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“Can I ask who you work for and how the hell we got here?” asked Lepus.
“Since it seems we are thrust together we are gonna have to trust each other. We are here as representatives of the Church. As to how you got here, to tell the truth... we don’t fully know. We knew enough to be here waiting for something. I assume that you are that something.” said MacKay.
“The Church?” asked Lepus.
“The Vatican sent us Mr. Lepus.”
Lepus took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. As he breathed out, one thought just kept pounding away inside his head: Can this get any stranger?
“Who the fuck are YOU people...?” Harvey’s raspy awe-filled voice filled the room before Lepus could answer his own question.
Turning back to the group behind him, he saw the battered agent backing away from the others that had materialized from the apartment with them. Peel and Chaste Moon were doing the same, while Ralphie refused to budge, still at heel by Burroughs... No! Not Burroughs!
There were four other people standing somewhat dazedly behind the man who *looked* like Burroughs, but who looked even more like someone else...
“Jesus Christ!” Lepus whistled softly. He couldn’t believe he was so dazed from the strange journey not to have noticed the change in Burroughs or the appearance of the other people.
“No... but if you insist, I would prefer you call me JC. It is less deific sounding.” The gentle voiced man who referred to himself as JC replied matter-of-factly. “Actually, I am the physical manifestation of a deep-rooted psychological complex that Lee Burroughs was developing toward the end of his existence... as are these others.”
“I don’t understand-“ MacKay began.
“It’s really quite simple. Now that it’s happened, that is.” A slender bookish man behind and to the left of JC chided. “It seems we were not simply an instinctive psychological method of containment for the entity within Mr. Burroughs, but a last line of defense as well. Hello, Ms. Peel.” He nodded politely at Bobbi, while behind him a regular looking fellow rushed forward to embrace a striking redhead and kiss her passionately.
“Mycroft?” Bobbi replied, stunned. She moved her eyes past him to take in the couple. “Edgar... Cordelia?”
Mycroft nodded. “And Bannor, but he doesn’t seem to have endured the manifestation as well as we.”
The last figure had dropped to his knees and was drooling uncontrollably. He shuddered and giggled and convulsed before urinating freely down the front of his pants.
The professionals from the Vatican burst into quiet conversation amongst themselves, pulling MacKay into their number.
“How...?” Bobbi trailed off dazedly.
“How can we be here? Excellent question. I have surmised that the genetic codes for constructing us or beings like us has been encoded into the DNA of every living being since the beginning of human existence.” Mycroft began. “To be activated upon certain conditions... one of them being the End of Times... another, that of a successful infection of a human portal for a very powerful extra-dimensional entity.”
JC continued for Mycroft, “We have existed in other humans before, but only as splintered ‘personality fragments’, the various insanities that have plagued your kind since first they developed conscious thought. Always warding off or containing that which seeks entrance to this reality. Never before, however, has the End been so close as to catalyze the synthesis of our physical manifestations before. Only the strongest personalities were able to personify, however.”
“What happened to Lee Burroughs?” Lepus asked, disgusted at the grope session that was taking place behind JC. It was as if the two were oblivious to everyone else and unable to control themselves.
“Consumed by that which we could no longer contain. We were, however, able to use the energies generated by the manifestation to catapult it to another part of the globe, but that was only a delaying tactic. There is only one hope now-“ JC was cut off.
“Screw hope!” Harvey said, panic rising in his voice. “If only the strongest got out... then where the hell is Red Thomas?”
“He had far outstripped us in power by the time the manifestation occurred.” Mycroft said. “I fear he is already out and about the business that he was created for...”
TWO - Ice Palace
The thing known as Axl Gotterdammerung strode through a chamber filled with huge vats and molds of every size and design. The room and the implements in it were older than anything on the surface of the planet, older even than most of the mountain ranges that dotted the earth’s crust. All of which was over a mile above him. The chamber he used for a quiet room nestled deep under the Ice Palace and farther into the Old Place than any of the humans were ever allowed.
He stopped and ran one thick hand over a man shaped mold and laughed softly to himself. It was not a natural sound. *So close we are...* he mused. *...almost like brothers.*
The radio at his side crackled to life. The Bishop un-clipped it and raised it to his mouth. He was perturbed at the interruption since Hardigan’s hour was not up yet and he had given orders not to be disturbed.
