Posted by Secret origins, missing scenes, key episodes, and a few shocking endings, in this double-sized episode courtesy of... the Hooded Hood on July 15, 2001 at 12:39:51:
#83: Untold Tales of the Untold Tales: Secret Meetings and Illicit Liaisons
Note: Most but not all
of the obscure and unfamiliar characters mentioned in this story can be found in
the Who's
Who in the Parodyverse if readers feel the need for a scorecard. Also of
interest may be its sister volume, the Where's
Where in the Parodyverse.
Readers who wish to know the fate of the JBH after their visit from the
Hooded Hood in Untold Tales #81 are referred to JBH
#1: The Darkness Without by Amazing Guy.
Sir Matthew Tankersley and his new wife were both quite dead. Although it was
hard to tell from the extreme decay of their bodies, the bride and groom who lay
dead in their wedding finery were both less than twenty-five years
old. "It's… it's beautiful," gasped Valeria of Carfax. "Oh…" Three women were chained in utter darkness. "Not bad, Avatar. I like what you've done with the place," the stranger
admired. "I hope so."
The Greek
Islands, 30th June 1871:
Madame Symmetry of Synchronicity stamped down hard on Sir Matthew's
skull. It was so brittle that it exploded in a spray of rotten powder. "So
perish all who oppose me," she told them. "I do not think you will probe into
the doings of the Westminster Necropolis Company again."
The door slammed
open and Captain Wilton fired six shots from his service revolver straight into
the laughing devil in the black silk gown. The bullets crumbled to dust before
ever they reached her.
"Another quarter heard from," Madame Symmetry noted,
shifting Mumphrey's firearm a day into the future. "I take it the engagement is
off, then?"
"You unspeakable fiend!" the young soldier shouted. "I know
everything now! I know how your Necropolis Company uses necromancy to wring the
secrets from the corpses they undertake. I know about your political blackmails,
your Masonic plots, those unliving things you call your bodyguards. But this
time you are not getting away!"
"Ah, standard hero speech number two," the
villainess noted. "And how exactly are you intending to stop me, you young fool?
After all, you're a little bit late for your sister and her husband, aren't
you?" here she gestured to the time-ravaged corpse in the bridal gown.
"I
know about that hourglass thingie of yours, madam," Mumphrey Wilton assured her.
"I've done my research. I know you control it by rubbing those rune affairs on
the rim, and that it allows you to play with time. And I know about the mantle
you wear and the necklace and all the rest. Most powerful you are, madam, and
you think that allows you to trample on decency and honour and do what you like
with the innocent. Well madam, it ain't so and I'm here to prove it to
you."
"Die," Madame Symmetry suggested. She touched an engraving on her
Timepiece of Infinity and directed the temporal energies at her former lover. He
was boring her now.
"I think not," Mumphrey grimaced. "Y'see there's rather
more to those doo-dahs you use than power, ain't there, madam?" A trickle of
blood ran from his nose down to his moustache but he kept on advancing towards
the surprised woman. "There's responsibility as well, isn't there? A duty? A
role. And whatever makes those magic thingies of yours operate doesn't mind too
much what you do with them the rest of the time but you have to maintain the
duty."
Symmetry stopped trying to artificially age the soldier striding
towards her and shifted herself away in time and space until she could work out
how he was resisting her powers.
"Oh no," Mumphrey told her, concentrating
again. He was red in the face and looked ready to burst a vein. "No, madam. Not
this time. You see that timepiece of yours frankly doesn't like you, or what
you're doin' with it. Hasn't been happy for a long time with you. More than
ready to take orders from a better prospect."
"It is a tool," sneered
Symmetry. "A mere thing, one of the instruments of the Office Holder who is
Keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity."
"In that case," challenged Mumphrey,
"make it let you escape." He had reached Symmetry now. He reached out and
grasped the hourglass and yanked it from her hand.
Symmetry stabbed him in
the chest, killing him instantly.
Mumphrey reversed time so that it had never
happened. The eccentric Englishman caught on quickly. "You have only two
choices, madam," he warned Symmetry of Synchronicity. "You can surrender up the
other gadgets that go with this thing, tell me how to use 'em to bring Maddie
and Richard back to life, and agree to me imprisonin' you forever in this old
tomb of yours, or I can kill you and make damn sure you never come back. But as
God is my witness those are the only two options, and if you don't believe me
then look at the death in my eyes."
Symmetry looked. Her cold, contemptuous
stare bored into the Englishman. Mumphrey met her ice with his own fire. For the
first time ever Symmetry found herself looking away.
"You win, lover," she
conceded. "For now. I shall allow you to imprison me for a time, but do not
imagine it will be forever. I have already foreseen this moment and have made
preparations for my return as far back as fifteenth century Spain. And when I do
return expect less mercy from me than you have so foolishly offered."
"If you
return, madam," Mumphrey told her, "It will go hard on you. My word as a
gentleman."
Ten minutes later two stunned-looking newlyweds staggered out of
the ancient tomb, followed by Mumphrey himself at a run. The explosives brought
down the front face of the monument, and the sepulchre was filled with silence
and darkness for over a hundred and forty years.
Mumphrey looked at the
cumbersome hourglass and frowned. As he stared it shifted its shape to become a
rather handsome pocketwatch and chain. "Hmph. Much better," approved the young
soldier, attaching it to his waistcoat. "Just the thing. Jolly good."
Shalandalor Mountains, Dreary Dimension, eleven thousand six
hundred and twenty-first year of the Reign of the Dread Dormaggadon:
The same rainbow
lights that rippled across the walls of the cave played over her face and golden
hair too. It was like being inside a kaleidoscope.
Dame Sontergard suppressed
an affectionate smile at the girl's wonder as she remembered her own reaction to
first seeing the Secret Chalice all those years ago when she too had been
brought here after her first womans' bleeding. She forced herself to maintain a
stern face though. This was a serious matter, and must be conducted properly.
The fate of worlds might depend upon this.
"What do you see, daughter?" she
asked Valeria.
The child scrambled forward in wonder to look at the golden
cup and the sparkling contents within it. "Some sort of cup or goblet… a
wonderful thing," Valeria reported. "Floating in a hidden cave. It's… its
glowing. And singing. I don't know what is in it. Wine… or water… or blood… or…
or life!"
"Why is it here?"
Valeria wanted to reach out and touch the
lovely thing but she knew right in her core that it was not for her to touch.
"It's waiting. To be found."
"By whom?"
"By a champion. Someone who is
worthy of it. Someone who will do what has to be done and… and champion
life."
