Canada

“Je-sus,” the armored mercenary known as Sonic said, shuddering inside his emerald battle-suit. The truck stop was a shambles, and a bloody one at that. “Say what you will, but at least the Hulk doesn’t-y’know-eat people. Christ.”

“That we know of,” one of his companions, the blue-armored Chain grunted, sliding aside a toppled booth to reveal something that had once been human. “Ah, damn.”

“Quiet,” the third member of the group said. Standing stock still in his bulky gray armor, Grasp looked like nothing so much as a statue. After a moment, he pointed. “Heat trail, leading that way.”

“Shit. Got an odd signature,” Chain said. “What do you think that means?”

“Looks almost like gamma bleed off,” Grasp said.

“Mission brief didn’t say anything about him changing form,” Sonic added. Grasp laughed.

“Since when have the mission briefs ever been right?” He glanced at Sonic. “If they had been, you’d have been more prepared to deal with a nutcase like the Punisher, instead of letting him ruin your suit.”

“You got to keep bringing that up, don’t you?” Sonic said. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“Whine bitch moan whine,” Chain said, chuckling.

“Can it, both of you.” Grasp stood, head cocked, a portion of his internal systems dedicated to scrolling through previous encounters with the creature they were after. There was nothing new there, nothing too helpful. It was tough. Savage. But basically an animal, without even the low cunning the Hulk displayed.

The human factor, however, was different. Grasp frowned as what information the Secret Empire had on Phillip Costas was thrust across his screens. Professional soldier. A hitch in several different national militaries, including the US, the UK, Mexico and Russia. No spec-ops, strictly a ground-pounder, which made for a refreshing change. Fought the Commies in Afghanistan, fought everybody in Croatia, worked for Roxxon, Hammer Industries, Stark International, and a variety of smaller companies. Had tangled with the big dogs twice, once in Wakanda, mixing it up with the super-powers set on orders from someone who ought to have known better.

By the time the Secret Empire had hired him, Phillip Costas had become a professional gunslinger, bopping from one gig to the next. He was a born survivor, with experience in dealing with people who could flatten him from a mile up.

“Crap.”

“What?” Chain said. Grasp gestured.

“Never mind. We follow the signature.” Grasp rose into the air, lifted on a cushion of super-heated oxygen. The other two followed, and soon all three Seekers were hurtling east, following the fading heat trail of the creature known as the Wendigo.

BODY HORROR

By Josh Reynolds

“HELLO CHILD-THING. KOLOMAQ RESPONDS,” the thing inhabiting Phillip Costas’ form said, in a voice as deep and black as the pit. Rebecca Sarazin shuddered as the words rolled over her and echoed in her skull.

The thing sweated cold and moved as if it were unsure of its body. Outwardly, it was still Phillip Costas, but inwardly-

“ANSWER, CHILD-THING. KOLOMAQ GROWS ANNOYED.”

Her fingers moved instinctively, clawing symbols on the frosty air. She could hear her brothers-the men of her tribe-moving in disarray, the deep voice of the elder thing throwing their souls off balance.

“I name thee Kolomaq,” she breathed. It was growing colder. Ice crystals formed on her fingers. “I name thee BEAST. Nookomis bind thee-”

“HA. HA. HA-HA-HA.” It wasn’t a laugh, more like shards of ice falling into a valley. “I KNOW MY NAME, CHILD-THING. I-”

The bullet shattered like crystal as it struck Costas’ chest. The thing behind Costas’ eyes looked down and brushed the shards of the bullet off of his chest. It looked up, black eyes narrowing.

“KOLOMAQ IS ANNOYED.”

Someone screamed. Rebecca didn’t dare to take her eyes off of the abomination before her. She heard ice crackle and shift and then, finally, shatter. The thing looked at her, its shape wrapped around Costas like a fog.

“I CANNOT BE HARMED OR BANISHED BY SUCH AS YOU, CHILD-THING. KOLOMAQ IS HERE. NOW. AND THE WORLD WEE-” Costas staggered. “WHAt is it? Get it out of meAT! EAT!” The man fell to his knees, clutching his head, his body racked by spasms. He stared at Rebecca, his eyes bulging, shifting colors. “What’s happening to me?”

Blood boiled from his mouth, and slivers of fang sprouted from his gums as he rocked back, shrieking. The fog-shape of the Great Beast that had, until only seconds ago, been in possession of his form seemed to be struggling as well.

Furrows of coarse white hair sprouted on Costas’ arms and neck. He screamed and pounded his fists into the floor.

“What is happening to him?” someone yelled. Rebecca backed away, her eyes wide.

“They are fighting inside him!” she said, racing for the stairs. “I do not know how this has happened, but they are fighting within him-two demons, battling for his form!”

“What should we-”

“Shoot him!” Rebecca screamed. A dozen rifles thundered.

Henry Sarazin ran, an old black book clutched in his arms, an even older rawhide bag hanging from his shoulder. His breath came in short puffs and his heart felt as if it were on the verge of exploding within its cage of bone.