“Da.” He grunted.
“Herr Gotterdammerung! We ar- *sssssskht* -errun *ssssktcht* fighting far superi- *ssssssktcht* must com- *skkkkkkkkt* “
The transmission stopped, but it did not matter, Axl was already at a dead run back to the HQ.
Though it only took him a few minutes to sprint the distance, the fighting was finished well before he got to the guard post just outside of the off-limits deep areas. Two bodies lay on the ground, their smoking weapons gripped tightly in nerveless fingers. The first man’s chest was a bloody ruin, while the second man’s face had been shorn cleanly off the front of his head.
Axl continued onward, his impressive handgun held at the ready. But it was useless, it was as if he wandered through a butcher shop and his hand-picked men were the daily special. Everywhere lay hacked and torn bodies... all bearing the marks of a razor edged blade wielded with incredible speed and strength.
“Hardigan!” he cursed to himself and ran for the cell holding the scholar.
The door was torn from its hinges and the guards looked as if they had fallen into a garbage disposal. Axl moved forward quietly to peer through the wreckage.
Standing inside the room was a terrified and trembling Hardigan, vomit splashed freely down his chin and across his chest. Clenched white knuckled in his hands was the brown wrapped parcel Axl had secured himself a only short time earlier... but that paled in significance to the figure towering over the pale researcher.
Fully seven feet tall and encased in armor as red and shimmering as fresh blood, a giant of a man with a wild coppery mane patted Hardigan on the head as a boy would a puppy. He was bathed in gore and gobbets of flesh festooned him from head to toe. Likewise decorated was the six-foot blade held casually in one spiked gauntlet.
“GO.” he intoned. And Hardigan did... just like that.
Dropping the gun, Axl roared inhumanly and flowed outward with blinding speed his natural weapons far more effective and deadly in such close quarters.
Red Thomas lowered his head and grinned ferally in response, his teeth needles and his eyes pools of crimson. “COME.”
The battle shook the foundations of the Ice Palace and Axl Gotterdammerung lasted longer than all his men together... but with the same messy results. Red Thomas, however, was just getting started.
THREE - Somewhere in the South Pacific.
“What is this place?” the new man asked for the twenty-third time.
Captain Vandelay couldn’t remember the mate’s name, but was thoroughly sick of his whining. “Shut up. If I knew, we wouldn’t be here... Andrews, steer us down that way.”
The thirteen men filled the launch to capacity and were as heavily armed as the ship’s stores could provide.
Andrews guided the craft carefully past the floating corpse of a bloated lamprey that should never have seen the light of day. The lamprey and a host of other obscene abominations were bobbing in the slimy black water that filled the vast causeways and canals of the strange city that had appeared from nowhere.
“Cut the engine, I heard something...” Captain Vandelay hissed.
Andrews silenced the boat’s motor and the craft glided lazily in the brackish water. Cyclopean columns flanked them on either side and stretched up higher and mightier than any sequoia ever could. Strange, mind-bending architecture surrounded them on every side and the non-euclidian geometry of their designs caused the men’s eyes to hurt whenever they stared at them too long. The scale of the place was ridiculously over-blown, no creatures that ever walked the earth could have rightly called this place home, even the smallest entryways were higher and wider than cathedrals.
Surely enough, though, in the distance could be heard the sounds of music. Opera music of all things.
The new mate pricked his ears, but could barely hear it over the fervent prayers of his only friend on the ship, Melendez. The Portugese sailor had not stopped praying since he had first spotted this strange island where no island should be; after a storm which no weather service had picked up and by all rights should not have existed either.
The motor roared to life again and Andrews steered the launch toward the hauntingly beautiful sounds.
None of the men were prepared for the sight that greeted them, and only a few believed they really were seeing it.
In the center of a dark side channel, whose walls were covered with the most blasphemous and unnatural carvings that any human had ever laid eyes on, was a thick black basalt pedestal rising five feet above the water. It was a good ten feet across and resting upon it was an elegant dining table with a single high-backed leather chair. A silver tea service adorned the table along with a sleek black radio, while in the chair a man sat rifling though a newspaper. Obviously not a native to this part of the world, he was fair skinned and extremely handsome and well-bred. His suit was impeccable right down to the platinum cufflinks with the initials S.A. on them.
