London, England
22 Cleveland Street
Fitrovia

Brian Braddock slammed into the red brickwork of 22 Cleveland Street, into and through actually…

And through the blazing pressboard, plaster and wooden struts that comprised the inner wall, and the next, and the next two. He slammed through the brick façade on the far side of the building and kept going. He finally bounced off of the back wall of the opposing building, made of sterner stuff apparently, falling then to crash into the mountainous rubbish heap that was piled high in the once quaint courtyard that separated the two 1900 Victorians.

He plowed into the old, collected trash of rotting food, empty cans and bottles, plastic containers and assorted unmentionable refuse ripping through the plastic bags before he finally hit the slimy, cobbled stone beneath. Rubbish poured down in his wake filling the path that he had created as he lay gasping and shaking his head to clear away the spotty flashes dancing gaily through his blurring vision. He was slimy with sour oil and spoiled milk, his hair matting as rotting produce clung to him, used diapers swathing his body. He heard the squeal of rats scurrying through the mess trying to get away from the sudden intrusion. His ears were ringing…

“Cor…” he hissed as he pushed up on massive arms, the weight of the refuse little to nothing to his mutated strength. He blinked, holding his breath as he started to surge to his knees, then his feet, tossing the rubbish aside and trying not to gag as the foul stench of humanity’s waste threatened to overwhelm his senses.

He staggered on his worn bootheels, almost falling back into the trash before finally floating up and out of the heaping bags. Dark smoke roiled from the burning, historic workhouse and he saw as he wiped his eyes of the stinging liquids that it was a lost cause. He was sorry for that, but other far more pressing concerns pushed forward as he thought of his options.

He had come to do the heroic thing as soon as he had seen the smoke rising into the London skies. Figured he could help London’s Bravest, maybe save some old-age pensioners so the fire fighters could concentrate on the real threat, putting out the blaze. Little did Captain England know that he would find a bunch of bloody, Yank Marvels tossing up with a gaggle of Chinese Vampires!

He had flown right into the inferno heedless of the danger to help out and suddenly recognized a couple faces. Misty Knight for one; he’d met her on one of his stateside jaunts, a friend of the X-Men. And another he’d never met but he’d seen the S.T.R.I.K.E. files on Shang-Chi, alleged Master of Kung Fu. Heroes both, so he figured things were well in hand. Not bloody likely…

He’d barely touched down looking curiously at the strange, skinny Orientals in the black and red pajamas when this tall black with dreads stepped up and muttered some gibberish and hit him! Brian almost laughed, at least until the blood came gushing from his nose and he was flying back head over heels and smashing through too many walls to count.

He was still shaking his head trying to clear it as he floated over the rat-infested rubbish heap. It had been awhile since he had been hit so hard and he felt the total fool for walking right into it. Not the first time of course, and probably not the last, but dammit if he wasn’t getting tired of playing the fool.

What the bloody hell was going on then?

LET’S DO THE JASPERS WARP AGAIN!

By Curtis Fernlund

London, England
22 Cleveland Street
Fitrovia

“Die you undead piece a’ – “

BOOM!

The Si-Fan’s head exploded in a cloud of red. The body staggered on a few steps but Misty Knight ignored it as she took aim on another, raising her .357 Magnum and loosing another round into another of Fu man-Chu’s undead army. Her body shook, but her bionic right arm held the gun true and steady and another Vampyr dropped to her assault. Like it mattered…

The denizens of the Celestial seemed to literally be crawling out of the woodwork like cockroaches. They were seven; she, Arcane and Midnight alongside Shang-Chi, Leiko Wu, Clive Reston and Black Jack Tarr of England’s MI-6. Eight if you counted Braddock, but past experience leant him more hindrance than help. No matter what they did though, the Si-Fan kept coming.

They seemed oblivious that the building was on fire. They cared nothing of their own survival and went balls out apparently serving their master, the Lord of Strange Deaths. Misty wondered at that type of devotion as she blew another undead head from another set of undead shoulders.

