Long Live the King *HF*
By Daemon
~~Prologue~~
University of California Archeological Excavation Site, Egypt
"YES!" he shouted in delight, jumping up from his chair. His assistant came rushing into the tent to see what was wrong only to find Prof. Vargas dancing around his desk.
"What is it, Tom? What have you found?"
Prof. Thomas Vargas finally ceased his uncoordinated tirade and motioned towards his desk on which a fractured stone tablet lay assembled like a jig-saw puzzle beneath a single desk lamp. "I know where it is, Matt. After all these years of searching, after all the dead ends, after all the ridicule, I've finally done it."
Matt Flisken looked down at the strange hieroglyphs written on the tablet pieces and the scribbled translation on the pad next to it. "You've figured out the riddle as well? Are you sure?"
Thomas grinned widely and nodded. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Go to bed now Matt. We've got a lot to prepare for. By the end of the week, we should find one of the most elusive pieces of ancient history. Tomorrow, we start digging for the Eye of Ra."
***
Dathook's third moon was just beginning to rise when the attack began. The rocky expanses beyond the fortress wall seemed to be alive as the thousands of Zythri moved against their position. Daemon looked out from the watchtower with inhumanly sensitive eyes, watching each thermal signature crawl ever closer.
"Sound the alarm," Daemon said calmly to the man on his right.
At the whine of the fortress siren, the three hundred inhabitants of this small world filed into the bunker facility of the camp. Dathook was an inhospitable place for humanoids to say the least. With but two rivers and a relatively small lake, there was little more than a drop of water and no indigenous life save for the simplest single-celled organisms. Dathook would ultimately be a useless world if not for its rich deposits of a fairly rare metal. Thus, Dathook became populated by a small force of miners under the direction of a galactic corporation. Though their existence on this barren, rock world was anything but eventful beyond the delivery of supplies and the shipping of refined metal; the miners knew nothing but peace. That peace was broken, however, by the Zythri, or more appropriately, the rival corporation that unleashed the horde of destructive insectoids. Their initial attack destroyed several processing facilities as well as killing nearly all of the 200,000 of the work force.
Daemon was hired to protect the mines at all costs. The MINES, his contractors had emphasized. They had alerted their world's space fleet to the violation of galactic code and were awaiting an expeditionary force to safeguard their holdings. But if the rival corporation could destroy all the opposing population and place their own people on the surface, then they could claim squatter's rights and gain legal ownership. Daemon's job was to ensure that this didn't happen.
With the last man locked safely in the bunker, Daemon readied his arsenal of weapons for battle. With the push of a button, the automated defenses engaged. Turret mounted cannons rose from the ground around the fortress and the translucent blue glint of a force shield surrounded the compound.
The creatures plowed forward as the cannons opened fire. Yellow pulses of energy slammed into the masses, sending debris and body parts flying in all directions, yet they continued. Closer and closer they came, reaching the line of turrets in minutes, tearing at them with powerful strokes of their razor-edged fore limbs. As the last turret fell, the first Zythri slammed into the force shield, frying itself in the field of excited particles. Another did the same nearby, seemingly ignorant of the fate of its comrade. Another pushed against the shield, and then another, and another. Onwards they came against the shield, the next crawling over the body of the first. Soon, the generator began to smoke from the exertion. More Zythri pushed against the field. And suddenly, it collapsed, its generator overloaded by the strain.
Daemon was knee deep in Zythri before he could think. Guns blazed with energy beams in both hands, pausing his barrage only to throw grenades. It wasn't long before he was out of ammo and had to fight with only his other-dimensional sword. As he tore into the Zythri with blade and bare hands, his clothes covered in their black-green blood, he heard screams. Turning behind him, he watched in horror as the Zythri cracked open the bunker like a nutshell.
"NO!" he shouted over the clicking noises of the Zythri, and the cries of pain from the miners. "Not again!"
Fighting his way through the Zythri, Daemon tried to get to them. He wanted desperately to save them, the mines be damned. But he knew it was never meant to be. He could never have saved them, though in his heart, he couldn't help but feel as though he didn't try hard enough.
"End program."
With those words, Dathook, the Zythri and the doomed miners faded into the walls of this high tech training center and Daemon stood amidst the dissipating bursts of solid photons feeling very, very alone.
~~End Prologue~~
~~Chapter 1~~
A Knight in Black Leather
"Thank you for letting me borrow the Danger Room again, Cyke," Daemon said as he walked toward the door.
"Anytime, Daemon," came the voice from the control room.
There was a pause as the electronic doors slid open.
"It wasn't your fault you know," Cyclops said finally over the intercom.
Daemon stopped in the doorway, his head low. He said nothing for a moment and then replied, "Sure," before letting the Danger Room doors slide shut behind him.
There were many instances in Daemon's life that he counted as utter failures. The attack on Dathook was one of them. And as he remembered the hours he spent digging graves in the hard, gray soil, images of another failure invaded his mind. He saw the battle of star fighters in an asteroid belt, a hidden base overwhelmed by enemy soldiers, a friend's distress call and finally an explosion that took from him a dear comrade. This failure stood out among the others, often appearing in his nightmares. It was almost as bad as one other incident…one that he could not even bare to conjure images of, one that perhaps made him the man he is today.
"Shall I have a car pulled around, sir?" the guard at the front gate asked.
Daemon looked up into the sky at the unobstructed crescent moon as he buttoned his long, leather coat. "That's OK," he said. "I think I'll walk tonight."
***
His combat boots clapped against the concrete sidewalk as he strolled through the ever-busy streets of New York City. Though he had grown up here and had been living here ever since his return to earth in early summer, Daemon still felt somewhat like a stranger amongst the city's diverse populace. Ever since he could speak, he knew that he was an outsider. And his father's revelation of his extraterrestrial heritage did more to separate him from the world he had adopted long ago as 'home'.
