BLOGS

Wilson Tuchman called "Tuck" by his friends, the few that were still alive sat at the bus stop and waited early on a Saturday morning. It was a warm spring morning, the kind that made you forget your aches and pain and believe the world was going about its business of being beautiful before the heat of summer baked it away. Tuck was a a tall man, easily six feet whose once black wooly hair had faded to a salt and pepper grey. His chocolate brown skin was smooth with a rich wrinkled texture, that when he smiled smoothed away the age from his face. His eyes were bright and clear and people found his wise and knowing gaze easy to bear.

Tuck had been in the habit of making the trip to Lowell Park in the mornings on Saturday to improv with a group of musicians who play outside the city's farmer's market. They were an above average group who played for tips all day. This particular iteration of the group had been playing together for about two years and Tuck enjoyed playing with them. It was the thing that made his weeks bearable since his Sadie passed on.

He was determined to stay active and involved in the community. He heard that men did not live long after their wives died and Tuck, well he was not quite ready to die just yet. Having lived to be seventy-two, he was in no particular rush to meet his Maker. Sadie, bless her soul, had trained him well and he could cook, shop and take reasonably good care of himself. He had to get his hair cut down at the corner shop, something he had not done in years, and discovered he missed the male company. Sadie cut his hair for thirty years and he had grown accustomed to her light hand and special pampering. He trimmed his beard, since no one could cut it the way she did, and after the first butchering at the shop he decided he didn't really like it anyway.

He put on a pair of comfortable slacks and a shirt that didn't bunch up while he played his horn. He wore a pair of comfortable shoes, just in case he had to stand up. Sadie's last gift to him was a pair of gel insoles and he simply loved them. When you get to be old, you just don't realize how comfortable feet make such a difference in your day. He wore a light jacket and a sweater, he didn't know what the weather was going to be like and wanted the option to put on or take off whatever was necessary to keep playing.Tuck loved to play his horn. He had lost his grandfather's horn he played all through the sixties in a fire twenty years ago. It was an heirloom 1927 King Liberty Silver. A beautiful trumpet given to him by his grandfather. He did not know how precious it was but he cared for it meticulously because his grandfather had. 

He taught him how to take it apart and clean every spring, value and chamber. He shined it until it glowed and when he played it, there was nothing that even came close to it. He played it from 1924 when he started in the Diamond Club, a juke joint in the backwoods of Louisiana. He joined the band there and they traveled up and down the Chitlin Circuit for thirty years playing jazz of every melody, style and rhythm. Jazz was in his blood. He even managed to make it to the radio in the fifties and sixties and had half a dozen albums to his name. He married Sadie during that time and their relationship was turbulent to say the least. She used to say that he loved his horn more than her. That wasn't true. The horn just didn't nag him as much about her. 

After he lost the Liberty, he was too distraught and realized he simply couldn't bear to play anymore. He had played other trumpets over the years but they couldn't seem to match the soul his grandfather's trumpet seem to have. Tuck sometimes thought his pater's soul had moved into the trumpet when he died and Tuck was simply a vessel for him to keep playing his music. So in his early fifties, he became a mechanic because he had always been handy with vehicles and repaired them over the years they spent driving the Circuit. He bought a small station and for twenty years made a tidy sum keeping old cars on the road in his corner of Philadelphia. Sadie worked as a librarian and was very, very good with money, so they had more than they needed with his tiny royalty check and her retirement. 

After his retirement, his was a comfortable life. He even bought a new trumpet, a Jaeger. It was functional, with a clean, bright sound. He had mellowed and decided he would let go of his past, his fame, or his reluctance to play anything other than the Liberty. And just like that, his life was good again. He played everyday again and his neighbors loved to hear his muted trumpet whispering tunes of elegance, mystery, sassy tunes of exuberance and a time lost, a time when it was okay to be just a little bit bad.He played at Sadie's funeral. He could not even speak to anyone. So he played. And when he was done, his music reached into them, pulled something out of them, some grief, some sadness, and brought it into the air with them. It sat alongside them, wept with them and then that sadness moved on, just like Sadie did. People left the funeral smiling and filled with light. 

The bus was late, but only a few minutes and he stood up to stretch his legs. As it rounded the corner, he found himself eager to get to the park. It had been a long time since he was eager to do anything. The bus pulled alongside and he allowed most people to get on before him to avoid bumping into anyone with his trumpet. He was the last person to get on the bus. As he moved into the bus, several young people decided to get up and pushed their way through the bus. As they came close to him, the largest shoved him into another passenger and he snatched the trumpet from his hand. As they ran out the door, they startled a flock of pigeons on the sidewalk who scattered and took flight.

Tuck fell over the baby carriage and managed to catch himself before falling onto the young mother and her baby. The bus driver tried to run out after the ruffians but one of them pulled a small firearm and Tuck touched the driver and shook his head. He was not so in love with the Jaeger that anyone should die over it.For a moment, his rage grew and then he heard the small child laugh and look at him. 
"Are you okay, sir? Do you want to file a report?" It took a second for Tuck to realize the driver was talking to him."No. There is no point. It's not like I will get my trumpet back any time soon. I am sure the police will have plenty to keep them busy in this town."

"We have them on the bus camera and may be able to get an ID later."

"Okay, you take my address, and if I am still alive when they find them, and my trumpet, I will happily accept it back. I am certain these good folks have someplace to be, and so do I. I am fine, my gel insoles broke my fall."Several of the riders laughed and a young man offered Tuck a seat. Shaken, he accepted and rode to the park in thoughtful contemplation.

When he got to the park, the Farmers Market was almost finish setting up and the band was tuning their instruments. While he had not be seriously injured, he felt a slight twinge in his hip and knew he would feel it more later. 

"Hey Tuck, where's your horn? You always jam with us. Taking the day off? Williams was another oldster who played the bass. Tuck liked his easy-going manner. 

"No sir, not today it seems. Fate decided that old Jaeger and I needed to go our separate ways."
"What happened?" Jim, the saxophonist stopped warming up and looked up. He was one of the youngest of the musicians barely twenty-five, but he had an old jazz and blue soul.

"Some of the urban yout' decided they needed my horn more than I did."

"I can go handle that if you want me to." Jim's veiled threat was easy to recognize, and despite his old musical soul, he had a modern day blood-lust when pushed to it.

"Let it go, I am going to sit here with you brothers and just relax for a change. I need a break from carrying y'all anyway." Tuck smiled and Williams shook his head.

The group consisted of a double bass, electric piano, sax, alto sax, bass guitar, drums, a cornet when we were lucky, an occasional French horn and until today, at least one trumpet. Fortunately, another trumpet showed up, some new cat nobody knew. He wore a tan linen suit with a red shirt underneath the jacket. His clothing looked comfortable and he was relaxed. He was smoking a cigarette while he relaxed in the back. A cool brother, he introduced himself as Israfel. He was playing some old school horn, something from the thirties from the look of it. Tuck felt a momentary sting of nostalgia for his grandfather's Liberty. The group warmed up and Tuck sat off to the side and just listened.

They started with 'Fly Me to the Moon' and Tuck thought of Sadie. It was one of her favorites and they danced their first dance to it. The vocals were taken up by Israfel's horn. He played it, massaged it, and spun into and out of it. The rest of the band played softly allowing him to carry it. "In other words, please be true, in other words, I love you." A slow piece, the band used it to warm the crowd up, to tease them close. It was a piece most of the older crowd knew and playing it ensured their approach.

Switching to 'Rhapsody in Blue', Israfel soared, his trumpet stomped, disappeared and reappeared across the piece. This was a jazz favorite because while the pure song was wonderful, it lent itself to varied improvisations and could be played allowing each instrument a time to shine. Fast and slow, it offered everyone an opportunity to play alone and together. Tuck remembered this piece as one of his favorites, and was one of the pieces he played on the radio near the end of his career. Many people knew snippets of the song because parts of it were played in cartoons and commercials in the sixties.

Near the end of the piece, Israfel reached into his pocket and pulled out a mouthpiece, still in the wrapper and flipped it to Tuck. Tuck surprised, let it hit him in the chest before catching it. Looking quizzically at Israfel he let the band wrap up the piece. Without a word, Israfel takes his mouthpiece out and hands his horn to Tuck. He nods and Tuck takes it. It feels good. It feels like the old Liberty in his hands. Light, keys smooth, he didn't even feel the need to test it. He put his lips to it and felt it become a part of him.

Williams flags out 'April in Paris' and Tuck steps forward. A strong trumpet piece, Tuck taps his foot and they begin. Israfel moved in the back and found a French horn. As they started playing, the crowd began to gather, a gentle breeze swept in and the vendors in the Farmer's Market, settled into a rhythm, sales were easier, people were friendlier, a gentle and easy peace took place. Tuck played his heart out, the crowd grew larger while they played. They worked it, they stretched it and when they played that last creshendo, Tuck was drenched, sweat flowing easily down his brow. The crowd roared, money was passed forward and they kept playing. The moved through the century, with hit after hit. The crowd rotated but never seemed to grow smaller, when they finally stopped to rest, Israfel came to Tuck and clapped him on his back.

"So, do you like it?" pointing to the trumpet.

Tuck, still a little winded, smiled widely, the first real smile in two years and said, "Oh yes, very much."
Israfel laughed and replied, "In my country, when a man says he likes a thing we are obliged to give it to him. She is yours, now."

"Oh, no, my brother, I could never take something as sweet as this from you. I have never played anything this good since I lost my grandfather's horn. I know it may be a custom, but I could never deny a man his horn."

"It is also bad manners to refuse the gift, my friend. Please take it. It sings for you. Look at this crowd, they were loving it.""Your gift humbles me, my brother. How may I be of service to you?" Tuck was moved and felt a need to reciprocate somehow. What could he offer for such a fine gift?

"The knowledge that you will care for it and love it like I did is enough for me," Israfel replied. He picked up his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. The springtime air had warmed considerably. 

"Where are you going? We still have one more set, we need you." Tuck had reached out to touch Israfel's shoulder.

"You don't need me any longer, my friend. You have everything you ever needed right there. Look on the side of the trumpet."

Looking where he expected to find the manufacturer's name, he saw the word Gabriel spelled out with ornate and beautiful styled lettering. There were patterns woven into the metal, subtle, hard to see, but in the midday light, they were unmistakable. This trumpet was a work of art. Then Tuck had a moment, a moment of memory something he heard as a child. "Isn't Gabriel the name of an Angel?"

"You remember rightly. A Serephim who trumpets for the Lord. Smote Soddam and Gamorrah if my church learning is still righteous. What about him?"

"Am I dead?"

"You look okay to me. You not feeling well?"

"Actually, I feel great, the best I felt in years." Even the twinge in his hip was gone. He stood straighter and taller as if part of him had suddenly returned.

"Then enjoy the Horn. My gift to you."

"Am I going to have to play in Heaven or something?"

"No, Heaven is full up on trumpets. Make your magic here, do what you did today anywhere you wish, any time you want. Your is a special magic no one can give you. You have the magic that comes with time and effort. That word on the Horn is a title, given to the one best suited to move the hearts of men. That, my friend, is now you."

"How long can I do this?"

"Until you are ready to pass it to another who loves it like you do. Or until you're ready to lay down your burdens. Whichever comes first. For as long as you love it, play it and share it, you shall know no want, no fear, no longing.

"What about Sadie?"

"She'll abide till you show up. She said you'd take it. She said you loved your horn more than her."

"But never better." 

"She knows that, too" Israfel turned and walked away.

Tuck, with a lighter step, slid back up to the group and joined in on 'Birdland'.

Hornblower © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Q & A: scholar discusses Mayan 2012 doomsday predictions



By J.K. Melki Russell, Baltimore Spirituality Examiner  

April 19th, 2011 9:08 pm ET

 

As a follow up to our initial article Why Mayan 2012 Doesn’t Really Matter, we recently engaged scholar Gerardo Aldana, professor of Chicana and Chicano Studies at the University of California Santa Barbara. In Calendars and Years II: Astronomy and Time in the Ancient and Medieval World" his findings questioned the accuracy of many who claim it marks December 21, 2012 as “Doomsday.”

 

The following is our brief Q&A with professor Aldana.

 

Q & A

 

Examiner: How does your book's research indicate that public perceptions about the Mayan calendar predicting the end of the world may be wrong or off by decades or centuries?

 

Professor Aldana: A couple of caveats are important to note here:

 

One, my research is in a chapter in an anthology on Calendars in ancient and medieval civilizations, so it's not my book.  (In other words, I get no royalties or payment whatsoever for the sale of the book... an important point, I think, in particular regarding "2012.”)

 

Two, neither my chapter nor the book as a whole is really directed at the public.  The volume is intended for the academic community; it may not be accessible by most of the public because it assumes that the reader has already studied the subjects covered to some extent.

 

That said, my chapter demonstrates that the correlation between the Mayan calendric system and the Christian chronologies (Julian or Gregorian) is wrong.  That means to both the public and to researchers that whenever we see a date that has been published giving the Julian/Gregorian date for a Mayan event, that date is incorrect.  

 

Unfortunately, we don't know at this point how far off those dates are.  It is at least incorrect by a few years/decades, but it may be as much as a century or so in either direction.

 

This has different impacts, of course.  If one states that a Mayan ruler, say Yax Pahsaj Chan Yopaat of Copan was dedicating some structure in the 8th century A.D., that's possibly still okay.  If they claim that he acceded to the throne on June 28, 763 A.D., or that it was near/on a summer solstice or that Jupiter was visible in the constellation Scorpius with the Moon (or something like that), then it will be way off.

 

Following the logic, that means that if we project the Mayan Long Count calendar (which had fallen out of use sometime in the 13th-16th centuries A.D.) into our own contemporary times, then any such placements will be wrong.  So suggestions that an event in the Mayan calendar occurring on Dec. 21, 2012 are incorrect.

 

Unfortunately, for proponents of Mayan prophecies, the situation is worse than a delay of a purported apocalypse.  Most if not all of these interpretations are dependent on the coincidence of a Mayan calendric event on the winter solstice in 2012.  This is an important point:  there is no hieroglyphic text that suggests an astronomical prophecy for 2012; it is only the coincidence of a Mayan calendric event with an observable astronomical alignment that has modern interpreters inferring a prophecy. Without this coincidence—either by a few years, or by hundreds of years, the basis of the prophecy goes away entirely.  The upshot is that if the calendar correlation is incorrect--as I argue in my chapter--then the key feature upon which the prophecies were supposedly built is no longer valid.