“This is ridiculous,” Eric Arcane said as he backed up to her. She saw at a glance that his hair had frosted fully silver and he had lost some mass, his skin starting to really wrinkle and drape over his frame. He was using up magical energy at an astounding rate throwing spells of fire and defense. His latest incantation had apparently given him super strength as he had sent Captain Britain… England flying.

“Tell me about it, sugar,” she said as she fired off another round. “Ammo’s runnin’ low, but these things just keep comin’.”

“We need to cut to the chase and deal with the source,” Arcane said. “Do what we came to do and get the fuck outta Dodge.”

“Think Midnight’s on it,” she said as she used his presence and took a moment to reload. “He vanished a few minutes ago. Hopefully he’s grabbing the Elixir Vitae and the Plague while we deal with the zombie squad.”

They both looked up as Brian Braddock soared back into the burning room. Laws, did he look pissed.

“What the bloody fuck are you up to?” he shouted over the fire sirens echoing outside. “I’m here to help!”

Misty was about to respond when the sounds of John Lee Hooker’s ‘Boom, Boom’ rattled her phone.

“Now what?” she said as she pulled her cell free of the holster on her hip relying on Arcane to watch her back. Only Colleen, Danny and Grimm had this number.

“I got this,” Arcane said stepping forward as she thumbed the call. Good man.

“It’s Grimm,” she said watching as Arcane stepped up and under the floating Captain England. Braddock floated higher up into the burning rafters apparently learning from past mistakes, out of reach. His glistening skin seemed to be smoldering in the heat, though the cloying smoke was not bothering him in the least.

“Yeah?” she said as she raised her gun and blew the undead heart out of another vampire.

“I need an extraction,” Grimm said sounding stressed. “You about done there?”

“That would be a ‘no’. The Celestial’s got a horde of vampires you neglected to tell us about. Plus we got Shang-Chi and MI-6 in the mix. An’ now we got Captain Britain! Fuck! England! This is shit, Grimm.”

Silence…

“He’s on the list.”

“List? What are you – “

“You have the stylus?”

“Yeah. But what – “

“He’s an anomaly. Seven outta ten dimensions where he becomes the dominant ‘hero’ end in disaster. Somethin’ called the Jasper’s Warp. Don’t ask. Use the stylus and eliminate that chance here.”

“But what – “ she repeated but Grimm cut her off.

“Do what ya can, Knight. I’ll handle things here. Just get the job done on yer end.”

“Would’a been nice to – “

“Misty! Do what you gotta do. I got faith in ya. See you later.”

The line went dead and Misty Knight slid the phone back in its holster. She licked her lips and felt a calm wash over her. Grimm had faith, and somehow that made all the difference. Misty raised her Magnum even as Shang-Chi leapt out of the smoke and wrapped himself about the startled form of Brian Braddock…

I know my ‘father’ though there are things about him that I do not recall. Since my resurrection at the hands of the Kree, to become their interstellar assassin, remade against the Silver Surfer I find that my memory has suffered.

I remember clearly the day he found me, a lone babe wailing in the waste of the African village that had been my home. My true parents were dead as were most of the villagers; those that survived mainly the young and fit easily molded into slaves. I often suspect that it was my ‘father’ that destroyed the village, though I never broached the subject. I could not of course.

I remember dying as well, the apprehension as I felt my cloak snag on the hook of the crane, the sudden abrupt end to my fall. My brother crying out his warning…

I remember, oddly, a woman dressed in yellows and greens, fighting her in musty catacombs…

And after the Kree and my time of wandering my ‘father’ returned into my life. He and another just as imposing, a tall pale man dressed in an archaic suit and opera cloak. I remember his teeth sinking into my throat and a sensation passing between us, both of us benefiting. We exchanged curses with that dark kiss, and my ‘father’s’ latest plan proceeded. Then came Grimm…

I have forgotten much, sporadic memories flashing into my mind’s eye on occasion, but I still know my ‘father’. He is one of the greatest minds of all time though his thoughts are limited and funneled. I know though that in the face of defeat, he will have a means of retreat.