Deciding not to continue his melancholy musings, Daemon turned his attention, instead, to the bustling metropolis through which he walked. Letting his senses take him, Daemon was almost completely absorbed by the sights, sounds and smells of the most famous city on earth. But as he reveled in his superhuman sensations, a faint, abrupt scream caught his ear. Concentrating, he pinpointed the direction from which the sound had come and listened further to a man's gruff, aggressive commands.
"Shut up or I'll cut your throat," he heard clearly and then the distinctive click of a switchblade.
***
A few blocks away, a tall man held a woman against a wall in an alley not too far from a movie theater. His left hand covered her mouth as his right threatened with a knife.
"I was nice the whole night," the man said. "I opened doors for you and I even paid. So you ain't leavin' till I get something in return."
Tears streaked down the woman's face as she shook her head and sobbed.
"That ain't the answer I want to hear," he said through clenched teeth, pressing the knife ever closer to her delicate neck.
"I don't think the lady wants to play with you anymore," came a voice from behind him, "so why don't you take your toys and go home."
The man turned around to see Daemon standing at the entrance of the alley. "Fuck off, man. This don't concern you."
"Let me rephrase that," Daemon said as he loosened the buttons of his coat. "You've got 5 seconds to get the hell outta here before I start breaking bones."
"Look asshole, I toldja to leave."
"5…"
"I'll cut your throat too if you don't beat it."
"4…"
"Does this look like a fucking toothpick to you?"
"3…"
"I ain't playin' around, man."
"2…"
"Are you listenin' to me?"
Suddenly Daemon was holding the man against the wall, his body separating him from the woman. "1…"
"Oh shit!"
The man slashed at Daemon's face with the knife, finding his skin far less easy to cut then he had expected. Daemon smacked the knife from his hand, shattering his wrist in the process. A swift punch to the midsection stopped the man's cries of pain as his breath was suddenly taken from him. The man managed to slip to Daemon's side and attempted to kick him. With skilled ease, Daemon snatched his leg in midair and broke it in two places before tossing him like a rag doll to the opposite wall of the alley.
Still sobbing uncontrollably, the woman slumped to the ground, her trembling hands covering her face. As Daemon helped her to her feet, a bright searchlight blinded them both. His eyes adjusting quickly, Daemon saw the police car on which the light was mounted as well as the two officers standing behind the vehicle, guns drawn.
"Hold it right there!"
"This woman needs help," Daemon started as the weakened woman leaned on him for support.
"Shut up," one cop said.
"Let the woman go," the other added.
"She can hardly stand on her own, and your perp is over there if you want to point those things at somebody."
"Hands up!" the officer insisted, his finger steadied on the trigger.
"Fine," Daemon finally conceded. "Just let me bring her to your car."
But at Daemon's approach, the officers opened fire with two shots each. All four bullets ricochet off of Daemon's back as he turned at the last second to protect the woman from a misplaced shot.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Daemon exclaimed as he leaped at the stunned officers, taking their weapons from them and crushing them both into balls of crumpled black metal. "Now do your job and go help that lady and cuff the guy on the ground over there!"
The officers, still in silent disbelief, slowly moved towards the alley.
"You try and do your civic duty and the fucking dumbass cops shoot at you," Daemon mumbled to himself as he walked away.
The two officers attended the distraught woman even as they watched Daemon leave the scene. Daemon did not notice their unbreakable gaze, nor did he know he was being watched by others as well.
Deep in shadow, in a nearby alleyway, a pair of deep blue eyes also followed each of Daemon's steps. Chin-length platinum hair fell in thin strands, framing the stranger's soft-featured face. A thin smile appeared.
"So this is what you've been doing with yourself lately, old friend," the man said quietly to himself. "I hope you won't mind if I drop by later to talk about old times." With that, the stranger disappeared into the shadows.
In an empty apartment building nearby, another watched Daemon through multi-spectrum goggles.
"Do we move now, sir?" the young soldier asked, his hand gripping his energy rifle tightly in anticipation.
"Cool it, Polansky," his superior responded from a small table in the corner of the 13th floor loft. "We still haven't collected enough data to go yet," he added, not bothering to look up from the scanner readings from Daemon's encounter with the police.
"Yes, sir," he said sullenly.
"Don't sweat it kid," another soldier chimed in. "The way I hear it, we're do for some new gear to handle this one. Top-of-the-line stuff too."
A soldier lying on an unfolded mat joined the conversation, "Either way, I just wanna take this stinkin' alien down. We'll show 'em whose planet this is for sure."
They all laughed together as their leader continued musing over Daemon's readings. Perhaps his team was TOO confident in this matter.
***
On the other side of town, Daemon rode the elevator to the top floor where his spacious penthouse resided. He sighed deeply as he closed his apartment door behind him.
"Hi there," a sweet female voice greeted him.
"Hey babe," Daemon responded in a low monotone, his gaze to his lush white carpet.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothin'," in the same monotone as he let his coat slide off his shoulders.
"Don't lie," Lydia admonished as she took his coat. "Let me get that for you…Oh my God…"
"What?" Daemon said as he dropped into his favorite easy chair.
"Gabe…there…there are bullet holes in your coat…how…?"
"Don't ask, baby, please."
Lydia walked over to him and sat on his lap, her arms wrapped around him affectionately. "Why is everything a secret with you? You never talk to me."
Daemon held her tighter and let out another sigh. "I'm sorry, sweety. I just…it's just that…I need some time. I promise I'll tell you everything…but…not now, not yet."
Lydia cupped his face in her hands and looked into his dark eyes. "OK," she breathed, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Well I'm going to bed now. I have a doctor's appointment in the morning. You coming?"
"In a minute."
As Lydia disappeared into the bedroom, Daemon walked to his desk on which lay only a silver cylinder. Popping off the air-sealed cap, Daemon pulled out a document. He read the words aloud, "Now and henceforth shall the Royal Throne of the Kingdom of Palla and all her colonies, provinces and territories belong to his Majesty, Daemon of Pharaoh." Shaking his head, Daemon deposited the decorated proclamation back into the cylinder. "Soon," he said shortly before turning out the light.
~~End Chapter 1~~
~~Chapter 2~~
Business…Just Business
The brightness of the sun and the clarity of the azure sky made the cold winter air just a little more tolerable than the previous day's gray mugginess. Daemon stepped outside his apartment building as he fitted his gloves over his hands. He stood next to the entrance to the building as he waited for his limo to come around. Straightening his tie, he glanced at his fine armani suit and glossy black shoes. He rarely wore such fineries, but he had a meeting with the rulers of both the Black and International Hellfire Club's inner circles today. In the company of such prominent figures, he felt he should dress accordingly. As he watched for his ride, a tenant of his building stepped out of a cab and walked to the door where he stood impatiently.
"Well?" he blurted at Daemon.
Daemon frowned at the man, looking him up and down. "Well, what?"
"Aren't you going to open the door?"
"What the hell for?"
"You ARE the doorman, aren't you?"
"Doorman?!" Daemon asked astonished, glancing again at his hand-sewn suit. "Do I look like a damn doorman?! You see a black man in a suit and assume he's the damn doorman?! Why don't you look at the white kid in the fucking bright-ass yellow and maroon DOORMAN UNIFORM, asshole." Daemon pointed to the young doorman seated on the other side of the entrance. "He's on break now, so open your own damn door," he added.
"How dare you speak to me like that," the outraged tenant spat. "I'll have words with the owner about this!"
Daemon laughed. "I got news for you, prick. I AM the owner."
"Humph," the man huffed as he finally entered the building.
"I should evict your stupid ass too," Daemon called after him.
"Sorry sir," the doorman said as he jumped back to his position, brushing crumbs of his lunch from his uniform.
"No problem," Daemon answered. "Does that guy have a stick up his ass ALL the time?"
The doorman nodded reluctantly.
"Well every time he's rude to you, I'll give you $100 bonus," he said as he climbed into his limo.
"Th-thank you sir!"
Daemon smiled thinly and shut his door.
***
He entered through the intricately carved, double-doors of polished oak to the IHFC conference room to which he had been directed. Before him sat the King and Queen of the Black, Red and White courts, all awaiting his entrance. Daemon stopped for a minute just beyond the doors and scanned the room. It was beautiful in an outlandishly opulent way as were so many other things associated with the Hellfire organizations. The table was different than he had imagined. It wasn't circular or rectangular but a large crescent. At the focus of the curved table sat a single, empty chair equally as lavish as the rest.
"Welcome, Daemon," the White King Supergrover greeted. "Please have a seat and we can get started."
Daemon took the seat at the center of the room and looked around the table from one end to the other. Noticing the somewhat elaborate court uniforms they wore in each respective color, he felt a bit out of place in his light gray suit.
The Black King Silver opened the meeting. "I had not had the opportunity to officially meet Daemon before today, but because of his close associating with other members of the Black Court, I feel it is my duty to introduce him to all of you. From the Red Court," he began with a motion to the red clad figures on one side of the table, "we have the Red King Ryan Jensen…"
Daemon and the Red King locked eyes for a moment and something about the other made them both slightly uncomfortable.
"…and the Red Queen Sabre, Rachel Ferguson."
Sabre nodded with a small grin. She had indeed met Daemon before. It was not with a handshake, however, but with the clash of swords several months ago when the young mercenary broke into the BHC mansion. She was there visiting friends when a sonic boom erupted in the house. She thought him to be rather cute with his devilishly brash sense of humor and bright smile. She was glad they were no longer on opposite sides, but looked forward to another round of fencing.
"For the White Court there is the White King Supergrover…"
Daemon nodded at the blue-skinned warrior. He could almost smell the nobility on that one. He would truly make a good ally.
"…and the White Queen Nytshade, Jon Tolliver."
Nytshade smiled broadly at Daemon, eyeing him like her next meal. Daemon noticed the seductive stare as well as a subtle wink by the blonde-haired beauty.
"Lastly, I am the Black King Jack Silver, Jr. and of course you know the Black Queen Nemesis."
Nemesis bit her lower lip and waved in a way only she could. Daemon couldn't help but grin.
"Thank you, Silver," the Red King said shortly as he took control of the meeting. "So what is it exactly you want, Mr. Daemon."
"Just Daemon."
"What?"
"No 'Mr.'. It's just Daemon."
"Whatever."
Daemon adjusted his seat, "Well…I've come into a great deal of money recently and quite frankly, I can't handle it all. I don't have any real experience in business."
"Get on with it," Ryan said, looking somewhat bored.
The others glanced at him in curiosity. The Red King had never been the most cordial person, but what was it about Daemon that made Ryan Jensen so uncomfortable?
Daemon rolled his eyes at the Red King and continued. "Anyway, I'd like to put some of my money someplace that is financially secure, someplace that would give me a decent return on my investment. So I thought what better place than with all of you."
Supergrover nodded. "I think none here would have any objection to accepting your investment." The others agreed silently. "Then it's settled."
"I'm going to give equal amounts to both the Black Court and the International Club to be fair. I don't wan to get involved in your politics."
"A wise notion," the Red King commented under his breath, but loud enough for all to hear.
"If it suits you, Daemon," Jon purred, "you could also make a…private investment in Tolliver Industries." The White Queen's seductive smile topped off an invitation filled to the brim with innuendo.
Nemesis scowled across the room at Nytshade, her arms crossed over her chest. "I don't think so, Jon. This meeting is about business, not pleasure."
The White Queen scowled back, offended and embarrassed that Nemesis had drawn so much attention to her flirtation. The Red King intervened before the minor confrontation could escalate. "You can make your check out to Hellfire Holdings, Inc.," he said, noticing Daemon pull out his checkbook. "By the way, how much were you planning on investing…$1,000?…$1,000,000?"
Daemon looked up from writing. "There are 9 zeros in a billion, right?"
No one said a thing.
***
After a few more minutes of investment possibilities and the presentation of both billion-dollar checks, the meeting was adjourned. Supergrover glided gracefully through the doors and caught up to Daemon.
"What's up, fly-boy?" Daemon greeted the White King as he touched down next to him.
"You made quite the impression today, Daemon."
He shrugged. "I try."
"But a word of advice," SG said in a lower tone of voice. "I noticed how the Queens were looking at you. Have you ever heard the expression 'fresh meat'?"
A smirk appeared on Daemon's face. "Let me guess…I'm it."
Supergrover nodded in turn. "You got that right. Don't let their advances get to you. It's more like a game to them then anything else. You're a new horizon to be explored and possibly exploited. Believe me, I know from experience."
"I see," he said, smoothing his goatee. "I'll tread lightly, friend. Thanks."
Just at that moment, Nemesis sauntered by, her black uniform clinging to her curvaceous body like a second skin. She stopped between the two men and addressed Daemon. "Before you go, Gomurr would like to speak to you."
"OK."
"And if you want," she added, inching closer, "you can come by and see me as well."
SG gave Daemon a wary look and mouthed, "Be careful," before flying off down the hall.
"You know I would," Daemon started, "but I've got some business off-planet to take care of."
"Palla?"
"Right. Could you relay the message to the others that I won't be around for a while?"
"That won't be a problem. Word gets around fast in the BHC."
"And one more thing." He handed her a small, rectangular device. "If you could, please make sure Dr. Doom gets this. It'll patch his computer into my gunship's deep-space sensor array and give him access to my emergency contact system."
The Black Queen took the blue-black cartridge in her hand. "I'll handle it. And good luck."
Daemon sighed. "Thanks."
As the last of the stragglers trickled out of the area, a being of unknown origin and untold power watched from a shadowed corner. Neither in this dimension nor his own but somewhere in between, his form was virtually transparent as he leans against the wall. Jagged teeth were exposed as a fierce smile grew on his face. "Let the games begin," he said in a terrible baritone voice. And the Hellgoat laughed loudly, the sound lost between dimensions so that only he could hear it.
***
Later that afternoon at Daemon's apartment, Lydia paced back and forth across the spacious living room. Her finger danced and fidgeted in front of her nervously as she ran scenario after scenario in her head. What on earth was she going to do?
Suddenly the door opened and in walked her boyfriend, Gabriel Strong, known to most others as the galactic warrior – Daemon. Lydia turned abruptly, torn from her thoughts back to reality. Somewhat startled at Daemon's entrance, she almost cried out. Daemon rushed in almost dancing with every step.
"Hey there," he said, taking Lydia in his arms and going to kiss her. He was obviously too pre-occupied with thoughts of getting his life together to notice that she turned away at the last second and his kiss landed on her cheek.
"H-hi, honey," she managed to say through the lump in her throat. "How was your day?"
"Great. Just a big investment deal. I'm almost done wrapping all the loose ends. One more thing to do though." Not bothering to explain any further, he walked into the bedroom. Lydia followed silently contemplating the words she should use.
"I-I have something to tell you," she said softly.
"What was that?" Daemon asked - not that his super-sensitive ears couldn't hear her meek voice, but because his excitement was sapping his attention.
"What are you doing?"
"Packing, baby. I've got a…business trip."
"Where are you going?" Her voice had just a hint of desperate pleading that was lost on the inattentive Daemon.
"…Very far away," he answered at last. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon."
In a matter of two minutes, Daemon was ready to go, most of what he needed already stored on his star craft. He walked swiftly to the door with his garment bag full of the best armani slung over one shoulder. As before, Lydia walked tentatively behind him.
"I'm sorry to rush off like this, sweety. But once this is done, once I come home, I'll tell you everything you want to know. Everything will be perfect. You'll see." Daemon blew a kiss and waved goodbye as he closed the door behind him. Lydia stood there several minutes afterward, tears forming in her dazzling hazel eyes. "Everything will be perfect," he had said. But she couldn't bring herself to completely believe that. What on earth was she going to do?
***
Daemon's hands danced across the controls of his sleek starcraft he had dubbed the Starscream. Lights came to life and the faint hum of the reactor core played a soothing tone in the background. With some last few switches flipped and buttons pushed, Daemon took the stick of the craft.
"Disengaging auto-orbit program," he spoke aloud. "Leaving geo-synchronous orbit on manual. Star coordinates laid in. Initiating hyper-drive sequence. Hyper-jump in 5…4…3…2…Palla, here I come."
~~End Chapter 2~~
~~Chapter 3~~
A House Divided Against Itself
BOOM!
Daemon woke with a start almost falling out of his chair as the proximity sensor alarm blared in his ear and a harsh voice came over the comm-link in an alien language.
"Computer: access translation parameters for Palla."
"Load and engage universal translation."
After a few seconds, the alien voice began screaming in English. "Repeat – You are in violation of Pallan territorial space. Withdraw or be destroyed."
Daemon oriented his ship so that the Pallan fighter was in view of the forward observation window. The craft was almost as beautiful as his own. Its swooping avian wings were decorated like what probably was a native Pallan species of predator bird. Daemon noticed an array of weapons ports and external projectile pods. This was indeed a bird of prey. Daemon spoke through the comm-link, activating the visual feed as well, and held up his royal proclamation.
"I am Daemon of Pharaoh and I've come to claim my throne."
Without a word of warning, the fighter opened fire.
"Shit," Daemon cursed as he dropped the document and maneuvered the Starscream through the hail of fire. As he righted the craft and prepared his counter-attack, the proximity sensors picked up three other similar fighters approaching, their weapons charged and aimed at his tail. "You have GOT to be kidding me," he spat, frustrated. Is this the way royalty is treated on Palla? Gunning his engines, the Starscream sped into a huge arch, moving Daemon into striking position. The fighters exchanged fire as they swooped by each other in a criss-cross pattern around Daemon's ship. Sirens screamed again, damage to the aft starboard hull. "Oh no you did NOT scratch my baby," he exclaimed, furious at the damage done to his new ship. The Starscream spun violently around and released a tracking torpedo. Following one of the fighters' plasma trails, the projectile slammed into its rear exhaust, exploding the craft in a huge fireball. "Up yours, bitch!" The other crafts turned sharply in pursuit of the Starscream. Daemon pushed his normal space thrusters faster and faster, avoiding the fire from the gaining enemy fighters behind him.
"That's right, bastards. Come and get me," he taunted. "Computer: 'backslide' maneuver on my mark. MARK!" Suddenly the Starscream launched itself into hyperspace, moving only a few kilometers forward before hyper-jumping backwards a dozen kilometers – just behind the fighters. While the pilots focused on the visual image of the Starscream (a lingering light effect of the hyper-jump), Daemon opened fire from the rear and destroyed two of the three. As the third turned and came towards his side, several pulses of dark red energy tore it apart before his eyes. The craft that delivered the killing blow looked surprisingly similar to the others except for a few strange markings on the hull and wings.
"You are Daemon of Pharaoh?" asked the pilot over the visual comm-link.
"That depends," Daemon said. "Are you going to shoot at me if I say 'yeah'?"
The pilot smiled, his white teeth a sharp contrast to his dark skin. Black tattoo-like markings decorated his face in a pattern resembling the ones on his ship. His eyes were a strange hue, not so much a single shade as a swirling orb of color – a dark brown being the most prominent with no white to speak of.
"Welcome to Palla, my King," the Pallan warrior said formally, bowing his head. "I take it your first encounter with one of your 'subjects' has left you wary. But you needn't fear me. I am Bolo."
As Daemon opened his mouth to greet him, a flash of light closer to the planet caught Bolo's attention.
"Hurry my liege. We must get you to the surface before the rebels learn of your arrival."
"Rebels? What just exploded over there?"
"We are attempting to deliver supplies from planet Barasi to the Royal Command Center on Palla Prime. That was most likely one of our freighters."
"Then I'm not going to the surface."
"Sire?"
"I never run from a fight, Bolo. And our boys look like they can use the help. Lead the way, point me to the bad guys and then get out of my way."
Bolo looked at Daemon curiously, but saw the seriousness on the young man's face. "Follow me, sire," he said as his ship turned. "There are other fighters like mine on the Rebel's side. It is only their tribe markings that distinguish them. These are few, however. The others are AI-driven machines and of an unknown configuration."
"AI-driven? Must be Vreel droid ships. Say no more my friend. See you on the battlefield." The Starscream whipped ahead of Bolo's ship and immediately dove into the fray.
With guns blazing, Daemon broke through an enemy formation, scattering the computer-piloted crafts in all directions. He spun his craft around and destroyed two fighters before catching the shockwave of a sunburst explosive charge in his rear deflector. Soon, more fighters were upon him, diverted from their attack on the slow moving freighters toward the new player in the game. Daemon took little direct fire as he bobbed and weaved his agile craft through the hail of energy beams and projectiles, all the while destroying fighter after fighter. Cornered by the overpowering numbers of the robotic ships, Daemon hit his retro-thrusters and brought the Starscream to a dead stop. Streams of electric blue energy slammed into his ship, the damage minimized by the deflector field, while the enemy crafts closed in on him in a tight spherical formation. Bolo caught up to Daemon just in time to see the former mercenary's signature star fighter attack. With a simple voice command, the Starscream began to spin rapidly – not like a top, but like a gyro, turning in two fields of rotation at once. Energy pulses, beams and guided missiles seemed to come from every side of the Starscream as Daemon targeted and destroyed as many fighters in the sphere as his super reflexes could handle. In a matter of moments, the battle was over as the remaining fighters fled.
Daemon's face appeared on Bolo's comm screen. "Now that THAT is taken care of, I believe you have some explaining to do."
***
Palla Prime – Royal Military Command Center
Daemon sat in a large chair decorated in a soft red fabric and ancient carvings at the head of a long rectangular table. His face was grave but that and his bright smile seemed to be his only two expressions. His hands were clasped in front of him as he seemed deep in thought.
"I see," he said flatly.
There was indeed much he hadn't counted on when he made this trip. It appeared, Daemon had stepped into the middle of a civil war. It had started with the one called 'The Master', Bolo had explained. Having been invited to the palace to discuss trade issues as a kind act by then King Rashlu, The Master instead met the King's open hand with a closed fist. Abducting the Royal family, the royal court and the Counsel of Elders, The Master had them gunned down on the palace steps to the horror of the whole kingdom that watched the broadcast execution as it happened. Taking rulership and initiating marshal law with his mighty army of mercenaries, he laid waste to the once beautiful kingdom. When word of his defeat reached Palla, chaos insued. Only when the Counsel of Elders was reformed did some semblance of order return. Confident in the good heart of the legendary space soldier who had been named the heir, the Counsel decided that an outsider's rule might quell old tribal rivalries. Daemon's ascension was virtually secured. One man differed, however. Claiming a distant relationship to the royal house, the General of the Pallan Tank Division, Azikewe, wanted the throne for himself. Gathering just less than 50% of his own tribe, as well as a few from other tribes as support, he captured the capital and the trade center of Palla Prime.
"General Sombu," Daemon said looking to his left along the table. "Why is it that such a large force as ours couldn't take back Shekubwa by now?"
Sombu adjusted himself in his seat. Curving black designs decorated his face in the markings of the Dalzu tribe. Swirling brown eyes turned towards Daemon as the battle-scarred commander of the Army began to speak. "Sire, while we have much destructive power on our side, we dare not use it. Shekubwa, our capital, has much religious significance. To, say, destroy one of the walls around the palace, would be sacrilege."
"Hmm…" Daemon hummed. "So the only way to retake the city is with storm troopers and small firearms."
"Exactly, your Highness. And we have been unsuccessful time and again because of hired soldiers of our enemies. They are fierce, hairy beasts and far stronger than we."
Daemon looked up from his folded hands. "Hairy beasts? Do they have long snouts, pointy ears and white-gray fur?"
Sombu looked surprised. "Yes, Sire. That is correct."
"Ba'roof," Daemon said flatly. "They are a scarce race. There's only one mercenary I know of in this galaxy that can collect such a force of Ba'roof warriors. Baal must be here as well."
"Who do you speak of, Sire?"
"Never mind that now," the new King of Palla said, shaking his head clear of the anger that had begun to swell. If it truly was Baal that had brought the Ba'roof warriors and allied himself with the seditious despot of the Rebel forces, than there would be hell to pay for not only this offense, but for past crimes as well. But revenge was not a primary concern…not yet. "Shekubwa will be difficult then. I will lead the next attack myself."
The whole room seemed to spring into motion at his words in protest. Voices rose in concerned admonition while others seemed to plead. Daemon, taken aback at the scene, was stunned into silence. Was he THAT important to these men that they would act so fervently to keep him from battle?
"Silence!" Daemon commanded at last. Everyone closed their mouths and sat in immediate obedience. "I appreciate your concern for my safety, but it is misplaced. I don't think I need to circulate my own legends, but my physical power and invulnerability are quite real. It is better you concern yourselves with your far more susceptible soldiers. As I said before, I will lead the next attack. I want a battle strategy brought to me by tomorrow morning. Dismissed."
His military leaders nodded in compliance, awed by not only how well this new king took to his position, but by his bravery and willingness to fight with his men. Daemon took a deep breath, having surprised even himself with the authority with which he commanded these men. He was not used to having such a position of authority and had loathed the idea from the beginning. But he could only play the cards he was dealt, and this was a hand he did not intend to lose…especially now that Baal was involved.
***
"WHAT?!"
"You're overreacting."
The light-skinned Pallan stalked back and forth in front of the throne, his long cape trailing him as he paced. "How could you have let this happen?!" he continued to rage, his eyes more red than anything else. "It was a simple task. Destroy the Royal freighter squadron. I gave you a full compliment of droid-ships as well as twelve of my own Dkimbi fighters. MY OWN TRIBESMEN! And you managed to return with four of them. FOUR!"
Baal furrowed his wide brow and his large eyes suddenly became narrow slits. He moved surprisingly quickly for his fairly wide, 7-foot frame, and grabbed the interloper king by the throat within his deadly, three digit talons. His long arms glistened silver in the light of the throne room, servomotors buzzing softly as his long fingers clasped Azikewe's neck. Baal pulled him close, what passed for a smile distorting his face. "Do I look like one of your loyal subjects that you can speak to me that way? Maintaining this throne is the only thing keeping you from rotting in a royal prison. I, on the other hand, could walk away without another thought. You need me and my soldiers more than I need you and your money. Is that clear?" His hand opened and Azikewe fell to the floor gasping for air.
"Crystal clear, Baal."
"As for the freighters," Baal continued as he walked to a bar near a side window, "we had an unexpected arrival. Daemon is here."
Azikewe froze, his eyes wide and growing a slight tint of yellow. "D-Daemon? Here?"
"Don't piss your pants, Azikewe. The plan has only been changed slightly by this turn of events. You will call a cease fire and open negotiations."
Azikewe stood finally, his eyes darkening back to red. "Negotiations? Never!"
Baal turned sharply to his contractor with a scowl, a newly poured drink in his hand. "You WILL open negotiations. Daemon is a dangerous soldier and tactician. We need to buy time for my next order of droid-ships and Ba'roof mercenaries to come in." He dumped the entire glass of liquid into his wide mouth, gulping down the signature ale of Palla. Smiling again, he threw the glass in his mouth as well, chewing loudly with the strange, muffled crunch of crushed glass. "Perhaps we could even assassinate a few Generals while we're at it."
Azikewe agreed silently.
Walking out of the throne room, Baal turned as he crossed the threshold of the double-doors. "And I haven't forgotten my promise, Azikewe. You will become a powerful man by any standards and will rule with an iron hand. I'll see to that...personally."
"Yes," Azikewe said to himself after Baal was gone, "You WILL honor your promise. And when I have grown strong, I will see you broken at my feet, the iron hand you will give me having crushed your bones."
~~End Chapter 3~~
~~Chapter 4~~
Talk is Cheap
Daemon looked at himself in the huge, gold-framed mirror in the royal chambers. "Capes aren't my style."
"Oh no, your Highness. You look very handsome," said one of his female servants.
"Yes, my Lord," another chimed in. "You are a sight to behold."
He turned sideways to the mirror, throwing the cape behind his arm with a flourish as he had seen others do. A few of his servant girls giggled softly. Daemon supposed the dramatic motion WAS sort of funny. He turned back to face himself, adjusting the high collar of the black military-like uniform. A royal seal of precious metal at either shoulder clasping the red cape about him. Tall black boots, also decorated with gold etchings rounded out the striking garb of the new Pallan king.
"There's something missing," another servant said with a thoughtful hand on her chin. "Wait, I've got it!" She suddenly darted off to a tall wooden cabinet across the large room and came back with a medium-sized box in her hands. The other girls saw and moved quickly about Daemon, leading him to a chair where they sat him down and brought a mirror before him. The other girl came, at last, behind him and lowered a beautiful crown of the most precious crystal upon his head. "There," she said with finality and awe.
Daemon stood and stared into the mirror again. Of all the things he had seen when he looked into a mirror – warrior, mercenary, son, brother, failure… - he never thought for one minute that he'd ever see a king until today. "Wow," he said softly.
"Sire?" a familiar voice from the door interrupted.
"Yes, Bolo."
"Are you prepared to begin the peace talks?"
Daemon took a deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be."
Bolo smiled. He had been by Daemon's side since the beginning and had become quite the confidante. It was Bolo that had explained some of the intricacies of Pallan culture and helped him deal with his new role as king. For a soldier, he knew a surprising amount of politics. Daemon gave the order himself that Bolo would not go back to battle but stay with his king.
"How do you feel, sire?"
"Honestly? I'm terrified. I'm a warrior, not a negotiator. My kind of negotiations involved holding high-caliber weapons at people's heads until they met my demands."
Bolo chuckled as they continued towards the conference room in the neutral city of Kenzi. "There is a first for all things, sire."
The double-doors opened to Daemon's full entourage of Generals and elite guards. On the other side of the room, Azikewe with his group of advisors and military leaders, as well as the looming giant, Baal. Daemon took another deep breath.
"Something wrong, sire?" Bolo asked.
"Bolo," Daemon responded, "if I were Pallan, my eyes would be red right now."
***
The helicopter touched down gently on the makeshift landing-pad, blowing sand in all directions. Fortunately the laborers got something right and placed the pad well enough away from the equipment that the sand would not be blown into them. As the door of the helicopter opened, Thomas couldn't help but feel a twinge of raw excitement. Whether it was due to the dig going underway for the legendary Eye of Ra – his life's dream – or that he would see his ex-wife for the first time in two years, he couldn't tell and was not willing to speculate. Melissa Vargas stepped off of the helicopter and onto the plastic pad and began walking towards the group that had assembled to welcome her. Her long brown hair whipped about her face in the gale winds of the helicopter's blades as she ducked under them. Her tan shorts seemed shorter than they were because of her long, shapely legs, and the white, button-down shirt she wore accented her feminine curves. Thomas blinked the sand out of his eyes and wondered to himself why exactly he had divorced this divine creature.
"So when do we get on with this little goose-chase of yours, Tom," she said as she passed by him, not bothering to greet her former husband nor his staff.
"Oh yeah," Tom said to himself. "THAT'S why I divorced her."
***
The dining hall of this large trade center of Kenzi was opened in mid-afternoon for the Pallan equivalent to lunch. The talks had not gone well for either side, as Azikewe was all too full of demands and Daemon was much too rigid to make allowances for the despot. Bolo, as faithful as the elite guards, escorted Daemon to a table where they would eat and speak of the day's events.
"He's an arrogant son of a bitch and I'd rather break his neck now and get it over with," Daemon said taking in a forkful of his meal.
"I believe he purposefully intended to anger you, sire."
"No kidding," Daemon said. "He's damn good at it too."
"You must regain control of the situation, sire, or he has the upper hand. Think of it as a psychological version of combat."
"Give me REAL combat any day and I'll show you how to get the upper hand." Daemon peered into his cup as a servant girl filled it with a clear, frothy liquid. "What's that?"
"Pallan Ale, sire," the servant responded. "It is very good."
Daemon took a swig of the delicious smelling brew and smacked his lips. "That is some awesome stuff!"
"It is our chief export," Bolo said. "It is a spirit we produce from indigenous grains that possesses nothing to impair the mind as other drinks do. It can be flavored with other mixes as well."
Daemon took another long gulp. "This is worth the war all by itself," he joked.
Bolo and the elite guards at the table laughed together. "To Pallan Ale!" Bolo said, lifting his glass.
"To Pallan Ale!" everyone responded in kind. But before Daemon could put his glass to his lips once again, a blue-white stream of crackling electrical energy ripped through the embroidered mug. Pieces of glass shattered in every direction and the ale spilled onto Daemon's uniform. Everyone reacted immediately – the elite guards stood quickly with weapons drawn and the servants ducked below the table as Bolo stood in front of Daemon.
Daemon stood and waved his soldiers to holster their side arms. "So the old dog has learned some new tricks."
Baal took a few more steps forward towards the table, making the guards testy. He lifted a long, metallic arm and flexed his extended talon-like hands. "Electro-blast implants. Got power-shock legs too."
Daemon laughed. "A chump with cybernetic implants is just a mechanical chump." Baal did not respond. "I see your tusk grew back," Daemon said motioning towards what looked like huge lower canines standing tall at either corner of Baal's mouth.
He unconsciously reached up to the ivory 'tooth'. Daemon had torn it out nearly six months prior. To the Makktra, Baal's race, their tusks are great symbols of pride as well as many other things. It was a severe embarrassment to Baal to have been stripped of one of them. "It's nice to see you too, meat. I honestly thought you didn't have the balls to take this gig."