"Why is it hidden?"
Valeria looked around the rainbow-washed cave.
"It's been here a long time," she realised, without ever wondering how the
answers came into her head. "A very long time. It was here when the gods first
took this realm and cast it off to be a Dreary Dimension, prison for the Dread
Lord. It was hidden even then. Not even they knew it was here."
"But why is
it hidden, even from the gods?" persisted Sontergard.
Valeria puzzled with
this. "Because… because sometime men can do what gods can not," she understood.
"And all of us have been blessed with a touch of the divine. Because some
battles are for men to win."
"Just men?" Sontergard prompted.
And now
Valeria understood. "Not just men. Women too. And our duty is to guard what is
important, and to nurture what is good, and to… to bring life."
"Listen,
Valeria, and listen well, for you are to become an initiate of the Secret of the
Hidden Chalice," Dame Sontergard warned. "As I am, and my mother was, and hers
before her past the rememberings of mortals. We are a select order, sworn never
to speak of our trust to any outsider, bounden by magics which even Dormaggadon
cannot break, and we have a sacred duty. The day will come when this cup will be
needed to heal the world, which is why it was granted by grace higher than we
can know. Many will seek the grail, but only one will achieve it. Whoever is the
guardian of the Chalice at that time will become the instrument of destiny. As
she is won by the grail-hero so too will the Chalice be won. And as her life's
blood is spent upon the ground so shall the waters of the Chalice be released
upon the land."
"The guardian has to die?" Valeria gasped.
"Oh my child,
everyone has to die," her mother told her. "And every woman has to spend her
life bit by bit, sharing some of it with those she loves and labouring for their
wellbeing. With the Chalice the sacrifice is more obvious, that is all. One day
this must come to pass, and it may be your daughter or your daughter' daughter
or your line a thousand years from now upon whom the burden will fall to be the
Quest Maiden."
"I see," Valeria said, her face grave for so small a girl. "If
it is me, then I have to be courted by the best knight in the world, and be his
bride? That doesn't sound so bad."
"More joyous and terrible than you could
imagine, my daughter," promised Dame Sontergard, of Felwell and the Low Marshes.
"But you must elect to take up the destiny. You must choose to bear the Secret
and to bear the duty that goes with it. Will you accept this doom?"
Valeria
looked at the shining Chalice and her own face shone back at it. "I accept it,"
she vowed.
Vascongadas, Spain, 11th November 1615:
"So… you're Beth Shellett,
huh?"
"Yes. And you're Laurie Leyton, who is secretly the part-time
superheroine Lisette."
"And I'm Amy Racecar. Hi!"
Silence.
"I saw you
in the future once, Beth. With Bry."
"The future?"
"And your kids. Yours
and his."
"Oh. The Hooded Hood said something about that. But look, Laurie,
there's no way I would take Bry away from you. I'm not like that, and neither is
he."
"Oh boy, I'm chained in a dungeon with a possibly-pregnant superhero and
the woman her boyfriend is destined to marry!"
Silence.
"He was happy with
you, Beth."
"Well maybe he'd be happy with you too, Lisette. You only saw one
future, the one a nasty villain chose to show you. Wasn't he trying to get you
to do a deal with him at the time?"
"Deals with villains are bad,
Laurie."
"I didn't make a deal with him. That's why I'm back in sixteenth
century Inquisitorial Spain with you, Amy."
"But Bry made a deal. For you.
When you went away he came looking. You were all he was thinking about, Lisette
- Laurie. You ran away, and he came after you to win you back."
"That's
romantic."
"Shut up, Amy. Beth… does he know about… maybe…?"
"The baby? Of
course. And he still came. Do you think a guy like that is going to ignore his
responsibilities?"
"Hey, don't take it out on me because you're stuck in a
sixteenth century dungeon with your love rival while some crazed time-villainess
interrogates your boyfriend up in the big house."
"That's just it. He'd have
me out of responsibility. Not love, or passion even. Just responsibility. I
don't want that."
"It's not just responsibility, though, is it? Come on, I've
only known the guy a couple of days and I can tell there's more to him than
that. And I have to admit, I wish you weren't around, with your maybe baby,
because I'd love to have someone who would transcend time and dance with the
devil for me because he thought I was worth it. But the fact is it's you he
wants, you he needs, and even if you don't think you're worth it you've got to
accept that he does. And… if he does, just maybe you are?"
"Can I get a
separate cell? Or go back to the torture chamber? Please?"
Silence.
"So do
you want there to be a baby, Laurie? If there is, will you keep it?"
Silence.
The Dark Tower, Dreary Dimension, third cycle of the reign of the
Dread Avatar:
"Silence! You will show respect before the ruler of the Dread
Dimension!" screeched a guard.
"Hold it!" Avatar interrupted with a sigh.
"Are we going to have this conversation again? People are allowed to speak
freely in my presence, without fear of me cutting their heads off,
remember?"
The Guard Captain paled and bowed. "Yes, Dread Liege. A thousand
apologies." He turned back to the visitor. "You will speak freely before the
Dread Lord or you will die!" he proclaimed.
"Just can't get good help these
days, huh?" the Paradox Stranger shrugged. "Anyway, I was just passing through
and I thought I'd drop by and say hello."
"I have learned a good deal about
command, both the good and the bad of it, from my own former ruler the Parody
Master," the blue-skinned humanoid on the throne explained. "It will take more
than three cycles to change a culture which has stratified and ossified through
ten thousand years of absolute tyranny. Am I supposed to react to your casual
announcement of your wandering through the supposedly-closed Dreary Dimension by
the way?"
"It would have been nice," shrugged the Stranger. "It would have
made me feel affirmed. Ah well."
"I am still learning human reactions,"
Avatar explained. "From my perspective it is less than four years since I became
self-aware enough to express freedom of choice and part company from my creator
the Parody Master. After a sojourn with the Lair Legion of Earth I elected to
take on the rulership of this dimension of exile and have directed my energies
towards implementing an economic and cultural reform outlined by the pure
thought being Yo. So you will see that my studies about how to act baffled are
somewhat tardy."
"Quite so," agreed the Paradox Stranger. "Never argue with a
guy with an Avasword, that's my motto. And like I said, I think the old place is
looking up. Sun shining again, once-barren wastes irrigated and blooming. It's
got the makings of a golden age."
"And like all Golden Ages, it won't last forever. That's what
I've come about."
"You are an enemy?" Avatar asked, and his molecule-thick
blade was suddenly in his hand.