 

EXAMINER: Secondly, the utilization of astronomy to predict events is a very old tool that was constantly being adjusted and altered to make events fit within a predicted time frame-what are some of the issues at hand in the way many current individuals are attempting to use astronomy to interpret the Mayan Calendar? What might they be missing or what needs to be included to  create a better discussion about the calendar?

 

Professor Aldana: I think a good dose of common sense would go a long way.  Did ancient Mayan rulers ever consult oracles as part of their governance?  My informed response is either 'yes', or at least 'very probably.'  (We can't be sure at this point that there weren't iconoclastic rulers who preferred to buck convention and eschewed all oracular knowledge...after all, there were hard-core skeptics in ancient Greece.)  But just because they probably consulted, oracular knowledge does not mean that  they didn't also incorporate other types of knowledge into their decision-making processes.

 

I recently wrote a book that goes into the various pressures that very likely affected the development of an astronomical tool at the Classic Mayan city of Palenque.  Religion was certainly involved in how Kan B'ahlam utilized this astronomical tool, but I argue that it was also affected by politics and economics.  In other words, there may have been some appeal to what we would consider today to be esoteric knowledge, but it certainly wasn't the only factor considered, and we would be fooling ourselves to think that entire cities--let alone entire civilizations--could follow oracular proposals mechanically.

 

My point is that we should qualify oracular knowledges as having been used in the past in conjunction with other forms of knowledge--to augment them, not to replace them.  Now, if Kan B'ahlam were here with us today, I'm sure he wouldn't have to depend on an astronomical (or any other kind of) oracle to tell us that our global situation is in trouble.  We have plenty of other indicators--environmental, political, religious, economic--that we are facing (or in) crises.  I doubt that he would urge us to just turn to the stars and wait to see what happens.

 

Tags:

2012 Mayan calendar, 2012, 2012 The Mayans Ancient Civilizations Apocalypse, Ancient wisddom, apocalypic science fiction

 

Also Read: Why Mayan 2012 Doesn't Really Matter

http://www.examiner.com/spirituality-in-baltimore/why-the-world-won-t-end-2012-and-why-it-doesn-t-really-matter-if-it-d

The Americas. This is where the End began. The West, the place of Prophecy, the place of Destiny. The genetic cellular database of Ancestral awakenings thrums in tune to the drumbeat call of generations of soul, of pain and joy rising above the spontaneous eruption of life, uncontrollable, unbounded, free of constriction or constraint in its purest form. This is the natural path life takes like water, flowing down or up whatever channel presents a path, making one where none exists, or deepening preexisting ways, widening, eroding resistance whenever encountered to open the way for a more intense flow of energy.

What does all or any of this have to do with Hip Hop? With a bunch of kids who play their music too loud, who seem to have a fascination with cursing, disrespect of authority and women, baggy clothing, crime and material culture? How is any of this spiritual in nature and what does it have to do with consciousness? To answer these questions fully it is necessary to understand what Hip Hop is, what it really represents, where it came from and where it is going.

Loosely defined, it is the culture of the urbanized underclass, of the disaffected and the disillusioned masses. A culture of rebellion and revolt that employs every mode of communication known to humanity in order to get its message across. Music, art, the spoken word, the beat, movement. MC’ing, DJ’ing, Break Dancing/Popping/Locking and Graffiti are its major expressions, all of which encompass the primal cries of those relegated to possessing only their spirits and souls and little else of material substance.  As a post-modern deconstruction of a Western European meta-narrative, Hip Hop stands as an exemplar of the effect upon the individual of societal ills that are now global in scope. Ageless, as an expression of African-based musical and communicative forms of expression, Hip Hop was informally born as a genre in late 1970s New York City and the surrounding region, expanding relatively quickly from a purely regional expression to its current status as multi-billion dollar music of the global youth culture. It is fair to say that Hip Hop has come a long way. But it is also fair to say that it has a way to go still before it reaches its full potential.

Afrofuturism as a movement has evolved alongside Hip Hop, similarly having no definitive beginning while simultaneously coalescing alongside Hip Hop in urban America during the late 1970s. Its formal inception occurs much later, in the late 1990s and into the 00s as the online presence of African Americans grew stronger. The application of diverse academic traditions to the same questions was the beginning of a process that sought to dissect the cultural and media-based discourse of African-originated and futuristically-themed influence in the preceding decades in the attempt to define their interests and cultural memes.

And so it was that a small, ethnically diverse but concentrated listserv, called Afrofuturism, was born and prospered, for a time. Beyond the vigorous debates, expositions of consciousness, collaborations and intellectualisms lay an underlying strata of vast potentiality and possibility, made manifest through the broad and open genres of science and speculative fiction. The movement was represented by black authors, academics, Hip Hop headz and performers alike, all sharing a similar fascination with futuristic themes and expressions of modern societal tropes under the guise of the fantastic. Afrofuturism never really coalesced as a full-blown cultural shift outside of the avant-garde arts and music scenes of the large urban areas, but the fish bowl-like arena the internet was in those days brought larger and more mainstream attention to this small collective of personalities and ideas, raised against the growing din of diverse voices the Net was soon to become.

Hip Hop and the Afrofuture cannot be separated from the evolution of America as a nation, but they also cannot be separated from the evolution of consciousness not only of this country, but of the world. The impact of Hip Hop has been felt upon every continent, in every country. Rap is the music of the global youth culture. It is the sound of rebellion and discontent that can be heard wherever the young are gathered and wherever inequalities have resulted in the formalization of destitution. The original means by which Hip Hop formed have been repeated in country after country, city after city as the young and the listless have found themselves with little money and no musical education but still possessed of singing hearts and dancing souls, theirs or their parents record collections and an ever-growing mass of CDs and MP3s that consolidate the Music of the Ages. The ready availability and affordability of computers, digital music and sound equipment have created the perfect environment for a large-scale explosion of beat-centered creativity as the hard, biting sounds of rap drive the air and digital-waves toward the resolution of a Hip Hop planet, born to tear down paradigms not built for their edification.

There is Russian Hip Hop, Middle Eastern Hip Hop, African Hip Hop, European Hip Hop, Latin American Hip Hop. You will find baggy jeans and ball caps worn by youth of every ethnicity, shade, size or gender in every country in the world. This acceptance of a quintessentially American artform by two generations, X and Y, who are now birthing a third, generation Z, will take the artform into new territory as global consciousness coalesces around the ideals that undergird the very essence of Hip Hop. Freedom of expression  and lifestyle choices, a disdain for centralized authority, a dearth of color consciousness and a dislike of the trappings of corporate and/or governmental culture typify the belief system of Hip Hop Headz around the globe. The continuing revelations regarding the world-wide dominance of elite, corporate conspiracies have resulted in an ever-spreading understanding of the many threads that tie in to this reality, be they economic, political or cultural in nature. A wide-spread distrust of governmental measures as well as a realization that corporate culture does not have the best interests of the individual in mind bind diverse cultures and ethnicities together in recognition of their shared servitude and bondage to global consumer culture and hegemonic political domination by a self-serving and mega-rich elite.

The material and mainstream response to the impact of Hip Hop began early in its modern evolution. With the success of the Conscious Hip Hop movement in the United States in the late 1980s and early 1990s, a concerted effort was made on the part of the Music Industry to derail the movement by changing the focus of the music from positive messages, African history and evolved states of being to that of material wealth, violence and hyper-sexuality. According to music industry insiders, there was a successful attempt to provide monetary incentives and change the focus of individual Hip Hop artists to rap more about these topics and also to contract artists that would create the type of music that glorified self-hate and violence in many forms. This era was accompanied by rising drug use, gang violence in many inner cities and the destruction of previously cohesive neighborhoods by gentrification and urban renewal projects that diffused black power by moving populations out of the urban center and into suburban apartment complexes. The simultaneous influx of illegal drugs – as well as the continuing unavailability of stable sources of income – into these uprooted communities contributed heavily to the continuing dismantling of black political power. But what the Powers-That-Be did not take into account was the expansion of Hip Hop’s influence out of the black community and into the white community and from there, into the rest of the world. Even though the possibility of this happening was evident from its earliest beginnings – as exemplified by its multi-ethnic composition in the early to mid-80s as it spread like wildfire across America – the change in the focus of Hip Hop from a black consciousness to a gangsta/thug mentality that glorified the patriarchy and material accumulation appealed to the children of the suburbs, the children of affluence, the white children of th establishment. Their rebellion against their parents and dedicated economic commitment to Hip Hop raised the art form to national and international prominence, if not in spite of, then because of the negative direction the Industry chose to force the music into.

As Hip Hop has evolved within the crucible of a planet in the throes of change, it has come to represent a shifting of consciousness, being the musical form best suited for political and social challenges. Its hard, eviscerating beats, biting and rough dictions and choruses, are theperfect backdrop to a world on the cusp of transformational change. While mainstream Rap still possesses that material edge that glorifies bling, the dollar bill and the objectification of women as sexual objects, underground Hip Hop culture remains conscious and concerned with the plight of the underclass the world across. With the spread of Internet access across the planet, that underclass has realized that they hold common cause with each other, no matter their country or origin or color. A global political consciousness is a precursor to a global spiritual consciousness as people become aware that politics is only the outermost layer of an affliction that goes much deeper. The speculative aspects of the Afro-future arise in this space created by infinite potentiality as artists meld their conceptions of the present with ideas about what could be, in a perfect world. The addition of both New Age and Afrocentric spiritual ideals, as well as the culmination of the Age – centered around the 2012 fulcrum – combine to create a discourse ofextraordinary exceptionalism that surpasses nation-hood and represents an elevated sense of connection, of oneness, of common cause.

There is a revolution of the spirit as well as the body that is overcoming the dictates of materiality, of modernism and the consumer culture. While there are many causative factors that have contributed to this awakening, the impact of African-related innovations and movements in the West have been strongly felt. From the Haitian revolution and the victories of Touissant L’Ouverture, to Nat Turner, the Civil War and the Civil Rights movement, there is a connection. From Jazz to Country to New Age genres, there is a connection. From Fats Domino, Little Richard and other African-Americans impact upon the evolution of Rock and Roll to the evolution of electronic and computer-based music and art forms, there is a connection. This connection is the expression of the Souls of Black Folk, the visceral nature of their interactions with the world, the spirit-filled mass consciousness that resists all attempts at suppression, repression and genocide. It is, in microcosm, representative of the human spirit in macrocosm, it is what happens when a group of people is put upon for centuries at a timeand their desire for utter freedom grows beyond the capacity of any seeking control over them to contain. It is when expression becomes mandatory, where not even death is threat enough to maintain silence, that the extraordinary becomes mundane and wonder fills the world to overflowing on a daily basis.

Of course,  the formulation of the present moment is a collective endeavor that all streams of humanity have contributed to, that, in fact, every person who has ever lived has, in their own way, helped to create. Consciousness is a condition of awareness and each individual becomes aware of the realities outside of his or her own chosen spotlight for different reasons. But it cannot be denied that the world as it is today is the result of vast inequalities that have been fomented over generations. Inequalities that have resulted in the deaths of untold millions, the servitude of untold millions more and the domination of the world by a small, inbred and greedy elite. The atrocities that have come to predominate the historical record of these latter centuries of the Age of Pisces perhaps have no equal in the known history of humanity upon this planet. The world as it is today, with all of its pain, heartache and vast inequalities, is also a beautiful place, where the seeds of Africans brought to the Americas, mixed with the Aboriginals and Enslavers both, have broken ground, tilling the field of hearts the world across, as what has been done becomes clear and the ramifications of karmic repayment attend that clarification. Hip Hop and the Afro-future stand intertwined in the Present as an indicator of Past and Future, one indistinguishable from the other according to the infinite realm of probability that leaves conceptualization boundless and free to be, to become whatever we wish it to be. This is the legacy of our ancestors, and that which we leave to our posterity in our turn. The gift of life and love despite pain and heartache, and of expression ,without apology, of who we are, were and will be, far beyond what those who think they control reality could ever conceive of.

"Is anybody going to get that?" Being the farthest away, I thought it pertinent that I ask, just in case one of the people closer to it, might want to do something about it.

"Get what? I don't see anything. Don't you see I am sleeping?"

No such luck. Perhaps the other one will do better.

"You know, you would see a lot better if you eyes were open. Try it."

Strike two, now let's listen for his excuse...

"I got the last evil. I have no intention of getting down from this tree. Besides its so small, surly he can manage it on his own."

"Are we betting the farm on that?" I tried to be reasonable as I got up to go and squish the latest evil to make its way into the house. I could see it, cloaked around the spider, draped through with the menace we were sent here to face.

Don't mind me. I am just walking here. Look I stopped. Don't want anything. Just moseying along. The spider mumbles to itself as it tries to make it through the room full of cats. The contract it picked up on its way here, said it would be a cakewalk.

Get in, sting the man, drop the venom pack laced with Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus (I simply love how that sounds, almost as sexy as latrovenom, only the sexy poison this side of a black widow)and we are outta here. Nobody said anything about cats, a room full of cats, three cats, twelve legs, forty pounds of attitude and no place decent for a spider to get a bite on them.

"Okay, I'll get it. Then I am going on patrol, this is the third one this week."

"Whatever, bring me something back."

"I don't think so Big Boy. If there is anything to be found, I will be eating it all. I won't be bringing anything back."

I am almost to the door, I am going to be able to squeeze under it, and I will be in the clear. Cats can't go under doors. Uh-oh, that thump. That can only mean one thing. Going to have to RUN! I am lightning-streaking through the night. I am a hurricane wind whipping through trees. I am the living embodiment of speed, move left, now right, stop. Dodge. Running like crazy, jump left, missed me. Run again. Oh damn, what is this? A carpet, its plush. Speed is slowed to a crawl. Navigating the strings. Stop. He's right there. His breath is Death, the destroyer of worlds. Being still.