So I stalk the dank and rotting corridors beneath the burning building. The smell of smoke clogs the hallways, though only a wispy fog swirls along the ceiling. The stench of the sewers rises through the weathered floorboards as I move along the corridor, ever downward. I cannot sense my ‘father’, but I can feel the Si-Fan that accompany him so I ignore my confused senses of smell and sight and follow that feeling, increasing my pace flitting through the shadows.

Down another set of old, wooden stairs and I see the Lord of Strange Deaths standing in the bow of a slender launch. Four of his undead followers surround him, but I ignore their hissing and groveling at my presence. Fu Manchu stands tall and unfazed, his long robes shining in the glow of gaslight lamps lining the slimy brick walls, his hands lost in the voluminous folds of his sleeves. His dark eyes are piercing as he watches me descend the steps to stand on the old half-forgotten dock. He nods his head ever so slightly, acknowledging my arrival.

“M’Nai,” he says his lips almost twitching into a smile. “I had expected Shang-Chi. As always my wayward children surprise me. Why do you follow me?”

My hands flash, fingers gesticulating in Sign, which he had me taught in my youth. I am mute, which he appreciated, but still asked my opinion at times, my insight. I loved him.

“The Elixir Vitae and the Meta Plague,” he says without emotion, his voice cold, but I have soared the depths of space. “You ask much, traitor. I gave you life and purpose.”

I gave you my life and my purpose, my hands signed. You used me.

“You belonged to me.” His hands appeared as he gestured. “As these followers, this ship, all that I survey. You betrayed my trust and love.”

Give me what I ask and you may leave.

“I will leave regardless. Take it, if you can.” He glances to the shadowy edges of the dock and I see the creature, the monstrosity, come lumbering from the dark. It is huge and malformed, gangly, powerful limbs swaying on a massive body. It wears ragged, Chinese robes and a tasseled hat, worn slippers on its feet. Its mummified face is a dark reflection of the man it once was, glowing yellow eyes piercing from shrouded hollows under thick, bony brows. Its leathery skin is tight over its muscled frame visible through the rips and tears in its burial robes. I do not know the name in Cantonese or Mandarin, nor obviously Sign. In Japanese it would be Gakki; Demon. It is an Elder, one of Dracula’s ilk; a Lord of Vampyr and ancient.

My ‘father’s’ escape craft drifts away as the Elder literally bounces towards me, malice in its eyes, bearing yellowed fangs within a dark maw. How the Lord of Strange Deaths coerced an Elder into his service I cannot imagine, but I know but my ‘father’s’ mind works in ways unknown to others. But there is honor as well…

I see my prize set aside, two vials that I must win by combat…

And will.

“Bloody H- umph!!!”

Brian Braddock tried to curse as his face slammed into the floor again. It was bloody embarrassing as the Chinaman had been flipping him around and twisting him for the better part of five minutes. He felt the pressure as Shang-Chi twisted his thumb back into his hand until he was whimpering for the skinny bastard to stop. He had, bounding back out of reach as soon as he let go.

“It would be prudent to surrender,” the MI-6 bastard said his voice unemotional.

“Came here to help ya bloody ponce,” Britain snarled as he levered himself up again. He could hear the sounds of gunfire in the background, slowing finally. Wu and Reston were firing wildly at the last of the Chinese in the black pajamas. Black Jack Tarr had hurried outside at the sound of the sirens, no doubt to ward off the police and firefighters from wandering into the fight within. The Nig-nug was propped against the far wall looking like a hundred years old and clutching his chest. His hair had frosted almost totally silver and his face was a mass of withered grooves. Misty Knight stood at his side. Something sparkled in her hand; the hand not holding the huge gun pointed his way.

