singer-songwriter and occasional actress. She rose to fame through her role in the soap opera Shuttlers before she commenced her career as a pop artist. According to the IOL Popfax site J-Kyle has sold an estimated 65 trillion records galaxywide. J-Kyle has established one of the longest and most successful careers as a performer in contemporary intergalactic pop music and has become one of her generation's most recognisable celebrities and sex symbols. She is also known for her biotransmission implants which allow her to become one with electromagnetic energy and to control it locally, making her something of a self-broadcasting superstar. Her recent controversial marriage to the Parody Master has boosted her Q-rating to an all-time high but it remains to be seen how her fans will take this newest phase of her interstellar career. Holy Taus is High Priest of the Cult of the Parody Master. His association with his Master grants him substantial occult power to command energies, control people, summon extraplanar beings, craft spell effects, and fry people who disagree with him. He most often channels his energies through a sacred staff. He is served in turn by a number of acolytes including Holy Zadokus, by the Holy Inquisition under Grand Torturer Flay, by the Parody Priesthood, and by millions of Parody Cultists across the galaxy. He doesn’t like Xander at all. Broodmaster R’Pr is the leader of the Z’Sox, an interstellar race of ninja-like assassin-spiders. Although he is their unquestioned war-leader he is guided by the wisdom of Arbiter S’Trakk and the Council of Webmothers. The Z’Sox are allies by choice of the Parody Master and have given one of their web-queens, High Assassin-Mother S’Tab to be one of his brides. Granny Grimness runs the terrible orphanage on the brutal world of Apocalyspe which turns out the various faction soldiers who dominate the planet; but all of them are brought up to respect their Granny (or die). Gamona is the last survivor of her people. The green-skinned child was adopted by Dark Thugos (the one who killed the rest of her race) and raised by him as the universe’s deadliest assassin. Gamona’s dermis is laced with an energy-reflecting mesh that provides her with substantial body armour and enhances her strength and speed. It makes her look as if she is wearing all-over fishnets or tattoos. A strand of her hair can slice through metal. Since leaving Thugos Gamona has spent some unsatisfying time on Earth but recently joined the Hooded Hood’s faction to avenge the death of her mentor. She was last seen battling alongside Gamma Ray Gary in the Another Front storyline. Amazing Guy is the protector of the Parodyverse, tasked with battling cosmic threats (such as, say, the Parody Master). An honorary Legionnaire, he has the ability to draw upon multiversal energies to create energy constructs and to create jump-points through the narrative substratum which allow instantaneous travel across stellar distances. He also has cosmic awareness that allows him knowledge of cosmic events if her focuses on them. Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2007 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2007 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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