I know I saw it moving toward the door. If he gets under it, the Man will have to handle it himself. Stop, lock the vision, blur for motion, there. I've got him, bounding. He is in the carpet. Hold still.

I know he is there. I can see him, his cold eyes staring down at me, his stilled breath. He is using that cat thing, where they stare you into moving. Well I won't do it. I will stand right here. I will teach him to mess with me. I will be still. I will not move.

Where is it? I know its here. Focus on the motion, lock on to the slightest of motions. Open the pupils, let in every scrap of light. Slow down time. Raise the paw, slowly, ever so slowly. Don't let him see it.

He's staring right at me. Does he see me? He's looking right at me. He's trying to trick me into moving by pretending he can't see me. I'm on to him. Frozen in time. He, hey what's that slow moving shadow? He can see me. I am not going out like this. I will make a run for it. I'm young, I'm fast, I have my whole life ahead of me. I am like lightning...

I don't know where he is. I guess I am going to have to call this one off. Movement, pounce, pounce, flip, flip. Snap. "Mmmm, chewy. You two suck. Its a wonder anything gets done around here."

"And you are so much better than we are..."

"Protect the Man, that is the mission. Is there a part of that statement you don't understand. If you can't do it because we have a metaphysical obligation placed upon us by higher powers, surely you can do it because he feeds you."

At the mention of feeds, Big Boy's ears pop up from their flattened I'm-ignoring-your-rantings state to alert attention. "Go on."

"What? You need more than that? You like to eat, he feeds you. If something happens to him, who knows what will become of us. You know She does not like us. She tolerates us for him."

"Relax Sleek-black, you are too intense. We have to just embrace the coolness of life."

"Look Furball, all of us aren't descended from a bunch of lazy forest-dwelling, long-haired hippies who have been inbred to maintain their flowing locks at the expense of having an IQ in the double-digits."

"Harsh, man. True, but Harsh." Furball curled back up and proceeded to wrap his exceedingly long and amazingly fluffy tail around his supine and curled up body, displaying the aloof, I-can't-hear-you posture.

There is a skittering sound in the kitchen, giant claws skittering across a too clean floor. "Hello, Cats."

Ugh, just what I don't want. A conversation with enthusiasm-mania.

"Heard there was some Evil here. I am ready to fight. Just show me where it is. I am all over it. I will..."

"Stop. We appreciate your eagerness to help fight evil, but, well you're a Dog and dogs were not meant to fight Evil. You're for tackling the mundane issues of life, burglars, dropped broccoli, licking and adoration of the Man and his Mrs. That is your lot in life. Lowly that it may be."

Sleek-black stood up and began to pace as if he were a professor in a classroom with particularly not bright students. His tail waved like a baton emphasizing certain words. "The fighting of Evil," he began with a particular stress on the word evil, strongly delineating the two syllables, 'E-vielll,' "the supernatural menaces that lurk in the dark, things that go bump in the night (when its not us), those things that are just a step away from conquering the world every day, that is the role of the Cat." With the word cat, his tail stood straight out with only the tip pointing at himself.

"Isis gave it to us and we are doomed to fight Evil, not the mundane evil, with the little E, until the end of the world or until we destroy all the Evil left on Earth. So no, to answer your question, we cannot go out and fight evil today. You are ill equipped to do so, lacking the basic criteria required to even acknowledge evil or for that matter even see it."

Big Boy looked up, his shining blue eyes, half lidded followed up with, "Yeah, what he said." He put his head on his paws as he observed the Labrador from high in the main cat tree.

Not to be deterred, Zeus, the dog in question, asked "What if you are attacked by a burglar or some other, what's that word, uh, mundane evil? Could I help then?"

Well technically that was a right good question and I had to think about it for a moment. What did we do when confronted by mundane evil? We ran away, it wasn't our job. "Not saying you have a point or anything but perhaps we could go out together and improve our chances. You can fight evil, and I will destroy, E-veill." Not acknowledging anything about his going out with the dog, or having a Dog along on the quest to destroy Evil, Sleek-black walked past Fur-ball, who was doing as his name suggested, and whacked him in passing.

"What?"

"Cat says what?" Zeus muttered under his breath.

"What?" Fur-ball muttered again before drifting back off into sleep.

"Open that gate, Zeus."

"Okay, Cat."

"You may address me as Sleek-black."

"When we first met, you told me I was never to call you by name."

"And you still aren't. That is my appellation. My callsign as it were to the world of Evil. If you are going to be fighting Evil with me, you will need a appellation so that Evil will know you are coming and fear you."

"Big Dog."

Sigh. "Good enough. Close the door behind you."

Cats Versus Evil © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

I can't draw stick figures, let alone illustrate this!  So I am definitely in the market for an artist to collaborate with me on this project. (Please send me a message from this site you are interested!) I've never used the graphic novel format before, and it was difficult for me to get used to writing for the audience with the captions and dialogue, and for the artists in the panels. But I downloaded a free writing program called Celtx and it formats the pages so all I have to do is figure out what goes where on the page.  Anyone who thinks writing graphic novels or comics is easy seriously needs brain washing!  It's far more challenging than my day job, which is writing for online news sites. I've done journalism for years, and I can write a lead in my sleep. I've even written plays that were produced and short stories that were published. None of those experiences come close to the difficulties I have trying to keep the very different format elements straight in my head while working on this story.

Page 1          

Chapter 1 Miyuki after death

   Panel 1     In the unseen world that exists between the living and the dead, a powerfully built, middle-aged Japanese man dressed in the robes of nobility approaches a beauteous, kimono-clad young Japanese woman whose hair is not tied up in a traditional bun, but flows gloriously down to the small of her back. She appears to be in her mid-20s. Her head is bowed in polite deference to the gentleman.

     Caption 1   The great feudal lord Takeda doesn't know how he came to this place. It was as if he were a mere feather, and a powerful wind picked him up with dizzying speed, then gently set him down on what appeared to be clouds. Although his face appears calm, he is irritated with the force that brought him here. But years of experience with espionage and battle tactics have taught him to be patient, and the reason for his current situation would reveal itself. With that thought as a comfort, he cautiously watches the very appealing young lady approaching him with tolerable deference.  It wouldn’t be the first time that an enemy tried to distract him with a woman.

Miyuki

(In Japanese) Grandfather.

  Panel 2   The nobleman's expression moves from astonishment to outrage.

Caption 2    In his day, women never addressed men of his class, even when they were on their knees.  They spoke only when they were ordered to do so.

TAKEDA*

You are NOT of my blood! You dare...!

Panel 3   He raises his right hand to give her a resounding slap, but he's surprised when        it returns to his side as if it had been stricken with a sudden paralysis.  He struggles to raise it again, then tries his left hand. It stops suddenly mid-air; he stares in disbelief. Miyuki watches calmly.

Caption 3    Roles have changed in the intervening four centuries between the time Takeda inhabited a body and Miyuki was born forty years ago (in the material world’s concept of time) in a suburb of Tokyo.

TAKEDA

What manner of evil enchantment...? Release me, witch!

*Takeda Shingen, a ruling feudal lord who lived in Japan from 1521 – 1573.

Panel 4   Close-up of Miyuki looking directly at him, smiling.

MIYUKI

I am not a witch, nor do I have the power to release you. I am your daughter, born of your noble and praiseworthy lineage over 400 years after your unfortunate demise.  You are here with me because your descendants, in Japan and in a place called the United States of America, have prayed to the Lord of all worlds for the progress of your soul, along with the souls of those before and after you.

TAKEDA

(Face strained with rage.) I will NOT be treated as a mere trifle! How dare you speak to me as an equal! Who is this "lord" you serve?

Panel 5   Miyuki has a bemused expression on her face as she speaks. Meanwhile, a sparkling, translucent veil appears behind her.

MIYUKI

We are all His servants, even if we have no knowledge of this.

TAKEDA

I demand to see him! Have him face me as a brave and honorable man should, instead of sending an impertinent girl to do his job! Tell me his name; I will seek him myself!

Page 2

Panel 6    Miyuki turns and pulls aside the veil.

Caption 4    The only life Takeda has known was the well-ordered one he had when he occupied a physical form. He knows of nothing else and wishes for nothing more. Everything around him in the afterlife reflects this wish.

Panel 7   A flashback of 16th century Japan--Takeda is a wealthy, powerful feudal lord with a large army of samurai at his command.

Caption 5     Now, the security of his orderly life has been upended by the madness of a strange, disrespectful girl who spoke of a lord who, apparently, lacked the courage and honor of a nobleman to challenge his opponents directly.

Panel 8   Miyuki holds the veil while beckoning a frowning and reluctant Takeda to walk through.

MIYUKI

"Through Thy name, O my God, all created things were stirred up, and the heavens were spread, and the earth was established, and the clouds were raised and made to rain upon the earth."* There is so much more here in the afterlife for both of us, Grandfather. We have been brought together to assist someone who is still among those who dwell on Earth--my daughter, Hitomi

Panel 9   Across three intersecting panels, Miyuki and Takeda become smaller until they dissipate into vapors. 

Caption 6    The life Takeda has known and loved will soon be no more than indistinct memories shrouded by mists.

Page 3

Panel 10   Miyuki and Takeda have appeared in front of the veil and into the bedroom of Miyuki's 27 year old daughter Hitomi's apartment. They are at the foot of her bed, looking at her. Hitomi is sleeping, curled into a fetal position. Her long, wavy black hair is tousled over her face; her bedding covers her body from the neck down. The room an eclectic mix of African, Asian and modern furniture, artifacts and pictures. Over the headboard of Hitomi's bed is a huge poster of the R&B/funk group, Parliament/Funkadelic.

Caption 7    There is nothing familiar to Takeda here: the odd furnishings, the bizarre lights and sounds emanating from peculiar machines make him uneasy. He is accustomed to being wholly in control of people and events; it perturbs him that he has neither.

Panel 11   Intersecting panels show Takeda's face is a mixture of anger and confusion. He reaches for his sword, but to his bewilderment and frustration, it will not unsheathe.

TAKEDA

What sort of demonic habitation is this, girl?

Panel 12   View of Miyuki's head turned toward Takeda, who is still struggling to free his sword.

*(Baha'u'llah, Prayers and Meditations by Baha'u'llah, p. 235)

Page 4

Caption 8    In his previous life, Takeda would have ordered the “witch” and the odd, sleeping “creature” to be executed at once. Their offense--being at odds with the structure of his life--would have been sufficient to warrant their death. But there are no soldiers or servants to carry out his command. Moreover, it galled him that the “witch” remained unabashedly impertinent. Even his sword defied him.

MIYUKI

It is...the sleeping quarters of my beloved daughter Hitomi, Grandfather.

Panel 13    POV change to bedside, near Hitomi's head. Shows the pair standing together. Miyuki's face is filled with love, sadness  and longing for her daughter. Takeda looks as if he is about to explode.

Caption 9    He has reached the last of his minuscule amount of patience. Terror is his remaining weapon.

TAKEDA

TAKE ME FROM THIS ACCURSED PLACE, WITCH, OR I SWEAR BY MY ANCESTORS I WILL RIP YOUR BODY TO MERE THREADS!!!

Panel 14   Very large shot of the two--Every vein and muscle in Takeda's face and neck in bulging in fury while Miyuki looks at him with detached amusement.

TAKEDA

SIMPLE-MINDED BITCH! YOU DARE LOOK ON ME IN JEST?

Page 5

Panel 15   POV changes to the space between Miyuki and Takeda--Hitomi has turned in her sleep, kicking the covers off.  Her hair has moved partially away from her face. She is dressed in an over-sized tee-shirt revealing her flawless, sienna-colored bare arms and legs. It is clear that she is stunningly gorgeous young lady born of African-American and Japanese ancestry (picture R&B singer Amerie).

HITOMI

Mmmhhh....

Panel 16   Takeda's mouth opened in horror as he stares at Hitomi.

Caption 10    He had heard rumors, seen pictures of dark men from a distant land that the ruddy-faced, hairy men from Europe called "Africa".  Those pale men, with their wheat or fire colored hair and strangely colored eyes, spoke of half-men who were more apes than human. Takeda thought the stories were nothing more than the uncouth ramblings of foolish drunken whites. There can be no such thing. It is against nature for a human to copulate with an ape or a monkey, an unconscionable act.

Panel 17   A close-up of Takeda.  He is apoplectic.

Caption 11    Yet, before him...evidence that the dull-brained girl who claimed to be his descendant had committed the most heinous of acts.

TAKEDA

WITCH! WHAT UNSPEAKABLE VILENESS HAVE YOU COMMITTED? THAT IS NO HUMAN; IT IS A MONSTER!

Panel 18   A close up of Miyuki’s calm face.

MIYUKI

She is not only human, Grandfather, she is my precious, beautiful daughter. This is the 21st century; almost five hundred years has passed since you had a body. So much has changed since you walked upon the Earth. Whether you like it or not, she is of your lineage also. I married a man who descended from the people of Africa, although the country of his birth is now known as the United States of America.

Panel 19   Takeda stares at Miyuki, who continues to gaze lovingly at Hitomi.

MIYUKI

I know it is a rather old fashioned name for a girl her age, but I named her Hitomi, after my poor little sister. My sister was born with “special” talents, but without the emotional capacity to use them wisely. I had no idea that, to a lesser degree, the same would be true of my daughter. If I had, I would have given her an English name.

Page 6   Panel 20   Close up of Takeda's face.  His eyes are narrowed as he contemplates               another tactic of escape.                                     

Caption 12    Years of warring has taught the feudal lord that there are thousands of ways to turn a negative situation into a favorable one. He needs only a suitable moment.

TAKEDA

Really, my granddaughter? Tell me of this place, Uni...what is its name again?

Panel 21    Miyuki looks at Takeda, smiling because she knows he is trying to find a way out of what must seem like intolerable bondage to him.

Caption 13    What Takeda does not know is that the history of his battlefield stratagems and preternatural cunning has been passed down through the generations. Her father told the stories to Miyuki's brothers. Her eldest brother, Hiromasa, loved to regal (and terrify) her with his dramatic interpretations of these tales.

Panel 22   Flashback of sixteen year old Hiromasa sitting cross-legged on the floor next to six year old Miyuki's tatami mat (circa 1967), enthusiastically telling her about the clever ruses employed by their ancestor, Takeda Shingen that often led to victory over his opponents. Miyuki is wide-eyed and enthralled.

