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Post By Looks like the Hooded Hood posted this on Wednesday after all Wed Dec 22, 2004 at 02:25:08 pm EST |
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#199: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Four Funerals and a Wedding (Except for the Wedding), or the Last Legionnaire | |
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| #199: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Four Funerals and a Wedding (Except for the Wedding), or the Last Legionnaire What Has Gone Before: The Lair Legion have defeated the Hellraisers after a terrible struggle that has left many of them injured or exhausted. Now they must deal with the aftermath of the conflict, including coping with the trauma of losing some of their support crew and the consequences of their choices. Meanwhile Xander the Improbable and an ad-hoc group of companions still remain in a fragment of the Nightmare Realms, protecting the massive power resource of the Dead Hell-Lords from being exploited by other demons. The next few minutes, then hours, then days seemed to pass like random snippets… Nats soared in through one of the many shattered windows at the Phantomhawk Memorial Hospital to report on the delivery of the latest batch of antidote to Phleglethor’s pestilence. “Okay, things are under control at Shyminsky Falls,” he reported to Dr Whitwell. “They say they have enough supplies now. And SPUD’s arrived with their flying cars and are ferrying in emergency medical supplies and personnel to the damaged hospitals.” “Does that mean I can stop bleeding?” asked Josh Clement desperately. De Brown Streak was laid out on a stretcher with a pair of nurses draining blood from each arm, using his mutate speed to resupply his body and to accelerate the growth of antibodies to combat the disease. His usually healthy brown skin was grey with fatigue. “You’ve done enough,” the senior surgeon assured the outlaw. “Take a rest.” “And call us when you’re feeling better,” one of the nurses whispered to him as they left him to sleep. “So where’s next?” Nats demanded brusquely of Dr Whitwell. “Nowhere, thanks,” he told the flying delivery boy. “Miss Framlicker says she can manage to transport the rest through conventional means. You should take a break now too. You fought the Hellraisers and you’ve been hauling supplies all night. You have a fractured arm and a broken leg and some nasty internal bleeding that only your telekinetic abilities are keeping in check. You’re dead on your feet.” “But at least I’m not just dead,” Bill Reed snapped. “Like Uhuna.” Dr Whitwell remembered that the flying phenomenon had been associated in the press with the injury-manipulating Abhuman princess. “Ah,” he sighed. “You were close?” “She was innocent,” Nats flared. “Happy, kind, caring, everything people should be! She was the last person in the world that deserved to die slowly and horribly like that. I killed Phleglethor and I thought that might make it better, but she still died alone in pain needing me when I wasn’t there and it hasn’t changed anything!” “She saved two lives before she died,” Dr Whitwell reported, “and from the antibodies they’d developed we were able to culture a first generation vaccine that saved hundreds, maybe thousands. That’s some legacy.” “I don’t care about a %$&*£% legacy,” Nats snarled. “In fact I don’t care about anything at all.” He flew out of the window as swiftly as he’d come, flying to nowhere, with nothing to live for. With no reason to live. The Agents of SPUD, the Super-menace Principal Undercover Directorate, had descended on the battlefield in time to control the fires and bring some order to the devastation. Though the storm had deteriorated into a sulky downpour and the grey morning was calming people’s fears there was still much to be done. Colonel Dan Drury took charge of the combat zone and sent his staff out with rough barked orders to co-ordinate rescue operations and to contain any remaining threats. “Good to see you,” Reverend Mac Fleetwood called to the old soldier. “Been a while.” “Well I been keepin’ up with my praying tonight, padre,” Drury promised him. “Where’s the heroes?” “Heroing,” Mac answered. “Or getting bandaged up. They took some casualties.” “Who’s dead?” Drury asked, bracing himself. “Nobody on our side,” the Reverend answered. “At least not yet. thud has a broken wrist, Hatman’s getting stitches, Epitome was badly gashed, Nats was pretty banged up, Al B. has some second degree burns, and your boy Falcon’s concussed. Trickshot’s missing. Lisa, Asil, Visionary and Hallie all needed some treatment. Laurie Leyton’s in the operating theatre now, with some serious crushing damage. But Temporary Death’s awake now and she says nobody is going to die.” “Temporary Death?” Drury sucked on his stogie. “I hate stuff like this. Give me a nest of Nazis and a handful of grenades any day.” “Tricia was forced from her position as Temporary Death,” Mac explained. “Now she’s able to recover her role, and she’s doing her best to help us. Otherwise things would have been much nastier.” The Librarian limped over to join them, his official robes torn and bloody. His spectacles were cracked. “Colonel Drury, the Shoggoth wants to know what you want doing with the Bloodreaper.” The head honcho of SPUD looked up sharply. “You caught one alive?” “He’s inside the Shoggoth right now,” Lee Bookman answered. “Epitome said we should just kill him, CSFB! says keep him alive in torment, but Dancer and Hatman said he’s got to have a trial because everyone deserves that no matter what they’ve done. Al B. says try him then execute