LORDS OF HELL

Part III

By Dino Pollard

I am Daimon Hellstrom, the Son of Satan and a Lord of Hell. I am on a quest to discover the truth behind an angel of Heaven possessing a mortal child. My search led me first to the realm of Mephisto and after telling him what I had learned, he (albeit somewhat reluctantly) gave me the location of the next I needed to find in my quest.

Sammael—a demon of Hell. At one point, he served my father, Marduk Kurios. But that was before I killed my father and claimed his realm as my birthright. Since then, Sammael has kept himself hidden from my gaze. But not even a demon as powerful as he could hide himself forever. Through Mephisto, I uncovered his true location

It took me to the mountains of Afghanistan, where the warlords continued to thrive. The establishment I found myself in was filled with men, middle aged or older. They sat on rugs and cushions and in the center was the source of their entertainment.

A young boy, perhaps eleven or twelve, dressed in feminine clothes and dancing to music played by a musician behind him. I knew of this practice, known as bacha bazi. A form of sexual slavery in which adolescent and prepubescent boys are sold and forced to learn these dances for the entertainment and sexual pleasures of powerful men.

The time for subtlety had long passed. And the disgust which burned inside me fueled the Darksoul and forced me to action. Flames emerged from the palm of my hand, extending and forming into the shape of my Netheranium trident. I raised my weapon and impaled one of the men with it. His screams drew the attention of the others.

One of the armed bodyguards drew his weapon and came towards me. I slammed the hilt of the trident on the ground as my eyes burned with Hellfire and flames consumed his body as his screams echoed in the hall. Two more bodyguards from behind fired their weapons several times. I waved my hand across and the bullets melted to slag in mid-air before falling harmlessly to the ground.

The pentagram on my chest burned with the same Hellfire that consumed my eyes. I could taste the fear of these so-called warlords—these men who believed themselves to be invincible. Who thought themselves above all others.

And it was intoxicating.

With but a thought, I tossed these men against the walls, bound them so they could not leave this place. I approached the boys who were sold like chattle and knelt before them. I could sense their fear, but they seemed to sense I was not here to harm them. My eyes returned to their normal form as I looked at these children.

“You will be safe now. And you will remember nothing of this life.”

I waved my hand before their faces and they appeared to be in a trance. With a snap of my fingers, they vanished from this place and I rose to my feet again. There was one man, however, who did not attack. Who did not run in fear. Who simply sat calmly and watched the entire scene unfold.

“Very impressive, half-breed.”

“Sammael. Indulging yourself, I see?”

Sammael chuckled as he reached for a grape from the bowl by his side. He tossed it into the air and a lizard-like tongue snaked from his mouth and wrapped around it.

“You ran from my realm. Why is that?” I asked.

“Did you expect me to stay when there was no more fun to be had?” asked Sammael.

“Enough with illusions,” I said and stamped my trident on the ground. Hellfire shot up around Sammael burning away his human form and leaving the large, saw-toothed demon with dozens of eyes. At the sight of what their host truly was, the men who remained frozen in space gasped.

“What do you want, half-breed?” asked Sammael.

“Information,” I said. “Why have the Asura made moves against the realms of mortal and demon?”

“The Asura have done nothing, Prince of Lies.”

“You have a connection to them. To Armaziel.”

“He is out of your league.”

My eyes met those of the men who were locked in place. I turned to Sammael. “We should continue this in a more private setting.”

Another stamp of my trident and the building burst into flames, killing all inside. But Sammael and I were transported back to my realm. Sammael was chained to the ground and my own servants hovered above him, pricking at his body. The chains which held him were coated in holy water, burning into his skin. I raised my trident and ran it through his chest and he screamed.

“Netheranium was quite painful to my father. His ilk are no different, it seems,” I said.

Sammael chuckled. “You’re a fool, Hellstrom. Do you think you can frighten me? I know that in the end, I will be rewarded for my efforts. For standing up to you.”

“Why is Heaven moving before the prophesied time? Why are they attacking Hell before the Beast has appeared on Earth?”

Now Sammael laughed once more. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done, Daimon? Did you think it would be so easy to kill your father and there would be no after-effects?”

“What are you talking about?”

Sammael grinned. “LaVoisin. The whore who gave you your father’s name. What was the price you paid for that information?”

I froze at Sammael’s words. LaVoisin, a powerful mystic. She had the information I needed, my father’s true name. What was necessary to overthrow him and take my birthright. But for that information, she had a price. And I foolishly acquiesced, without considering the consequences.

“You started this, Daimon. LaVoisin has given birth. And your seed provided the means for your father’s resurrection.”