Caption 14    Much has been written and debated about the effect the dead has upon the living. There is evidence that the stories left by the forebears and repeated by their descendants does form a sense of identity within a family, especially when the stories instruct and warn about the various trials of life. The more unfathomable effect the dead have on their progeny is not so apparent, or easily explained.

Page 7   Panel 23   Hitomi is thrashing about in bed.

Panel 24   She jerks awake, startled.

Caption 15    Much of what happens in Hitomi's life is not easily explained.

HITOMI

Mommy!

Panel 25   She looks about her room as if she expects to see her mother nearby.

Panel 26   She cries.

Panel 27   Shot of Takeda and Miyuki watching Hitomi. Takeda looks bewildered while Miyuki is despairing. 

Panel 28   The glittering veil has appeared, and Miyuki backs into it as Takeda continues staring at Hitomi.

I found her behind our lines in a field not too far from a downed Messerschmitt Me 262. We had pushed the Germans back out of Paris and had retaken the countryside in early September. I thought she was a local who had been injured when the plane crashed into her house, but she seemed shell-shocked and could barely speak. She was staggering around in some colorful rags and we took her into the improvised field hospital.

We did not have any doctors yet, it was still too soon after taking the territory, so I was the lead medic in charge. We lost Jenkins, the only other medic, so I was working two shifts tending the wounded as best I could. Ronowski was a good kid with his hands so I put him to work cleaning and tending lesser injuries while I did what I could for those who looked like they might make it.

The camp was an old church that hadn't taken too many bullets and kept us out of the rain. It rained nearly every day. The Parisians were nice though and shared what little food there was. No one knew the strange woman, so we assumed she wandered from a nearby province.

She was a right pretty thing, five foot ten, but in her shocked state she seemed diminished and she let me lead her quietly. A French woman, Martinique, likely a Resistance member helped me tend her and we put her in the back rooms of the church.

After we cleaned her up, we noticed she did not have a scratch on her, even though her clothing had been destroyed, she was unmarked. We tried every language we could scrounge up in camp, but she did not seem to have any words at all.

We went out to check through the wreckage of the Messerschmitt and marveled at its technology. We took sketches of the design of the vehicle, its engine and the strange containment devices that were in the bomb bays. Both were broken but they did not appear to be bombs. Once we were done, we returned to the church. We were expecting to be reinforced.

Later that evening, we made a breakthrough with the blond haired woman. After saying my name and tapping my chest, she finally seemed to get some sort of recognition. She tapped herself and said "Helga."

After that, she became a member of the camp, helping with anything and everything. She still didn't talk much but she would smile and occasionally laugh if others were. She followed Martinique around everywhere and the woman graciously tolerated it.

A week after Helga got here, she came running to me and grabbed me. She tried to draw me with her. I picked up my rifle and told Lewis and Franklin to come with me. We double-timed it to a barn and what we saw inside stopped us in our tracks.

We opened fire on it without even questioning what it was because it was ripping Martinique's chest open and eating her vitals. At first glance I would have thought it was an insect except it was the size of a man, and its claws were tearing through Martineque's bones as if they were twigs.

Our bullets bounced off its shell as if it were armored. It drew its antenna back and turned around, broke down the wall of the barn and sped off down the road.

Lewis pulled Helga away from Martinique. He said, "what the hell was that?"

My mind was racing, in this war, I had seen a lot of things but nothing like that. "I don't know, but when it comes back, I intend to give it a much warmer reception."

"How do you know its going to come back, Sarge?"

I looked at both of them and then looked down at Martiniques' body. "Because we are where the food is. We are the food."

We got the townspeople together and explained to them what happened. They did not believe it at first, until the saw the body, and a barn full of holes and no target. I thought until our reinforcements arrived, we would be better off if we stayed closer together, so we took over the small number of homes near the church and established a perimeter and guards. Everyone was issued a weapon and taught how to use it. No one was go anywhere alone. Helga was the only person who did not have a weapon, she refuse to even touch one. After Martinique's death, she would talk to no one, nor stay with anyone but me.

We put a call out on the radio, trying to get an ETA on the backup but we were told it would be a couple more days, so we would just have to tough it out and make due. We put a machine gun nest in the center of the complex to offer a complete field of fire and had snipers in two of the tallest buildings. Nothing we could do but wait. It didn't take long.

I am not sure what made me go out that evening but I felt compelled to walk the perimeter and talk to the men. They were in good spirits and except for the two who had seen it, joked about the idea of a bug hunt. As I was walking back to the church I had the strangest sensation of being watched. I turned to look down the road but I couldn't see anything. I slept with a pistol in my hand.

Around 0400 hours, I heard gunfire, and sat up off of the pew I was sleeping on. It was rifle fire, likely one of the patrols. Then I heard the screaming and I was up and running.

There were only twenty soldiers left and they were all accounted for, so it was likely one of the locals. We ran out and made it as far as the central machine gun station, when one of the snipers launched a flare. We saw Jean-Claude, one of the cooks, running toward us and then before he could move more than a dozen steps, he was sliced in half from behind. The insect was back, and he brought friends. Dozens of them.

Williams, our church sniper had already begun firing and the rest of us bellied up to the sandbags at the machine-gun nest and opened fire with our M1 rifles. Our bullets struck the creatures but only the machine gun seemed to have the power to bring them down easily.

"Concentrate your fire in pairs. Snipers, cover fire only. Somebody get me a damn grenade."

"Coming at ya, Sarge."

One of these cockroach looking things made a dash across the courtyard toward the church and began to climb the wall toward the sniper position.

We tried to knock it down but the armor on its back was too strong.

"Petrelli, there is one coming up the wall right at you!"

There was a scream as the monster crested the wall and a single shot.

Petrelli looked over the wall, gave the thumbs up and kept firing. We held the ground until dawn and had taken no casualties. Or so we thought. When we canvased the area, there were three spots where human blood had been spilled but no humans were found. There were dozens of creatures killed, but they took the bodies, every single one, except for Petrelli's kill. Then the real bad news followed.

"All of the food in the camp is gone, Monsieur. I don't know how they did it, but there is nothing left anywhere. The grounds are picked clean. Only what we had with us in the church is left. They ate every chicken, every goat, every wheel of cheese anywhere." Pierre was beside himself.

Corporal Lewis and Petrelli had taken the body of the monster from the roof and were looking it over for weaknesses. We looked at our ammo and realized we could not have another fire-fight like last night. We simply did not have enough ammo. Only the machine was without fear of running out. The rest of us were down to fifty or sixty rounds apiece. That would not last long in a sustained firefight.

"Right between the center of the head seems to work best." Petrelli's New York accent was thick and it was something the group used to tease him about. "I guess that works no matter who youse are." They laughed. But real fear crossed all of their faces.

"I think we are going to have to make a stand here inside the church. Its got the strongest walls and the fewest windows. I want you to board up everything you can. Use the pews and anything else you can scavenge from town. They don't seem to like the light so avoid the shadows. Remember, they got Martinique when she surprised one in the barn."

"Sarge, I have an idea."

"I'm all ears, Lewis."

"Maybe we can lure them where we want them. And use something besides bullets to kill them. We don't have napalm but we do have gasoline so we could make Molotov cocktails. They seem as flammable as anything else."

"Fine, get a detail and get on it. But that is a plan that will happen while they are far away and while we still have lots of bullets. No sense having any flaming ones running through the camp."

The next few hours were desperate as we did our best to fortify our positions before nightfall. Helga seemed strange and distracted but she worked as hard as anyone to prepare before dark.

We were hunkered down with two squads outside on rooftops for sniping and close protection. We were using shotguns, inside the church and had built a bunker in the center. Our more powerful weapons were outside to try and kill the larger and more aggressive creatures first. Both groups outside could see and cover each other, and had plenty of flares to get through the night if necessary. We had also stationed lanterns down the road and anywhere else we thought the creatures might come from.

With no more food left in town, we knew they would be coming for us.

They came after midnight. They were not shy, they simply came right down the street, one after another, they came down every street from every direction. We shot flares, we threw Molotovs, we burned them, we shot them, we stoned them with traps, they fell into pits, and they still kept coming.

We fought them until four. They would fight, close us retreat, and they did this again and again. Our bullets grew lower and lower. We would soon be down to handguns and shot guns. The two machine guns were still loaded but when they started shooting it took everything we had to keep the enemy off of them. We were down to our last grenades as well. One or two more waves and we would be fighting them hand to hand.

Sniper Team Alpha died first. The creatures saved the best for last. Some of them could fly. They swooped down and simply picked them off in rapid succession. The men managed to kill three more before being dragged away into the darkness. We provided cover for Sniper team Bravo, and pulled them into the church. Our last machine-gun was setup in the doorway to the church which faced the street.

He ran out of bullets at five to five. Our shotguns held them at bay, lacking the power they made up for it in damage dealing. By five thirty we had killed sixty or so right up to the walls of the church. The waves had stopped. It seemed only the last of the creatures were coming. But these were bigger and tougher and could only be killed with a direct close hit to their chest or face. If you were that close you were likely to be getting killed. Petrelli bought it like that. Shot one bastard clean in the head and was sliced apart for his troubles. I want to go like that. Clean.

We had put the townspeople behind us in the church with small arms and they helped when they could. Suddenly the wall behind us exploded and they were being grabbed and dragged away. Helga leaped into the crowd of the creatures and began to bludgeon them with her fists.

Each hit caused a creature to explode into blobs of disgusting flesh. We did not know what we were seeing and we did not care. The last twelve of us rushed up behind her and pointed our shotguns into the masses wherever she wasn't. One of the biggest of the bastards, grabbed her with his claws and I expected him to rip her apart like Petrelli. She screamed and the sound literally turned him into jelly before our eyes.

We fought for another hour, the creatures must have been desperate because they kept coming and fought more savagely, with greater rage. We lost five more after that. All but seven of the twenty townspeople were lost or missing.

Helga seemed to be slowing down, her strength waning. But she did not stop and neither did we. We were so focused that I did not see one coming in behind us. It was a big one. Lewis having only one grenade left, threw himself onto the creature and the grenade detonated under him. Blasting the creature and us. No one saw Helga move. One second she was outside, the next she was in front of me. She took shrapnel that was meant for me.

She fell back into my arms and looked at me. There were shrapnel wounds in her chest, stomach and legs. I could hear small arms going on behind me but they gradually stopped. I looked at her and wondered where she came from, who she was, what she was. And none of that mattered. She saved us.

They told me later, she was a prototype of a German super-soldier that was intercepted and shot down near us. The insects were also a weapon, likely on the same craft. It seemed her memory had been lost in the crash and she only remembered her name. There was some talk of taking her body and dissecting it for science, but no one could find her when they went looking for her later.

When the war ended, we heard of several super-soldiers who had been released into the war, but were all believed to have been destroyed or killed depending on their nature. I returned home, tired from the war, just wanting to forget it happened. My parents had taken care of my little house and it was just the way I remembered it. I flopped down onto my bed and remembered Helga. A wind whipped up and the tree outside my window shook its leaves. The window opened up and a woman landed gently on my bedroom floor.

"We are no longer enemies. And I have never forgotten your kindness."

I ran to her and she swept me up in her powerful arms. How does one begin to forget a goddess? I did not intend to even try.

Übermensch© Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

The Kid fell from the sky, aflame. A black energy coruscated and trailed from his unconscious form. He fell limply, silently, helplessly. His explosive impact drove shards of concrete into the air and an exploding crater released a tower of flaming gas as his powers ignited an underground fuel main. People retreated into whatever cover they could find as automobiles fell from the explosion and the searing heat melted plastic, rubber, and other soft metals nearby. It was hell on Earth.

What followed him moved slowly at first. It was in no hurry. It savored the world into which it found itself thrust. The first two days here, there was no resistance and the creatures were soft, edible, pliant, with mild and crunchy centers. Then a few new ones came, and they were armed with stinging tools, primitive and less effective than nothing. They and their tools were tasty with a slight iron flavoring. Some articles of their clothing were less than tasty, tough with a fibrous consistency. After eating six or eight of them, it decided to peel the rest of the blue guardians and eat only the flesh and bones.

Then they came. The special ones. Most looked like the main food of this world, small, delicate, crunchy, and like the blue guardians, they were armed with tools. Their tools were fantastically more effective than those of the blue guardians. No matter. Nothing of this world can harm me. Nothing at all. Even the fire-star is too weak. I shall enjoy this one, and I shall not share it. Not a morsel will the Others get.

“The Kid is down.”

“He’ll get up. He’s just like his old man was. Stubborn.”

“Any ideas of what we’re dealing with?”

“With the rash of magical threats we have been seeing lately, I think someone has just upped the ante.”

“Oswald, I think we are going to have to hold the line until the big guns get here.”

Thornton Oswald the Third stood looking over the city and realized that the Shrike was right. With The Kid down, Gunner on sabbatical, Kali was coming from Metro City, and Shango out doing whatever magical Protectors of the Crossroads do in their spare time, they would have to hold this thing until reinforcements arrived. But it took The Kid. After Kali and Shango, The Kid was as tough as they come. He lacked his father’s fighting experience, but his durability under fire was unquestioned.

“Shrike, I will need a minute. Can you keep him entertained while I transform?”

“Sure thing, he’ll never see me coming.”

The Shrike, Walter Scott, depressed the studs in his gloves and his suit’s jetpack came online. Extending his arms, large metallic wings with serrated edges extended from them, increased his wing span to twenty feet. “Don’t be late.” With a boom, the Shrike took to the air and dived to attack the creature who stood easily twenty feet tall.

Thornton proceeded to draw a circle of containment in the rooftop gravel. As his cane drew through the rocks, they lit with an eldritch glow. Hearing the boom of the rockets as they roared away, Thornton focused his mind on breaching the boundaries between worlds. To a particular world, a world of feral monsters used by dark magicians and ancient gods, to the Fan-run-dhar-durak - Land of Forgotten Beasts. Once the realm became clear to him, he sought for a particular beast, a creature whose unmistakable might would be tested tonight. He sought the beast called Grimmamon, mightiest of the Beast Lords.

