Throwing Glass

A spinning disc of crimson light appeared in the middle of the room, irising wider and wider until it spanned over six feet in diameter. Despite the fact that the glowing circle appeared utterly two-dimensional, a foot broke through the surface of it, clad in a white leather boot. The remainder of a shapely feminine leg, wearing dark blue with white trim, followed outward from the red surface of the disc, and a moment later Pat Trayce, the Vigilante, was standing in the lounge room of the Riverboat, the headquarters of Bad Blood. Vigilante cradled her right arm with her left, her face a tightly set mask of pain. Sojourn broke the spiraling crimson plane next, and unceremoniously sprawled on one of the nearby threadbare couches. She was followed by Valence, who was helping to support Vic Wagner. Ember emerged next, crossed the room to a large overstuffed faux leather chair, and gently lowered himself into it. Finally, the cloaked form of Enigma swept through the warp, and dismissed the aperture with a wave of his hand; it shrank to a red pinpoint and then disappeared.

"Everybody all right?" the disembodied electronic voice of the CLOTI, the Cross-Linked Omnifunction Terabyte Interface, asked with a slight growl, as if the artificial intelligence program which maintained the Riverboat's computer systems somehow resented having to ask in the first place.

"We're fine, Clotty," Valence answered. Having lowered Vic onto the couch opposite the one where Sojourn reclined, he dropped to the floor and leaned his back against the armrest. "More or less.*"
(* Valence and the others have just come through an epic battle as seen in Bad Blood #25 – DWG)

"I believe you fall on the 'less' side, Patricia," Enigma said, moving to Vigilante's side. "You'd better come with me to the medical bay and let me set that fracture before you do yourself any permanent damage. The facilities aren't much ... unless there have been some upgrades since I left ..."

"We've been busy," Ember said without removing the arm he had draped tiredly across his eyes.

"Of course. Still, it's better than nothing," Enigma finished.

"I'd argue with you trying to mother me," Vigilante said weakly, "but honestly, this hurts too much for me to put any concentration into arguing." She allowed Enigma to lead her out of the lounge and deeper into the Riverboat.

"Any word from Pierce and the others, Clotty?" Valence asked.

"Yeah," the computer avatar's voice answered.

"Um, ok ... what's the word?" Valence pressed.

"What, it's not enough that you know they're alive and they checked in?" the CLOTI demanded. "You have to know their every move?"

"Clotty, I swear, any more lip and I will delete you," Ember groaned.

"They went to Colorado with Wildcat," the electronic voice answered brusquely. "Said he needed some help with a case and they'd be back in a day or two.*"
(* See Wildcat #10 – DWG again)

"More power to ‘em," Sojourn said. "Think maybe we can get ‘em a message to pick up some more comfortable furniture on their way back? Cause I gotta say, these ratty old sofas are not the best for restful recovery."

"At this point, I can't even tell what I'm lying on," Vic Wagner said, rolling onto his side to face Sojourn. "I ... what is that?"

"What is what?" Valence responded. He followed Vic's gaze to the flat black glass resting on stout wooden legs in the center of the lounge. "The Magna of Illusion? Don't you recognize it?"

"Of course I do," Vic snapped, pulling himself up to a seated position. "Here's a question I don't already know the answer to, then. What the hell is it doing here?"

"It's ... our coffee table?" Valence said hesitantly.

"Do you have any idea how incredibly dangerous this thing is?" Vic asked. He moved over to the Magna and kneeled before it, examining its surface.

"Well, yeah," Valence said defensively. "That's why we keep it here in our base, so it doesn't end up in the wrong hands. But I ... I thought you locked it down, put some kind of whammy on it ...?"

"It was about to eat New Orleans at the time*," Vic said, peering into the black glass. Muted shadows of iridescence whorled in the deep darkness, like wild creatures in some primordial aquarium. "And I stopped it. But there's no such thing as shutting it down forever."
(* And that was way back in Bad Blood #4 - DWG, for the last time!)

"Hold up, what exactly is this thing?" Sojourn asked, drawing herself upright despite her obvious fatigue. "It's been here longer than I have."

"It's a lot of things," Vic answered. "Or it has the potential to be them. A gateway. A focal point. A power source. A transmitter. A hiding place. A big, honkin', nasty ..."

The lights in the lounge room flickered for a moment, struggling against being extinguished. At the same instant, the surface of the Magna of Illusion sunk inward at its center, as if a huge, invisible rock had suddenly been dropped into black water. The inevitable splash followed, as eerily liquid obsidian burst outward like an unfolding black flower. The spray of reflective darkness never lost its cohesion, never spilled beyond the frame of the Magna, but it did carry several objects out of the mirror and into the Riverboat.

Eight small figures were thrown into the air by the eruption in the Magna of Illusion. Each was approximately the size and shape of a human infant, with large heads and immature bodies. Their frames were devoid of fat, tiny bones and stringy sinews clearly outlined beneath pale and hairless skin, and they would have appeared sickly and frail if not for the rapidly snatching claws at the ends of their hands and powerfully snapping fangs dominating their faces. The covey of tiny monstrosities called Ohyn streamed into the room like savagery in motion and attacked Bad Blood without hesitation.

The uniform meant so much. It always had. Others had reviled and ridiculed it in the past, but they were small-minded fools, unaware of the significance of its motifs, perhaps unaware that such significance could be so contained.

The colors – yellow, orange and purple – were powerful representations in and of themselves. The yellow of gold, symbolic of wealth and nobility and, more importantly, purity. The orange of fire, of irresistible power that could sweep across any terrain and reduce it to ashes, clearing the way for a new order. The purple of royalty, of those destined to rule over their lessers by virtue of their righteous strength.

The colors were arranged deliberately, as well. Gold covering the torso and plating the iron helmet that encased the entire head; this spoke of his virtue of mind and heart. Orange sheen of his tall riding boots and opera-length gloves; this indicated that he could both walk through the inferno of war and control the flames with his own hands. Purple of the long cape draped from his shoulders; it acted as an emblem of his coronation, anointing him as a pre-destined ruler.

Purple was also the color of the two symbols emblazoned across his chest: the eagle of the Reich and the Iron Cross of the military. He was a statesman as well as a military officer. But above all he was an Aryan, and thus the black swastikas completed the uniform, on the brooch of his regal cape and the knee pads of his boots.

Baron Blitzkrieg admired himself in a full-length mirror. He was a fearsome and imposing sight, he knew, his imperious eyes piercing the rectangular holes of his skull-like golden helmet. He was now appropriately garbed to resume the mission which was his birthright. The experiments were proceeding apace, and his personal army was gaining in strength even as his Shadowspire organization reclaimed its influence. Baron Blitzkrieg would soon guide the world to a glorious destiny, with himself enthroned atop it. And anyone who would oppose him be damned.

Sojourn screamed loudest, but Valence, Ember and Vic Wagner added their voices to the tumult as well. The Ohyn hissed and growled like enraged animals, with a dangerous determination in their gleaming black eyes. Three of the vicious creatures converged on Vic, two threw themselves at Sojourn, one lunged at Ember and one zeroed in on Valence. The eighth Ohyn skittered around the lounge room in a mad, directionless frenzy.

The three small creatures that had set on Vic each focused on a particular point on his body. In a moment one slavering Ohyn hung from each of his hands, and the final tiny assailant ripped and bit at his neck. Vic pushed himself backwards along the floor, kicking his legs wildly, until his back slammed into the couch. The Ohyn continued to grip him as tightly as beartraps.

Valence had risen to his feet and was staggering with an Ohyn clamped to his hip. He reached out a hand and magnetically summoned a large steel bolt from an unfinished section of the adjoining room. Valence raised the magnetically charged metal over his head, then let it fall to the floor as his eyes widened in horror. "I ... I can't fight a baby!"

"Not ... babies!" Vic Wagner insisted. "Monsters! Messing ... with ... your head!" Vic pounded his right hand into the floor repeatedly, bouncing an Ohyn's skull off the boards again and again. The heavy blows finally caused the vicious creature to release Vic's hand; the Ohyn appeared stunned, trying to regain its feral wits. The claws and fangs of the other two miniature predators were drawing streaming rivulets of blood from Vic's neck and wrist.

Ember lit up with flames which quickly engulfed his entire body as well as the Ohyn that was trying to chew its way through his stomach. The fire was lethally potent against the tiny, shrieking grotesquerie, as its body burned quickly and the shriveled, scorched remains fell off of Ember and crunched against the floor. The exertion, however, took a toll on Ember, whose flames flickered out as he dropped to his knees, holding his head pitifully.

Sojourn, still lying on her back on the couch, kicked her left leg wildly, trying to dislodge the tenacious Ohyn that had affixed itself to her shin. At the same time, her hands beat at the other Ohyn clawing her chest. Sojourn wrapped both hands around the small skull of the creature and closed her eyes, then stiffened as if a high-voltage current were running through her body. When her body finally relaxed, she was too weak to struggle against the Ohyn any longer.

"What the hell is going on in there?" the voice of the CLOTI suddenly filled the air.

"The usual," Valence grunted. He had jammed his forearm into the mouth of the Ohyn at his waist, the heavy leather of his biker jacket resisting the gnashing fangs somewhat. Valence reached out and once again impelled the steel bolt through the air, pausing for just a moment before burying the length of metal between the Ohyn's eyes. The monster screamed and fell to the floor twitching, its face bathed in dark blood. Valence looked around the room, ready to assist his teammates.

"Don't even think about magnetically ripping any of the wiring out of the walls, Valence," the Riverboat's artificial intelligence warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Clotty," Valence retorted. He thrust his hands toward Sojourn and curled his fingers. Under his magnetic command, a half dozen of the springs in the frame of the couch burst through the ratty upholstery. One of the metallic coils extended almost to a straight line and skewered the side of the Ohyn on Sojourn's leg, while another spring wrapped itself around the malicious creature's head and pried the Ohyn from her knee. Four quivering springs snared the arms and legs of the other Ohyn and lifted it away from Sojourn's chest.

Valence dashed across the lounge and gently pulled Sojourn off the couch, holding her in his lap on the floor. "Delaina?" he tried to bring her around. "You with me?"

"C-c-cold," Sojourn answered weakly. "S-s-s-so ... cold."

"You must have lost a lot of blood," Valence said, checking the wounds that wept scarlet against her dark skin.

"N-n-no," Sojourn shook her head. "Tried s-s-s-spirit magic." She opened her eyes and looked into Valence's. "Th-th-they don't have ... s-s-s-souls."

"Good to know," Valence said grimly. He looked again at the couch where the two Ohyn were restrained by magnetized springs, and his eyes narrowed. One Ohyn was quartered as the four springs holding its limbs flailed in opposite directions, while the other's head was crushed by the metal coil around it constricting. The couch was soon soaked in vile ichors.

On the other side of the lounge, Vic Wagner continued to struggle against the two Ohyn attacking him. He lowered his left hand to the floor, then put the weight of his foot on the spindly legs of the creature affixed to his left wrist. He stood up and yanked his hand free of the monster's claws and fangs in a gout of blood. With both hands now liberated, Vic moved his fingers in a spell pattern that summoned forth a blindingly bright light, which turned the Ohyn at his neck to ash.

Ember crawled on his hands and knees towards the Ohyn that had just been separated from Vic Wagner's left wrist and laid hold of the tiny creature. A second later Ember's hand and the Ohyn's entire body were ablaze, and the burning, blackened Ohyn soon fell still.

The Ohyn that had once been tearing into Vic Wagner's right wrist launched itself wildly at the mage, but he quickly turned to face the oncoming frenzy of slashing talons and teeth. Sweating and grimacing, Vic adjured the mystical light again with his hand gestures, and reduced his attacker to dust. Vic's head dropped and his shoulders slumped.

All of the Ohyn had been dispatched except one. The eighth member of the infantile demonic brood had skittered all the way to the ceiling of the room, and as Vic let his guard down the Ohyn dropped from its roost above the mage's head, fangs bared ravenously. Just before the creature reached Vic, it was intercepted by a searing blast fired from the doorway of the lounge. Vic flinched and slowly rotated towards the door.

Enigma stood on the threshold with a smoking blaster in his hand. "Did I miss something?" he asked dryly.

In a distant place, which was not only unlit but composed entirely of dark, a pentaptych of figures was arrayed around a central point in the heart of the blackness. Resting in the midpoint was a massive sphere of ebony stone, resembling an opaque crystal ball. Shadowy forms danced across its shadowy surface, observed closely by the five figures arrayed around it.

"The little ones are destroyed," one of the figures proclaimed, in a voice that encompassed the stridulations of a million insect wings.

"Perhaps they were meant to die this day," a second voice oozed slowly, inching forward like rotten slime. "Perhaps fate was carried out."

"Fate, bah!" a third voice snorted, in a thin and hungry rasp. "Could they not have murdered at least one of the interlopers before meeting their fate?!"

"Guillaume say he talk to dem," a fourth voice added, its timbre powerful and deep like the falling of a centuries-old tree. "Guillaume not tell dem what need be done?"

"The Ohyn were told all that was required," Guillaume answered, speaking to all of his fellow Prelates of the Unperceived. His voice shared the most in common with sounds produced by human throat, words formed by human teeth and tongue, and yet his was the most profoundly and wickedly unearthly as well. "But by the time they attacked Bad Blood, the Ohyn had been afflicted by catoptric madness. They were no longer the hunters they should have been. They had become wretches."

"Made wretched by the Cabalist's Looking Glass," the bristly voice hissed spitefully. "How could such an instrument betray our cause?"

"No one knows the true servitude of the Magna of Illusion," the sludgy voice answered. "If any."

"The role played by the Magna was ... unexpected," Guillaume admitted. "But its potential should have been foreseen. We face much uncertainty at this juncture. If we take up arms directly against Bad Blood, we reveal ourselves and risk outright war. If we rely upon agents and intermediaries, we risk failure. Do we prefer a quick death, or a slow one?"

"No other way?" the rumbling, alluvial voice asked.

"If war is to be fought, there must be armies," the singing swarm-voice warbled. "But there may be more than two."

With that, the shadows on the surface of the onyx globe reformed, revealing a man in a metal helmet, with a flowing cape, his body adorned by an eagle, a cross and three sun wheels.

"Hail the leader of the third army," Guillaume said bitingly.

MESSAGES WRITTEN IN BLOOD ...

Send e-mail correspondence to badblood51@hotmail.com

I didn't get any mail after the release of Bad Blood #25, but I wasn't terribly surprised by that. A big chunk of my audience is my fellow writers here at FauxDC, and most of those guys gave me a lot of feedback during the writing of the issue, because I was borrowing so many of their characters. Maybe I just haven't given people enough time to read, process, and write in with their thoughts. The door for feedback remains open as always.

With this issue, we enter into what is basically "Year Three" for the Crescent City Crusaders, and you can see that the challenges which Bad Blood will face in the coming year will involve threats both new and old. I guarantee some surprises along the way, as well as the classic action this title is known for. Including ...

NEXT ISSUE: The full team is reunited, and before long embarks on an investigation into a series of killings with evidence of a metahuman murderer. Will Bad Blood find what they expect at the end of the trail ... or will they find much, much more? Be here in 30 to find out!