him. And UN Special Regulation 4939 advances the tenet established by the Geneva Convention that…” “Yeah, okay. I got the idea,” Drury said roughly. “Tell your blobby friend to ooze the bad guy over to the Safe. As I hear it there’s a special deep vault there designed specifically ta keep Hellraisers in.” “We’ll deliver him,” the Librarian agreed. “As soon as the Shoggoth’s finished giving the Bloodreaper a whispering-to.” “A what?” asked Drury; but the Librarian didn’t explain. Horror? the Manga Shoggoth seared into his captive’s mind. You only think you know horror. Your tiny limited mind with its crude four-dimensional perceptions has hardly glimpsed the beginnings of abyssal fear and the depths of torment. What you think are cruelties are the merest beginnings of a logarithmic progression of torture that stretches on beyond infinity. You believe that nothing that is done to you can surpass what you have done to others? LET ME SHOW YOU DIFFERENTLY. The Hooded Hood awoke in a hospital bed to find Asil staring down at him. “Good evening,” he said. “Morning,” the young Lisa-clone told him. “It’s good morning. Almost morning anyway. You were unconscious all night. You lost a lot of blood.” The cowled crime czar noted the tight bandaging round his chest and the way his body had been immobilised to prevent him tearing his stitches. “Ah. I surmise that the Hellraisers are well and truly defunct by now then?” “The Legion took care of business,” agreed Asil. “The Chain Knight, Maladomini, and Phleglethor are dead. The Bloodreaper’s captured. Nosferos is missing, but there are reports he was dusted in one of the side alleys. Tricia’s awake – that’s Temporary Death – and she says she thinks Nosferos is gone.” “Most gratifying,” agreed the Hood. Even without his cowl the shadows seemed to gather across his upper face. He shifted painfully. “I assume this is Phantomhawk Memorial?” “Yeah. We dragged you in here and they stitched your up. For some reason they’re not arresting you.” The Hood raised one eyebrow. “Arrest me? Why should they attempt that? I am wanted for no crimes within the United States of America.” “Are you kidding? You took over the world! Twice! And you tried to destroy the Parodyverse!” “Those are not crimes in the USA,” the cowled crime czar noted. “God bless America.” Asil shook her head in disbelief. “I thought maybe you’d turned over a new leaf,” she admitted. “You surrendered to keep Dancer and the doody-head from harm, and then you jumped in and saved me from the Chain Knight too. But you’re just the same.” “I did what was necessary to keep my word to Sir Mumphrey,” the Hood replied. “I trust being indebted to me will gall him.” Asil controlled her temper. “Well I’ve been waiting for you to wake up to say thank you,” she conceded. “For whatever twisted reasons you did what you did, thank you for saving me. And the doody-head.” A thin smile crossed the Hooded Hood’s lips. “You’re welcome.” CrazySugarFreakBoy! was the next hero back in Whitwell’s office, to report that the antibodies delivered to Gothametropolis had been safely received. Already his bruises had healed to a dark lemon shadow on his glowing yellow flesh, and the rents in his silly suit had closed up. “I had a primo argument with the authorities in GMY who were insisting on some kind of privilege system for distribution, but in the end I just took the stuff round the free clinics instead,” Dreamcatcher Foxglove explained. Dr Whitwell snorted. “I imagine that went down well with Mayor Kline.” “She’s welcome to call Sir Mumphrey,” CSFB! promised. “Boy, I hope she does. And that I get to listen in.” “Nats was here earlier,” Whitwell noted. “He seemed very distressed. I’m quite worried about his psychological state.” “Uhuna was something special,” CSFB! mourned. For a moment his golden skin didn’t glow as his brow furrowed. “We contacted her people, the Abhumans, to tell them she was gone and find out what to do with the body. They weren’t interested. She was exiled. Krakus said we could dump her corpse in a ditch!” “Like that’ll be happening,” growled Dan Drury, appearing in the doorway, “They’re already talking about National Cathedral and Arlington for her.” CSFB! whirled round as the super-spy entered the ward. “What, another political photo-op?” he objected. “Good press for the Prez to be seen burying the girl who saved everybody’s lives?” “I kin see you’re in a great mood this morning, sunshine,” Drury scowled. “And I’m not here to make it any better.” That was when Dream saw the Sentinoid robots following Drury. “What is this?” CrazySugarFreakBoy! demanded. Dan Drury gestured to the unconscious mutate on the pallet. “De Brown Streak. We’re here ta take him into custody at last.” “Are you kidding?” CSFB! flared. “Josh just saved about as many lives as Uhuna! He’s only lying there because he was being a freaking hero while you were digging your spaceship out of some manure pile in Bumf&ck, Idaho! Or does the President want to bury him next to Uhuna?” “I’m not feeling good about it, kid,” Drury assured him, “but Clement is on our Most Wanted list and this is about the only chance we got of taking him in. Now you could probably try an’ stop us but this is a hospital and there’s lots of sick people round who might get hurt. Plus then you’d have crossed the line to be an outlaw too, and that’d splash back on your buddy Book and those reformed villains you’re associated with and all the rest. And Clement would still be a wanted fugitive. So just for once do the smart thing, huh?” “Smart thing,” seethed CSFB! “Right.” He jabbed his finger at his Walkie-Talkie wristwatch. “Get me Lisa.” Mr Epitome