My father, Marduk Kurios. Due to my rash actions, he had now been reborn on Earth as my son.

To be continued in the pages of THE DEFENDERS

Rebecca Lockwood, Spirit of Vengeance, in…

BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE

Part III

By Meriades Rai

If I was the kind of girl to complain about injustice – and, let’s face it, that’s exactly the kind of girl I am, so I damn well will, thank you very much – then I’d express the opinion that being turned to stone by a hideous woman-bird-thingamijiggery isn’t very fair. Yes, I’ll admit, on the one hand I’ve become a tad too cocksure thinking that nothing can harm me when I’m manifest as the Spirit of Vengeance, and yes, considering everything I’ve gone through since first becoming victim of this curse (not least dying), I shouldn’t be so damn nonchalant and think that I’m immortal. But, really. The whole turning to stone thing? How the hell am I supposed to prepare myself for that? I can move still. Just. Enough to try and spur my Steed of Vengeance, but not with anything approaching elegance. Actually, it’s all I can do not to topple sideways with my arms frozen in mid-reach and one leg angled obscurely to the heavens, like some flaming, leather-clad saguaro. On that note, I’m pretty sure I can feel my flame dimming. Petrified and snuffed? How undignified.

Yes, I’m trying to inject some dark humor into proceedings. And that’s because I’m scared. Whatever this existence of mine is, this half-life, I find that I don’t want to let go. For me, with my history of nigh-suicidal tendencies, that’s a big statement. I’m not saying I want to be Vengeance; I’m saying I want to be something.

But not fossilized.

The creature has loped off into the desert. I can’t hear her inhuman cackle-mewl on the wind any longer but I fancy I scent blood and suffering. I turn my fleshless skull with some difficulty and stare at the three men I consumed with Helfire a few minutes before, the men who were planning to kill the woman-beast before I intervened.

“WHAT… IS SHE?” I seethe, every word an agony as the slow petrification spreads through my gut. “OPEN YOUR PITIFUL MINDS TO ME…”

I possess a limited ability to scan the thoughts of my victims, an offshoot of the way I can perceive anguish and respond to it as Vengeance. These three men – Francesco, Oscar and Ariél, their names – are residents of a local town. This village and other surrounding communities have recently been cursed with cattle mutilations of a bizarre kind: the dead animals have been discovered semi-petrified, remaining flesh and hide on the outside but stone on the inside. These slaying have been attributed to the local legend of the basilisco chilote, a monster supposedly born of a human woman but possessed of reptilian body and a chicken’s head. A basilisk, or cockatrice, or variation thereof. That sounds like the beast that just attacked me, I’ll admit, but the truth could be any number of things. She could be supernatural, just like me, or she could be a mutant, or some genetic experiment gone feral. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

The important thing is that staring into her eyes had ignited a process within me that’s turning me to stone as if I were flesh and blood; whatever the Spirit of Vengeance is, it’s not immune to this particular fate.

These men sought to slay the basilisco chilote to end her threat. I prevented that. Now I need to track the creature down. Fortunately my steed hasn’t been affected in the same way I have…

The town is large and ramshackle, with more makeshift dwellings of tin and wood than stone. The streets are dusty flagstone lined with scrub, and carts outnumber the old, abandoned automobiles. The air hangs heavy with a sense of foreboding, but not a smell of death – petrified flesh doesn’t decay, after all. The basilisco chilote is here, though. I recognize a beast hell-bent on revenge when I see it.

I slump against my steed’s powerful neck as it enters the town at a steady gait, Helsmoke curling from its nostrils. Its eyes are bright. Mine aren’t, not any more. I haven’t got long left.

I hear screams from up ahead and somehow manage to rouse myself. I slide from my horse and lay stiffly upon the ground, barely able to move my arms and legs. My fire’s all but burned out now. It must be bad, I can’t think of anything funny to cheer myself up.

I look, and see a child running. A girl, no more than five years old. Behind her, cavorting obscenely on her crooked hind legs even as she bends to slither on her naked belly, the basilisco chilote emerges from the shadows of an alleyway, her claws raking the air and her chicken feathers ruffling at the neck. She cackles, and her beak snap-snap-snaps. She’s out for blood, for what the men of this town tried to do to her. She’s quicker than the girl. Even at five the child knows better than to look in the monster’s eyes, but she has no defense against those raking talons. The girl stumbles some twenty meters ahead of me and the beast is upon her instantly, disemboweling her from behind and ripping out her spine in bloodied ribbons.

I can’t do anything to stop it. I’ve… failed.