"Only a Stranger. Listen, all I'm doing is
telling you it like it is. You're going to have a good long run here, hundred of
years. Hundreds. And you'll turn this place into something to be really proud
of. Well done. But the price of having that self-awareness is mortality, and you
won't last forever. There'll be a time when you will no longer be around to rule
the Dreary Dimension."
"This is true," considered the synthetic warrior. "I
shall ensure that a coterie of suitable administrators and rulers are trained
for such a contingency."
"And they'll do okay too, after that," the Paradox
Stranger predicted. "But one day somebody outside your little prison-plane is
going to figure out that the whole reason for this place existing - that is to
keep the dimensional conqueror Dread Dormaggadon in check - doesn't matter any
more. And then someone's going to figure out just how much divine energy
the old pantheons have locked up in this place, going to waste. And from that
point its only a matter of time before someone wants to strip the Dreary
Dimension for parts."
"The people here will defend themselves. I shall
prepare them…"
"It won't work. There's only one chance, and I'm here to tell
you about it." The Paradox Stranger glanced up to the Scribes gallery. "Get this
down, because it's important. If you could tidy up the grammar, maybe put it all
in iambic pentameter that would be even better, okay?"
"What chance do you
speak of, Stranger?" Avatar asked impatiently.
"There's a Secret hidden in
your realm, Al. May I call you Al? There's a Secret that was old when the
Mythlands from which this place was carved were birthed. When the time of
trouble comes, look for the Secret, and the maiden that guards the secret. When
she comes to marry your ruler and die to save the Dreary Dimension then you'll
understand what I'm talking about. Well, you won't, but the readers of the
prophesy will, natch." He glanced up at the Scribes again. "Fill in the details
yourselves, guys. Rains of blood, mountains heaving, blackness across the land,
Great Enemy, yadda yadda, you know the stuff. Well, I must be off."
"Wait,"
Avatar challenged. "Can you not tell us more. How do you know these
things?"
"Nah, I've gotta go," the Stranger said. "I'm just delivering a
message for somebody, and in exchange he's setting me up with a hot date with
the Shaper of Worlds. So I've gotta shower and put on my good trenchcoat. See
you later."
And thus was the Prophesy made.
NOTE: For the follow-up to the Paradox Stranger's actions here, readers are referred to Untold Tales of the Parodyverse: Where Everybody Knows Your Name (but not your True Name), which can now be revealed as #84 in this series.
"So you're the guy who's trying to muscle in on our action, huh?" "Listen, kids. You're in the big leagues now. Take the advice of Uncle Bugsy
and leave while you can." "You called. I came," the dark figure growled. "This had better be
good." "Hello Amy, how's it going?" Fin Fang Foom checked over the comlink to the
Lair Mansion. Trickshot hadn't moved for over an hour. Now he did, loosing his arrow right
through the eye of the small grazing lizard and killing it instantly. "Score!"
he shouted. "Dino-burgers tonight." The Imperial Palace of the Dreary Dimension, in the one thousandth year
since the Reign of the Dread Dormaggadon ended, the ninth year of the reign of
Prince Maggador the Just, and the eve of his wedding:
The glow of the burning towns was visible even by night, a raw red smudge on
the horizon that the Lady of Shalandalor could see even from her balcony. The
spells of the Enemy had woken many old evils, and even the mountains grew angry
and spat fire. The Brainless Ones had risen to battle both sides with equal
fury. The realm wept and the lady wept with it. "We shouldn't be telling you this much about the future," Al B. Harper
worried as Madam Symmetry of Synchronicity noted down more details of
twenty-first century life. "It's dangerous."
Midnight
last night, in the place where gods go when they die
"I art
Donar, hemigod of thunder, son of the All-Pappy. It art not thine action, it art
a cruel plot to destroy ancient pantheons and use their power for ill. But if I
wert muscling in, be most assured I hast the muscle to do it."
"We have
released all these retired vestiges of gods from the contracts you scared them
into agreeing to," Sorceress told the midnight delegation. "And we have called
an Epochal General Meeting of the board of Amalgamated Pantheons Inc. to elect a
new Chairman and committee. Your game is up."
The rabbit in the business suit
chewed on a carrot nonchalantly. "Not yet, sister," he replied. "You might have
taken advantage of us giving each of the rubes in this retirement home a single
share to call the meeting, but I think you'll find you've bitten off more than
you can chew if you tangle with us. We're incorporated y'see."
"We
know all about Roni Y. Avis," Ziles assured the cartoon gangsters. "And the
Hooded Hood for that matter. We know this is all a by-product of one of his
schemes to get his hands on some divine energies for something. But we are going
to stop you all."
"I don't think so," the Dark Knight said in the
rabbit's ear. The rabbit went "eek" and leaped up into the arms of the big
gorilla flanking him. "After all, we've already had a visit by the Hooded Hood.
If he didn't scare us off I don't think you will."
"The Hood?" repeated the
rabbit. "What did he want?"
"Oh, just to warn us that if we carried on with
this then some of our number would fall by morning," Sorceress answered. "And
that didn't worry us. Really."
"Even though the Hooded Hood doesn't lie,"
mumbled Ziles worriedly.
"Oh don't worry," Xander assured them. "He wasn't
talking about any of you four."
"Just who do you think ith going to be the
new thairman anyway?" a duck with a lisp demanded. "Don't tell me that big
Authgardian is going to be willing to thay here forever an do it."
"Er,
forever," Donar worried, looking over at where Xander was going through the
account books. "Nobody said anything about forever."
"It's not Donar," the
master of the mystic crafts answered negligently. "It only has to be a
supernatural entity of some sort, and preferably not a very smart one. So while
Donar might be seen as ideal I'm sure we can find another candidate."
"By
morning," Sorceress pointed out.
"By morning," Xander agreed.
St Sylvain Mansion, Tokyo, Japan, eight days ago:
"It's anything but good," Derek Foreman told his sinister visitor.
"But I suppose you might like it. I've just struck two bargains with the Hooded
Hood."
"Indeed?"
"Yeah. A girl I care about had been dragged off to the
Dreary Dimension, to be some kind of sacrifice to save the place from
destruction or something. I promised to do some kind of mission for the Hood -
as long as it doesn't involve hurting people or doing something criminal - in
exchange for him getting me healed from being a cripple for life so I could go
after Val. Then I promised that the Hood could borrow my powers for twenty-four
hours at some point in the future if he would give me the means to get to Val
and to rescue her."
"Fascinating. And why are you telling all of this to
me?"
"Because I know you wouldn't want the Hood to have an easy win. You know
him. He's always got an angle. Somehow he'll use my powers to further his ends.