heaved aside the toppled wall so the emergency crew could get to the trapped people located by Falcon’s on-board sensor rig. “Any more?” he asked. “Nothing the conventional services can’t handle,” Sam Wilson replied, sweeping down to land beside the man of might. “Although I’m listening in on the jabber ‘tween CrazySugarFreakBoy! and Lisa over De Brown Streak.” Epitome turned his hearing to pick up radio waves and mentally translated the encrypted code to follow what was being said. “Drury arrested Clement?” “My recommendation, man,” Falcon replied. “We were never going to get another shot at him like this one.” For a moment Epitome caught himself thinking that this was harsh. “I should have thought of that myself,” he replied instead. “Yeah, well this is a SPUD collar,” Falc replied. “Leave it to the pros.” “So you still see yourself leaving the Lair Legion now the current crisis is over?” Sam Wilson nodded. “This last fiasco decided me. We went in out of sentiment and we damn near died. And right now we’re clearing away the wreckage and finding the bodies because we screwed up.” “It was a tight judgement call,” Epitome argued. “Who knows how many lives would have been lost if we’d played it differently?” “Bottom line,” answered Falcon, “If I’m risking my life I want it to be for reasons I respect, with comrades I respect. No offence.” Epitome watched him fly away and then thumbed his own commcard, cutting in the private encryption that would deny Falcon the chance to eavesdrop. “Sir Mumphrey, please…” Jay Boaz was waiting for Grace O’Mercy as she finished the long night shift. The first smudges of dawn were just edging along the eastern seaboard as the Night Nurse called a taxi. “I can get you home faster, if you don’t mind flying,” Hatman offered. “Jay. I thought you were supposed to be lying down and taking it easy?” “They need the beds for people with more than a few stitches and bruises,” the capped crusader shrugged (then wished he hadn’t flexed). “You can keep a close eye on my medical condition as I get you home. There’s no public transport working in the city right now anyway, so I’m your best chance of making curfew.” Grace thought for a moment then assented. “Not too high, please. I don’t have a head for heights.” Hatman pulled on his Bluejays cap, sprouted wings, and gently lofted the young woman over the street grid of Paradopolis. “This isn’t what I expected,” the Night Nurse in his arms admitted. “When I saw you again.” “What did you expect?” “Stakes. Garlic. At the least somebody who was a bit unhappy that I drained their blood and tried to turn them into an undead.” “Nosferos was controlling you. It’s not like you had any choice. When you did have a choice, you risked your life to save mine.” “Yes, but some guys don’t get over being murdered that quickly.” Hatman shrugged as he descended toward Grace’s duplex. “How do you know there’s not an entire Lair Legion assault squad waiting in your house?” “I’d scent them. And you’re a little nervous and uncertain, but you don’t smell of treachery.” “I am a little nervous. I was worried about you.” They landed and Grace slipped out of his arms. “You are a nice guy, just like Sarah advertised,” the Night Nurse admitted. “But we can’t see each other, Jay.” “Nice guys always finish last.” Grace shook her head. “I’ve drunk your blood, Jay. I’ve got a taste for it now. Even as you’re stood there I want to invite you in and take some more.” She shivered. “I can resist. I think I can resist. But it would only take one slip…” Hatman swallowed. “You’re pretty strong…” “It’s not just me, Jay. You tasted my blood too, the dark sacrament. For a moment you knew immortality. Even a good man like you, that’s got to leave a craving deep inside. It wouldn’t be good for you to be around me too much either. I don’t want to be your downfall.” Jay nodded. “I understand. I’m sorry it worked out this way. I thought… Well, I liked being with you.” “And I liked you too. That’s why it was so easy for Nosferos to…” She glanced at the sky. “I’d better get inside before I get extra crispy sunburn.” Even then she almost kissed him goodbye. Their heads tilted forward before they caught themselves. “Take care,” Hatman said, pulling on his Jets hat. “We nailed the Hellraisers, but Nosferos got away.” “No, he didn’t,” the Night Nurse answered. “While he was weak and disoriented I got him. Check the alleyway by PMH where the bins are if you want to gather up his dust. Good night Jay.” She shut the door and leaned on it for a while as if that would keep out thoughts of Hatman and the world. And thoughts of Nosferos. I got him she told herself, and he was delicious. How powerful am I now with the blood of an elder vampire coursing through me? What will I become? Hallie mistyped again, then swore at her fingers. “How does anyone get any work done using these stupid keyboards?” she demanded. Until yesterday she could have simply squirted the command direct from her own artificial intelligence into another computer system. Today she found herself in human flesh with human limitations. “You get faster with practise,” Al B. promised her, his own hands darting over the console before him. “Just hit delete and key in the co-ordinates again. We’ll need to reel thuddy and Cressida back through the Negativity Zone portal pretty soon.” “Because there’s only so long living things can survive in the Negativity Zone before they fall into the Queasy Area and explode?” Hallie suggested. “Before this P.O.S. dimensional transducer overheats, explodes, and kills us all,” answered Amy Aston, hammering the side of the delicate equipment with a spanner. “Welcome