“The situation is under control,” Shang-Chi said even as Braddock got to his feet again. “You should go.”

“Not gonna happen, Chinaman,” Braddock snarled pointing a finger at the Master of Kung Fu. “Not till you all tell me what the bollocks is goin’ on.”

Shang-Chi shrugged and took a step back, raising his hands defensively. The fire was still raging behind him, the back section of the building having collapsed after the Captain’s smashing trips through the walls. The inner stone and brickwork was slowing the fire’s progress, along with the efforts of London’s firefighters without, but Braddock suspected the building’s remaining integrity would not last long.

Time to end this, Braddock thought as he hurtled forward. He would smash into the Chinaman midriff and send him careening into the wall, then shoot back and take out the others, 1-2-3. He shifted shoulder first, bracing for impact…

And suddenly slammed chin first into the floor.

He had barely seen Shang-Chi move. He had side-stepped just a fraction, his hands shooting out and somehow finding purchase with his fingers in the tattered remains of Braddock’s shirt. A flick of his wrist and Brian Braddock was suddenly on the floor, again.

But Shang-Chi did not stop there. He was on Braddock quickly and the Captain felt the other man grab his hand. Pain shot through his arm as he felt his thumb twist back in an odd, unnatural way once more. His arm was pulled upwards and off to the side as the Master of Kung Fu planted a knee in his back. Braddock actually moaned at the pain as the Chinaman applied pressure.

“You may be impervious to my assaults,” Shang-Chi said calmly, “but even the strongest of brutes can fall victim to his own body’s natural pressure points. Now please, calm yourself. This battle is over.”

“Not quite.”

Both men glanced to the side as Misty Knight stepped up. She held her gun low but ready as she crouched down next to Braddock and he saw the shining thing in her other hand sparkling in the firelight. It looked to Brian to be a writing pen but made out of glass. “What the – “

He did not get the chance to finish the thought as without a bit of preamble she jammed the thing against his throat. Brian actually felt a prick in his neck, and then immediately knew why as a familiar jolt of energy coursed through his very being. Magic…

Elsewhen

He was standing, barely, battered and bloody, his uniform in tatters on the stretch of wasteland that had once been London. Now it was devastated, shattered beyond recognition at the whim of a madman. A very powerful madman…

Sir James Jaspers, M.P. had pushed his ‘Super Hero Registration Act’ through Parliament with lightning speed citing instances throughout recent history around the globe. Naming names like Doom, the Red Skull, Magneto at first and gathering support, then mentioning heroes like the Hulk and the Thing; even Captain Britain. His passionate speeches were met with resounding applause, cheers to round up the Mutants and Metas, hero and villain alike. But it did not stop there.

Within weeks the camps were in place. The armies of the pure dressed in their ‘Beetle’ armor lorded the streets in the guise of martial law. Common man cowered in terror as the testing continued and the culling and purges swept through districts like a black and bloody tidal wave. And the floodtide did not recede at Britain’s shores but swept forth to engulf the world. First on the continent, and finally in America, the nations finally, truly united.

The obvious were the first, those dedicated to the letter of the law joining the crusade; registering gladly and publicly for all the world to see, smiling widely for global news. The Mutants were next. They had always been feared and were the next target; those that surrendered willingly shipped off to camps and collared to null their powers by one of their own. Those that fought back were eventually slaughtered for the good of humanity and the world. Then the vigilantes, then the sanctioned, then the different…

The little girl with the bat-wings pulled screaming from the back of the lorry where her parents had hidden her…

The boy with the stuttering speech and the bulging forehead; he must be one…

The bag lady with the club foot. Lord knows what she can do with that…

That one’s got funny eyes…

Queer… Coon…

And all the while Sir James Jaspers became more and more mad.