They had come out of nowhere, their voices like a shrieking wind. War-chants perhaps, or maybe just the hunting call of predators. They ranged across his trail, keeping pace, their bare feet making barely a sound on the snows.

Sarazin yearned to pluck the pistol from his waistband, but he knew that to stand was death. And his death meant death for the others. His family and friends. So instead he ran. He ran as he had never run before, ignoring the clutching branches of ice-coated trees, the snow that seemed to shift beneath his feet.

Another rush of wild screams buffeted him, chilling his blood, and his arms clutched the book tighter to him, as if it alone could shield him. And perhaps it could. It was Fiddler’s Book, after all. Zhaawano-giizhigo-gaabaw, He Who Stands In the Southern Sky. Jack Fiddler, the Wiindigoog Doctor.

The thing came out of nowhere, glassy black eyes boring into his as it lunged. Henry screamed and stumbled, falling into a drift, the book flopping away. The dead deer collapses across him, its foulness swamping him. He kicked it away as laughter rattled out of the trees.

Pistol in hand, he stood. Nothing moved. His bottom lip clenched between his teeth, he moved towards the book. He bent and reached for it.

The foot came down on the cover and his hand, crunching bones. “Oh my feet, my fiery feet,” the creature said. A big fist swung out, catching Henry on the side of the head and sending him falling.

Dazed, he tried to plug the brute, but it moved too fast. Fingers like bent iron caught his wrist, and he felt the bones grate together. His fingers spasmed and the pistol fell away. Another blow brought blood from his mouth. Then another and another and-

“Enough.” Louder, “Defago, ENOUGH!”

Lecoq stepped out of the trees, the snow crunching beneath his tread. Others followed him, a dozen in all. White-haired men and women, all of their faces stamped with the same cosmic malignancy. The Children of the Snows. “We need him alive, for the moment.”

Defago dropped Henry to the ground and stepped back, licking the blood from his bony knuckles. Lecoq squatted in front of Henry and grabbed his jaw. “Wake up, savage,” he said.

Henry’s eyes opened. “Kill me and be done,” he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. Lecoq grinned.

“Along and along. We found the deer,” he said, gesturing to the carcass. “Still relatively fresh. And footprints. Your kin have the Hungry Man, don’t they?”

Henry said nothing. His eyes strayed to the book. Lecoq looked at it and grimaced. “Pah. The Stylish Man can’t save you now. The Walker on the Northern Winds is here, now, on this plane of existence. Your books and tricks-” Lecoq grabbed the bag and ripped it off of Henry, scattering the sacred objects it contained across the snow.

“Bones and rat droppings,” he grunted. His fingers dug into Henry’s jaw with painful force. “Where are they? Where are they holding our god?”

Henry lashed up with a foot, catching Lecoq at the juncture of his legs. The big man shrieked, but did not fall. Alien muscle pulsed and Henry was flying through the air. He hit a tree and then the ground, feeling like a waterskin punctured by rocks. Things moved inside him as he tried to get up.

The Children of the Snows fell on him moments later. Dirty-nailed fingers plunged through his unresisting flesh and were rewarded with thick ropes of red and pink.

Henry Sarazin wailed as frost-blackened teeth champed down on his insides, and strong fingers stripped his muscles from the bone. Men and women crouched over him, eating and eating until only the gleam of slippery bone remained.

Defago, carrying a hank of shapeless meat, crouched in front of his leader. “Got his scent,” the wild man said. Lecoq, clutching himself, slapped the meat aside.

“Couldn’t have said that earlier?” he wheezed. Defago grinned and tapped his bloody nose.

“Had to get a snootful.”

“EATEATEAT!” Costas screamed as bullets punched through his frame. He staggered, his skin deflating and tightening across his bones. Rebecca scrambled up the stairs. By all rights, the man should have fallen.

Instead, his body suddenly ballooned, the skin turning the color of dirty ice. His mouth opened impossibly wide, displaying a jagged forest of teeth, too large for his lips to contain. His fingers tore at his flesh, stripping it away to reveal furrows of arctic fur.

“WEN-DI-GO!”

And so it was. The Wendigo, dressed in rags of bloodless flesh, looked up at the desperately firing Anishinaabe men, its lips wrinkling back from its fangs. With a grunt, it leapt. Claws hooked the railing of the loft, and it hauled itself up, tail lashing.

“WEN-DI-GO…” it hissed, reaching for the closest man, who screamed and hurled himself off of the balcony rather than let the creature touch him. Others backed away, into rooms or towards the stairs, firing as quickly as they could.

“Sarah, we must go!” one of the men yelled, grabbing the woman. She shook him off.

“No! Rally the others, Franklin! We can’t let it escape!”

“But-”

“Get them!” she snarled. Then, she pushed past him, her fingers dancing above her head as a coiling wind swept from the cracks in the walls. “Animikiig hear me!”