to the wonderful hi-tech world of Extraordinary Endeavour Enterprises.” “That’s long enough,” Al B. judged, watching the dial needles peak. “I’m reeling them back in.” He pulled the manual lever to winch the cable back through the glimmering portal. “I feel so useless,” Hallie admitted. “And so vulnerable. Things rub and scratch and when I walk into stuff it hurts.” She indicated the sling on her arm from the recent Hellraiser combat. “Pain is a very inefficient warning system, and should be redesigned as a matter of priority.” “You’ll get used to it,” Al B. assured her. “Some of us have managed to survive a lifetime with these limitations.” “Of course, some of us turned into total dweebs,” Amy added helpfully, jerking her head towards the archscientist.. “When we have some time after we’ve located Trickshot I’ll run a full diagnostic on you, Hallie,” Al B. promised, “try and deduce the mechanism for your remarkable resurrection and transformation, the medium by which the forces around the Lair Mansion were able to…” Just then dull thud tumbled through the interface of black dancing dots dragging Trickshot the Marksman after him. “Got him!” the rumpled roadie gasped. ~~Although next time I’d prefer if it wasn’t us tied to the end of the hook,~~ Cressida objected. ~~Ethnic reasons.~~ “Hey, I didn’t need no rescuing,” the irritating archer. “I was just conducting a little détente with some flesh-scarfing beasties what needed a little archery-butt experience.” “I feel nauseous,” complained thud. He didn’t say whether it was his close encounter with the Queasy Zone or Trickshot’s boasting that was the cause. “I didn’t say I couldn’t use a ride home,” Trickshot assured him. “I just… hey, was that your doorbell?” “I’ll get it,” Al B. said. “The local kids keep calling since they worked out Amy answers wearing just her overalls.” “Hey, I like to be comfortable when I work!” the cute mechanic declared. “Any objections?” “No,” said Al, Trickshot, and thud in unison. The Lair Legion’s scientific advisor let the dapper little man in the bowler hat into the room. “Sorry to call so early,” the visitor apologised. “I was looking for a Mr thud?” “Ah’m dull thud,” thuddy admitted. “Unless this is about bootleg CDs or unpaid fines for urinating in public fountains, in which case the guy with the arrows is dull thud.” “Not about CDs, sir,” the write server assured him, handing him his summons. “Good morning, sir.” Hallie strained to look over thud’s shoulder as the rumpled roadie opened the document. ~~Oh…~~ gasped Cressida as she read the deposition along with her host. “What?” demanded Tricky impatiently. “It… they’re suing me!” dull thud answered, turning pale. “ZOXXON Oil. They’re suing me for stealing Cressie from them.” thud had already glimpsed the future where they cut her out of him. Yo also answered the door to a stranger, but that was at the Lair Mansion where the main doors were currently propped in their damaged sockets pending some urgent repair after the visit of the Hellraisers. “How do you do, mithtreth?” slobbered the smelly hunchback on the doorstep, kissing the pure thought being’s hand then turning it over to kiss the palm as well. With tongues. “I am being to be very well, thank you, under the circumstances,” Yo replied retrieving his/her arm and shifting to a more masculine form. “What is it to be that you are want… er, that you are to be being here for?” The hunchback leered up at Yo, his head twisted almost ninety degrees to his neck, one eye almost popping from its socket. “I am complethely at your dithposal, mithstrethh or mathter, of courthe,” he promised, spraying spittle a good four feet from his face. “No matther what dithgusting things you withh to do with me.” “Why are you being here?” Yo tried again, and wishing s/he had a rapier handy. “I am here for your body, mithtrethh.” “What? What are you to be saying?” “To take the body, mithtrethh. Of my nepthew. Yeoville Thimonise Edric Thlapjack.” Understanding dawned on the pure thought being. “You are being to be poor Flapjack’s Uncle Mortimer!” “Yetth!” agreed the hunchback enthusiastically, spraying his answer across the room. “Of the Carpathian Thlapjacks.” “Yo is to be very sorry for your loss. We are all to be being sorry to be losing of marginally-cute Flapjack. We are not to be knowing what we are to be doing without him.” Yo looked down at the leering visitor then added hurriedly, “But we do not to be having a vacancy right now.” “Of courthe not, mithhtrettthh,” Mortimer assured her. “It ithhh Yeoville’th jobth. That is why I have comthhh.” “Yo is to be thinking you are just to be making up excuses to be lisping,” Yo accused. “Wait, why are you to be carrying of a humaning heart in that big pickle jar?” “Thithhh itthh for Thlapjack,” Uncle Mortimer answered as if it was self-explanatory. “We canth rebuild him. We hatthh the biology. And the needlework.” He paused for a moment than added. “Er, it would be good if you could asthk your hemigod friend to whistle up a thunderthtorm though. With lotth of lightning.” “Hey,” said Dancer, automatically slipping behind the counter of the Bean and Donut Coffee Bar and pouring Amber St Clare a drink. “Hey,” the government liaison answered dully, accepting the mug by reflex. Her neat suit was grimy and her face was still streaked with make-up where she’d wept with terror. “It was bad,” Dancer agreed, making herself a hot chocolate and settling down beside Amber. “Everybody died but me,” the dishevelled woman replied. “Or at least I thought they had. I saw the Chain Knight grab Asil and I could have run back to fight him but instead I shut the door and