The Shrike swooped fast and his onboard computer, linked directly into his brain, had already plotted the course he needed to strike five times in two passes. His wings comprised of Promethium, a rare alien metal, allowed him to transfer and magnify his kinetic energy, so the longer he flew, the stronger and more dangerous the metal became.

But fly too long and the energy became uncontrollable without a release. So the longer he flew, the more he was forced to fight. Only touching the ground would bleed that energy from him. It was always the delicate dance of fighting and being tougher, but blowing out from not releasing enough energy or returning to his default state where he was weakest just before recharging.

Having flown here, he had already expended a good portion of his energy against the creature. He had damaged this black material called skin and even had drawn blood. But it seemed unaffected and knocked The Kid into next week. If he had been just a second slower, it would have been him. He doubted he would have survived that impact with the ground.

—gonna be fast, be loose, feel the air, float with it, snap the wing, strike, strike, beat the wing, turn, beat the wing turn, snap, snap, strike, strike, strike, away—

His blows were fast, blurs to the naked eye, and each tore into the nacreous flesh with little effect. Once, his wings had sliced through bank vaults back in the days when he was a villain in Metro City.

—Come on, Kid, we ain’t friends or nothing, but right now, I could use the sight of your overconfident face coming out of that fire. I hope Oswald is having more luck than I am.

* * *

Kali was streaking through the sky on her cloud, heading to Paragon City where she received the distress call from the Shrike and the Sorcerer. She was making good time and would arrive in about ten minutes. From this height, the suburbs of Paragon City seemed peaceful. She could see the smoke from the burning buildings ahead, a path of sheer destruction. The old Kali would have liked that; the new Kali was repulsed by such mindless waste.

“Kali Yuga, I have need of you and your darkest aspect.”

“I hate when you call me that, Shango. Where are you?” She really did hate that name; it invoked a violent and destructive past where she was a destroyer of all that she surveyed.

“I am at The Crossroads. There has been a breach and creatures are pouring through. I am attempting to seal it, but I cannot as long as the creatures prevent me from reaching it. I need your help.”

“Asking for help? That is not like you, Thunderer.”

“Nor is needing help, warrior-goddess, but here we are.”

“Can you make the gate? Or shall I follow your whining to the Crossroads?”

“Suffice it to say, you are earning that spanking.”

“Put it on my tab. I will be there shortly, husband.”

Kali focused her will, and her two arms became four. Each of them was armed with a knife of pure spirit. She began a sword dance designed to take her to the Crossroad between Worlds, a magical nexus connecting nearby realms of existence. A particularly puissant sorcerer or other magical being could use it to reach across space and time to other worlds altogether.

As she whirled faster and faster, she began to weave open a doorway, using her spirit blades and her connection to her husband’s god-force. The Shrike would call it a paired quantum connection, but she preferred the magical concept of contagion; once two things are bound together, nothing can keep them apart. She was beginning to feel the connection strongly and could see into the nether dimensions the Crossroad inhabited.

She could sense Shango before she could see him. He was covered by a horde of dark skinned giants. The Crossroad was in the presence of three giant red suns shedding their ruddy light on the scene. Shango was, for a moment, unable to be seen, but then lightning exploded from the ground, and the creatures were thrown back, and for a moment he was clear.

“Woman, what part of your Kali Yuga aspect did you not understand? I need you in your most terrible guise or we are doomed.”

Once she transitioned into the Crossroad, she was behind Shango, and he used his double-headed axe to create a barrier of lightning.

“Good to see you, too. Before we invoke that bitch, do you think we could see what we can do here, first?”

“Do you see that portal? That is where we need to be.”

The distance was only about the length of two football fields, but it was filled with these creatures, each the height of two men, with near human physical attributes. Their heads appeared to be more like an octopus, and their hands instead ended in tentacles. There were hundreds of them.

“Make ready, husband.”

Shango dropped his barrier and released a bolt of lightning, driving a wedge between the creatures, incinerating two dozen of them instantly. In the second it took his lightning to cross one hundred meters, Kali had already slain thirty of the monsters . She stepped through time and space and was everywhere and nowhere. She appeared and disappeared, and each strike laid a creature low. Her face was serene and peaceful as her four blades struck at once. Her superhuman strength made each blow cut deep into their flesh, severing meat and bone like a hot knife through butter.

Shango concentrated his powers and created a series of strikes before her; each of them she slew her way through to the next. When he was too busy to support her, he lent her his lightning and she kept the area around her cleared with her flashing blades and lightning. His double-headed axe flew around him with a cloud of electricity arcing from it to every creature near him. But the creatures were relentless and without fear. As soon as he would clear the area, more would appear.

He looked out and saw Kali was within fifty feet of the portal. He called lightning once more, and as it arced from him toward her, the creatures around him opened their mouths and sharp bones shot out and speared him in his chest and arms. He looked in disbelief; his flesh had the strength of steel. He laughed off high caliber weaponry like rain. What were these things that they could do this?

A searing acid began to burn his flesh, pumped through their ceramic probosci. He howled as his mighty flesh began to burn. Without warning, the creatures blocking his line of sight were cut in half, and two other blades slashed the demons’ tongues. The blades whirled around him and returned to Kali, who had not stopped her dance of death and retrieved her weapons amid flight and continued killing.

Shango, now enraged, drew his power to him, focused his pain and rage and became a thing of pure lightning. The creatures strove to grab him and died instantly, burned to death. As they cleared away, powerful arcs leaped from him to them, and they continued to die. He moved forward slowly, and Kali cut them down as they passed through the portal. He reached her and caught her hand as she struck out at him.

“Enough, my wife. The portal is silent. Perhaps we have earned our invitation.”

“Then let us not be rude to our hosts. They did set forth such a feast for such as us.”

“Indeed.”

They stepped through the portal.

* * *

Meanwhile, Thornton Oswald III completed his summoning ritual with the King of Netherbeasts. Grimmammon took the form of a great cat of immense size. “ Grimmammon, I invoke your service as in the pacts defined by my ancestors.”

“Bah, mortal, why should I bother with your family’s ancient pacts? You have been notoriously lax in your relationship to us. Where are the rituals of blood and souls as in the past?”

“Spare me your pathetic bargaining, hell-beast. Without me and mine, you and yours would have passed into your final existence decades ago. Our world stopped worshipping your kind hundreds of years ago. Look around you. Ask where Lord Arioch and his brethren have gone. Provide your services and enjoy the benefits of our continued relationship.”

“Show me why you summoned me.”

“Look, oh Great One. Tell me what you see.”

Grimmammon looked over the edge of the roof, and his demonic mien grew more stoic. “Our pact ends at the edge of this world, sorcerer. That is an eldritch being from beyond our world.”

“And evidently frightening enough to remove most of your bluster. Tell me more, Great One. Who or what is that creature?”

“A Chaos god from before the time of Arioch, from before time as you measure it.”

“You lie. There were no gods before that time.”

“Silence, pup. There are secrets even the gods keep. These creatures were imprisoned here in an age before yours. You are not the first masters of the Earth. Did you think you were? Ha.”

“Imprisoned?”

“By the First People. They could not destroy them, but they could lock them beneath the Earth, or the Sea, or in Fire. It is said even the very Air imprisons one. I will have no truck with that one, no matter what the price you offer. Its powers likely dwarf mine, the same way mine dwarf yours.”

Oswald thought about what Grimmammon told him, and realized they were out of their depth. Even if Shango and Kali were here, this was a threat greater than they could manage on their own. Since neither of them were here, it was likely they were working on this menace in their own way. “So we will do what we can until they arrive.”

“I know you can see the boy in that conflagration. Bring him here; deposit the flames on the creature. Then you can take your leave. We would not want you to be injured before I can make use of you again. You are weakening with age; perhaps I shall call your rival Shunmaburan instead.”

“As you request, so shall it be. But if you seek to wound my pride, you will find no demon has pride when its survival is at stake. But by all means, if you wish to call Shunmaburan today, and he were not to survive, I would be in your debt. Farewell.”

The old demon stood at the edge of the roof and the flames rose from the crater in the street. The flames swirled as if they were a fire vortex and flew from the crater to surround the otherworldly invader with the terrible fires. The Kid disappeared from the crater and appeared on the roof next to Oswald. Oswald saw the daemon link the fire to the creature, and realized the fire would only last a few minutes before exhausting its fuel. Once surrounded, the creature stopped moving forward, and this bought them some time.

Grimmammon turned away from the roof’s edge. He looked at the boy and said, “Tough, that little one is. A parting gift.” And with that he nodded and stepped back into the gateway in the floor of the roof.

Oswald was not happy with Grimmammon’s parting words. No good comes from gifts from demons. Looking down at The Kid, he saw the boy’s amazing recuperative powers rebuilding him, and in less than two minutes, he sat up, looking angry.

“Wait. We need to talk. There are things you need to know.”

* * *

Carolyn Von Putten was having dinner on the other side of Paragon City when she saw the news. She was finally having the date she had taken a vacation for, and she was determined to enjoy it. She was wearing a black Versace dress with less than modest pumps, showing off her well-muscled body.

She spent days hunting for this dress and wanted to stun Elliot Cole, investigative reporter, right out of his socks. And the dress had the right effect, too. Cole was barely able to speak and the evening was going so well. And then this.

Cole looked at her. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“I know you can see that television over there above the bar.”

“And? It’s on the other side of town. If those heroes can’t handle it, we’ll just cut our dinner date a bit short.”

Cole leaned forward and whispered, “What about Gunner? You do realize I know who you are?”

“What?”

“Don’t try to kid the kidder. I have known for some time. I am the ace investigative reporter in Paragon City. Now I know you should be going, and they certainly look like they need you. I don’t see Shango or Kali. Moving fire means the Occultist is there, and that flashing of silver probably means the Shrike, and I have not seen The Kid yet, so I am guessing thirty foot tall monsters warrant your attention?”

“Do you know how long I have waited for this date?”

“And I promise we will get another shot at it, pardon the pun. Now go. Besides, I have a scoop to get.”

“Need a lift? My car is on its way.”

“Nah, you have an image to uphold. Guns blazing and all.”

“See you in a bit.” Carolyn grabbed Cole and kissed him fiercely on the mouth. “Just in case, you’re late to our next date.” She turned and ran out the door. Turning the corner, a midsize SUV pulled alongside and opened the side door.

“Your suit’s in the back. Nice dress. “ The grizzled man driving the car pointed his thumb backward. She hopped up into the back and started stripping. “Get me there, fast. Set up range for heavy weapons long range. Put me on the radio. Shrike, can you hear me?”

“Gunner, enjoying your vacation?”

“Can it, I need you to get some distance and come in hot. I will be there in less than five minutes. Move out and I will come in with explosive ordinance. You follow with a Cannonball.”

“Roger that, fearless leader.”

“Occultist?”

“Yes, Gunner.”

“Where is The Kid?”

“I have him. He has been hurt. He found the creature first and alerted us. He held it until the Shrike and I could help.”

“How is he doing?”

“Tough as nails, ready to go back.”

“Any word from Shango or Kali?”

“None, but I can sense they are not in this world, or at the Crossroads. So they may be involved at another point in the battle. We will have to do what we can.”

“Our goal is to stun and control. Keep it where it is. Can you get the rest of the people out of there?”

“Of course.”

“Once the Kid is up, tell him to wait for my signal. Ten seconds after my signal, he should see a Cannonball. I will need him to grab the Shrike. I will work long range pushing the creature back. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“My contacts tell me it’s not like anything we have ever seen. We better hope Shango and Kali are having better luck than we are.”

“Why?”

“My contacts said the last time these things ruled the world, they destroyed the previous inhabitants.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Hope you’re right.”

“Stand by for my signal. Get those people out of there.”

* * *

Shango and Kali stepped through the portal and fell to their knees. The gravity was intense, eight times what they were used to on Earth. The air was thick and heavy. Even with their superior senses, they could barely see through the soup-like atmosphere.

They could hear a chittering sound, something that clicked, popped, sputtered at a variety of distances. Each set of sounds was distinct and otherworldly. Kali stood and began to move her hands in magical gestures.

“The spiritual flow here is weak. Something binds its movement.”

“Draw the god-force from my axe and complete your spell.”

As Kali finished her spell, she looked exhausted, but now she could understand the voices.

“What is it? Why has it come here?”

“It has disease; it comes from elsewhere. Nothing comes here.”

“Make it leave.”

The three voices had a chorus of others that answered them.

“This does not bode well, Kali. I think I liked it better when I didn’t know what they were saying.”

“That can be arranged. What do we do now? I was hoping there would be something to hit over here.”

“It wants to hit us. Why? What did we ever do to it?”

“Kill it. It trespasses on our world. We would never allow that in the past. We have eaten all before now.”

“No haste, visitors are rare; find what they want, first. What do you want, germ invaders?”

“I am Shango the Thunderer and this is Kali Bhavatarini. On our world we are gods. I would see whom I address."

“Gods, you say.
Hahahahahahaha! Such tiny gods.
You must come from a tiny world.”

“Show yourselves, braggart,” Kali shouted out to the darkness.

“Pull back the darkness.”
“We’ll rip your tiny minds apart.”
“Shroud is for your protection.”

Shango raised his axe and began to emit lightning, pushing back the darkness. Kali called her spirit blades and touched them together, increasing the light and dispelling the shroud around them.

“Evil germs want to see what we are?”
“Germ gods can’t listen.”
“So be it.”

The shroud of darkness peeled back slowly like a fog being dispelled. The scene was one of carnage as an alien landscape with the remains of a city all around them. Broken buildings toppled into the streets with all the great structures damaged in one way or another.

In the sky swirled a great mass, where the shroud emanated. Tendrils of both darkness and blackened flesh reached from it. They were immense, and the creature filled the sky with its horror. The pressure on the minds of Kali and Shango increased as its spiritual monstrosity overwhelmed them. Both warrior gods, both having slain tens of thousands in battle, were not prepared for the horror of a creature that had slain billions, entire worlds, holding their souls enslaved within its flesh, the spiritual screams overwhelming them. Their shields diminished, pushed back to their very persons. They stood together to support each other, and held the horror at bay, but it lapped at their shields, tongues of darkness trying to lick them, taste them, just seconds from overwhelming them completely.