Hell, he probably set up my ever getting Valeria in the first place just to
force me into this damned bargain, which means he's going to use my weakness to
conquer the Earth or something. And then when I get to the Dreary Dimension I'll
find that I have to choose between saving Valeria or watching her die and saving
millions of her people. You know how this stuff ends."
"Yes. I know," the
grave visitor agreed.
"So that's why I want to talk with you. I need to find
a way to defeat the Hooded Hood."
"I see."
"I… I checked the Lair Legion
records," Exile explained. "As far as I can figure it we've only really beaten
the Hood about twice. The second time took the whole Lair Legion and Abandoned
Legion plus the Chronicler of Stories and the Destroyer of Tales. Even this it
was a tough call and only ended when Troia backstabbed her own father. The first
time…"
"The first time, your leader, Jarvis, struck a bargain with Samhain,
Destroyer of Tales, to have a different ending, one which offered a loophole
that could be used to thwart the cowled crime czar. Is that what you are
seeking? A similar pact?"
"Yeah," breathed Derek. "That's the deal. Only
Samhain isn't around any more. He's history. And now the new Destroyer of Tales
is…"
"Dark Thugos, Tyrant of the Sol Empire, worshipper of death," the
granite-faced visitor agreed, smugly, indicating himself. "Why so I am. Do you
comprehend the nature of the bargain my predecessor demanded of
Jarvis?"
Exile swallowed. "Jarv traded his future - his life - for a chance
to stop the Hood. A few short weeks after the Hood's plot was foiled, it turned
out that the people who had helped Jarvis to his powers in the first place were
bad guys, an extradimensional race called the Nebulus. And they had been setting
Jarv up all along as part of a programme to rule the Earth and make it a
superhero breeding colony. And then…"
"Then Jarvis gave his life to stop
them, and all his stories ended." Dark Thugos concluded. "Such was his bargain.
Such is yours. I will intervene at this narrative's end to allow you a loophole
in the situation in the Dreary Dimension, if that is what you ask, although you
must ensure that you take Visionary, Yo, Nats, and Miss Framlicker with you on
your quest. But thereafter your life will end, and be mine to dispose
of."
Derek shut his eyes. "What choice do I have? I can't abandon Val. I
can't condemn her people. I can't let the Hood win because of me." He clasped
the outstretched hand of the Destroyer of Tales. "Deal!"
Wilton House, the Home Counties, England, yesterday 5pm GMT (noon
Paradopolis time):
"Pretty quiet," came the answer. "I think Space Ghost might
have gone into hibernation. There's not much happening in Paradopolis. Over in
GMY the Abandoned Legion caught the League of Losers. I'll update the threat
board."
"Any word from the LL team in the Antarctic?"
"Oh sure, they
reported in. They said that weather conditions were poor which was hampering
their search, and they expected it could take a couple of days longer. They're
okay though, and they included all the right security carrier-codes and
stuff."
"Fair enough," Finny shrugged. "Anything from G-Eyed?"
"Apparently
he's following some lead to Laurie in Spain," the Indigo Impostor in the shape
of Amy Racecar answered with a degree of truthfulness. "Is that all, only I've
got a Lairjet engine to strip down and overhaul?"
"Better get on with it
then," suggested Finny. "Later."
The transmission codes were fine and there
was no need for the dragon to worry at all.
So why was he worried?
Also last night, in an unfeasible tropical jungle full of dinosaurs
in the Antarctic Wastes:
"Did I mention I was thinking of becoming
a vegetarian?" Troia warned, looking down at the limp carcass.
"Prepare it
anyway, Tricky," Hatman ordered. "We don't know how long it will be before Finny
brings a rescue team in and we have to keep our strength up. Think of it as a
survival exercise."
"Wonderful," ManMan growled. "We've had nothing
but exercise since we got here."
"And that tyrannosaurus sat on our
bus," Cheryl added ruefully.
"Hey, I parked it the best that I could!"
Trickshot protested.
"I wonder if Miss Framlicker will make us pay for it?"
Flapjack worried. He cheered up. "Or maybe beat us up?"
"And another thing
about this exercise stuff," ManMan went on. "How is it that we have spent two
days being chased all over this Savage Park place by hundreds of things that
want to eat us and Dancer isn't even out of breath?"
"Four hours a day of
dance practise will do that for you, hon," Meggan Foxxx assured him. "You should
see some of the muscle-control I've developed."
Woopsa had a coughing fit as
he sucked on a piece of raw lizard.
"It's true," CSFB! said loyally. "Mom has
amazing muscle powers. When we get back I can show you some videos."
Woopsa
needed hammering on the back for ten minutes.
"Where is Dancer anyway?" Troia
wondered.
"She's still trying to coax some sense out of the Manga Shoggoth,"
Cheryl explained. "Trying to find out where we are, where our powers went to,
how to escape, that kind of thing."
"But he keeps saying we have to think it
through for ourselves," complained Sarah Shepherdson as she returned to the
camp. "He says it's obvious when we think about it. I'll keep working on
him."
"How can you be so bloody cheerful?" ManMan scowled. "We're trapped
without powers in the middle of a dinosaur flick."
"Troia's fur bikini is
keeping me cheerful," Flapjack admitted. "and the strange thing is, the less of
it there is the more cheerful I become."
"It's thanks to you I'm cheerful,
Manny," Dancer explained, picking an orchid to weave into her hair. "Last time
we were stranded without powers you taught me an important lesson." She smiled
at him. "Now, when I start to feel depressed, I just have to look at you and
think, 'well, at least I'm not Joe'."
"Besides, this has got to be that place
that Elsqueevio once told us about, right?" CSFB! added. "The Savage Park where
Caveguy lives now? If he's Lord of the Savage Park all we've gotta do is find
him and stick with him till things get sorted out."
"That's the idea," Hatman
agreed, "but we have a lot of park to cover. And we need to be off early in the
morning, so get some sleep. Ms Hast…uh, Meggan, Dancer, you take first
watch.
"I don't think that will be necessary," the bipedal lizard that
staggered out of the jungle told them. It had never been designed for upright
movement, but then again its throat had never been designed for human speech.
"You can all die right now."
Then the clearing was filled with angry reptiles
and their teeth and claws.
"Please do not cry, your
highness," Lady Miratopia begged Valeria. "You can't get married tomorrow with
tear-reddened eyes. The people would misunderstand."
"My poor realm," Valeria
mourned. "I must save it. I will save it. It must be healed, and only I can do
it."
"You are the one who was prophesied," Miratopia assured her. "The
priests have divined and scried and have found no suitable other who is
descended from any of the ancient lines of Keepers."