fled.” “Asil was staying behind to give you that chance. You were right to run.” “I was terrified. I wasn’t thinking of anybody but me.” Dancer nodded. “And now we need you back.” Amber glanced up. “Back? At the mansion? No.” “Because of what happened?” “Yes. And because of what I saw of myself. And… because it might happen again tomorrow.” Dancer sipped her drink. “We need you,” she replied. “Mumphrey sent me to find you. The site’s a mess and we need somebody to pull everything together, and he told me to get you.” “I can’t,” Amber confessed. “I’m resigning. I’ll tell the President.” “We need you Amber.” The Probability Dancer laid a hand over the trembling woman’s own. “Nobody else can help us now. Our friends are hurt and exhausted and in trouble and after all they’ve done for others, they need you to be the hero for them.” “You don’t know what you’re asking. I’m not…” “This is your moment to be brave,” Dancer told Amber. “This is when you find out what lesson you learned last night in the Mansion and the caves. This is when you find out if Hallie was right to save you and if you were right to retreat and survive for another day. When you find out if the Chain Knight really caught you after all. And it’s when you find out who you are.” Amber looked at Dancer suspiciously. “Are you twisting probabilities round me?” she demanded. “That wouldn’t be fair. You have to decide this for yourself. Please help us.” Amber swallowed down her coffee and smeared her make-up some more with the back of her hand. “T-tell Mumphrey he’s paying for my blouse to be cleaned,” she answered, before heading back to work. Sage Grimpenghast was robed in a mantle of deepest purple that shimmered with a scaly serpentine sheen as he moved. He looked quite human, with a black skull-cap over a gaunt, wise face; but his pupils were slitted like a reptile’s. The Master of Ignorance and Teacher of Deceptions came with no bluster as others had done in claiming the abandoned power of the fallen Hell-Lords. He was a menace of a different order. “What now?” Keiko asked, glancing at Cleone; but the swanmay merely looked aghast at the latest intruder, for she could see into the hearts of those around her and she knew Grimpenghast for what he was. “Do you happen to know about this guy?” ManMan whispered to Knifey, his talking blade. “Like say weak spots or ways to run away from him very fast?” “Why do you think I should know every demon and cosmic threat in the Parodyverse?” complained the weapon. “I’m just a talking knife. But as a matter of fact, word on the grapevine is that Grimpenghast’s a mover and shaker behind the scenes, not so big on the hellfire and brimstone as on the reliving the moments of despair and encouraging people to do evil things for the greater good. So they say.” “This one’s powerful,” Whitney Darkness warned. “I can sense it.” “We’ve taken down, what, seven demons today?” Messenger pointed out. “What’s one more?” “I dunno,” Chronic worried. “Of all the baddies who’ve shown up so far this is the only one my guitar wants me to worship. Yeah, that’s gonna happen.” “I have no intention of harming any of you,” Grimpenghast assured them. “You have done hell a great service today in eliminating these dead pretenders, and it shall not be forgotten. The cause of evil thanks you.” “Ooh, he’s good,” admired Knifey. “You still don’t get what you came for,” Keiko warned the Sage. “Really?” Grimpenghast asked her. “But I’m the only person you’ve met who is in a position to put right that little dimensional consolidation problem you’re so keen to see addressed. Are you so sure you’re really not on my side?” “He’s really good,” Knifey commented. “I’ll do what I came to do,” the Garden City assassin said defiantly, “My way.” “Pride,” the Teacher of Deceptions noted. “I like that in a person. That and good intentions.” “So do we fight or are we going to talk all day?” Messenger demanded. “Only I had things to do today, and this is taking longer than I’d expected.” “I’m sure you can allow yourself a short respite from your spectacular self-destruction, Zauriel Angelheart,” Grimpenghast suggested to the postman. “As I say, I have no intention of destroying you today. That would be uncouth.” “You have no truth in you,” Cleone blurted, pale and shaking. “Well no, of course not. It’s in the job description.” The Master of Deceptions looked around the little knot of mortals that protected the mother-lode of demonic potential left by five crumbled dimensional rulers. “You really are an eclectic crew, aren’t you? I congratulate you Xander on your recruitment policies. So many people on the edge between what they were and what they will become, between the manger and the maw, liminal lives that could go either way.” “He’s talking about Keiko and Messy and Sorcy, right?” ManMan checked. “Only I already did my big hell-visit story years ago, and I still have the scorch marks on my No 3 Elvis jumpsuit to prove it.” “Some of you do have immense potential for good or evil,” the demon admitted. “It’ll be a pleasure working with you.” He leered at Sorceress. “You will be a great witch.” Whitney glared back at him. “So far it’s Demons Nil, Sorcy Three,” she pointed out. “But there’s always room for one more.” “And you,” Grimpenghast said to Chronic, admiring the ragged grungy musician with the devil’s guitar strung over his back. “You could have a great future ahead of you, if you wanted to work for me.” “You couldn’t afford me,” replied Chronic. “Plus, I get bored and then I break things. Like now. Cut to the chase,” Sage Grimpenghast’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “Very well. You must know that