I’ve come this far, thanks to my steed, but it’s over now. Whatever it is that powers my unnatural form in the place of heart and blood is hardening, dying, and I can’t… I can’t…

The basilisco chilote sees me, and cocks her chicken head curiously. She pads towards me, beak trembling with a high, mocking chitter. I see those eyes blazing.

She recognizes me. Wonders how I’m still alive, perhaps. That, or she doesn’t know what I am to begin with.

My gun is looped in my belt. One shot might be able to end this, but I can’t move my arm, let alone my fingers. I wonder if Hela is watching. I wonder if my fate amuses her.

The creature reaches out a clawed hand…

To Be Continued

Onyxx in…

DISSIDENCE

By Hunter Lambright

“Morning, Onyxx. I thought it might be better if we did your interview outside,” Dani Moonstar said, sitting on a bench by the Damocles Foundation property’s small pond. “Are you doing okay today?”

“Good as I can,” Onyxx grunted. Sitting on the ground, the cap of his helmet reached Moonstar’s height sitting on the bench. Onyxx was a rocky behemoth, his delicate skin and body tissue replaced with rocky, living substitutes. A metal helmet formed the capstone, with four slits forming the space through which Sidney Green could see, trapping in the hulking suit of armor he was now forced to call his body.

“I just wanted to talk to you a little bit, if that’s okay,” Dani said.

Onyxx grunted, producing a loud, rolling sound similar to rocks being pounded together. “Probably out here because you didn’t want me smashing your pretty office.”

Dani bit at the tip of her pen. “Well, we have to admit, your motor control could use improvement, which is part of the reason that you’re here.”

“Part of the reason?” Onyxx asked. His parents had told him that they were just sending him somewhere he could be accepted and had left it at that.

“That’s right, part of the reason. I want you to tell me about your dreams,” Dani said.

“No.”

Dani’s eyebrows shot up a few centimeters. “No?”

“Are you deaf?”

“No, I’m not,” Dani said. “I just didn’t expect this kind of resistance from someone who knows that the only reason I’m here is to help you and the others. Why won’t you talk about this?”

“One, it’s fraud. You’re not a shrink,” Onyxx said, holding up one of the four fingers on his right hand. “Two, they’re my dreams.”

“I think it’s because of a different reason. It’s because they’re not dreams, right? They’re night terrors.”

“Who told you that?” Onyxx asked, standing up. “Was it my parents? Huh? Was it Glob?”

“No one told me,” Dani whispered. “Calm down, please, Onyxx. I’ll tell you how I know what I know, but unless you want this to be a public talk, you should probably keep a low profile out here.”

Onyxx sat back down, but Dani could hear the heavy breathing coming from his mask.

“I know that you experience night terrors because of my powers. These powers, they work in a way that never quite works out the same. I can sense emotional imprints left on objects, and I can pull up a holographic illusion of your worst fear or your greatest desire. And, sometimes, when someone is experiencing that fear in a far more real sense than anything I can create—in a dream—I can feel it too,” Dani said. “I never intentionally impeded your privacy, but now that I know, it’s absolutely something I’d like to help you with.”

“I don’t need help,” Onyxx said.

Dani sighed. “Onyxx, I want to try one thing, if you’ll let me. If you don’t like that one thing, then we can stop and never talk about this again. I just want to use my power and walk you down the road of your fears. If it gets bad, we can end it any time. I just think it would help you.”

“Will you never ask me about it again?” Onyxx asked. “I’ll do it, but only because I already get made fun of enough. I don’t want Glob or Rain Boy thinking I’m a chicken.”

“If it means you’ll do it, I’m not going to challenge your reasoning,” Dani said. “Remember, only our perception will be changing. We’re still going to be sitting in the Damocles Foundation property. Our minds will just be seeing and sensing other things.”

As the last words exited her mouth, Onyxx and Dani no longer felt themselves in the Damocles Foundation. They were in a dark hallway. “Where are we?” Dani asked, as her power pulled the illusion from the depths of Onyxx’s mind.

“We’re in my house,” Onyxx said. “This is the first nightmare.”

“What nightmare?”

“Hear the running water? I’m ten years old here. I still wet the bed then,” Onyxx said.

“But that’s nothing to be afraid of,” Dani started.

“That’s not what the nightmare is about,” Onyxx replied. The water shut off, and young, human Sidney Green left the bathroom in a towel.

A man came out a room further down the hallway, a belt coiled around his forearm. “I smell piss again, boy? You piss yourself again?!”

“Y-you can guess what comes next.” The belt whipped forward, but Dani moved with the speed of thought, forwarding the illusion to the next terror. Sunlight filtered in through curtains onto the crushed splinters of a wooden bed frame.