Valeria shuddered. "A
thousand years is a long time to be gone. So much has changed."
"The world
must seem very different to you, your highness."
"Not the world, Miratopia.
Me. I have changed. I have lived three lives, you know."
"My lady?"
"My
first was as a happy child, First Daughter of Regis Trantor of Carfax and
Shalandalor and Dame Sontergard of Fellwall and the Low Marshes, initiate and
Keeper of the Secret of the Hidden Chalice, a maiden suitable for the sacrifice
of destiny. Then Dormaggadon's lot fell upon me and I became his slave, prepared
for his pleasure and destruction. That was a life of pain and horror. And then…
then I was given to the ownership of the next ruler of this land as a
tribute-gift. And thus began my third life, a brief sweet taste of freedom and
joy."
The lady-in-waiting was puzzled. "I do not understand, my lady. You
were Dread Derek's abject slave, and he took you to far lands to be his chattel
and trophy."
Valeria smiled sadly. "He lifted me from my knees and he wrapped
me in his mantle and he spoke works of kindness and compassion. He was kind and
honourable and he never harmed me nor slighted me nor took the slightest
advantage of me. I will treasure every moment of it in my heart for the
remaining hours of my life."
"Hours?" Lady Miratopia said. "Is your doom to
be so swift upon your marriage?"
Valeria pointed to the burning hills. "How
can it be otherwise? The Enemy would carve this realm like a pheasant and feast
upon the carcass. Magaddor was wrong to think this could wait for another
generation to be bred, or even to think it could wait a year or a month. I do
not expect to live beyond my wedding night."
"Magaddor will weep then,"
Miratopia told her. "I think he loves you."
Valeria shook her head. "I
thought so when first we met, but it is not so. He loves the idea of me, the
concept of the Maiden of the Chalice. He loves the lady of prophesy. That is who
he wishes to wed, bed, and sacrifice. Not Valeria, who cries into cushions at
romantic bits in sit-coms and loves to remember the old songs her mother taught
her and stores up her memories like they were the greatest of
treasures."
Miratopia did not understand, of course. Then again Valeria was
not to know of the broken engagement where her lady's maid had been cast aside
by Maggador to do his duty and wed the Lady of Shalandalor.
"I have had three
lives, and two of them were good," Valeria of Carfax said. "I am content to
offer what life I have left if only this land can be whole."
Vascongadas, Spain, 12th November 1615:
"So is having your toenails
pulled out one by one over a hot fire whilst somebody stitches up live
cockroaches inside your testicles," pointed out his hostess. "Which would you
prefer?"
"I'd go with the future option, Al B.," Goldeneyed advised.
"Definitely."
"You see, by the time you come from I am not around," Madame
Symmetry noted. "Defeated, maybe dead. That cannot be allowed to happen, or if
it does it must be rectified. Preparations must be made. Contingencies and
provisions. So the more you can tell me the better my chances of avoiding the
future."
"But that means destroying our future," Al B. pointed out. "I'm not
helping with that. It isn't going to happen. Besides, there's a logical flaw in
your reasoning."
Symmetry raised a perfect eyebrow.
"Oh come on, missus.
If we tell you the future and you change the future then we get changed and we
can never come back in time to tell you the future. Standard paradox, ask any SF
fan."
"There's another logical flaw as well," G-Eyed added. "You've been
holding us for a whole day and a night now. So guess what?" The black-costumed
superhero teleported out of his chains, appeared in front of Symmetry and belted
her in the face. "I have my powers back."
Symmetry reversed time so that
never happened.
"There's another logical flaw as well," G-Eyed added. "you've
been holding us for a whole day and a night now. So guess what?" The
black-costumed superhero teleported out of his chains, appeared in front of
Symmetry and was held immobile in a field of frozen time.
"Now…" frowned the
vengeful mistress of time.
"Hold it!" called Al B. "Time out! No, bad
expression. Pax. Listen, I think I have a solution to our mutual
concerns."
"Go on," Madame Symmetry said suspiciously.
"We want to be
allowed to go back to the future, and you seem to employ chrono-forces which
Goldeneyed could filter to temporarily stimulate his currently-blocked
time-travelling abilities, alright?"
"True. But why should I?"
"Because in
exchange we will… will take you with us!" the physicist concluded. "Yes, that's
it. That's why we don't know about you in our time. It's because you vanished
here and travelled forward with us."
Symmetry of Synchronicity considered
this. She allowed G-Eyed out of his time stop and looked at him. "Very well
then," she agreed. "I shall enable your return to the future, and I shall
accompany you. But not all of you. I insist upon one hostage remaining here
until I am satisfied that the deal is good."
"Er…" Al B worried.
Symmetry
had her guards drag in Amy, Lisette, and Beth. She grabbed Laurie and Bethany by
the hair and dragged them forward.
G-Eyed started forward but Al. B
restrained him. "Easy, hero," the scientist warned.
"One of these two wenches
will remain here in captivity," Symmetry told Goldeneyed. "Which one would you
prefer it to be?"
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm fascinated
to hear from Bry what G-Eyed's choice would be here, since it definitely
determines the outcome of this part of the story. Of course, the rest of you are
welcome to offer advice.
The Pass of
Despair in the Dreary Dimension, in the one thousandth year since the Reign of
the Dread Dormaggadon ended, the ninth year of the reign of Prince Maggador the
Just, dawn on the day of his wedding
The Iron Duke of the Ninth Justice Battalion brought his Paladin Cavalry
forward past the town of Fernwell Ley just as Dirth Vortex's Elite Storm
Troopers broke through the defensive screen and approached it from the other
side. The screaming citizens were trapped between two massive military forces
each of which viewed their homes as no more than temporary cover in a battle
where civilian casualties did not count. "Your excellence, there is some disturbance in the enemy lines," a scout
reported to the Iron Duke. "Something is delaying them!" Jeremy Wick came down for breakfast as usual. His dad was reading the paper.