The house shook as a bolt of pure force swept from her hands and struck the monster in the skull, knocking it from its perch. The Wendigo fell, howling, and the floor shattered beneath its weight.

Standing at the edge of the loft, Rebecca began to chant, softly at first, then louder. She was no Twoyoungman, but the Sarazin’s had always had some small power. If only Henry could get there in time, they could bind the beast, maybe even drive it out entirely…

The Wendigo rose to its feet, shedding broken bits of wood. It glared up at her, simian face wrinkling in confusion. Rebecca met its glare, a breeze curling protectively around her.

“Still yourself, beast. Lest I bring the notice of Gichi-manidoo upon you,” she said. Behind her, she could hear Franklin and the others gathering their courage. The Wendigo hissed at her words, teeth clicking together.

Then, its head cocked, eyes rolling upwards. “Hurn?” Rebecca too looked up, feeling a rumble.

“What-”

The roof exploded, and an armored shape crashed down, slamming into the white-furred behemoth below.

“Hoo-hah! Gotcha!” Sonic yelped, his helmet amplifying his voice. The green-armored mercenary dug his fingers into the ruff of hair around the Wendigo’s throat and pressed it back against the floor.

The Wendigo snarled and drove a fist up into his attacker’s belly, sending the Seeker hurtling up and back. Before the beast could rise, a crimson chain, sheathed in crackling energy, wrapped tightly around its throat.

“Whoa nelly! He’s bigger than I thought!” Chain said, driving his knees into the Wendigo’s back and hauling on both ends of the chain. As the creature reared back, Grasp fell on him, gray gauntlets smacking into white flesh loudly.

“Hold him, damn it!” Grasp barked, slamming both fists down on the crown of the Wendigo’s head. The beast staggered, but did not fall.

Sonic, having crashed into the loft, rolled onto all fours and pushed himself up. Behind his helmet, his eyes narrowed as his HUD outlined the form of Rebecca Sarazin and failed to quantify the energies surrounding her.

“Crap. Guys! We got a mutie up here!”

“Who are you?” Rebecca said, extending a hand. “What do you want?”

“Nothing you’ve got, sweetness,” Sonic said, rising to his feet. “So lower them hands.”

“Stop playing Injun and help us!” Chain called up. The Wendigo’s hands grabbed either side of the blue-armored mercenary and smashed him into Grasp, sending them both tumbling heavily to the ground.

“WEN-DI-GOOO!” the creature howled, lunging for its opponents. Chain swept out his line, battering the creature across the skull, causing it to stumble.

Grasp was on his feet, an energy net springing from concealed canisters in the fingers of his gauntlet. He slung it, ensnaring the thrashing form of the Wendigo. The beast thrust its skull forward, teeth slamming shut on one of the man’s hands.

“GAH! Get him off-”

“Son of a-” Sonic’s boot-jets fired, and he crashed into the Wendigo’s back. A few moments later, he had a strange, crab-like device attached to the beast’s back. The energy-leech switched on with a sinister hum. The Wendigo squealed and fell to its knees as its vitality was drained, yet still, it struggled.

“Hit it! Hit it!” Grasp said, battering at the thing’s face in an attempt to free his arm. The teeth hadn’t penetrated the armor, but from the noises his suit was making, it was only a matter of time.

Chain and Sonic flailed at it, punching it with every erg of energy their suits could muster. White turned red, and finally, after what seemed like hours, the creature toppled, unconscious. Grasp yanked his arm free and staggered back.

“Jesus,” he muttered. The servo-joint made an awful sound as he bent the arm. “Crap.”

“It’s out. Now what?” Sonic said, checking that the energy-leech was still in place.

“Now you put up your hands and explain what the hell you’re doing here!” Rebecca called down to them. Franklin and the others had their weapons aimed at the trio.

The Seekers looked up, then at one another. As one they laughed.

“Is she serious?” Chain said.

“Let’s find out,” Grasp said. “This is going to be fun…”

Elsewhere

“Are the facilities secure?” Number Eight said, his voice tinny as it emerged from the out-of-date communications array.

“As well as can be expected,” Number Seventy-Six said, leaning back in his chair. “This place has been mothballed since we stopped keeping tabs on the Weapon Plus program. The security protocols are out of date. There’s a bear in the hydroponics lab. No idea how it got in.”

“The holding cells?” Number Eight said.

“Fully operational. We can hold Costas until proper transportation arrives. I’ve got a full security contingent, plus the Seekers.”

“Speaking of them…”

“They contacted me fifteen minutes ago. They’re bringing the beast in now.” Number Seventy-Six leaned forward. “It looks like Operation: Blackwood is a success.”

“There’s a saying about chickens and eggs, Number Seventy-Six,” Number Eight said. “Keep me informed.”

“Of course sir.” Static filled the tiny control room. Number Seventy-Six sat back and pressed his fingers together below his chin.

“Of course,” he said, to the empty air.

NEXT ISSUE: What does the Secret Empire want with the Wendigo? And what does Kolomaq think about it?