you cannot defend this little spit of nightmare against all comers forever. The potential from these Dead Hell-Lords must go somewhere. A thousand thousand demonic beings will scramble to possess it, and if you deny it to me then others will come with less patience and less subtlety, and one by one you will each fall.” “So we hand it to you?” Keiko snorted. “Why not? At least I am willing to negotiate.” He turned to Xander the Improbable, who had remained silent in the background, watching. “I’ll speak with your master,” he told the others. “Well, mage?” Xander shrugged. “Let’s chat then,” he agreed. Sage Grimpenghast smiled like the serpent in Eden. “Let’s bargain,” he replied. “I dost not need supporting, armoured one!” Donar barked at NTU-150 as he shook off his friend and toppled back into the rubble. “Tis but the ground that swayeth.” “Well I need supporting,” moaned Banjoooo, now human-sized and pressing a huge bag of ice to his head. “I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.” “Hey, I’m the one in the wheelchair,” spiffy objected. “The man called Fernside,” Enty suggested. Donar lay on his back in the wreckage outside the hospital with a good deal of dignity and presence. “I shalt summon Bifrosting the Rainbow Bridge from down here,” he announced. Visionary limped over to join his old friends. “Listen, thanks for coming,” he told them. “It means a lot to me that you did. You saved Kerry and the Juniors, you stood up to the Hellraisers…” “Briefly,” added spiffy. He patted Hounddog who didn’t seem at all harmed by being punted across half the state. “We’re sorry about the Condo, though,” Enty told Vizh. “I’m already planning a rebuild though, and I’ve figured a way to make the entire thing automated.” “Er, thanks,” Vizh winced. “Let me get back to you on that. I think maybe it’s time for a change of location.” “Let the gates of Ausgard be opened,” Donar proclaimed, lying on his back and waving Mjalcolm feebly. There was a rainbow glitter and a goat-chariot appeared from nowhere, careened into a wall and came to a halt on its side next to a fire truck. “That’s it,” said Kerry. “Next time, I drive.” “Twas a suckyeth dimensional gateway,” complained Harlagaz. “Unlesseth mine father art here, in which case twas purely bad luck and mayhap a jarkentroll suddenly crossing the road.” “Fine, fine,” said Fashion Accessory. “Now could somebody please get Ham-Boy off of me. How does he always manage to end up falling on top of me?” “It’s a gift,” said Ham-Boy. “Er, I mean I don’t know.” “Do I have sausages down my cleavage? Do I?” “Internet connectivity!” Hacker Nine sounded like a starving man being offered food. “I have connectivity!” “It is good to be back,” Glory barked. “Where is Dominic?” Hounddog perked up and blurred over to the mutt of might. “Woof!” Glory thought fast, picked up a huge chunk of wreckage, and jerked her head to toss it into orbit. “Fetch!” “Er, maybe we should help Vizh’s next door neighbour out from under the goats?” Lindy Wilson suggested. “Only she looks kind of mad.” SPUD Ground Station 19 was buried in a disused subway station beneath an innocent barber’s shop off Heck Street. That was the facility where Josh Clement was dragged by the Seninoids that had sedated him. And that was where Herbert P. Garrick was waiting with his special warrant. “Is he conscious enough to hear this?” the President’s Advisor on Metahuman Affairs demanded. “I want him to know what’s happening.” “I’m awake,” De brown Streak assured him. “Your breath’s enough to wake the dead.” “Joshua John Clement, by special authority of the President of the United States you are found in contravention of the Mutate Control Act 1999, having used unlicenced mutations on multiple occasions to the detriment of the public good. You are hereby required to undergo treatment to remove such powers permanently. Right now.” The medical technicians wheeled forward the forbidding looking chair with the electrode needles. “I’m supposed to get a trial,” DBS objected. “Special authority,” repeated Garrick smugly, waving the document in his hand. Josh hung limply between the Sentinoids, his powers suppressed by the drugs they’d pumped him with, half dead anyway from his earlier exertions. “They took my powers away once before. It crippled me. If you use the treatment again it’ll probably kill me.” “You should have thought of that before you committed acts of mutate terrorism,” Garrick told him. He was enjoying the moment he’d dreamed of for so long. “Too bad.” De Brown Streak tried to speak, but no words came out as the captive mutate and Bad News Herb were both summonsed across town to a leather-suited lawyer’s office. DBS, unsupported any longer by mutate-hunting robots, toppled to the floor. Garrick looked round in outrage. “How dare you?” he demanded of the amorous advocatrix he found glaring at him. “How dare you, sirrah?” bellowed Sir Mumphrey Wilton, coming at him from his blindside. “How dare you take advantage of such an act of heroic generosity with such blatant petty-minded meanness?” Garrick took a step back from the red-faced Englishman who looked like he was about to hit him. “I have special authority,” he argued, holding the letter out as a talisman. “Presidential authority.” “Shall I get him here as well?” Lisa asked maliciously. “No need,” Mumphrey said, stopping to help DBS to a sofa. “That order’s not legal.” “The President…” “Read your Special Powers Act 1998 and UN Special Orders 399 and 520,” the angry leader of the LL barked, “or get someone to read them to you and help you with the long words. There’s a rather more complex process for indicting a member of