“The morning I woke up with my powers. One year ago,” Onyxx said resentfully. “Goodbye, Sidney.”

The figure in the bed stirred and the remnants of the bed crunched further under his weight. “What’s going on?” asked a voice coming from the form as it tried to get up. Standing, its right foot slipped through the wood flooring, crunching through below. “Mom?! Help! Something’s wrong!”

“Mom comes to help, but she’s afraid,” Onyxx said, narrating the scenes before they happened, and Dani saw that he was right. A woman who must have been his mother stepped forward. “S-Sidney?”

Dream-Onyxx reached out to touch his mother, but he had no control over his new form, knocking her backward down the stairs. She lay at the base of them, her legs twisted under her. “We can stop now,” Onyxx said.

The sunny day outside the Damocles Foundation returned. “I’m sorry I had to take you back through those memories,” Dani said.

“Me too,” Onyxx shot back.

“But…I know what we can work on to help you. You seem to have issues with not being in control of your own body. We can fix that,” Dani said. “That’s what we’re here for.”

“No. You’re here because no one else is anymore,” Onyxx grunted, and walked inside.

Death’s Head in…

OUT OF THE WRECKAGE

By David W. Smith

As I come online the thought occurs to me that I’m lacking a body. Someone is going to pay for that with a lot of pain. I can hear someone, I guess a male since the voice is probably too deep to be female, talking in a language I’m programmed to understand.

“What is that thing?”

“It was retrieved from a raid on a warehouse in London. I’m not sure what it was for but the technology is a long way beyond state of the art. If I can get it activated I might be able to find out more.” That voice was male and obviously a subordinate of some kind.

“Make it your priority. If this thing is more advanced than Stark’s technology, we can use it.”

“Yes, Director.”

So, he doesn’t know I’m online yet. I may have time to work out how badly damaged I am. A quick scan of my memory tells me that I remember everything up to arriving on 51st century Earth thanks to that meddling Timelord, after that things get hazy. I know I was active for a time but the files are scrambled. He’s on my list of people to hurt but I should prioritise. Gather information then work out a way to get a body.

I can hear the human moving something then what sounds like something being connected to something when I’ve suddenly got access to a computer system which is so backward I’d be surprised if this place was later than the dark ages. I gain access to the security cameras and look around.

I appear to be in a weapons research facility somewhere on 21st century Earth. There are a lot of men in silly yellow jumpsuits with what looks like buckets on their heads. This A.I.M is obviously a group of snappily-dressed terrorist who like big guns. Or at least the second part. Either way, one look at the equipment in this base tells me that I may have found a way out of my current predicament.

Sneaking around the firewalls around the CPU of the robot was so simple my mother, if I had one, could have done it. It’s a little disconcerting operating a second body but the non-effect these bucket-heads weapons are having on the suit tells me that I’ve probably made a good choice. Since the weapons came pre-loaded the gatling gun mounted on the wrist makes a mess of the guards in the room (and these people call themselves Advanced Idea Mechanics, huh) before one of the wrist mounted missiles blows down the door connecting the main storage room to the lab I’m stuck in. The scientist who had been working on me looks like he’s just suffered a involuntary waste release as the robot walks into the room while more bucket-heads shoot at me from behind. They obviously didn’t take much notice of the weapons load-out on this thing since another two mini-missiles take them out easily. I then seal the door.

I open my eyes and smile as the scientist backs away from my soon to be body. He sounds as scared as he looks as backs into a corner. “”Wh.. what are you?.”

“I don’t have time for your questions, human. I need you to put my head on those shoulders and don’t try anything stupid. I can think of eighteen ways to kill you with my new bare hands, yes.”

He’s obviously smarter than the average A.I.M stooge since he connects me to the body with no complaints. I sit up, noting immediately that this body is less primitive than I expected. It’s a little odd but I got used to being seven foot tall, instead of forty seven so I can get used to this. “This is a prototype?.”

He looks more nervous now. This may not end well for him. “The only one at this installation. There may be others at other A.I.M bases”. That is not good. If I have to destroy multiple cut price rip-offs then it may cut into my money-making activities. “I guess I’ll need you alive for now. This is your lucky day, human.”

I grab him and activate the jets built into my new feet, using a mini-missile to blow a hole in the roof of the warehouse, before flying through it. I’m in a suitably primitive looking human city, still gaining altitude as the destruct charges built into the Dreadnoughts in the warehouse detonate, levelling the building.

I land on a tenement building and drop the human. “I’ll let you live if you tell me where all the other A.I.M installations are that you know about but you’ll work for me. I’ll need repairs, no doubt, and it’s better than being another dead bucket-head, yes?”