They had never seen anything like this.

“Germ gods, you do not see all there is to me. I dwell at the center of the Universe. I lived before your world was even a swirling in the cosmic miasma.

What would you know of godhood?

You are only a little more evolved than the worms of your world.”

Shango laughed loudly and contemptuously at the alien being. “Your living quarters are foul, oh great Universe-dwelling deity. Where are your worshippers? Where are your spires of beauty, showing off your power to your enemies? A poor deity that fouls its nest!” Kali looked at Shango disapprovingly.

“Imprisoned by the creatures here. Unable to enter, unable to leave, I sensed an awakening and strove to find it at the Crossroads of all Realities. But before I could find it and leave, the portal was closed. Wretches bound me to this spot. Hate them I did. Killed all of them. They now serve me as my advance guard. Now I seek my kind everywhere. Only they can free me.”

“What would you know of this creature? He roams my world, free. His power is like yours, dark, an evil before time.” Kali presents a psychic image of the creature in Paragon City.

“He is one of us. Betrayer. He taught them here how to bind me to this spot. In exchange for his imprisonment somewhere else, away from me. Send me to him. I would have my revenge.”

“We cannot send you to him. We cannot break the bindings that lock you here. But we could make it possible for you to bring him here.” Shango looked at Kali, disbelieving what she was proposing.

“Trust me, my husband.”

“Oh yes, I would have him here with me.”

“How would you make this possible?”

“You are, after all, insignificant in power even to one as puny as he.”

Kali spoke to the tendrils of the creature tearing away at her shields, seeking even a momentary doubt to penetrate and strike. “Open your portal again. We will make a portal to our world. You reach through both and pull him back to you.”

“How can I trust you? I trusted him and he deceived me.

I trusted these creatures and they enslaved me. I cannot trust anyone now. Only one of you can go. 

The other stays here.”

They look at each other disbelievingly. They are the last of their kind on their world. Without them, their respective pantheons would lose their last anchors to Earth. Shango readied himself to say something, and Kali touched him on the lips. “You go. Your powers on Earth make you the more suitable choice to create the gate and to drive him into it. I will stay here and play hostage.”

“I will be back for you, my wife.”

“You’d better.”

* * *

The Kid, using his super-speed, ran through the legs of the creature and launched an attack at its chest. His haymaker rocked its footing. Rebounding off its chest, he flipped and landed thirty feet away, just to the right of Gunner.

Gunner in her red and black battle gear held an X-25 rocket rifle, firing a series of explosive grenades into the tentacled face of the beast. The Occultist rained fiery spheres down from the sky, each wrapping a limb in a flaming embrace.

Fire had the most effect on the creature, preventing its continued movement. But that was all they could do. Between The Kid and his speed and strength and the Shrike’s Promethium attacks, they could keep it off-balance. But whenever it moved or flailed about, buildings fell.

Nothing they did caused any permanent damage and they were beginning to tire.

Suddenly the sky darkened and the wind whipped up. Lightning began to swirl at the edges of the skyline.

The Kid, looking up, slowed down the flow of time and saw lightning charges building up right above their heads. Grabbing Gunner, he sped out of the line of the lightning discharge with seconds to spare. His big grin showed this was what he lived for, that last second save that no one but he could pull off. “Got ya, boss lady. I think the cavalry is here.”

“What?” Gunner hated when he did that. He saw something seconds before it happened. Then the lightning strikes began. Each rained down as a driving wind directed them into the face of the creature. Right where she was standing a second ago.

“Occultist,” boomed the voice of Shango from the heavens, “we need a Gate to the Crossroads. Something big enough for our guest.”

“Shrike, where are you?” Gunner extricated herself from the Kid’s very tight and strangely arousing grip.

“Coming in at Mach two. Tell me we have a target or I am going to explode right over you guys. Less than a minute.”

“Come down West Street. We are trying to push the creature to the Crossroads.”

“What good is that? He’ll just come back.”

“It’s what Shango wants.”

“Good enough for me. Fifty seconds.”

The Occultist teleported himself to the ground behind the alien monstrosity and began to form his gate. It was hard to concentrate over the barrage of lightning, and he had to erect a barrier to protect himself. Holding his cane above his head, he warded off the lightning and driving rain pushing the creature back toward him. His incantations steady, he sensed the gateway to the Crossroads opening. And then he sensed it, a creature of the Outer Dark awaiting on the other side!

He balked, holding the spell before completion. Shango is impetuous, stubborn, and sometimes downright irresponsible. But since I don’t see Kali, I have to assume she is somehow involved in this. In the end, this is about trust. I have to trust they have a reason. He completed the spell.

The Shrike, covered in the kinetic energy of his Promethium armor, saw the gateway open up. Diving down, he targeted the creature and saw lightning striking it, as well. Lightning strikes so powerful, the very air seemed aflame in a light so bright, the creature could barely be seen. Never saw Shango like this. Glad we are on the same side now. Four, three, two, one...

The release of the Promethium had to be done at point blank range. It had a release range of less than ten feet. He could turn at this speed, but just barely. To be sure of the effect this time, he would have to cut it closer than he was comfortable with. If I had known this hero gig would be so dangerous, I might have just stayed a villain. He activated his force field a second before impact, bracing himself for the energy release, it would be the equivalent of a Tomahawk missile. The explosion blasted him into the sky as he rebounded from the armored skin of the creature.

Flight controls are gone, diagnostics lights are on everywhere --we’re done. This had better be worth it. He felt his vector changing as he fell downward. Still trying to reboot his armor, he suddenly felt the wind was knocked out of him.

Suddently drapped over the shoulder of the Kid as they bounced off a building, arced through the air and landed on the ground nearly a hundred feet away.

“One day I might miss you.” The Kid laughed and put the Shrike down on the ground, clapping him on the back.
“Don’t remind me. Thanks for the save.”

“Armor systems online.” The Shrike’s powered armor reactivated.

“You might want to work on that reboot speed.” The Kid smiled and streaked away, faster than a Corvette down the street back toward the creature. He plucked hurtling chunks of building out of the air, like flowers, that might strike bystanders as he re-entered the fray.

The combined explosions of the promethium wave, Shango’s lightning strikes, and Gunner’s mini-missiles pushed the creature into the edge of the gateway, but not quite through it. Before anyone could make a further effort, a tendril of blackness reached through the gate, and as it touched our air, burst into flame. It grabbed the monster and pulled it back into the Crossroads. The last thing heard was, “I finally found you, Nyarlethotep. Revenge is ours.”

Without warning the gateway snapped shut.

Shango dropped like a rock from the sky, attempting to cross back into the gateway before it closed. The speed of his landing cracked the concrete. He roared like a madman and began to whirl his axe to create his own portal. The air was aflame with his lightning, but no portal formed. The Occultist walked up behind him and placed his hand on Shango’s shoulder.

“Enough, old friend. The creature from the Outer Dark has temporarily sealed the passage from our world to the Crossroads.”

“It has Kali.”

The gathered heroes fell silent.

* * *

Kali summoned her spirit swords and began the ritual dance of power. Tapping the energies unique to this plane, she bound its power to hers. She felt the lives of The People, and their rage at the creature that destroyed them. She felt their need to lash out, but also their impotence since they are deceased and can no longer affect the world. Her dance said that they could.
They listened.

The portal had been open for some time. She remained peripherally aware of it as the spirits of the dead came to her and followed her dance, each lending its tiny essence to what she was, a goddess of destruction and creation, a goddess of Time and Space. They sensed her kinship to all things in creation, and were at peace.

The portal was rent asunder as the Other suddenly arrived, and the two power-mad creatures tapped the energies of this plane and dozens of others nearby for their conflict. They ignored her and closed the gateway while their battle continued.

“Our deal is done. Release me.”

“Germ gods are in no position to make demands. We have our quarry, and we will use you to get back to your world once we have had our revenge.”

“You will stay with us.”

“We will be free of this place. We taste your world on him. It is to our liking.”

Their conflict was so terrible, nearby shard realms of existence were destroyed as they moved their battle through dimensions. Kali realized this creature never had any intention of letting them go home. That was why she told Shango to leave. She had no intention of staying.

Turning to the gathered spirits she raised her arms and shouted to them, “You seek revenge. Only Kali Yuga can give you that. So I release her to you. Gain your revenge!”

Kali’s dance moved faster, her four arms became eight, and she directed the energy of her death magic through the souls of those damned to be in this place, and they reflected her.

Her spirit blades appeared in their hands . And this happened again and again until there were hundreds of her and the contagion continued, spreading until there were thousands. Each shone with a dark energy that disrupted the very air around them. Slowly they rose into the air and their spirit blades sang out their song of retribution and revenge for their unjust deaths thousands of years before. Tiny stars of black fire began to arc through the air.

The gathered spirits by the thousands turned their energy toward the ancient gods locked in battle. They were not aware of the dark stars surrounding them. Each deity was consumed with its hatred of the other. The crazed tentacled god bound his brethren in a smoky embrace. The dark invader sliced away tentacle after tentacle, even as new ones replaced them. Their struggle destroyed the remnants of the great civilization around them as if they were nothing more than tissue in the path of a hurricane.

Then lead by Kali, the People exacted their revenge. Each hurled itself at the Great Old Ones. Their fiery trail slashed through tentacles and Dark God alike, and their screams of rage were palpable. Once ignored by the Great Old Ones, but no more. Now their rage was given form and a world quaked as bound spirits rose up against their slayer.

Kali Yuga smiled and continued her dance as the sky lit up by the fiery stars of souls enraged. And the Dark Gods knew fear.

* * *

An hour later, a portal opened in the wreckage of the street. Shango stood exactly where the last portal had closed. He knew if she was going to appear, it would be where the walls between worlds was weakest. He could sense it coming, a tell-tale rippling of the space-time at the Crossroads. When she came through she was in her Kali Yuga aspect, her demonic eight armed form was disheveled, battered, barely conscious but still alive. Even in this state, her power was evident, a wave of fear swept the street and people shuddered unconsciously.

Shango reached her in a single step and grabbed her. She slumped into his arms and her Yuga aspect was dispelled. And it was a good thing too. She had a hard time telling friend from foe in that state. He did not know what happened over there, but if she took on this form, she didn’t make any friends.

Ever the optimist, Shango picked her up and laughed. “Look at that! They sent her home, after all. She really doesn’t make for a good hostage.” It wasn’t the first time Shango questioned his wife’s incredible powers. The gathered heroes turned to the wreckage and could hear the sounds of attack helicopters and other military vehicles approaching the scene.

The Shrike looked at Shango, his visor opened, “I know this part. Skipping out from the police was my specialty, remember? We aren’t on the side of the angels anymore. We’re fugitives. That means we run.”

Gunner looked at the Occultist who was already weaving a teleportation spell. “Only for a little while longer, then we are going to fix this. I am tired of running.”

As the military approaches, the people of Paragon City streamed out and quietly blocked the path of the oncoming forces, slowing them significantly.

Gunner looked on, saluteed them and with the spell completed, they faded from view. The bystanders quietly dispersed. The military commander breathed a sigh of relief. Gunner was an American hero. She and her team had saved the world a half a dozen times, at least. He had to follow orders, but he didn’t have to rush.

“They got away again, sir.”

“Don’t you hate when that happens, Lieutenant?” The old colonel smiled, lighting a cigar.

My latest novel is available in print and as an ebook!

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/warriors-of-the-four-worlds/15539263

Our latest highlight is black supervillain Malice! Read all about her here

              Our ship dropped out of the Gate inside of Mariovel space. Corvan battlefleets patrolled the area but acknowledged our IFF transponders and allowed us to continue into the starsystem. The red supergiant of the Mariovel system had two smaller red companion stars which were only visible if you knew where to look.After programming the coordinates for the Mariovel homeworld, the WarpRunner jumped and we emerged in the shadow of the goliath of planets. A great banded world of luminous clouds of various shades of pink, gold and browns.

              "Look into the upper hemisphere of the planet. There should be a Great White Spot. That is the space they have create for any visitor's habitation during the planetary refitting. Everything is on schedule, they say the planet will be ready in less than a year." Sitting in the pilot's chair, I was trying to strike up a conversation with a cool and prickly Diplomat of the Hegemony.

              "I understand they produce only one planet a century here?" He was trying to be polite, but I could tell he really didn't want to talk to me.

              Rising to the challenge, "They accepted a contract to create a new Earth for us at the request of the Hegemony's leaders."

              "Your records indicate you live on Galatea II, Captain. What's wrong with Galatea II? It has been the cradle for a majority of the Humani species now for almost a thousand years." He sounded smug as if his reading my records gave him an advantage.

              "Nothing, except it belongs to the Botani who look like trees and don't allow us to make anything out of wood, because everything made of wood might be their kin. Not to mention their symbionts creep me out with their strange cuteness. Other than that, they have been very hospitable. One thousand years is long enough, I think. I hate the idea that we are indebted to the Squids."

              "Captain, I didn't know you were anti-Corvan."

              "I'm not. I just don't like them. You do remember they destroyed the Earth and ten million other humans who did not leave during the Exodus."

              "Ancient history at best. Yes, I have been Transferred three times and am nearly a thousand years old but the Mariovel and the Corvans have a relationship that goes back nearly ten thousand years. So if you hate the Corvans, remember The Mariovel love them, and keep your opinion to yourself."

              Our class six WarpRunner was fitted for the Mariovel home-world and had the adjusted beacons needed to land in the protected regions. We would need a ship designed to interact with the powerful gravity technology of the planet.

              As we approached their home-world, we were struck by its sheer immensity. It defied anything we knew about planets. Three times the literal size of Jupiter, it was surrounded by a gaseous cloud layer similar to most gas giants but that was just part of the story. There were several cloud layers, all the way to the surface of the planet. They had a gravity technology directed from the planet that changed the gravitation constants, allowing visitors from other planets to come to their world and live comfortably during the process of planet crafting. The Great White Spot is their equivalent of a landing pad for visitors.