the Lair Legion. And our people can exercise their powers quite legally.” “Clement isn’t a member of your team,” Garrick pointed out. “Harrumph! Mr Clement, would you care to become a probationary member of the Lair Legion?” demanded Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “I’d be honoured,” answered the fast-thinking mutate. “Truly.” “Splendid. Welcome to the team, my lad.” “There you are then,” Lisa told Garrick. “Now get out of my office.” Sage Grimpenghast extended his left arm and shook hands with Xander. “Done,” he said, with some satisfaction. “Done?” Messenger growled. “What’s done? Who says it’s done?” “Your master has struck a bargain with me,” the Teacher of Deceptions explained. “He’s not the boss of me,” Chronic objected. “Nobody is.” Grimpenghast glanced at the guitar slung over the musician’s back and smirked. “I don’t trust you,” Keiko told the demon. “Very wise,” agreed the Master of Ignorance. “Remember that should we meet again. For now I must take my leave.” “Wait a minute!” ManMan objected. “What’s happened? What’s the bargain?” But the demon lord twisted sideways and was somehow gone. ManMan found himself on the sidewalk outside Xander’s shop in the grimy Paradopolis back alley where it was usually found. Keiko, Messenger, Cleone, Sorceress, and Xander were present, but Chronic was not to be seen. “So what did you agree?” Whitney Darkness demanded of her father. “We have a bet,” the master of the mystic crafts replied. “If he wins, he gains the power of the five fallen Hell-Lords, which is quite a scoop, plus a few dozen dead heroes to play with if they happen to die during the contest. If he loses, he’ll ensure that the domain and powers of the Hell-Lords remain unclaimed until certain circumstances are met that I won’t trouble you all with now.” “What bet?” demanded Messenger. “What are the terms?” “I can’t tell you,” Xander shrugged infuriatingly. He pushed open the door of his shop and stepped over the debris of the Hellraisers’ visit. “Would anybody like a cup of tea?” The funerals of Arthur Corben and Randall Robertson took place on the same afternoon, a chilly wet day that matched the mood of the Lair Legion that attended. Sir Mumphrey spoke the eulogy and Hatman and Dancer read the lessons, and the whole of the team and the surviving support staff were there. Yo helped Art’s stricken mother back to the car when she was overcome at the graveside. The Lair Legion weren’t invited to whatever ceremony the Pyrite robot clan held for the wayward Mindy, but there was a quiet memorial service held alongside the one for Uhunalura, late princess of Atticland. Hallie watched the proceedings with a pale face and intent gaze, remembering how close she had come to being amongst the dead. Tricia stood silently in the background, marvelling at how such a familiar scene became new again when watched with human sensibilities. “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble,” Revered Fleetwood intoned at the gravesides. “Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea..” Nats turned aside and flew away. Dancer remembered how she had convinced Art and Randy to undertake their internships at the Lair Mansion. It had seemed such a great chance to redeem them, to give them direction and to set things right. She bit her lip as the tears streamed down her face. Then she felt a hand slip into hers and grip her tightly. Visionary stood beside her and understood. Trickshot watched with a sullen glare, a growing burning fury at injustice welling within him. he wanted to shout, to swear, to do something to put things right. But there was nothing more to do. Asil stood by Lisa, unfamiliar with the loss of a friend, knowing that she wouldn’t see Mindy again, feeling that a part of her had died. She didn’t know why it felt right to stand beside Lisa, but it comforted her. The Juniors watched in a tight knot, uncharacteristically solemn. Coming to terms with mortality is hard for a teen. Art, Randy, Mindy, and Uhuna had not been much older than them. Falcon, Epitome, Hatman, CSFB!, Al B., and the Librarian lowered the coffins into the graves, then stood back, their faces steely and unreadable. “…In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brothers Art and Randy, and we commit their bodies to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless them and keep them, the Lord make his face to shine upon them and be gracious to them, the Lord lift up his countenance upon them and give them peace. Amen.” Sir Mumphrey Wilton sat back in his chair with a sigh. He tried to remember how many funerals he’d been to, and found he couldn’t. He felt like an old man. Asil brought him a cup of tea and wished she could make things right. “Thank you my dear.” Mumphrey was always a gentleman. “What’s going to happen now?” the young woman blurted. “With the Legion, I mean? I heard…” “You heard some people wanted to go?” Mumphrey surmised. He opened a drawer and pulled out a handful of correspondence. “Letters of resignation,” he told her. “None of them knew about the others, of course.” Asil looked over the papers. “Falcon, Nats, Cressida, the Librarian…” Her eyes widened. “Dancer! Yo? Visionary?” “So far,” Mumphrey said. “Falcon questions the team’s professionalism. Cressida is concerned about thud not wanting to adventure. Mr Bookman feels he may again be exceeding his remit, and is perhaps unhappy about being forced to admit us to Herringcarp Asylum.” “And poor Bill is heartbroken over Uhuna,” guessed Asil. “But the others? Vizh?” “Each in their own way feels they have let the team down, contributing to our recent troubles,” Mumph explained. “Dancer