His little brother sat at table eating something with Bart Simpson on it. His
mother was hurrying around making toast for the houseguests. "Report," commanded Peter von Doom. Minutes of the Extraordinary General Meeting of Amalgamated Panthons, Inc
Senior Shareholders Present: Roni Y. Avis, president; The Chairmouse (CEO),
Mr Bugsy Rabbit (representing block vote); Prince Donar of Ausgard (representing
block vote)
Observers and Professional Advisors: The Chronicler of Stories; Xander the
Improbable, master of the mystic crafts, sorcerer supreme of Earth; Troia 215;
Whitney Darkness; the Dark Knight
The minutes of the last meeting were read and approved…
Imagine a wood-panelled board room of infinite size, where the shades of gods
worshipped ten thousand years since flutter to their seats at the sound of the
Chairman's gavel. Many of the entities are mere transparent silhouettes, since
they have faded almost entirely from human memory and belief. Others are only
partially present, having elected to remanifest as icons of the modern age;
popularity is still worship of a sort. Few of them are happy. Daylight streamed through the tall windows of the High Cathedral. The choir
sang anthems which echoes from its graceful carved ceiling, and it was hard to
remember that there was a bloody war going on less than twenty miles in all
directions. Prince Maggadon wore his golden armour and a mantle of white. He was
the epitome of a handsome prince. Savage Park, Pensacola Mountains, British Antarctic Territory, Right
Now:
The pale sun rose over the rim of the snow-capped mountains which ringed the
fantastic jungle. The whole of the valley was filled with a wild spectacular
beauty, but none of the humans struggling for their lives was in any mood to
appreciate it. Continued…
Vortex's black war-animals were
spurred forward, each controlled by a cybernetic implant in their massive
deformed bodies. Suddenly the front rank of the beasts reared and panicked and
tried to shy away.
And what panicked them was a young woman in a black
costume, cape, mask, and hat waving her arms and going "Shoo!"
"What is
happening?" hissed the dark Gah! master as his vanguard broke formation. He
willed himself over to the disturbance and saw Yo standing in the way of an
army. "What is this?"
"Is to be no more fighting," the pure thought being
insisted. "Is to turn round please and be going some other way. Yo is not to be
letting you uncute men past into this town."
"A thought being?" Dirth Vortex
sneered. "You think you can possibly thwart the will of a master of the dark
side of the Gah!?"
"Yo is thinking so, yes. And what Yo think happens. You
are to being a bad man, and Yo is to be stopping you."
"A challenge?" Dirth
Vortex reached for his belt and pulled out a black cylinder. "Gahhh!" he cried,
and suddenly two incandescent blades of darkness protruded from it.
"Pooh!"
answered Yo, and pulled his/her rapier.
And the battle began.
"Splendid," the
commander of the Ninth Justice Battalion answered, pounding his fist into his
palm. "Then we shall surge ahead and raise the town to the ground before the
enemy can plunder it."
"Actually, no," Visionary told him, trying to be as
polite as possible. "We've sort of decided that nobody should harm this town,
and we'd, um, we'd like you to take your battle somewhere else please."
"Who
is this?"
"Me? I'm real, dammit. My friend is stopping the other side and
it's my job to stop your side, so please will you go round the other
way."
"A challenge, eh?" the Iron Duke thundered, drawing his
broadsword.
"Oh dear," answered Visionary.
The Wick household, Paradopolis, yesterday breakfast time:
"That's really
not necessary, Mrs Wick," Josh Clement assured her. "We can make out own
breakfasts."
"Hey, don't interfere," Chronic complained. "I can't remember
the last time anyone made me breakfast."
"I can believe that," snickered
dull thud. "Is there any more of this jam?"
"You can spread that stuff
on bread, you know," Josh explained.
"Better wi' just a spoon," shrugged the
sticky diner.
"I don't mind doing breakfast for Jimmy's guests," Mrs Wick
assured them. "I know how excited he is to get an internship with you all on the
technical crew of this upcoming Save the Variety Theatre concert. So we're happy
to put you folks up while you're in town."
Jeremy Wick grabbed some cereal
and nodded.
"Good job you're not staying in Gothametropolis," Mr Wick told
them over the top of his Daily Trombone. "Seems there was a big superhero
fight there and some warehouse got blow up."
"Anybody good in the fight,
dad?" Jimmy asked enthusiastically. He had always followed the superhero
news.
"Not really, son. There was that League of Losers and those Abandoned
Legion people, and some mutant speedster. The most famous person to show up was
Frog-Boy's sidekick, Goldeneyed."
"Aw, he's lame," Chronic shrugged.
"Oh,
apparently Dynamite Boy destroyed the warehouse and is wanted for questioning,"
Mr Wick went on.
"Dynamite Boy?" Jimmy asked. "Isn't he only about my
age."
"It doesn'ae matter," dull thud pointed out. "It's nothing to do
with us. C'mon, we'd better be getting to work. That sound system won't assemble
itself."
"Yep. We'd better hurry," agreed Josh.
Chronic reached to pick
something up, but it wasn't there, and he couldn't for the life of him remember
what he had expected to sling on his back.
The four of them went off to their
job, and none of them thought about superheroes any more.
A secret supervillain base, Worraplonka Falls, Caryapundy Swamp,
New South Wales, Australia, 3pm that same day, yet exactly the same time by the
magic of meridians:
The Minion turned to the gigantic
video screen and faced his employer. It was clear that PVD was overcompensating
for something. "All is in readiness, master. The loss of the t-shirt
distribution was a setback, but we have implemented many other distribution
systems to get portable genetic modifiers into people's homes disguised as
innocuous bric-a-brac. Our computer profiles indicate that if we activate the
Mutation Wave using the rescued Celestian machinery, powered by our nuclear
furnaces, and modulated by the psionic protocols we negotiated from Psicho the
Murderous Thought we will still successfully transform 61% of the population. We
expect about half to die outright, of course, and a further quarter to have
unviable mutations. However, the survivors will be utterly at your command and
will have superhuman powers at your control. Our simulations anticipate total
global domination less than a month thereafter."
"Excellent," gloated the
first villain to ever battle the Lair Legion. "Then you may begin firing up the
furnaces right away. We will need to strike quickly, before the Deviate Lords
can be awoken and before the Hooded Hood inveigles more heroes into interfering
with our plans."
"It shall be as you command, o master," the Minion fawned.
"Supreme glory to you, oh mighty architect of global domination."
Peter von
Doom preened and conveniently forgot that the diabolical Dr Moo had designed the
process and the Minion himself had suggested the broad plot outline. It wouldn't
matter anyway once he ruled the world. "I must go and prepare myself," von Doom
declaimed. "I have many things to plan for my coronation. A crown. A throne. A
long list of enemies I want nailed to the walls as I process to my investiture.
And I really need a decent coffee to calm my pre-world domination
nerves."
"Of course, magnificence," the Minion bowed. "I will detain you no
longer."
As soon as Peter von Doom's face vanished from the screen, the
Minion flicked another switch. The viewer lit up again, this time with a sickly
green glow.
"Well," a raucous multiple voice demanded from the
speakers.