In the end he was the worst; the true threat that he had rallied the world against. Whether a mutant himself or somewhere along the line he had gathered power unto himself somehow James Jaspers had become God and twisted the world into an image more to his liking. And there on the devastated shore of the Thames, the waste of London as backdrop with its skeletal frames and candle wax contours Captain Britain had made his final stand…

The images flashed fast and furiously as the whirlwind of memory exploded in his mind’s eye. Pain with every reflection, a corresponding blow as the Fury entered the game; and in the end that’s all that it had ever been. But that would be learned later.

Now the Fury, that great lumbering monstrosity created two dimensions to the left for the sole purpose of exterminating Marvels, was beating the crap out of Captain Britain…

Now the Fury was battling Mad Jim…

Now James Jaspers is dead, his twisted mind incinerated and in a brief, vicious brawl the Captains Britain and U.K. rip the wounded Fury to shreds…

And we learn that life goes on, the game board clears, resets and another match begins.

[Author’s Note: The above was a rather condensed version of the events portrayed in UK Marvel’s Mighty World of Marvel, reprinted (finally) by Marvel US in the Captain Britain TPB by Alan’s Moore and Davis, circa January 2002.]

Now

“What did you do to him?” Shang-Chi released the stunned Hero of Britain letting his head thump to the floor as he stood. He looked to Misty Knight watching as she secreted the strange sparkling crystal into a compartment on her belt, her own dark eyes locked on him.

“Best you don’t even ask, Shang,” she said grimly. “There’s things goin’ on…” She sighed visibly sagging with an inner exhaustion. “Hell, I don’t even know the whole story, but it had to be done.”

Both jumped, startled at the sound of Leiko Wu’s Warhawk exploding into the near silence. They turned to see another vampire topple headless into the flaming ruins of a ratty sofa. Water poured down from above from the fire fighter’s hoses and the resulting smoke and steam were finally filling this final sanctuary.

“Think that’s the last of them,” Wu said as she cast her gaze warily about the room. Reston was soon at her side, cigarette dangling from his lips as he favored a bloodied and dangling right arm.

“Your daddy’s probably long gone, Chinaman,” Reston voiced what Shang-Chi knew. He had seen the Celestial step into the shadowed corridors as his horde began to gather in force. Whatever he had been planning from this building, releasing the mysterious plague as had been rumored; his schemes were thwarted and an arm of the body that was his whole was shattered. He would escape to plan anew, but they had defeated him here, one more battle in the war.

The front door smashed open then, Black Jack Tarr charging forth like a theatre action hero, over-sized gun in each hand and chomping down on a bit of cigar. Armed and armored agents were gathered behind him; MI-6, S.T.R.I.K.E., S.H.I.E.L.D., Shang-Chi could not tell the difference.

Misty Knight had backed to the far wall beside the seemingly ancient form of the mage. He was hunched, his gray dreadlocks hanging limply and damp like an old mop’s head, his face ashen and withdrawn. He was heaving for breath and Shang-Chi feared he might be at Death’s door. Tarr and his agents pointed their weapons at the pair.

“Nothin’ stupid, Knight!” Tarr shouted as he surveyed the room, friends and foe, the fire, England. “Time to get out of here,” he continued, glancing at the smoldering ceiling, “so just come easy an’ we’ll get grandpa some help, outside.”

Eicere…

Shang-Chi barely heard the hacking whisper but instantly recognized the word for what it was; a Cantrip, a word of magical power. Before he could react however, the room exploded in light and force as though the very air had become solid and was shoving him back. He flew a short distance and slammed into the wall behind him, rattling his senses. He heard glass shattering, wood cracking and moaning as screams of shock and panic echoed about him.

He dropped to a crouch as the force dissipated, the moaning form of Captain England huddled beside him. A quick scrutiny of the room and he saw that the only ones standing were Knight and the mage, and he just barely. Knight had a firm grip on the collar of his trenchcoat with the fingers of her bionic right hand, her gun shifted to the left and sweeping the room. Everyone else was sprawled on the floor up against the wall and trying to gather their wits. Even the smoke and flames had been pushed out and away by whatever spell the mage had cast. He wondered briefly why the pair did not run, but the answer quickly came as his once brother appeared in a swirl of black.