for being captured, Yo for her deputy-leadership, and Visionary for not being there for the Juniors, and for… other matters. I only just managed to dissuade Mr Boaz from likewise tendering his resignation.” Asil caught Sir Mumphrey’s eye. “There’s a rumour that you’re resigning too,” she told him. “As if you haven’t done all you could under difficult circumstances to bring us through.” “We buried four of our own today,” the eccentric Englishman reminded her; or perhaps himself. “For that a commander must always be responsible.” “But you can’t leave now,” Asil insisted. “Not when the Legion’s fragmenting to pieces. You can’t let it end like this!” Mumphrey managed a fond smile. “Absolutely,” he conceded. “Terrible form, and a bad show to leave when the goin’ gets rough.” “So you won’t resign? You’re going to do something to sort things out?” Sir Mumphrey opened his other drawer and placed a stack of deckle-edged invitations before his amanuensis. “Yes,” he agreed. Asil examined the cards: You are cordially invited to keep The Feast of Christmas at the home of Sir Mumphrey Wilton KBE GCB GCMG CVCO FRS Wilton Manor Wendel’s Hallow Shropshire, England RSVP. And written by hand underneath: Please attend. “You’re inviting the Legion to spend Christmas with you?” “The Mansion’s going to be out of action for a while until it’s refitted,” Mumphrey pointed out. “Ms St Clare’s willing to supervise the work here. If this is to be the end of the Legion I’d like us to have a last time together. And perhaps something will change people’s minds.” “Are you up to something, Sir Mumphrey?” Asil asked suspiciously. “A last desperate gamble,” replied the leader of the Lair Legion. “A final test.” And Sage Grimpenghast, the Master of Ignorance and the Teacher of Deceptions, sat on his high throne of sorrows and laughed, and prepared to keep the feast. And Finally: You too are cordially invited to keep Christmas with the Lair Legion as they journey to stately Wilton Manor as the snows begin to fall. Come along for a traditional Yuletide house party of games, puzzles, revels, feasting, one-horse open sleighs, masques, romances, dances, singing, and murder. Xander and Grimpenghast proudly present Untold Tales of the Lair Legion #200: The Feast of Yule, and other Anomalies; due on Christmas Day.
The Manga Shoggoth's tie-in story outlining what happened to Ebony of Nubilia: Cum Grano Salis
Ms Lisa Waltz, the first lady of the Lair Legion NTU-150 (Jamie Bautista), cyborgs millionaire industrialist inventor spiffy (Mark Hopkins), president of Badripoor Visionary, the possibly-fake man Yo, pure genderless thought-being Donar, hemigod of thunder Hatman (Jay Boaz), the capped crusader CrazySugarFreakBoy! (Dreamcatcher Foxglove), the wired wonder Goldeneyed (Bryan Katz), tormented teleporter The Sorceress (Whitney Darkness), witch Nats (Bill Reed), the flying phenomenon Trickshot (Carl Bastion), the irritating archer The Probability Dancer (Sarah Shepherdson) Cressida, the wonder worm, and her allegedly-human host dull thud Falcon (Sam Wilson), Agent of SPUD The Manga Shoggoth, loathsome elder spawn Mr Epitome (Dominic Clancy), the paragon of power The Librarian (Lee Bookman), of IOL sector 7272 Al B. Harper, archscientist De Brown Streak (Joshua Clement), mutate speedster Asil Ashling, Mumphrey’s amanuensis Hallie, formerly a computer sentience and now human Beverly Campbell, spiffy’s secretary Harlagaz Donarson, demihemigod of thunder Kerry Shepherdson, Visionary’s ward, Dancer’s little sister Trudi Wooster, Hatman’s girlfriend Jenni Wooster, Hatman’s other girlfriend April Alice Apple, CSFB!’s girlfriend Lisette (Laurie Leyton), Goldeneyed’s ex-girlfriend Bethany Shellett, Goldeneyed’s potential girlfriend Temporary Death (Tricia), Nats’ guest Pigeon (Julia Thompson), Falcon’s girlfriend Belinda Wilson, Falcon’s little sister Ebony of Nubilia, High Priestess of the Shoggoth Cult Miss Framlicker, Manager of Extraordinary Endeavour Enterprises Amy Aston, engineer at Extraordinary Endeavour Enterprises Yuki Shiro, cyborg detective Glory, the mutt of might Fashion Accessory (Samantha Bonnington), trainee superheromodel Ham-Boy (Fred Harris), earth’s meatiest hero Hacker Nine (Zack Zelnitz) techno-anarchist Hagatha Darkness, witch, Sorceress’ grandmother Keiko Chinato, dimensionally displaced assassin ManMan (Joe Pepper), Knifey-wielding Elvis impersonator Shazana Pel, exiled Thonnagarian warrioress Nitz the Bloody, Priest of Zeku Deela of Caph Sayaana of Caph Philaana of Caph Noona of Caph Miiri of Earth Odoona of Caph Losiira of Caph Luuma of Caph Kaara of Caph The Hooded Hood, archvillain Baroness Elizabeth Dewdrop Sweetwater von Zemo Xander the Improbable, Sorcerer Supreme Cleone, his familiar Sage Grimpenghast, the Master of Ignorance and the Teacher of Deceptions And a full cast of mummers, jugglers, acrobats, and sundry entertainers and functionaries Have I missed anyone? Deliberately omitted are Messenger, who I reckon wouldn’t come along, AG who I think would be with his family, Finny, DK, and the Contessa who are all in deep cover, Banjooooo, Cave Guy, and Elsqueevio who all have other lives they got dragged away from for the crisis, and any anybody who’s off-world or off-plane these days. But there’s room for negotiation, so tell me what you think. The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Who's Who in the Parodyverse Where's Where in the Parodyverse Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2004 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2004 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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