              Eighteen thousand miles in diameter, the Great White Spot moved slowly in comparison to other storms on the planet. The Mariovel were one of the races of the galaxy's races that had never been conquered or even effectively attacked. Their world was inhospitable to almost any other form of life. The incredible storms that swept the surface with their two thousand mile an hour winds and their crushing atmospheric pressure were able to destroy all but the most durable alien ships. Add the super-gravity of its planetary surface, and most forms of life simply cannot negotiate it. There is also one other aspect which most invaders remember. With a gravity well as deep as theirs, unless the Mariovel allow it, no one who lands, leaves.

              We would not be going to the actual surface, though. We would be stopping at the third layer where buoyant fungi forms were floating through the atmosphere of the planet and were used as a base of operations inside the White Spot. With the surface area of two thousand Earths, this was little more than a tiny way station on their vast planetary surface.

              "Remember, keep your gravity harness active at all times. It keeps you in sync with the artificial gravity generators and in the event of any failure will protect you with an artificial gravity field. Otherwise you would be crushed instantly by your own weight. It also protects you from the atmospheric pressure, so you never want to be anywhere outside of protected areas without it. This is the most dangerous environment you can imagine."

              "I read the brief, Captain. I am aware of the risks."

              "As a diplomat, I understand you have traveled to hundreds of worlds, and your dossier says you have even been to Nalrud, rumored to be the most dangerous world in the Hegemony, but there, it's the lifeforms that are dangerous. Here, even a tiny mistake can be your last. I just wanted to keep you safe Diplomat Sinian."

              "Your concern is noted, my good Captain. Let's get to the surface and to our work."

              "You will be meeting with Chalguldan and what he calls the Planet Crafters Enclave, Division Nine."

              The Diplomat is wearing a Humani standard hardened bio-suit. It has been encrusted with his sigils of accomplishment and awards of state from almost three dozen worlds. The suit is designed to emit information into the infrared and ultraviolet spectra to allow the Mariovel to detect them and with a standard mediasphere connection, they will be able to interpret their meanings and other galactic standard information.

              My own suit is far less ornate, indicating only my rank, my modest accomplishments and my suitability for classified information management. I would be allowed to go everywhere the Diplomat went and able to witness any transactions. It is not necessary for a Diplomat to have a Humani witness for such transactions but it has been a tradition for millennia.

              As the bay doors open on the WarpRunner, we are immediately assaulted by the heated air and the strange smell of the planet. It has a strong ammonia smell, nothing dangerous, but certainly unpleasant. There are other odors as well, one that reminds me strongly of cinnamon, and the other of baking bread. There is quite a wind blowing as well, and it takes a moment to adjust to the force of it. Nothing our suits cannot handle.

              There is a white spongy material on the ground, and then I realize it's the living fungus of that makes up the Spot. I could see buildings off in the distance, also made out of the same materials. There are dozens of different ships here from a variety of the galaxy's races, each negotiating for their own planets or resource development of one sort or another. The sky is white with light from the overhead clouds and at the edges of the of the fungus, I could see lightning flashing as the two weather patterns met. I can see flying creatures in the distance, but remember reading they were actually like everything else on this planet, gigantic in size, only their great distance belied their size.

              Leaving the ship, we are met by a Mariovel in their foglet form. As near as I understand it, they are capable of three different states of being. One is an energy form they use to repair ships when they are part of a Corvan battle fleet. The other is a large and mostly rocky form suitable for almost any environment. In that shape, they are mildly radioactive so they don't tend to use it in the presence of more organic beings. This cloud form is the only one that is not radioactively toxic to any of the Humani tribes. My suit indicates that we are in the presence of Chalguldan and I marvel at the beauty of this state of being.

              Zhe, using the polite non-sexual pronoun, appeared as a starlike collection of nano particles orbiting a larger central mass about the size of an apple. The cloud was about two meters in diameter and twinkled with both internal light and light reflected from the environment. When it spoke, it emitted light that was interpreted by my suit's interface system and translated. I also spoke Galac Six naturally having been trained with biometric and computer languages nearly a hundred years before. I was certain the Diplomat did as well.

              "Greetings are given to esteemed guests."

              "Greetings are accepted from our esteemed hosts."

              "We are available to communicate with you regarding your request for a new planet."

              "Where will we be meeting with the Planet Crafters Enclave, Division Nine?"

              "They are all here. We will be visiting your world in progress. Will that be acceptable?"

              "We will be able to see it?"

              "Yes, Diplomat. But you will not be traveling to the surface, we will just visit to the planetary growth matrix. Understand what you are able to perceive of our technology will simply be representations your minds will be able to conceive of. Do not be distressed if you cannot understand all that you see. Please stand by for transportation. Please inform us if you have any social, moral or cultural taboos regarding quantum teleportation."

              "No Chalguldan, we have no issues with quantum teleportation."

              "Please make yourselves ready, we understand carbon life forms experience disturbances or mild physiological upset with quantum teleportation."

              "We are ready."

              And just like that, we were gone from the spaceport and suddenly what looked like the Earth hung in the sky above me. It was a beautiful as anything I ever remember seeing. There were blue oceans, polar ice glistening from the background light of the Great White area.

              The Diplomat tried not to appear even remotely affected by what we were seeing, but my mouth hung open for several minutes.

              "Esteemed Captain, your biological signals are in disruption, are you in distress?"

              "No, Chalguldan. I am simply in disbelief. This appears to be for all intents and purposes, the Earth as I have seen it only in videos and three dimensional simulations."

              "It is your world, physically in every way possible. Using the information gathered by the Sjurani when they rescued you from your world, we have created your planet accurate to dimensions of less than one meter. With the genetic support of the Sjurani we have filled your biosphere with animals and plants taken from your world. The Sjurani gathered entire sections of your planetary ecosphere and stored them in stasis, until we could study them and recreate them."

              "You have done so much for the project already, Chalguldan, why are we here now in renegotiation?"

              "Diplomat Sinian, we have studied the land masses captured and found environmental pollution at a catastrophic level. Your land masses, water, air and creatures were completely saturated with a variety of environmental poisons that could have only been created by primitive manufacturing techniques."

              Sinian looked up at the planet and marveled at the organic looking structures linked to Earth Two. These great limbs-like structures appeared to hold the planet in place and as the structures reached the planet, they branched out again and again like capillaries surrounding the planet in a fine mesh. However in scale, those fine appearing cables were likely to be hundreds of miles wide.

              "Several of our older brethren were questioning the wisdom of returning your species to a planet that even though it was destroyed through no fault of your own, your species would have made it uninhabitable in less than two hundred years. It has taken us nearly one hundred of your standard years to complete this project. Relatively speaking, your planet's creation has not been difficult for us. But understand, your species will not be capable of such feats for tens of thousands of years at your current level of technology. We would rather give this world to a species that is more appreciative of the wonder of a planet. The question of the Enclave, Division Nine, is how can you assure us of the sanctity of your world to your future generations?"

              "Chalguldan, I think our people have experienced a catastrophic loss and many of them would just as soon never return to the Earth. Many of us have already become part of the Second Diaspora and moved from the Toranor System into Hegemony Space proper. The Humani Tribes are very diverse today, in comparison to when your people received samples of our previous home."

              I found myself growing warm and uncomfortable as I watched the Mariovel's movement pattern grow more complex as if it were assessing the words of the Diplomat. I also notices clouds of other Mariovel approaching our position, pulsing in unison with Chalguldan.

              Sinian continued, his face intensely focused on the vistas slowly turning overhead. "In addition to Humans, we have Simians, Ceteacea, Hybrids, Machine-Kind, the Cyber-immortals and the Transferred. What caused our species to be myopic was our very short lifespans. I have lived fifteen times as long as my kind did back then. I believe we would be more likely to protect that which had been won so dearly and cost the lives of billions of our kind."

              Soon, dozens of Mariovel hovered over us and began exchanging elements from each of their clouds. Elements swarmed over us, around us, and soon we were in a sphere of moving foglet elements. As the elements began to swirl, they began to emit colorful light patterns. At first I thought it was a form of communication but I could find no useful patterns in it.

              Suddenly, Sinian and I were standing in a factory shoveling coal into a furnace. We were sickly and malnourished and every cough produced a black phlegm that seemed in endless supply. Smokestacks blackened the sky in every direction. Sinian collapsed and I carried him outside of the factory. We were taken to a local hospice area where he was pronounced with tuberculosis and only had a few days left to live. I stayed with him while he expired in agony.

              Night fell and we were suddenly wearing masks on our faces and there were deep walls on both sides of us. We carried primitive rifle weapons and were being sent onto a different battlefield in the dark. A cloud of smoke floated into our trench and my mask was not sealed properly. I began to choke and sputter and found my chest burning, searing with unimagined pain. Sinian tried to help me but I could not hear a word he was saying. Soon he is the only one left alive as the green cloud claims the lives of everyone around him.

              Then I found myself running chest deep in water, toward a beach, while exploding rounds rocked the ground in every direction. I was dragging Sinian. He had a wound on his chest and I was watching men dying all around me. It seemed to go on forever. We were forced to take cover behind large metallic X shaped objects as the shelling continued. We made our way up the beach but high caliber rounds ripped men to pieces, their anguished cries for their mothers, rang hollow in my ears, as I struggled not to join them. Sinian is struck in the head and I fall to the sand with the shock of his dead weight.

              I woke in a camp with a high fence wearing a striped uniform. Sinian was nowhere to be found. Everyone was sick and pale and nearly dead from starvation. The smell is terrible. It's the smell of death. The death of thousands. I struggled to rise and stagger outside. The light is so bright. I can hear others whispering and cowering. I saw men carrying guns knocking down a fence and Sinian rushed to me and offered me water. I threw up the water because it had been so long since I had anything to eat.

              We found ourselves in the middle of a rain forest surrounded by crude oil pits carved into the earth, while a multinational corporation extracted it without concern for the indigenous people who lived in the area. Sinian was a corporate worker while I was a member of the locals who was dying from cancer. Sinian spent time with me when his duties allowed it, but he could not stop what the corporation was doing no matter how silvered his tongue. We were both shot while we discussed the horrors of the what was happening and how we were going to expose the corporation's misdeeds.

              We watched as we slowly expired from starvation in what was called Africa as corporation's priced seed out of our families ability to afford it. Our farm stopped producing food and our families starved, one child after another until no one in our village was left. Wars around our villages prevented people from trying to leave sooner. We staggered out, last men standing to try and walk to a neighboring town. We starved to death in transit.

              We watched as the Sjurani spacecraft arrived on Earth and their great starships hovered over every major city. Humanity knew they were coming and followed their instructions to the letter. Sinian and I were leading the teams who gathered animals, plants and people from the North American continent. Every plant, animal, seed, flower, spore that could be gathered together was. Entire swaths of the planet were scooped up and taken away. Sinian and I wept as we were left behind on the planet, chosen by a random lottery. There were alien forces all over the planet. We picked up our weapons and went to defend our world. They overwhelmed our position and as they swarmed us...

              We returned to the Mariovel, their flying elements slowing and returning to their respective bodies. We were both weeping with the shock of each experience. They felt so completely real and each was as if I had been in everyone of those positions. As we gained control of our emotions, Diplomat Sinian stood up enraged and shouted "Chalguldan, that was hardly a fair representation of what humanity had done in their time on Earth. You painted us out as monsters who did not care for each other or the Earth. You ignored our arts, our culture, our best emotions, our greatest gifts to each other."

              "This is true, Diplomat. All that was good in your species was overlooked in this instance for a single reason. That which was good, did not destroy your world. Only that which was bad. Only that which showed difference where there was none, only that which created division when it should have created unity. Greed instead of compassion. Health instead of corruption. War instead of cooperation. All of what we showed to you was true, gathered by your own people. We simply moved through time to see it firsthand."

              "You mean those were not simulations?"

              "No, Captain. We placed you in the minds and lives of those people you experienced. Time and space are infinitely variable to us."

              Sinian sat down, placed his head in his hands and whispered "No."

              "Diplomat Sinian, are you sure?" I kneeled down next to him, the soft loam beneath me.

              He looked up at me, his eyes were bright and hard. "I said, no, Captain. I cannot see why the Mariovel should create a planet for humanity when we were so terrible to each other and the last one we had. In good conscience I could not recommend us at this time."

              "Chalguldan and the Enclave of Planet Crafters, Division Nine, I Diplomat Wells Sinian hereby respectfully request a temporary hold on the planet Earth repopulation project at this time. In the light of the information presented today. I would like to return to the Humani Tribunal to ensure we have a proper plan of development for our new planet, to ensure its long term growth and continued existence."

              "We are pleased to hear your decision, Wells Sinian. While the Earth would have been ready for repopulation in a year, another hundred years would give many of your indigenous animals time to spread out and achieve a homeostatic balance with their new environment. We hope in this time you will also convince your people of a way to achieve a more homeostatic balance with your new home as well."

              Sinian and I stared longingly up at Earth, her deep blue oceans and swaths of green and gold beckoned to us. I helped Diplomat Sinian to his feet and he seemed relieved to have made a decision he could live with. "What are you going to tell the council?" The Mariovel retreated into the distance and I saw Chalguldan flash a brief goodbye in Galac 6 before our instantaneous transmission to the spaceport.

              "The truth, Captain, the truth. The planet needed another century in the oven before we would be ready for it. We've got work to do. Take us home."

The Planet Traders © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Just working out some new properties as I get ready for convention season.. So here's the first preview .
of a concept I'm Trying to prepare a preview of for ECBACC:
Pencils by;
Jay Aquilera
&
Juan Frigeri

                         [b]        TOOL-BOI[/b] 
                        An Original Concept
                     Created & Written
                                       By
                     Robert Garrett@2010

Robert Garrett
Xmoor Studios
http://www.xmoorstudio.com
All rights and characters are trademarks of Robert Garrett for Xmoor Studios.

On December 31, 2010 at the stroke of Midnight around the world during celebratory events, hidden assassins burst into the room, killing world leaders and the worlds most powerful dignitaries, while at the same time the president of the United States was saved by man  who appears inside the White house with a message to President, a message that will spark an exploration of the secret layers of power in order to find what knowledge may have been hidden away - or what enemy may be finally willing to reveal itself…, introducing the remnants of an old civilization that was destroyed centuries ago slowly revealing secrets and hidden organizations, so intricately timed and managed….