“Oy!” Andrews called up to him, while his mates traded nervous glances and Melendez crossed himself.
Leaning forward and setting the paper down as if he had simply been hailed by an acquaintance at an exclusive gentleman’s club, the man spoke in cultured tones. “Yes, what can I do for you?”
Andrews looked at Captain Vandelay and shrugged. Frowning deeply, the Captain asked, “Where are we and what the hell are you doing here?”
Sighing softly, the elegant man pondered the question for a moment and took a sip from his teacup. Setting it back down, he answered, “You are in the last place on this Earth that you would ever wish to be. As for me, I am waiting for a dreaming friend to awaken so that I may deliver a message that has been long in coming.”
“What?” the Captain shouted up at him in frustration. He didn’t know who the hell this man was, but he was damned annoying... and more than a little unnerving. Captain Vandelay’s nerves were already raw and strained from the ancient and forbidding ruins around them and now this... this... asshole.
“Run away, little men, run away... and cower in blissful ignorance for the short time this world has left. Run away before you regret being born.” The stranger was already tired of these fleas... he hated being obligated to do anything. Things were moving so quickly now, there was so little time left, but a duty is a duty and some protocols could not be ignored.
While the men in the boat were mustering a reply, a grinding sound louder than the breaking of an iceberg echoed down the vast channel. The smell of a thousand dead whales baking in the sun permeated the air and caused the new mate to wretch uncontrollably into the still black water next to the boat.
“Ahhh... but alas, it is unfortunately too late... for you.” No one heard the man’s dry sarcasm because it was drowned out by sucking/squishing noises that had not split the air for countless eons.
Panicked, the Captain gave the order to shove off and get gone. Andrews was struggling to fire up the engine when the thousand foot shadow fell across the boat and beyond. The first man to look up screamed with such sudden intensely that he burst his larynx. The rest cast their eyes upward and gazed upon the face of nightmare. Another man’s heart burst in his chest, and Melendez mumbled a prayer as he drove his thumbs through his eyes. The rest of the men quickly wished they had done the same...
FOUR - New York, New York USA
Farr and Karpov drove down streets teeming with panicking people. Sirens in the distance drowned out most of their conversation as they made their way back to the precinct through a world gone mad.
First, the army of bums that would not stop trying to tear down that building to get at the trio of people the two detectives had been assigned to track down. Then, those same three and a couple others vanished into thin air with a flash of light strong enough to blind Farr for an hour. Lastly, the skies over New York had darkened to a sickly yellow color and people were screaming about Revelations and the end of the world.
At least they had something to show for all their trouble... Karpov patted the forbidden book on the seat next to him. Eckland should be very happy to have something so unexpected, even if it’s not the people he wanted.
Fighting their way through a crowd chanting outside the precinct, the two cops made their way to Eckland’s digs. Every officer in the building was either busy or missing, and the eerily charged atmosphere made Farr’s skin crawl.
Eckland sat at his desk staring dumbly at the new reports on his portable televison:
“...and it seems to be the same all over the city, Maryanne. Religious icons of all types have spontaneously sprouted mouths or started bleeding, suicide has become an epidemic and violent crimes are occurring at a staggering rate. Meanwhile, vast numbers of people are flocking to churches of every denomination in the hopes of receiving solace even as the city grinds to a halt and officials seem as mystified and helpless as the man on the street.
“Marty Canton, Live for Action 9 News. Cut the camera, Donny, and let’s get the hell outta here!”
The set clicked off as their boss set the remote back down. “They’re gone.” he said. His voice was as lifeless and somber as his expression.
“Uh, yeah.” Farr muttered nervously. “But not forgotten.”
Karpov tossed the book down onto the desk. The Necronomicon’s dark earthy cover was reflected in Eckland’s mad shining eyes.
“You boys don’t know how happy I am to see this book.” Eckland grinned slowly. “So I’ll have to show you...”
Farr was caught off-guard as the stunted barrel of the Mac-10 rose over the desktop and began it’s .45 caliber stutter. Heavy slugs chewed through his groin and belly to continue up into his chest. He spun like a rag doll and flipped over a leather chair to lay glassy-eyed and silent.