"He doesn't suspect a thing," the Minion answered. "He thinks the
genetic coding will make these humans into mutates, and will make them obedient
to him."
"How amusing," the voice said. "So he is going to trigger the
Mutation Wave?"
"I am beginning the countdown even now," the Minion promised.
"In forty-eight hours the process will sweep the world."
"And the Hooded
Hood?"
"Manipulators are ever the easiest to manipulate. His plans will be as
easy to usurp as Peter von Doom's."
Excellent," the voice replied. "It seems
only fair. Humans were responsible for the destruction of my planet, so it is
just that I should take theirs and transform it and them to my
requirements."
"Absolutely, oh Great Interference," the Minion replied,
bowing low before the ruler of the space-faring Skree.
Extraordinary General Meeting of the Shareholders of Amalgamated
Pantheons, Inc., the Board Room, Realm Where Gods Go When They Finally
Demanifest, beyond meaningful time (but basically this morning):
At the top of
the table sit a few creatures who are only there as a courtesy to the
principals. Xander the Improbable is the current mortal master of the mystic
crafts and so is endured, as gods and magicians have always grudgingly endured
each other. Beside him are Whitney Darkness, the Sorceress. an initiate of the
old ways, and the Dark Knight, a being closer to the realm of true death than
even the vestigial deities that press away from him. The slim girl in the silver
jumpsuit is the alien Ziles, from a far world where the gods are far different
and do not manifest in a parallel Mythlands. She makes the gods
uncomfortable.
Also present, for who could deny him, is the Chronicler of
Stories, one of the greatest of the cosmic office-holders, mortals who are
transformed into cosmic referees and guardians. This one is here to observe what
happens today, and to ensure that fair play prevails.
Two other humans take
their places just as the gavel is sounded for order. Roni Y Avis is the
entrepreneur who set up the current system of recycling deities. The cowled
crime-czar with him is the architect of the gods' downfall, the one who first
exploited the pantheons' growing weakness in the monotheistic age, the one who
suggested this alternative which must have seemed so attractive at the time it
was first offered. We shall call this one the Hooded Hood.
"The meeting will,
uh, come to order," the bandage-swayed cartoon mouse who was current chairman
and supreme conceptual entity of Amalgamated Pantheons Inc called. He glanced
nervously at the hulking hemigod to his side. Donar of the Ausgardians was the
reason for his bandages. "I'd like to start by, uh, passing the chair for this
meeting over to the Chronicler of Stories."
The Chronicler accepted the gavel
with a sober reserve. "This meeting has been called in accordance with the
covenant you all signed when you abandoned your old domains and elected to take
refuge and pool your power here," he told the assembly. "A sufficient number of
you have signed a petition for a meeting, and the order of the business is to
consider replacing your current board of directors and disincorporating from
being a division of Roni Y Avis Enterprises."
"Which would be a really stupid
move," Roni warned them.
A glance from the Chronicler quelled him. "We shall
hear statements for and against the motions," he announced.
Donar rose
nervously to his feet, glancing at the sea of godly faces that glared back at
him. "Most readily wouldst I prefer to wrestle naked with a Gladsgrjnnir than
speak to these assmbled," he admitted to his friends. "Er… Deities, legends, and
country-gods, lend me thine ears."
"Get on with it," heckled Nereus the
water-god.
Donar hammered Nereus into the ground. "As I wert saying," he
continued, "Thou hast been taken in by yon hooded felon. He camest to thy
celestial homes and didst sell thee on the idea of a combined pantheon. E'en my
own people, the exiled Ausgardians, didn't sign up to the joint afterlife plan
for the nonce. But he wert not interested in thy wellbeing, but sought rather to
hold they divine energies for one of his evil plots."
The Hooded Hood nodded
in acknowledgement.
"I don't like this," Ziles worried to Whitney. "The Hood
is too confident, and look how Bugsy is smirking."
"Good point," agreed the
Sorceress. "Dad, what do you…? Dad? Where did he go?"
"Xander not being here
is a bad sign," Ziles noted. "Xander is never there when it happens."
"DK,
did you see where…? DK? DK? Ratfinkles!"
"So today we say to thee, cast out
these minions of one who hast manipulated thee, and let a true combined pantheon
preserve thy glories carefully and reverently until an age cometh when thou are
again needed by thy mortals," Donar concluded.
"Any questions?" the
Chronicler asked.
Bugsy raised his hand. "Yeah, I got one. Say, Don, whatever
happened to that piece of prime Amazon tail you carried off from
Degenerus?"
"Troia? What of her?" scowled the Ausgardian.
"I guess you
must have got tired of her real fast, leaving her in the Savage Park all
helpless like that. And your other friends too, like Dancer and Hatman and
Cheryl."
"What dost thou meanest?" Donar demanded.
"I think the
implication is that rather horrible things are about to happen to them," the
Hooded Hood suggested. "And that the only way to avoid that is for you and your
colleagues here to leave now and hurry to their side. He is suggesting that you
have a clear choice between prosecuting your case here or aiding your friends so
they do not die." The cowled crime czar sat back in his chair and steepled his
fingers. "Moral choices are always intellectually stimulating, don't you
think?"
"Troia and the others art in mortal peril? Then we must hie to
succour our friends," worried Donar.
"And let these people down after we have
led them this far?" Sorceress argued. "Hatty's amongst that group and I love him
more than life, but I can tell you he wouldn't thank you or me if we abandoned
those in need to go rescue him."
"But we cans't not allow harm to befalleth
our boon companions…"
"We can't crumble now just because the Hooded Hood is
being smug!"
"This would be a more relevant argument if Donar could actually
leave before Xander gets back, anyway," Ziles interrupted. "Remember that Donar
took lethal poison so we could follow him to where dead gods go? Only Xander has
the antidote. Assuming there is one. Xander has disappeared. The choice has been
made for us."
"Hood, if any harm befalls thy daughter I shalt smite thee to
the ends of eternity," the hemigod of thunder shouted.
The Hooded Hood sipped
his tea.
"Father knew we would have this ethical argument," Whitney realised.
"And he knew it would split us. That's why he's rendered the whole thing moot by
vanishing."
"If it helps things along, my voting block is happy to elect a
new Chairentity," Roni Y Avis announced.
"Huh?" the Chairmouse gasped. "Y-you
are?"
"You just weren't cutting it, kid," Roni told him. "We need a CEO who
won't get pushed around by any visiting Ausgardian halfbreed." He turned back to
the Chronicler. "And we suggest the new CEO is decided not by voting but by
trial by combat."
"Trial by combat?" the Chairmouse squeaked. "That's not in
the constitution!"