In the shadows they whisper of men who don’t exist… Mythical assassins who play with the lives of the rich and powerful… They are the EBONATI… These assassins brought new battle tactics and philosophies of war with them

For Moser Sloane it means to have created the perfect assassins Guild… Reclaiming a forgotten heritage with a race extinct that was destined to conquer the world.

For A’ Meir it has become survival… Raised by killers, he chose life over death… For that he has been marked

The Ebonati operate primarily in the darkness a Covert guild of assassins that ingest ancient drugs within themselves allows them to jump to great heights, operate at super-accelerated speeds, and have superhuman strength.
The Nations of the world are in chaos. The Ebonati unleashed powerful drugs which almost crippled the United States. Then as the U.S. recovers, the world plays witness to the reappearance of an ancient African Tribe that few knew existed… The Wictonda nation has arisen and has begun to Conquer through the plans of their charismatic Leader Kali Mu’tu, the Overseer of the newly recognized Wictonda nation… Unbeknownst to most the Wictonda is the breeding grown for the Assassination Guild called the Ebonati… And they have laid siege to all of Africa.

“ My name is A’ Meir pronounced A’ Mir.., Names are important to people. I wish I knew my mine… Amere is the name I was given by the man whom I once called Father…, Father taught me everything about life… that paid for my education by the best scholars and tutors money can buy… The father who found amusement as I prowled the streets thinking myself a man plying my inherited trade of death to those who dared crossed my path… The father who taught me how to kill… Not just kill, but master every form of death, every nuance of action and reaction that could take a life.
The father who had lied to me for as long as I can remember… The father who proved himself just … Just a man… a vile… cold, calculating man who now wants to take the life he lavishly groomed and hoped to pass his torch…
I will never be father… For I have embraced life…And become a man… Yet there is one thing that I can not disavow that the man who was once my father left me… I am Ebonati… I am a TOOL-BOI”

"I went yesterday."

"I went out the day before."

"I don't care who went out, when. Put your guns on and get out there and bring back something to eat. I don't care what it is."

"Yes, Ma."

"See what you did, now she's mad at us."

"I didn't make her mad, you did."

"Anyway, food won't hop into the house by itself. You two get a move on. Get back before dark."

"Yes, Auntie." Ma's sister was almost as mean as she was.

We left the habitat by the back door, and after looking both ways we started down the vine and headed out of the park, into the city. It used to be called Philadelphia; back when stuff like that mattered.

"Did you pack everything?"

"Why do you always ask me if I packed everything, its not like you weren't standing right there, supervising."

 
"Last time we were out, you forgot the wipes."

"So, you were forced to use your hand or some leaves, why should I care, how you handle your business?"
"You suck."

"You ought to know."

"Be quiet. I hear something."

Whenever we go out, we are always very careful. There used to be lots of humies once upon a time, but after They came, there were a lot less. We can see the one closest to the main city. It sits outside of the city proper and sends its parts looking for food. 

Humies learned not to live in the cities if they wanted to avoid being food. Mama said once, cities used to be filled with humies but now, nobody with any sense goes there. That's why there is so much stuff still there. We don't tell Ma, but sometimes we go there and look for stuff. We learned how to avoid the plants and their critters.

"There it is. It's a cabbage-head." 

"I don't like cabbage-heads. We just ate one a few weeks ago. I'd rather eat my boot first 'fore I eat another."

 
"We ate our boots last week, so we probably shouldn't get a cabbage-head anyway, they be the makings of poor boots."

We let the cabbage-head wander off. They weren't too dangerous or too bright and noisy as all get out, so you didn't have to worry 'bout them sneakin' up or anything. They looked like a horse with the head of a cabbage. And they were about as bright.

Then we saw them. And we nodded. That was the target. Razorbacks. That's what mama called them when she taught us to hunt. Razorbacks were part of the Creature, a fast and dangerous part. They hated humies, too.

 
We waited cause there were too many to try and get one. They had six long legs and were really fast even though they were twice as big as a humie. 

"Why don't you watch 'em, while I catch some shut eye."

"kay, its gonna be a while." I liked it better when he slept anyway, its the only relief I get from his godforsaken mouth. We had taken a position near the edge of the city where a lot of the Creature's parts wandered looking for scavenging humies. There was a mild quakin' and I could see the Creature moving closer to the city. It must be real upset or real hungry, it moved a whole dozen feet today. 

There were still humies living in the city, we knew that cause we could see their lights at night, but the Creature did not have many 'spring that moved around after dark. There were a few, but not many. Humies tried to do their scavenging after dark, cause it was a bit safer than when there were hawkwings about.

 
After a couple of hours, the Creature settled down, mostly cause the sky was 'cast and it did not have any shine on it. The razorbacks started moving back toward the Creature. It was taller than all of the buildings near us. Mama said it was nearly five thousand feet tall and when they landed they changed the weather, killing humie by the dozens every second for years. She said something about spores, but I was never good with that science type stuff. My brother was much better.

One of the razorbacks turns and holds still. It starts makin' its supper sound and turning around. We duck behind the heavy rock wall and wait. It turns toward a building near the clearing next to it. A humie runs out and tries to scurry to the next building. The razorback supper sound grows louder as it turns to the humie, locks its legs and charges fast, faster than any humie could hope to be. 

The humie turns around and points a tiny gun at the razorback. Its pop does not even make the razorback blink. The razorback runs past the humie and its skin bursts with blood. It staggers and tries to keep running. The razorback circles and passes again. The touch of its skin rips the flesh off the humie, and after the second pass the humie falls down.

A second humie runs out, he is a bit bigger and is carrying a shotgun. But shoots too soon and the razorback does him in quick. 

"Get up. We got one on the hook."

"I was just startin' to have my favor dream and you ruined it."

"You wants some boots or not. You can walk barefoot for all I care, but I wants some boots. There ain't no better hide than razorback and ain't no better eatin' either. So shut up and get up."

We check our guns and make sure our chems was dry. No sense shooting if nothing happens. I don't want to tangle with a razorback with just my knife if I can avoid it. My brother is good in a fight but it just the two of us these days, so we can't afford to get hurt.

The razorback is so busy eatin' it doesn't even hear us getting close. We hid in the shadows of the building. It don't see too good and we know that having hunted them for years. It was slow going. Ma says no sense rushing if you get et by what you be chasing. By the time we are close enough to shoot, it was getting dark. We would have to gut, skin and carve before the biguns came out.

And then run for home.

As we approached, my brother covered the right and I covered the left, making sure there were no razorbacks hiding that we might have missed. They were group kin, so where there was one, there may be more. The long shadow of the Creature fell over us and we used the cover of its darkness and the setting shine, to sneak up just a few dozen feet from the creature. We aimed, making sure we hit it below the sack in its belly. That was the only part we could eat and we wanted to be sure we didn't just come home with boots. Mama would tan our hide.

We each had three in our shooters. They were hand-made from parts in the city. Three barrels, three chems. I shot first, making sure to hit it in the head. My brother shot second, hitting it in its hind brain. If you didn't get both, it could still trample you with its head shot clean off. We ducked back into the darkness to wait. We couldn't wait long with dark coming but it was always best after bustin' a chem or two. After ten minutes, we went to work.

"Hurry up, you got that sack yet?"

"Don't worry about me, you just get the hide for our boots."

"I am. I am going to get enough for mama to get a coat too. This razorback's skin is good." 

The skin was covered with a fine grade of spines, but they only cut you if you rubbed the wrong way or if the razorback was alive and pushing them up. Even though it was really big, it was delicate and slashed it food, bleeding it before eatin'. The spines and its leathery hide gave it a toughness that made for fine boots.

 
We loaded the sack and the hide into our ruck, and started making our way home. We had to pass by the river on our way back to wash off the blood before going home. No need to make it too easy to find us. The river was not too far off and we made good time.

We waded in quick-like and cleaned ourselves up. We could hear the wind shifting near the Creature and once the shine was completely gone, we knew the Bigguns was on the prowl. Picking up our guns at the shore, we started running back toward our tree. 

We were in too much of a hurry, when we heard a booming sound from the underbrush ahead of us. We had our guns ready, when two of the bigguns burst out, mouths wide open, spit flying everywhere. Each of us took one, I took the right, he took the left. We shot them straight in their mouths. Its the only spot on their bodies not covered in heavy armor. Each chem went straight into their brains and blew up from the inside.

 
We jumped over their bodies and kept running. Others would hear the chem and rush toward food.

We moved through the outskirts of what mama called a suburb. She learned all of this from reading. She said she taught herself when she was young and there were other humies to live with. It had been a long time since other humies lived with us, nearly thirty summers, give or take.

We could hear them coming.

Sounded like three, maybe four. All of the Creature's parts were fast and hungry. If mama were here, we would just turn around and fight, mama was hell on wheels in a fight, but since she hurt her leg a few summers ago when we were surrounded by razorback and hawkwings, she don't hunt with us anymore.

"What ya wanna do?"

"I hear, three, maybe four."

"We only got, a two chem between us."

"we could drop the food and get away, its slowing us down."

"If we come home without food, mama's going to eat us. I would rather be out here with them."

"Just keep running."

When we came to the park, we could see all of the Creature trees that had landed here. Mama said humies learned to kill the trees brains when they was little and we could live in them while they grew. The trees never got their own creatures when they did not have brains and humies learned to live in them and make homes out of them. We could see our tree in the center of the park but it was just too far, we wasn't gonna make it.

"We gonna have to fight, you know that, right."

"I reckon."

"You ready?"

"Don't miss."

"Have I ever?"

"Nope."

They jumped out of the brush and the earth shook with their landing. We dropped our ruck and had our guns out. One chem each. Four Bigguns. They looked so much bigger up close. When we stopped, they stopped. They had go have seen the two others we killed, and no one was volunteering to go first. We used that to get a few dozen more yards, by pointing at whichever moved toward us first. That wasn't gonna work too much longer.

"Biggest one first, on the right. 

"Then the one next to it."

"Got your knife?"

"Yep. Aim for the eyes."

We stopped moving, each of the bigguns with an armored head and a spike collar stood still. They seemed to know we were going to fight. We roared at them at the top of our lungs, and bared our teeth. The largest two responded in kind. And then they were dead. We dropped out guns. 

Pulling our knives, we rushed the next of the creatures while they absorbed the shock of what happened. While they had good vision facing forward they had to turn their whole bodies to see if something moved to the side of them too quickly. With six legs they could do that fast, but only if another one wasn't in the way. While they were trying to negotiate, we slipped to the side of the Biggun and stabbed into its eye sockets with our knives. We were covered in its warm eye jelly and blood and it reared backward knocking us aside with its huge head.

We landed on the ground, hard and our knives were still in the head of the Biggun that was running off into the overgrowth of the suburbs.

The last Biggun, turned toward us and seemed to sense our vulnerability. It stamped the ground and huffed. The tree was right behind us but it might as well have been miles away. With those six legs, he would be on us faster than ugly on my brother.

We stood up, determined to go down fightin', though without weapons, we did not have much of a chance.

 
I looked up at the Creature in the distance. It glowed with a green light once the 'shine was gone. It made it easier for its kin to find it. I could see three others in the distance, each standing still over a different part of the city. My brother and I had managed to live in the shadow of the things for thirty years before dying. 

"You ready?"

"I don't want to die."

"Who said anything about dying?"

"Between the two of us, all we got left is some harsh language."

We started laughing as the creature closed with us. We would do our best.

We heard a swooshing sound, like nothing we had ever heard before. We thought it might be a creature we had not seen yet, so we crouched low, so we could try to get up on the Biggun's back, over its snapping jaws.

And then there was the loudest boom I ever heard. Sharp shards of metal ripped though our skin and we were thrown from our feet. Chunks of Biggun landed on us. There was a crater where the Biggun was. It looked just like the 'rite craters from when the creatures landed all them years ago, only a sight smaller.

My ears were ringing and I was a bit dizzy for a second. I saw my brother was okay with little more than a cut on his forehead and some minor wounds on his chest.

"What were the two of you laughing about down there. Did you see something funny I didn't?"
"No, ma."

"Where are you manners at boys?" The voice was Auntie's.

"Thank you, ma."

"Now get up here and bring me whatever you managed to find out there. You did find something. If not, you bring up that blowed up Biggun meat. Its foul, but you can eat it in a pinch."

"We found something, ma."

"Razorback, your favorite."

"Did you bring me any hide? You know I need a new coat this winter."

"Yes, Ma, we got you and Auntie fixin's for a new coat."

When the smoke cleared we could see Ma looking down on us with some strange contraption on her shoulder. It was a tube with a handle on the bottom and had a orange tip facing down toward us. Her sister was looking out toward the horizon while she stared down at us as we climbed the rope toward the house. The tiny scratches we suffered wouldn't keep us from getting home.

When we got to the house, Ma kissed us while her sister watched the horizon. Then we all turned into the house and slid the ironwood door closed. My brother's arm had a nasty cut and Ma tended it while her sister looked me over and cleaned my arm and chest wounds. 

Both of them fixed our injuries with their medical kit placed between us, with the same speed and the same way at which we butchered that razorback, they were able to tend our wounds, one handed.

It had become second nature because we were injured almost ever time we left the house. We sat facing each other with our arms at our sides. Our huge broad chest was covered with scars from earlier surgeries after being in the field. A quick inventory and they were satisfied we were okay. Our four heads  and two bodies silhouetted in the internal green light of the Creature tree.

"You boys look a right mess, don't they sis."

"They sure do. A right mess. Nothing a meal and a good night sleep won't fix. Go lay down while we make supper."

They kissed each of us and we walked into the back of the house, which was carved out of the flesh of the Creature-tree and saw our bed carved into the wall of the tree. They had already turned it out and fluffed our pillows.

"Face down or face up?"

"Face up. These cuts on my chest hurt."

"Ow."

"Crybaby."

As we lay down and covered up with the blanket, he was out in seconds. We almost didn't make it today. But there is no place I would rather be than right here with my brother, big head and all. I could hear mom and sis walking in the kitchen doing their dinner-making dance, one hand stirring and the other keeping the pot steady, singing some old duet.

I pulled his arm under the blanket and lay back on my own pillow making sure I faced right. He always starts out turned left but ends up turned right in the night. 

He sleeps with his mouth open. I hate that.

Brotherhood © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved