It was the Plumbers HQ, the old one below the Power Plant.
Ben could see murky shapes within the room, but what he did notice was the pair of chained up people. "Gwen! Grandpa!" Hands flew to his throat as he coughed. "My voice! What happened to my voice!?"
"Surprised Benjamin?" mocked a cultured British accented voice and Ben turned. Eon loomed overhead as he reached down and grabbed the ten year old with one hand. "Tell me, how does it feel to fail again?"
Dragging him bodily towards the Hands of Armageddon, Ben tried to break free but simply didn't have the strength to do so. "Lemme go! You're not real, you're a terror!"
"Terror? Yes, I suppose that would be appropriate for one such as myself," mused Eon as he grabbed the Omnitrix and started to infuse his DNA into it.
"Ben!" cried out Gwen as Ben screamed as his body was twisted and transformed, purple light flaring everywhere as in an instant, a younger Eon stood there. "NOOOOOOO!"
"YES!" laughed Eon. "Give in Benjamin, you need to end this world and everything in it!"
For a long moment, Ben stood there and then he looked up. Snarling, his hand lit up with purple energy and he hurled it forward -- slamming into Eon.
"Ben!" exclaimed Max in surprise and the Ben-Eon turned towards them. "You did well."
"LIES!" cried Eon as the pair of Chronians fought back and forth. "YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOUR NIGHTMARES!"
"I BEG TO DIFFER!" roared Ben as he shot back energy at Eon, and in a cry, the man was struck, aging thousands of years in a single blast as he vanished.
Panting, Ben turned towards Gwen and Max and said, "I'll protect you two. Don't worry."
And he raced off into the gloom, not even bothering to change from Eon. Because he knew that instinctively, for once, his terrors would become theirs.
"Lok'tar Ogar," muttered Ben as his hands flared with temporal energy.
There was a moment where Kirk isn't sure what he's seeing - and then his face split in a cocky smile. He stepped forward, raising a hand to Ben's rather mutated form.
"Mister Tennyson. I'd say it's time we taught this Nightmae King a thing or two about humans."
For a moment, Ben focused on Kirk and then realized that he was real. A fairly sinister grin split across Eon's face as he nodded at the man. "Captain," he greeted in his cultured British accent. "Let's shall we?"
He looked down at himself and chuckled. "Not QUITE the way I expected to use the form of Eon the Destroyer of Time, but I suppose it works." And his hand lit up with temporal energy. "Let's give them hell sir."
Kirk chuckled grimly, "Whatever ends up working, Mister Tennyson. Come on; we need to get organized and take the fight to him. He may think he has us beat, but I don't believe in a no-win situation. Let's find some of the others."
After a moment of disorientation Kirk found himself on the bridge of the Enterprise. Blinking away the feeling of vertigo, he frowned, leaning forward. Empty. The distant hum of the ship's engines, the beeping and whirring of instruments - the ship seemed to be running smoothly. Yet, the bridge was empty. No Sulu. No Chekov. No Uhura. No Spock. Curiously, he thumbed his command chair's communicator. "Bridge to Sickbay."
He paused for a moment. No response. He stood, turned towards the turbolift - and found himself face-to-face with Gary Mitchell. For a moment his expression turned to one of shock. Gary had died a year or more ago. Kirk had been forced to destroy him after he'd gone mad with power.
"Gary! What are you doing here?" Was it possible that he'd been in the pods?
"Jim," Gary replied, expression sotic and grim, "You killed me."
Guilt washed over Kirk for a moment. He still intensely regretted having to kill his friend - it had been necessary, but it was not precisely something he had been proud of.
"Gary, I... I'm sorry. You left me no choice!"
Gary's lips twisted into a contemptuous sneer, "You didn't even try to save me!"
As Kirk tried to object, Mitchell changed, shifting into another form. O'Herlihy. Killed in Starfleet's first encounter with the Gorn.
"Or me, Captain."
And again, this time splitting and multiplying until Kirk is surrounded by a throng of men and women. Ensign Rizzo. Carlisle. All of the men (and women) who have died under his command. All accusing him of not doing enough, of not being able to save them. For a split moment, Kirk wavered. His resolve faltered and then his expression hardened. "I don't know who you think I am. I don't know what you think I'll do - but I'll be damned if I let my fears of command, of letting down my crew cripple me. I've been all over the galaxy and, yes, I've sent men to their deaths. I regret that. I regret that I couldn't save all of them. But... I can't always save everyone, no matter how hard I try. But you believe me - I'll try. I'll always try."
Kirk waved his hand. He just had to beat this. Then, a split moment later, he was fighting for his life as the phantoms of his friends, comrades, his failures, his successes attacked him. He threw a punch, flipped another over in a deft throw - he was used to this. He knew how to throw a punch. There were too many of them though and slowly, he was being overwhelmed.
This wasn't real. He had to realize that. He had to get out of here. This wasn't real.
"This isn't real! None of you... real!" He exclaimed, screaming defiance into the hostile faces.
And just like that, his vision began to clear. Staggered, he slumped against a wall to catch his breath. He couldn't wait around, though. He had work to do.
Teenage super powered gladiatorial combat. Truly, the stuff of nightmares. Take two people with excruciatingly powerful abilities, fill them with a blood lust unlike any other, make them answer only to one man, and have that man give them the order to kill each other. Whoever is left alive gets to move onto the next round. Whoever keeps killing becomes the Champion.
Static was a champion of the Dark Side Club.
The only problem was, he fought the control with every ounce of his being. They'd made him kill, but he'd fought back, even managed to avoid killing a few times. So, they kept him in one of two places; either in the ring, fighting, or locked away where he couldn't hurt them.
His arms were bleeding from the shakles that dug into his wrists, and his neck was chaffed from the control collar around it. Speakers on either side of his head constantly pumped the anti-life equation into his brain, assisted by amble doses of 'interrogation aids' administered through the collar. He couldn't move his legs from the weight of his chains (rubber coated, just in case he had a moment of proper lucidity), and his back throbbed from the lashes, yet another 'submission advocate'.
The sad part was, this wasn't just a nightmare. This had been reality. And he'd had it easier than some... Eddie had been literally ripped apart to turn him into an animal. For most, just the drugs were enough, but some of them had required extra training; their wills had been too strong. The desire to kill too buried under the idea of heroics.
But none had struggled more than Static, fighting day and night, no sleep, no reason left, but never truly giving in. The few times he had, he'd always snapped out of it, but not before another corpse was added to the piles. They considered him too dangerous to even consider tossing in the ring anymore. Too likely to snap back, try and escape. They just couldn't get him to submit. To kill. They had even gone as far as to turn his cell into the temporary corpse disposal center to try and break him. And why not? Nothing else had worked.
They figured he was just that much of a good guy, but of course, that was wrong. He'd had given in a long time ago, if it wasn't for his powers. They were keeping him from caving, but even they wouldn't hold out much longer.
For a few long moments Kirk could only watch. This nightmare, this dream - it horrified him. That anyone would be locked up, forced to fight and kill for others' entertainment went against everything he believed in. He'd had a taste of it himself (although not nearly as badly). the fact that the cell smelled of rotting corpses didn't do wonders for the situation either. Kirk shook his head and stepped forward, looking down at Static.
"Mister Hawkins. I know you're still in there. This is your dream after all. I need you to listen! This isn't real! None of this is real! It's the Nightmare King! You've got to fight it! I'm here to get you out of this... stand back!"
Kirk took a step back and raised his phaser, aiming at the locking mechanism.
Virgil could hear the captain yelling, but it was like he was miles away (a theory supported by tunnel vision), hell, worlds away. His words made sense; he remembered getting out of his shakles, and fighting Rose. He remembered beating her and almost killing her before he snapped out again, and he remembered the club's goon trying to put him down for it.
He remembered Rose helping him escape, Rose and Miss Martian and the others... he even remembered ending up on the meatship.
But then again, the club had caused him fever dreams before. They'd even tried to implant dreams so he would cooperate. Who could say this wasn't another one?
He did manage to look up at the captain, though. Miles away as he was, he could see him through the drug enduced haze. He watched the phaser hit the lock, and he felt his shakles open. He felt himself fall to the floor, and he made himself try to get up.
Even if this was another one of their tricks, it was a way out. A way that didn't involve giving in to Clock King's stupid game, for at least a little longer.
He tried to say something to Kirk, let him know he was okay and comprehending, but it didn't work out so well. His voice was raw from screaming at the torture, and all he managed was to cough up a bit of blood and bile. He would have to settle for a thumbs up for now while Static tried to get his feet under him properly.
Kirk stowed his phaser and leaped forward, trying to catch and support the younger man. He gave him a shake, staring into his face. Even if this wasn't real, there wasn't much he wouldn't have given to have McCoy standing next to him right now. He eased Static to his feet, a supporting arm wrapped around his shoulders. "Snap out of it, man! Come on! Fight it! None of this is really happening! You're not hurt, you're aboard Stacy! Try to remember! We need you!"
The young man could barely stand, let alone walk, it seemed. Kirk would carry him out of here himself if he had to, though. He wasn't going to leave anyone behind. Not now.
"I'll be fine, just get me to a power line so I can recharge." He mumbled. He was trying to focus, he really was, but it wasn't exactly easy.
The idea that none of it was real was appealing, but his wounds were offering a pretty good case for their reality. Pain and bleeding were good like that.
"Power line..." Kirk muttered, scanning the walls of the prison. They're had to be - yes, a light fixture! He did his best to keep Static moving, looking for a light-switch, an outlet - anything.
Static's hand groped along the wall for extra support, also looking for a line. Eventually, he got lucky and wrapped his hand around a thick set of wires, wrapped in a black plastic casing to keep them organized and out of the way.
There was no ceremony as he tore the wires free and jammed his hand over the exposed end, soaking in the power until the breaker (wherever that was) blew. He breathed in deep, his head clear for what felt like the first time in ages. It wouldn't heal his physical wounds, but it at least cleared the drug out and let him function with a bit of normality.
He took his weight off of the Captain and stood on his own, shaking his hands to regain some blood flow. his hands and feet were both sore as hell, and he'd probably end up limping a little, but he could manage. He had to manage.
Kirk stepped back to give Static space while he recharged. Getting electrocuted was not high on his to-do list today. In fact, it went more like "bust out of dreams, kick Nightmare King in face, enjoy a well-deserved drink."
He gave Static a clap on the back and nodded, "Let's get moving, Mister Hawkins. We've got a lot of work to do."
The nurse had the pale, washed out look of someone who spent too much time in a hospital. Lines were beginning to creep along her face and they weren't laugh lines. She wore the white uniform of the Sisters of Mercy but this quiet place of rest couldn't be a sharper contrast with the dirty, noisy public hospitals depending only on donations forced them to operate. The city must have set this place up for the victims of the Nightmare Plague.
How generous of them. The Divers Tendency party must be having a bad year.
She led him down the corridor, lit softly by gaslamps. Each bed was seperated from the others by heavy curtains though visible to him. On them was a quiet figure each. Their eyes, when they were open, were nothing more than shallow pools of whatever color, blank and unfocused. Sometimes there were thin lines of drool on their cheeks. Each of them responded on the most autonomic levels, breathing, swallowing, hearts beating. But there was nothing resembling a mind in any of them. Nothing but empty husks that had once been people.
He noticed his wyrman (http://homarusrex.deviantart.com/art/Sketchbook-Wyrmen-1-48399988), TeaForTwo, ridiculously tiny on one of the beds. What a waste. A mind as tiny as TeaForTwo's couldn't have even been a snack for a Slake Moth.
Then humans in the beds as he followed the nurse. Lemuel Pidgeon, who he had a hard time dredging up sympathy for. Derkhan Blueday, who he didn't. Men and women he had seen only once or had known for years. Enemies, friends, coworkers, lovers. There was his old roommate. And in a bed with a special sling for his great mantis-claw arm, the folk hero Jack Half-a-Prayer. A militiaman still wearing his mask. Yagharek (http://saltmarsh.deviantart.com/art/Perdido-Street-Station-Yag-45866126), the disgraced Garuda he had been hired to help to fly again. Bellis (http://trabbold.deviantart.com/art/Bellis-Coldwine-122544177), his old flame. His mother and father, dignified Gnur Kettians even in this half-death, with their hands folded over their chests.
And finally, at the end of the hallway, Lin (http://zombiearmadillo.deviantart.com/art/Perdido-Street-Station-Lin-82070639), his lover, friend, confidante, companion. The city was definitely being generous if they let a Khepri patient into this place. Most humans could not tell what a Khepri was thinking, but as he looked over her, gazed into those many and glimmering compound eyes, he knew exactly what she was thinking:
Nothing at all. Nor would she ever again.
The guilt was like a hammer blow to the chest. If only he hadn't put out the call for winged things. If only he hadn't raised that strange grub he'd been brought. If only...There were so many If Onlys and you could drown in them. He bit back tears.
The nurse lay a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be alright...You'll be with her soon enough." And black wings ripped through the nurse's shift. A long tongue unrolled from her mouth, an obscene thing.
"Jabber and fuck!" He exclaimed as he lept back with remarkable agility for a man his size. The hybrid slake moth-nurse sprinted after him but he managed to buy himself a moment's time by pushing her back with a stomping kick in the stomach. She went stumbling back but seemed otherwise unhurt.
There was a jar of yellow liquid next to one of the patients and Isaac snatched it up. Backpedalling, he drew wards on the ground in urine.
The thing was slowed but not stopped by them. But the wards seemed to crack at the reality of it. Godshit, i'm in a nightmare! He realized suddenly.
"Hello! Can anyone hear me?!" He called out to the walls.
Kirk's voice was calm, steady, measured. He stepped up alongside Isaac, face grim as he eyed the onrushing monstrosity. His phaser was leveled and he glanced at Isaac questioningly, "I think it's time you woke up, don't you?"
"Yeah, me too!" The long whip of the tongue lashed out at them both and Isaac dived to the floor. "Jabber, shoot it!" But would a phaser have any effect on such a creature?
Kirk calmly raised his phaser and fired, a beam of destructive energy lancing out at the onrushing monstrosity. For a moment there was an unholy shriek from the strange creature as it was surrounded in a nimbus of glowing red energy. it staggered. And then kept coming. Kirk stared in disbelief for a moment. "It should've been atomized! Quick!"
Kirk turned to look for another weapon. There had to be something!
"It's a dream thing!" Isaac said as if that explained everything and scrambled to his feet. At least this didn't have the hypnotic ability of a real slake-moth. He lept onto one of the beds and yanked off the dual bed-post, wielding it in a way Kirk may have found unsettlingly familiar.
"We've gotta drive it towards the hex!" He said with a glance at the design made of dream-piss on the ground.
Somewhere, battle music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hcaNRU5_l4o) began to play.
Kirk bounded after Isaac and grabbed a bedpost for his own use. He turned to face the creature, jabbing and swinging with his post as he tried to herd it towards the hex.
Isaac was definitely surprised at the good captain's efficient use of a long, curved, fingernail moon-shaped piece of hollow steel. It was almost as if he'd trained in such a weapon before...But who in the world would fight with something like that?
As Kirk drove the creature back, Isaac stepped over one of the beds to circle it and brought the curved edge down and around in a swing around its neck, like a Vaudeville player getting yanked offstage by a giant, comical cane.
This was enough to offbalance it until it stepped onto the hex. Yellow light came up from the urinary hex and the creature screamed wetly as the skin of its disguise started to unravel. Its face flickered between disguises, trying to use Lin's form against him, but he kicked and bludgeoned it until it was nothing more than the bloody remains of a two foot long, hairy thing with too many legs and he was sucking air from the exertion.
Eddie finds himself in the living room of Titans Tower, watching an action movie, surrounded by his fellow Titans. His best friends, and his only family. All of them look so happy to be together.
And then the room burst into flames. Eddie stared in horror as each one of his friends screamed in agony and were burnt into blackened skeletons, wailing and twisting in agony.
"No, no!" Eddie exclaimed. He didn't know what to do to save them. There was nothing he could do, and Eddie fell to his knees, sobbing. Someone approached from behind, chuckling.
"You'll get over them, trust me." They said in a low, sneering voice. Eddie turned around and was shocked to see himself standing over him, only it wasn't him. It was his future self, the one who had lost his soul to Neron. He had turned into a massive red demon, without remorse or honor. Eddie knew this was all his fault.
"Why did you do it!?" Eddie shouted. "They were still your friends too! They were our family, how could you?!" The adult Eddie merely grunted.
"I have no friends, little me. And neither should you. In the end, they'll just turn on you. And once Neron has your soul, it won't matter anyway. You won't have to worry about any of those feelings of yours getting in the way and holding you back." Eddie growls at himself, then looks down at the floor in defeat.
"I never should have made that deal. Then I'd never have turned into you." Eddie says softly as the fire roars around them. The evil Eddie grins widely and walks around his younger self.
"Oh come on, you really believe that? Where would you be if you hadn't made the deal? I'll tell you where. You would be alone and homeless, living on the streets, become a common thug robbing old ladies for money and dumpster diving for food. The best you could have done was become some lame villain in a devil suit. You'd have ended up even sorrier than you are now." He puts a hand on the smaller one's shoulder. "But you did make the deal, and people will respect and fear you. Imagine, countless souls under your heel. You'll finally have what you've always wanted, the power to be taken seriously. You failed as a hero Eddie, but you'll become a great tyrant."
Eddie can only clench his fists and look down at the floor as he listens. He didn't want it to be true, he prayed that it was all lies, but he couldn't argue back, not when it was himself.
"Now, I don't really know anything about your life or where you're from. I do know this, however. Everyone has a choice. Everyone deserves that choice. You don't have to become him. Whatever happens... is entirely up to you, son."
Kirk settled his hands on his hips. "I've seen my dark side before. I was a cruel captain. A man without morals. But in the end I am who I am because of the choices I've made. Not because of any destiny or my race or species or birth. All men and women choose for themselves in the end. You have that choice too."
He looked down at Eddie. "Now, are you going to make that choice? Or are you just going to sit here? That's what the Nightmare King wants you to do. He wants you to sit here and wallow in your own fear and apathy and dismay. Don't."
"Captain?" Eddie looks up to see Kirk, and his spirits are raised. The adult Eddie growls and turns to Kirk.
"You stay out of this. I know him better than anyone else. I AM his destiny! Ahrg!" He growls in pain as a blast of fire hits his back. The evil Eddie starts to twist and whither, transforming into a more hideous form. The real Eddie stands poised for battle, smoke trailing from his mouth.
"I should have known this wasn't real. I already told the real evil future me I wouldn't become a monster, and I'm not letting some nightmare fool me!"
Kirk grinned, stepping back to let Eddie fight his battle (although his phaser remains in hand). "That's the spirit! We have a Nightmare King to defeat, a crew to save - are you with me?"
"Like you even need to ask!" Eddie says as he leaps at the nightmare beast, his skin afire. He lashes out with his claws, tearing it apart while it screams and burns. Soon, all that's left is a shredded pile of ashes.
Eddie takes a moment to cool down and catch his breath. The world around them stops burning and reverts back to normal. Eddie turns to Kirk and wipes his forehead.
Kirk nodded grimly with approval. "We're going to Escherville. And we're going to deal with this so-called Nightmare King once and for all! We'll grab who we can on the way - let's go!"
WARNING: TRIGGERY LIKE WHOA, HELL [Graphic violence, implied sexual molestation/rape]
For the first time since his thirteenth year of life, Daimon had complete control over his darksoul. He wished that he didn’t. At least then he would not mind the screams.
“What’s wrong, Daimon?” The voice was Patsy’s but it was harsher, almost rasping. “Brother, dear.” She put her arms around him and pressed her lips against his throat.
“You are not my sister.” Daimon kept his eyes closed. He could almost picture her, the way she had been before his passion both claimed and corrupted her.
“Mmm…” Other hands, stroking down his back. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself, I’m not your sister either.”
“Satana. Get your hands off me. Now.”
“Oh Daimon, I’m hurt. Have you always liked Patsy best or are you trying to make me jealous? Just so you know…” Her hands went lower. “It’s working.”
Daimon opened his eyes and shoved both ‘sisters’ off of him. “AWAY! If you do not leave me alone, I swear I will-”
“You’ll what? Kill me?” Patsy laughed and she did not stop.
Daimon stared at her for as long as he could bear. He didn’t know why he still thought of her as Patsy; she was lost. Her skin was red, darker than her hair even. The color of her irises was gone, consumed by a white fire. Her tail flicked to and fro in anticipation and delight from the torture of her prey.
Yes, Patsy “Hellcat” Walker certainly lived up to her name.
“ ‘I cannot kill one whom I love.’ ” Patsy parroted back the words he had said to her so long ago, then she rolled onto her back and cackled. “Big brother Daimon! Such a softie!”
Daimon looked away.
In the pit lay rows upon rows of bodies, living souls trapped in rotting corpses set upon, devoured, ravaged, abused in all ways imaginable. Some he recognized: his foster family, the Heffords, Katherine Reynolds, Byron Hyatt, countless others. Above them, suspended by a chain around her neck, was Saripha, her belly round with the child she never had the chance to deliver. There were chains around her ankles, which the demons below her pulled, slowly tearing her apart.
“I’m hungry.” Satana declared and clapped her hand.
Seven demons arrived. In each hand, they grasped a severed heads, all covered in flame, all screaming. Dr. Strange, Clea, Gargoyle, Nighthawk— the Defenders united one last time in death. One last demon approached. He carried the head of Father Gossett, his mentor, the one being Daimon could rely on, could trust completely. Father Gossett was not screaming, despite the flames, he was speaking in hushed tones the way one would say a prayer. The Lord’s Prayer. Only it was recited backwards.
“Delicious.” Hellcat sprang to her feet. Using her claws, she gouged out Father Gossett’s eyes and that did make the monk scream in pain. Hellcat held one eye to her mouth and bit into it. “Mmm.”
“Let me.” Satana took the rest of the eye from Hellcat and placed it in her mouth. “Ah yes. But where are my manners.” She grabbed the remaining eye from Hellcat and walked to Daimon. “Here you are, Daimon. A meal you will never forget.”
Kirk was disgusted. That didn't mean he was going to leave a man behind, though. He'd seen quite a lot on his journeys, although this seemed to be the worst he'd seen since the massacre of his childhood.
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Ben could see murky shapes within the room, but what he did notice was the pair of chained up people. "Gwen! Grandpa!" Hands flew to his throat as he coughed. "My voice! What happened to my voice!?"
"Surprised Benjamin?" mocked a cultured British accented voice and Ben turned. Eon loomed overhead as he reached down and grabbed the ten year old with one hand. "Tell me, how does it feel to fail again?"
Dragging him bodily towards the Hands of Armageddon, Ben tried to break free but simply didn't have the strength to do so. "Lemme go! You're not real, you're a terror!"
"Terror? Yes, I suppose that would be appropriate for one such as myself," mused Eon as he grabbed the Omnitrix and started to infuse his DNA into it.
"Ben!" cried out Gwen as Ben screamed as his body was twisted and transformed, purple light flaring everywhere as in an instant, a younger Eon stood there. "NOOOOOOO!"
"YES!" laughed Eon. "Give in Benjamin, you need to end this world and everything in it!"
For a long moment, Ben stood there and then he looked up. Snarling, his hand lit up with purple energy and he hurled it forward -- slamming into Eon.
"Ben!" exclaimed Max in surprise and the Ben-Eon turned towards them. "You did well."
"LIES!" cried Eon as the pair of Chronians fought back and forth. "YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOUR NIGHTMARES!"
"I BEG TO DIFFER!" roared Ben as he shot back energy at Eon, and in a cry, the man was struck, aging thousands of years in a single blast as he vanished.
Panting, Ben turned towards Gwen and Max and said, "I'll protect you two. Don't worry."
And he raced off into the gloom, not even bothering to change from Eon. Because he knew that instinctively, for once, his terrors would become theirs.
"Lok'tar Ogar," muttered Ben as his hands flared with temporal energy.
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"Mister Tennyson. I'd say it's time we taught this Nightmae King a thing or two about humans."
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He looked down at himself and chuckled. "Not QUITE the way I expected to use the form of Eon the Destroyer of Time, but I suppose it works." And his hand lit up with temporal energy. "Let's give them hell sir."
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He paused for a moment. No response. He stood, turned towards the turbolift - and found himself face-to-face with Gary Mitchell. For a moment his expression turned to one of shock. Gary had died a year or more ago. Kirk had been forced to destroy him after he'd gone mad with power.
"Gary! What are you doing here?" Was it possible that he'd been in the pods?
"Jim," Gary replied, expression sotic and grim, "You killed me."
Guilt washed over Kirk for a moment. He still intensely regretted having to kill his friend - it had been necessary, but it was not precisely something he had been proud of.
"Gary, I... I'm sorry. You left me no choice!"
Gary's lips twisted into a contemptuous sneer, "You didn't even try to save me!"
As Kirk tried to object, Mitchell changed, shifting into another form. O'Herlihy. Killed in Starfleet's first encounter with the Gorn.
"Or me, Captain."
And again, this time splitting and multiplying until Kirk is surrounded by a throng of men and women. Ensign Rizzo. Carlisle. All of the men (and women) who have died under his command. All accusing him of not doing enough, of not being able to save them. For a split moment, Kirk wavered. His resolve faltered and then his expression hardened. "I don't know who you think I am. I don't know what you think I'll do - but I'll be damned if I let my fears of command, of letting down my crew cripple me. I've been all over the galaxy and, yes, I've sent men to their deaths. I regret that. I regret that I couldn't save all of them. But... I can't always save everyone, no matter how hard I try. But you believe me - I'll try. I'll always try."
Kirk waved his hand. He just had to beat this. Then, a split moment later, he was fighting for his life as the phantoms of his friends, comrades, his failures, his successes attacked him. He threw a punch, flipped another over in a deft throw - he was used to this. He knew how to throw a punch. There were too many of them though and slowly, he was being overwhelmed.
This wasn't real. He had to realize that. He had to get out of here. This wasn't real.
"This isn't real! None of you... real!" He exclaimed, screaming defiance into the hostile faces.
And just like that, his vision began to clear. Staggered, he slumped against a wall to catch his breath. He couldn't wait around, though. He had work to do.
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Static was a champion of the Dark Side Club.
The only problem was, he fought the control with every ounce of his being. They'd made him kill, but he'd fought back, even managed to avoid killing a few times. So, they kept him in one of two places; either in the ring, fighting, or locked away where he couldn't hurt them.
His arms were bleeding from the shakles that dug into his wrists, and his neck was chaffed from the control collar around it. Speakers on either side of his head constantly pumped the anti-life equation into his brain, assisted by amble doses of 'interrogation aids' administered through the collar. He couldn't move his legs from the weight of his chains (rubber coated, just in case he had a moment of proper lucidity), and his back throbbed from the lashes, yet another 'submission advocate'.
The sad part was, this wasn't just a nightmare. This had been reality. And he'd had it easier than some... Eddie had been literally ripped apart to turn him into an animal. For most, just the drugs were enough, but some of them had required extra training; their wills had been too strong. The desire to kill too buried under the idea of heroics.
But none had struggled more than Static, fighting day and night, no sleep, no reason left, but never truly giving in. The few times he had, he'd always snapped out of it, but not before another corpse was added to the piles. They considered him too dangerous to even consider tossing in the ring anymore. Too likely to snap back, try and escape. They just couldn't get him to submit. To kill. They had even gone as far as to turn his cell into the temporary corpse disposal center to try and break him. And why not? Nothing else had worked.
They figured he was just that much of a good guy, but of course, that was wrong. He'd had given in a long time ago, if it wasn't for his powers. They were keeping him from caving, but even they wouldn't hold out much longer.
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"Mister Hawkins. I know you're still in there. This is your dream after all. I need you to listen! This isn't real! None of this is real! It's the Nightmare King! You've got to fight it! I'm here to get you out of this... stand back!"
Kirk took a step back and raised his phaser, aiming at the locking mechanism.
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He remembered Rose helping him escape, Rose and Miss Martian and the others... he even remembered ending up on the meatship.
But then again, the club had caused him fever dreams before. They'd even tried to implant dreams so he would cooperate. Who could say this wasn't another one?
He did manage to look up at the captain, though. Miles away as he was, he could see him through the drug enduced haze. He watched the phaser hit the lock, and he felt his shakles open. He felt himself fall to the floor, and he made himself try to get up.
Even if this was another one of their tricks, it was a way out. A way that didn't involve giving in to Clock King's stupid game, for at least a little longer.
He tried to say something to Kirk, let him know he was okay and comprehending, but it didn't work out so well. His voice was raw from screaming at the torture, and all he managed was to cough up a bit of blood and bile. He would have to settle for a thumbs up for now while Static tried to get his feet under him properly.
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The young man could barely stand, let alone walk, it seemed. Kirk would carry him out of here himself if he had to, though. He wasn't going to leave anyone behind. Not now.
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The idea that none of it was real was appealing, but his wounds were offering a pretty good case for their reality. Pain and bleeding were good like that.
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There was no ceremony as he tore the wires free and jammed his hand over the exposed end, soaking in the power until the breaker (wherever that was) blew. He breathed in deep, his head clear for what felt like the first time in ages. It wouldn't heal his physical wounds, but it at least cleared the drug out and let him function with a bit of normality.
He took his weight off of the Captain and stood on his own, shaking his hands to regain some blood flow. his hands and feet were both sore as hell, and he'd probably end up limping a little, but he could manage. He had to manage.
"Alright, I'm good enough. Let's go."
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He gave Static a clap on the back and nodded, "Let's get moving, Mister Hawkins. We've got a lot of work to do."
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How generous of them. The Divers Tendency party must be having a bad year.
She led him down the corridor, lit softly by gaslamps. Each bed was seperated from the others by heavy curtains though visible to him. On them was a quiet figure each. Their eyes, when they were open, were nothing more than shallow pools of whatever color, blank and unfocused. Sometimes there were thin lines of drool on their cheeks. Each of them responded on the most autonomic levels, breathing, swallowing, hearts beating. But there was nothing resembling a mind in any of them. Nothing but empty husks that had once been people.
He noticed his wyrman (http://homarusrex.deviantart.com/art/Sketchbook-Wyrmen-1-48399988), TeaForTwo, ridiculously tiny on one of the beds. What a waste. A mind as tiny as TeaForTwo's couldn't have even been a snack for a Slake Moth.
Then humans in the beds as he followed the nurse. Lemuel Pidgeon, who he had a hard time dredging up sympathy for. Derkhan Blueday, who he didn't. Men and women he had seen only once or had known for years. Enemies, friends, coworkers, lovers. There was his old roommate. And in a bed with a special sling for his great mantis-claw arm, the folk hero Jack Half-a-Prayer. A militiaman still wearing his mask. Yagharek (http://saltmarsh.deviantart.com/art/Perdido-Street-Station-Yag-45866126), the disgraced Garuda he had been hired to help to fly again. Bellis (http://trabbold.deviantart.com/art/Bellis-Coldwine-122544177), his old flame. His mother and father, dignified Gnur Kettians even in this half-death, with their hands folded over their chests.
part 2
Nothing at all. Nor would she ever again.
The guilt was like a hammer blow to the chest. If only he hadn't put out the call for winged things. If only he hadn't raised that strange grub he'd been brought. If only...There were so many If Onlys and you could drown in them. He bit back tears.
The nurse lay a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be alright...You'll be with her soon enough." And black wings ripped through the nurse's shift. A long tongue unrolled from her mouth, an obscene thing.
"Jabber and fuck!" He exclaimed as he lept back with remarkable agility for a man his size. The hybrid slake moth-nurse sprinted after him but he managed to buy himself a moment's time by pushing her back with a stomping kick in the stomach. She went stumbling back but seemed otherwise unhurt.
There was a jar of yellow liquid next to one of the patients and Isaac snatched it up. Backpedalling, he drew wards on the ground in urine.
The thing was slowed but not stopped by them. But the wards seemed to crack at the reality of it. Godshit, i'm in a nightmare! He realized suddenly.
"Hello! Can anyone hear me?!" He called out to the walls.
Re: part 2
Kirk's voice was calm, steady, measured. He stepped up alongside Isaac, face grim as he eyed the onrushing monstrosity. His phaser was leveled and he glanced at Isaac questioningly, "I think it's time you woke up, don't you?"
Re: part 2
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Kirk turned to look for another weapon. There had to be something!
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"We've gotta drive it towards the hex!" He said with a glance at the design made of dream-piss on the ground.
Somewhere, battle music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hcaNRU5_l4o) began to play.
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"Come on, you monster!"
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As Kirk drove the creature back, Isaac stepped over one of the beds to circle it and brought the curved edge down and around in a swing around its neck, like a Vaudeville player getting yanked offstage by a giant, comical cane.
This was enough to offbalance it until it stepped onto the hex. Yellow light came up from the urinary hex and the creature screamed wetly as the skin of its disguise started to unravel. Its face flickered between disguises, trying to use Lin's form against him, but he kicked and bludgeoned it until it was nothing more than the bloody remains of a two foot long, hairy thing with too many legs and he was sucking air from the exertion.
"Thanks..." Breath. "Mate..." Breath.
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And then the room burst into flames. Eddie stared in horror as each one of his friends screamed in agony and were burnt into blackened skeletons, wailing and twisting in agony.
"No, no!" Eddie exclaimed. He didn't know what to do to save them. There was nothing he could do, and Eddie fell to his knees, sobbing. Someone approached from behind, chuckling.
"You'll get over them, trust me." They said in a low, sneering voice. Eddie turned around and was shocked to see himself standing over him, only it wasn't him. It was his future self, the one who had lost his soul to Neron. He had turned into a massive red demon, without remorse or honor. Eddie knew this was all his fault.
"Why did you do it!?" Eddie shouted. "They were still your friends too! They were our family, how could you?!" The adult Eddie merely grunted.
"I have no friends, little me. And neither should you. In the end, they'll just turn on you. And once Neron has your soul, it won't matter anyway. You won't have to worry about any of those feelings of yours getting in the way and holding you back." Eddie growls at himself, then looks down at the floor in defeat.
"I never should have made that deal. Then I'd never have turned into you." Eddie says softly as the fire roars around them. The evil Eddie grins widely and walks around his younger self.
"Oh come on, you really believe that? Where would you be if you hadn't made the deal? I'll tell you where. You would be alone and homeless, living on the streets, become a common thug robbing old ladies for money and dumpster diving for food. The best you could have done was become some lame villain in a devil suit. You'd have ended up even sorrier than you are now." He puts a hand on the smaller one's shoulder. "But you did make the deal, and people will respect and fear you. Imagine, countless souls under your heel. You'll finally have what you've always wanted, the power to be taken seriously. You failed as a hero Eddie, but you'll become a great tyrant."
Eddie can only clench his fists and look down at the floor as he listens. He didn't want it to be true, he prayed that it was all lies, but he couldn't argue back, not when it was himself.
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Kirk settled his hands on his hips. "I've seen my dark side before. I was a cruel captain. A man without morals. But in the end I am who I am because of the choices I've made. Not because of any destiny or my race or species or birth. All men and women choose for themselves in the end. You have that choice too."
He looked down at Eddie. "Now, are you going to make that choice? Or are you just going to sit here? That's what the Nightmare King wants you to do. He wants you to sit here and wallow in your own fear and apathy and dismay. Don't."
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"You stay out of this. I know him better than anyone else. I AM his destiny! Ahrg!" He growls in pain as a blast of fire hits his back. The evil Eddie starts to twist and whither, transforming into a more hideous form. The real Eddie stands poised for battle, smoke trailing from his mouth.
"I should have known this wasn't real. I already told the real evil future me I wouldn't become a monster, and I'm not letting some nightmare fool me!"
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Eddie takes a moment to cool down and catch his breath. The world around them stops burning and reverts back to normal. Eddie turns to Kirk and wipes his forehead.
"Okay, so, orders captain?"
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WARNING: TRIGGERY LIKE WHOA, HELL [Graphic violence, implied sexual molestation/rape]
“What’s wrong, Daimon?” The voice was Patsy’s but it was harsher, almost rasping. “Brother, dear.” She put her arms around him and pressed her lips against his throat.
“You are not my sister.” Daimon kept his eyes closed. He could almost picture her, the way she had been before his passion both claimed and corrupted her.
“Mmm…” Other hands, stroking down his back. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself, I’m not your sister either.”
“Satana. Get your hands off me. Now.”
“Oh Daimon, I’m hurt. Have you always liked Patsy best or are you trying to make me jealous? Just so you know…” Her hands went lower. “It’s working.”
Daimon opened his eyes and shoved both ‘sisters’ off of him. “AWAY! If you do not leave me alone, I swear I will-”
“You’ll what? Kill me?” Patsy laughed and she did not stop.
Daimon stared at her for as long as he could bear. He didn’t know why he still thought of her as Patsy; she was lost. Her skin was red, darker than her hair even. The color of her irises was gone, consumed by a white fire. Her tail flicked to and fro in anticipation and delight from the torture of her prey.
Yes, Patsy “Hellcat” Walker certainly lived up to her name.
“ ‘I cannot kill one whom I love.’ ” Patsy parroted back the words he had said to her so long ago, then she rolled onto her back and cackled. “Big brother Daimon! Such a softie!”
Daimon looked away.
In the pit lay rows upon rows of bodies, living souls trapped in rotting corpses set upon, devoured, ravaged, abused in all ways imaginable. Some he recognized: his foster family, the Heffords, Katherine Reynolds, Byron Hyatt, countless others. Above them, suspended by a chain around her neck, was Saripha, her belly round with the child she never had the chance to deliver. There were chains around her ankles, which the demons below her pulled, slowly tearing her apart.
“I’m hungry.” Satana declared and clapped her hand.
Seven demons arrived. In each hand, they grasped a severed heads, all covered in flame, all screaming. Dr. Strange, Clea, Gargoyle, Nighthawk— the Defenders united one last time in death. One last demon approached. He carried the head of Father Gossett, his mentor, the one being Daimon could rely on, could trust completely. Father Gossett was not screaming, despite the flames, he was speaking in hushed tones the way one would say a prayer. The Lord’s Prayer. Only it was recited backwards.
“Delicious.” Hellcat sprang to her feet. Using her claws, she gouged out Father Gossett’s eyes and that did make the monk scream in pain. Hellcat held one eye to her mouth and bit into it. “Mmm.”
“Let me.” Satana took the rest of the eye from Hellcat and placed it in her mouth. “Ah yes. But where are my manners.” She grabbed the remaining eye from Hellcat and walked to Daimon. “Here you are, Daimon. A meal you will never forget.”
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"You don't have to accept that, you know."
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He did not have time to wait for a response. Hellcat leaped at Kirk.
"BACK!" Daimon backhanded Hellcat hard enough to send her sprawling to the ground. He turned to Kirk again. "Answer, and be quick!"