Several gods suggested proctological things that the
Chairmouse could do with the constitition.
"Trial by combat. This art to mine
taste," Donar enthused.
The rest of the assembled deities voiced their
approval. This seemed far more traditional and in keeping. A few of the
hardliners felt that the new CEO should hack the testicles off the old one and
make a firmament out of them.
"But you can't be the new Chairentity,"
Sorceress reminded Donar. "Otherwise you have to stay here forever and rule
them."
"I canst be his champion. Bring forth any challeneger that I might
rend them for the nonce!"
"I don't like this at all," Ziles warned. "I don't
like this… eep!" The Znylonian went silent as dark shadowy hands reached up and
dragged her under the table.
"Sssh!" instructed the Dark Knight. "With me.
Now."
"Are there any nominations for Chair?" the Chronicler of Stories
demanded.
"We have one," Sorceress announced. "He's a… an Indian supernatural
being, with extensive experience of serving the gods. He's been very involved
in, uh, administrative tasks before, and he is currently available for
employment."
"He art named Woopsa," Donar added helpfully. "And I back his
claimeth. So be it. Although I still say that slaying Elsqueevio so that he
might cometh into the role wouldst have been a better bet."
"Any other
nominations, or is the election unopposed?" asked the Chronicler.
"I believe
we have a boy," Bugsy smirked. "We nominate one of the oldest, most respected,
most terrible deities of all. Our candidate is Shabba'Dhabba'Dhu, the Groper out
of Grossness, the miles-wide elder being that coils through time and space
beneath the mortal city of Paradopolis, the unstoppable blasphemy of mindless
destruction. Let the Ausgardian match his feeble might thus."
The gods
cheered for one or other candidate, but mostly because someone was going to get
the mana beaten out of them.
"Buggereth," quoth Donar.
The Dreary Dimension in the one thousandth year since the Reign of
the Dread Dormaggadon ended, the ninth year of the reign of Prince Maggador the
Just, on the day and at the hour of his wedding to Valeria of Carfax, Maiden of
the Secret
Valeria wore white and walked on rose
petals as she made her way in stately procession to join the groom at the altar.
Everil Neverwend, the High Priest of Harmony smiled indulgently at her as she
took her place before him.
"People of the realm…" he began.
The great
doors at the rear of the cathedral were blown off their hinges and landed
somewhere around the nave.
The Great Enemy of the Dreary Dimension stalked
through the gap. "I object!" Exile thundered.
"We haven't got to that bit
yet," Everil Neverwend said faintly.
"You!" Prince Magaddon snarled, drawing
his sword.
"Hey, not just him. What about me?" complained Nats. "Why does
everybody wet their pants when they see him, but me they just go, 'Oh, flying
guy in a cool jacket'? I'm starting to feel this lack of respect!"
"Rick!"
gasped Valeria. "How…?"
"This wedding may not proceed," Exile
shouted.
"Guards!" called Maggador.
"My department," Nats guessed, buzzing
at low level and pounding a whole troops of guards backwards into a crumpled
heap. "See this is why you people ought to be taking me more
seriously."
"Rick, unless I marry the ruler of the Dread Dimension I can't be
the sacrifice that saves the land," Valeria explained. "I know it's hard, but
you have to understand…"
"Silence, slave!" Exile told her. "You are compelled
to obey me. Obey me now. Step aside."
With a startled sob Valeria did as she
was told; she had no choice.
"So, Enemy, you show your true colours at last,"
sneered Magaddon. "But I will protect my wife with my life, and I already know
you do not have what it takes to defeat me."
"I think this time you'll find
I'm conscious and have my powers," Exile spat back. "And she's not your wife
yet. You heard her. She has to marry the ruler of the Dreary Dimension. Well
buddy, long before it was you, it was me. And I'm here to take it
back."
"You… dare to claim the Dark Throne?" the high priest
stammered.
"Dark Throne, Dreary Dimension, Lady of Secrets, everything,"
Derek Foreman replied. "I don't like the way all this is going, so I'm going to
make it go my way." He turned to the Prince and gestured. "So come on Magaddon,
bring it on!"
The running battle had gone on all night. Wherever the Lair
Legion had retreated the local creatures attacked them, even the formerly
peaceable herbivores, and all commanded by the same cold intelligence that could
make such animals try to walk upright and speak. The Lair Legion has sought
Psicho the Deadly Thought and now they had found it. Or it had found
them.
Without their powers it was only a matter of time. Exhausted and
wounded Meggan slipped down a bank of shale and fell amongst a crowd of
saurians.
"Mom!" CrazySugarFreakBoy! shouted, running back to grab
her.
"Dream, no!" Hatman called. "You can't do anything!"
Before CSFB! got
there, there was a howl from the hunters as they claimed their first kill with a
terrible rending noise. Dreamcatcher Foxglove gave an inarticulate cry and
launched himself at the carnivores. He vanished beneath the swarm and their
feasting continued.
"We have… we've got to do something," Cheryl
gasped.
"They're dead. Come on," Hatman commended. "Move or we join
them."
"Where's Woopsa?" Flapjack worried. "I can't see him."
"This way,"
Hatman instructed, dragging the Lair Legion's hunchbacked assistant physically
from the ledge.
"No!" Troia called from ahead where she was taking point.
"Get back! It's a tra…!" She never finished her sentence. It was hard to speak
without a throat.
Then the creatures came from all directions. Hatman saw
Flapjack crushed beneath a giant claw. Dancer fell to the raptor pack. Cheryl
tried to pull her free but a sudden snap ended her struggles.
"It's… it's
just you and me, man," called Trickshot. He was weeping. "I never thought it
would end like this." He place the last but one of his arrows on his bow and
slew yet another approaching pterodactyl.
"We don't give in," Hatman told
him. "Whatever happens, we go down f…"
Trickshot turned round to see Hatman's
headless body on the ground.
Carl Bastion was the last man alive, and the
reptiles ringed him.
"Only one human left," Psicho crowed through the
unwilling throats of a hundred jungle beasts. "And you were such easy meat.
After this I will free my brother, who is interred in this wretched garden of
the Austernals, and we shall continue until all our kind are awoken and the
world is ours once more."
Trickshot stood over the body of his friend and
nocked his final arrow. He shot it high in the air in tribute to his fallen
comrades and stood silhouetted in the dawn.
The Murderous Thought regarded
the last Legionnaire. "Kill him."
CrazySugarFreakBoy! Sorry it took me so long to reply to
this one. It was good, though. 10:25:39 7/18/2001 (1)