Karpov’s weapon somehow managed to clear leather, but the Mac-10 hadn’t finished it’s deadly song. Half a dozen more lead kisses slammed into Karpov beginning at his left breast and stitching a morbid pattern up his neck. They finished their fatal design with one through his cheek and another in his open mouth and out the back of his head.
Eckland squealed with glee and picked up the book. No one even noticed him leave the station, tome in one hand, smoking weapon in the other.
“Mr. Hubert, there is a Mr. Eckland here to see you.” the glum manservant intoned.
“Yes, I know. Send him in.” Hubert replied smoothly. He ran a hand down his cheek, as if inspecting for a blemish and then straightened the seam of his pant leg.
“They’re gone.” Eckland said to his master, never knowing that he was under the power of a spell with its roots in Carribean Voodun practices. “But I brought you this.” He held up the book like a small child does a Christmas present.
“Thank you. Put it with the others and have a seat, I have something else for you to do for me.”
Eckland set the book on a shelf with two other copies in two other languages and marveled at many of the other strangely alluring titles.
“Now, listen carefully. All is not lost. I know where they have gone to and-“
*Poor Robert... poor, poor, Robert.* A voice that could never have come from a human mouth rustled through the richly appointed room like a broom through dry autumn leaves.
Brilliant green energy crackled in Hubert’s hand as he called forth his most potent attack spell. He reached out with his other and grasped Eckland’s face. It was the fastest way to draw out the man’s life-force should Hubert need the additional essence for ever more insidious magicks.
*All your life you have sought out the darkest secrets of this world... so petty you are... so small minded... but I will share with you things from the farthest corners of this universe and those beyond. I will make within you an ally worthy of devouring a world!!!* The horribly dry rasping voice came from nowhere and everywhere. It raced along Hubert’s exposed nerves and trickled ice-water down his testicles.
“Show yourself!” He called out, fearful for the first time in decades. Nothing he could easily deal with should have been able to get into that room... leaving him with only one terrifying conclusion.
*As you wish...* the voice replied softly.
From the in-between spaces it lumbered on tree-trunk legs, a pale bloated torso with heavy pendulous breasts and numerous lesions. Huge muscular arms ended in hands with gaping bleeding mouths that chattered grotesquely and called his name. Obscenely male, it was obviously excited to make his acquaintance.
“No!!!” Hubert hurled his attack with enough energy to cause every window in the building to explode outward from the blast concussion. He quickly began a translocation spell to flee.
*Yessss!* the avatar/god Lee’golonac replied, shattering both spells without effort.
Eckland was mercifully oblivious to what followed.
FIVE - The Bottom of the World.
Lepus sipped the hot coffee that the Choir Boys brought him and stared at the tableau laid out before him.
MacKay and the others had swarmed JC and Mycroft with a host of questions, but the men had shunted them off for the time being to attend to the one called Bannor. At this point, the way that basket case was acting, Lepus wanted to give him the 9mm retirement package. But he was certain the Choir Boys would shit their official Vatican bloomers... besides, things had spiraled so far beyond his control that he didn’t know who to cap and who not to. His only choice was to watch, wait, and hold on for a rough ride.
Bobbie and Chaste Moon were chatting it up off to the side and comparing hysterectomy scars or something, while Harvey had gotten Ralphie a can of Alpo. Meanwhile, the Colgate couple still couldn’t seem to unhitch their mouths.
Yeah, everybody was getting real fucking chummy... a big fucking Armageddon blow-out party at the Bottom of the World.
As his long departed first wife would say, “The irony is just sooooo delicious, darling!”
That was one bitch who would never have been a Tommy Lee Jones fan. But, Damn, he missed her sometimes.
Once again, he found the thought crossing his mind: Can this get any stranger?
The smell of puke was overpowering.
Jerking around, Lepus had his weapon in his hand and was caressing the safety before anyone else, other than Bobbie and Harvey, had so much as moved.
He appeared from a twinkle of red light on the only table in the room. More pathetic and sad than normal, the bookworm Hardigan trembled and quivered under a generous coating of vomit, blood and bits of gore. Where he came from was anyone’s guess. Sitting down slowly and hugging a brown wrapper to his chest, the researcher began to laugh hysterically and rock back and forth.
“I’ve got bad news!” Hardigan cried with tears in his eyes. “I’ve got really, really, really bad news!”
*And I’ve got to quit asking myself fucking questions...* Lepus thought blackly.
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