Midnight limped from the black cloud emanating from the swirling cloak that he wore. His left leg sported a long gash though the blood seemed sparse and that looked almost frozen. He seemed nervous as his head darted towards the door that led to the corridor that their father had vanished down, almost agitated, frantic and that made Shang-Chi nervous as well. M’Nai was never agitated, always in control of his emotions, what little he had.

“Bout fuckin – “ Midnight waved off Knight’s burst of impatient expletives with one hand and held out what appeared to be two vials of liquid in the other. Knight nodded even as Black Jack Tarr spat and struggled to rise.

“If that’s what I think it is, Knight, you got about half a second to hand it over before things get ugly,” he snarled getting to his knees and raising the one huge gun that he had managed to recover. Shang-Chi heard other guns ratcheting as the agents followed suit, Reston and Wu included.

“Uhh… What the bloody hell’s goin’ on now,” Braddock mumbled as he raised his head. Shang-Chi placed a hand on the larger man’s shoulder both in comfort and prepared to hold him in down as an angry, agonized shriek ripped through the tension, a jagged blade ravaging the uneasy, thick silence of stand-off.

All eyes turned to the sallow-skinned thing that came dragging through the doorway. Its face was gray tinted yellow, weathered and dry, mummified. It was huge, limping in tattered, scorched robes that were of ancient Mandarin design. As my father wears, Shang-Chi thought as his eyes fixed on the pommeled handle of a sai jutting from the creature’s thigh. There was a raggedy, gaping hole where the thing’s left arm once was. Its dark gaze swept the room, finally lingering on Midnight as it bared its fangs, its neck elongating, jaws snapping with its hiss of rage.

Gunfire erupted in the room, the stench of sulfur and staccato flashes of light and plumes of smoke, shell casings rattling to the wooden flooring like hail. The creature did an odd dance pirouetting jerkily in a circle as it screamed, more from frustration than pain. Its body seemed to shift and morph beneath its moldy, ratty robe and Shang-Chi saw a fine mist swirl about it as it jittered in rhythm to the storm of bullets.

It was Captain England that ended the creature’s perverse dance however. With a raging scream all his own he flew forward to smash through the thing, the mummified form exploding in dried gore and dust, dissolving in the wake of Braddock’s passing. The Captain in turn slammed through the far wall and Shang-Chi heard the building’s final death rows as it groaned and gasped.

As the ceiling came down Shang-Chi took a fleeting glance at the swirling darkness swelling where once stood Knight, the mage and his brother. He then leaped through the shattered remains of the nearest window, hoping that his allies were sane enough to do the same.

Epilog One:

London, England
22 Cleveland Street
Fitrovia

Brian Braddock sat on the tailgate of the S.T.R.I.K.E. battle van sipping at a cup of tea as he watched the obvious confusion of too many government agencies trying to either place blame or take control of the situation. The medics had given him the once-over, though of course the minor nicks and scrapes that he had gathered in the fight had long since healed. Except for the spot on his neck where Misty Knight had jabbed her little magical toy- it felt now like a bee sting, swollen and red- he was fine; physically at least.

His head however was a muddled torrent of images and questions that no one had chosen to answer, and he was getting bloody well sick of being ignored. He was the Hero of London, and he would damn well get some answers, and soon.

The fire fighters were still poking about the smoldering remains of the old workhouse, though there was little left but piles of brick and charred, waterlogged wood. S.T.R.I.K.E. had taken precedent over security- the U.K. was their primary jurisdiction over S.H.I.E.L.D., home turf and all that. They had guards stationed at the basement opening and had sent agents down into the tunnels, catacombs that led to an abandoned dock in a forgotten sewer that emptied out into the Thames. Braddock overheard that there were signs of a fight, finding shuriken and nunchuks abandoned and some dried blood but otherwise nothing.

He saw the MI-6 agents across the cordoned area, Tarr in conference with some bigwig from S.T.R.I.K.E. while the others nursed their wounds. Reston had his arm swathed in bandages and hanging in a sling and brace ignoring the medics that were urging him towards the ambulance. Leiko Wu was at his side, her skintight leathers ripped and bloodied, her exposed skin sporting bandages as well. Only Shang-Chi seemed none the worse for wear, a small swath of cotton gauze taped to his cheek. He apparently sensed Braddock staring at him and slowly made his way through the crowd.

“I am sorry,” he said and sounded as though he meant it. “You arrived quite literally in the heat of battle. There was no time to explain.”

“Time now,” Braddock said tossing his empty paper cup to the ground.

“I- “ Shang-Chi began, but even as he started to speak he was cut off by a louder voice booming from beyond the yellow tape of the police cordon. Both men looked to see a skinny, dapper man with black hair slicked back and a pencil thin mustache preening for a crowd and flock of media. Bright lights glared atop tall metal poles and microphones hovered over and near to catch each flowery, exaggerated word.

“Do you see?” the man said as he swept his arm back with a flourish at the scene of carnage. “This is exactly what I have been saying. Left unchecked these ‘Marvels’ wreck havoc in our streets, wantonly destroying our cherished landmarks, destroying everything in their path and leaving devastation in their wake. It was only the quick action of normal, common men like you and I, our brave fire fighters throwing caution and thought of their own safety to the wind that stopped this conflagration from spreading throughout the district and London itself. We were only lucky that none died in this row of bludgeoning muscle and firearms. Where was S.T.R.I.K.E. to stop this carnage? Where was MI-6?

“Something must be done to control these ‘heroes’, and now! Steps must be taken to regain our city, our lives so that we can all live with peace of mind again, without fear that any moment some madman will come crashing through out homes waging some senseless battle that could have been avoided with a simple law…”

Braddock glanced at Shang-Chi and saw the man frowning, shaking his head. He knew exactly how the Chinaman felt as he sighed and returned his attention to the ramblings of Sir James Jasper, M.P. He saw Jaspers was pointing at him now and Brian Braddock shuddered at the man’s gaze, one eye sparkling, larger than the other.

A stray thought, a memory it seemed almost surfaced, then swirled back into the murky depths of his mind…

Epilog Two:

The Dark Dimension

She hated this. Stumbling blindly through the dim of the barren land of the Dark Dimension, freezing and shivering every step of the way. On a good day it was a hellish trek, but they were all exhausted and wounded making the journey a continuous struggle. And she was sure that they were being followed, if not hunted.

The ugly little critters of the Dark Dimension could sense their weakness, probably smell their blood and- yes- her fear and were gathering in the fringes. If they attacked en masse Misty Knight doubted that they would survive. Arcane was spent and she was half carrying, half dragging the mage along on her bionic enhanced frame. Midnight was little better, though of course he did not complain. He was limping and had pulled a Bo Staff from that cloak of his, using it as a walking stick as he led them across the desert towards their point of transition, however far away that was.

The only saving grace was that they had completed their mission. They had retrieved not only the Elixir Vitae from Fu Manchu, but the Devil Doctor’s plague that would allegedly wipe out the world’s Marvel population, making them all normal. She wondered if maybe in the long run that might not be such a bad thing after what they had all just gone through.

Misty sighed. She would leave that decision to Grimm or someone higher up on the food chain. She just hoped that whatever happened, Grimm would make the right choice. With the plague, the elixir and whatever was in the crystal stylus that she had used on Captain Britain. She had seen Grimm use the thing but did not have a clue as to what it was, did or why he used it. She did know however that after this fiasco, she would be hearing some answers.

Misty Knight almost stumbled into the back of Midnight she was so tired and lost in thought as he stopped short on the crest of a low rise. She hauled Arcane up and stepped up beside her teammate, asking, “What’s up…” before her voice faded away.

A man stood on the far side of the hill, though she doubted that ‘man’ was enough of a description. He was easily over eight feet tall and massive, looking to be solid muscle beneath the garish, archaic armor of scarlet shades that he wore. She shuddered as she met his gaze, his eyes black with white pupils reminding her of images of Galactus that she had seen in the past. Wonderful…

Misty Knight, the man said as he gazed cryptically at the three of them. She wondered though if he had actually spoken as his voice seemed to echo in her head.

You possess items meant for me. He extended a massive hand, palm up and expectant. Present them, now.

“Uh-huh. And just who the hell are you, red?” she said as she raised her Magnum. It was all she could do to keep her voice from quavering. It was all bravado on her part as she knew that even the .357 shell would be like a mosquito bouncing off that armor. She had run into these ‘god’ types before and knew bullets were squat against them, but that was all she had.

The big man smirked but it was far from friendly. You are brave, human. Grimm chose his comrades wisely. Now comply, lest I take what I desire.

“Sorry.” Misty fired three quick shots emptying the gun, watching in disbelief as the bullets slowed in mid-air and finally halted at a simple gesture from the red man. He was so certain that he chuckled as the bullets turned 180 degrees and suddenly shot back in her direction. She dropped to the ground shoving Arcane away to tumble back down the far side of the hill. Two bullets zipped past far too close while the third disappeared into the viscous black swirling from the folds of Midnight’s cape.

Midnight started to back up as the big man rose slightly to hover just above the ground. Then Midnight froze, one foot at an odd angle in mid-step and she wondered why he did not topple over. She realized then that she could not move either, her gaze even locked on Midnight’s foot.

She saw the man on the edge of her peripheral vision as he hovered closer finally looming above them. She could not see beyond the top of his blood red boots, but she could hear him.

I am no longer amused, monkey. His ‘voice’ was a cold dagger in her brain and Misty suddenly sensed that the three prized items had vanished from her belt. She could not look up but did not have to, to know that he now held them.

Had you complied I would have healed you and sent you home. Now you may fend for yourselves.

And he was gone, no flash of energy, no sonic boom. The scarlet giant simply winked out of existence.

Misty collapsed to the ground, suddenly free and mobile again. A moment later and Midnight was sprawled beside her on the rough, cold grit. “Eric,” she whispered and scrambled back and around to see Arcane lying deathly still at the bottom of the rise. Worse, in the distance she could see the dark shadows of the denizens of the Dark Dimension gathering and roiling closer; a horde of jagged teeth and razor sharp talons.

“We gotta get outta here,” she said as she scrambled and slid down the hill to tumble over Arcane. She got to her knees between him and the critters and reached back with her flesh and blood hand to touch his throat. She felt a pulse but it was dull and weak. Still she sighed in relief and called back up the rise.

“Get your ass up, Midnight! We gotta go! Now!”

She could hear her partner stumbling down the hill even as the first of the creatures arrived; a quick, flying thing with ragged, diamond-like teeth and an insectoid segmented body. It zipped past, testing its prey then shot in mouth agape. Its head exploded as Misty Knight drove her bionic fist into the back of its throat in a shower of sizzling black gore that burned where it splattered on her skin.

“Jesus, fuck! C’mon!” she shouted as two more bugs shot past. She could sense Midnight’s concern as they were still far from their transition point, but she did not care. They were dead if they stayed. “Do it!”

She held Arcane close even as Midnight’s Shadow Cloak swept out to engulf the three of them, the inky black chilling her to the marrow as the Dark Dimension slowly faded away…

Next Issue: The Thing is back in action as he and a surprise guest try to invade the Baxter Building! A joyous family reunion this will not be…