Daemon slightly cringed at the term 'meat'. It was not so much a jab at him personally, but a reference to Baal's ritual of eating one of his enemies as a celebration of victory. It was this ritual, in fact, that had gotten him thrown out of his planet's military service. Baal seemed the complete antithesis of Daemon, often taking jobs he had turned down due to ethical reasons. They had ended up on either side of a conflict very often. But this was the first time he had seen Baal after the mad alien had destroyed his secret base, killing his best friend in the process. Daemon wanted to believe he was better than revenge, but he couldn't help but imagine Baal's head on a pike whenever he thought of what he had done.
"So tell me, meat, how are things on earth?"
"How did you know I was staying on earth?"
"Is that apartment building working out for you? And that beautiful girlfriend of yours…how'd she do on her college biology exam?"
Daemon's eyes narrowed and his cape slipped from his shoulders as he released the golden clasps. "You just made a major mistake, Baal."
"What're you gonna do, meat? Talk me to death?"
Daemon was upon him in an instant, spinning for a roundhouse kick. But Baal was faster than he remembered, his implants augmenting already honed abilities. His large hand clamped down on Daemon's leg and he threw the warrior across the room. The elite guard drew their weapons again as Daemon slammed into the wall.
"NO!" Daemon commanded. "This is between me and him!" Baal rushed at Daemon, using his talons to slash at him. Daemon sidestepped a misplaced attack and landed a hard punch to the mid-section before dropping Baal with a right to the jaw. Baal fell to the floor, but was up just as quickly, kicking Daemon in the head with his enhanced legs. Daemon rose to one knee. "I almost felt that. Almost!"
Sweeping his legs from under him, Daemon sent Baal back to the floor and pounced on him with a flurry of punches to the face. Baal's long arm reached up and palmed Daemon's head, lifting the Pharaohan off his chest. "Gloves are off, meat. Time to die." Suddenly, electricity shot through Daemon's brain. At first the sensation was little more than a tingle in his head, but as Baal continued the attack, it became increasingly uncomfortable. It was not pain by any standard of the word, for Daemon had long forgotten what pain felt like, but it was definitely annoying, and possibly dangerous to the others in the room. Held in the air by his head, Daemon swung his legs forward and grabbed Baal's neck between his legs and turned his body sharply. Baal flipped to the floor, barely avoiding having his head torn from his shoulders, and shot out an electro pulse blast with the other hand. The impact sent Daemon sliding away on the smooth floor as Baal righted himself. Daemon was up before he realized it and attacked with a deadly combination of kicks and punches. Baal managed to block a few, but was caught in the rib cage as well as the leg and stomach by several shots. Balling his long fingers into a fist, he counter-attacked with a combination of his own, doing far less damage than he had hoped. Daemon caught the last punch in mid-air and brought his other hand down on his forearm with tremendous force. With the loud shriek of tearing metal, the arm's omnium casing buckled and shredded as Daemon ripped the entire limb from what remained of Baal's natural arm. He staggered back holding his stump while light gray blood, mingled with servomotor fluid poured out onto the floor. The Ba'roof warriors that had came in when they heard the sounds of battle retreated with their leader upon seeing the scene. Ba'roof were ruthless and vicious creatures, but they still could know fear, and they feared Daemon.
"That's right," Daemon thundered holding up the broken cybernetic arm as it still twitched and sparked with dissipating electricity. "Run, Baal. Go back to your 'king' and tell him I'll do the same to him if he does not abdicate. There will be no more talks. Run, Baal, back to your lost cause."
As the door closed behind them, Daemon turned sharply to his guards, his generals and his servants. "We leave immediately. We have a war to wage."
~~End Chapter 4~~
~~Chapter 5~~
To The Death
A shrill scream erupted from a large spacecraft seated atop a landing tower outside the palace. Baal laughed loudly as he increased the power to the machine. Deep within the tight confines of the strangely medieval device lay Azikewe, wires and tubes apparently burrowing into his skin of their own accord. His muscles involuntarily strained against the restraints on his arms and legs. A mechanical arm moved closer to him and a beam of energy pierced his forehead. Lights flashed as the beam grew brighter. More robot arms reached out to the suspended Pallan with drills and saws whining as they made contact with his soft flesh. Azikewe screamed again.
"You shriek like a little girl," Baal quipped as he adjusted his newly assembled limb. "But do not worry, my friend. You will soon surpass your weaknesses and become far more than your peers. You will have REAL power."
Azikewe could barely hear Baal's ramblings over the terrible sound of his own body being torn apart and put back together bit by bit. But despite the pain, despite the screams of agony that escaped his lips, he still plotted and planned the day he would see Baal wail in his sufferings. That would be a great day indeed.
Baal had other things on his mind however. Daemon had embarrassed him again, tearing out his cybernetics, making him crawl back to his ship while his underlings watched him bleed. Daemon would pay for that, but it would take more power than he had. It would take more planning then he could do alone. He needed an ally in this battle against the one-time champion of the universe, and he knew just the man.
***
The Triedus System
The entire facility was as dark as the black void just beyond the outside walls. It had been perhaps 6 years since the air filtration had worked properly, so the air was thick with a musky smell. A continuous haze hung in the air like a fog, obscuring the long-dormant machinery that filled the space of what appeared to be a laboratory. A few dim lights here and there indicated that at least some of the systems were still operational, but it had been a long time since they were very active. Inside one of the larger rooms, there was a particular amount of light. The machines hummed a steady, droning note as they maintained some experiment. A pair of large, flat slabs of metal lay in the center of the circular room, a series of wires and tubes running between them. Upon them lay two bodies. The first was stiff and lifeless. Black, flaky skin barely covered the bones of the white-coated individual that had been long dead. On the other bed, lay just the opposite. The young man's muscular body lay covered only by a thin, silvery sheet. His brown skin was soft and thick with life as opposed to the decomposing body of the other. His chest rose up and down as the youth breathed in and out what little oxygen there was left in the facility. Suddenly, he opened his eyes for the very first time and blinked against the chemical-laden air. Tearing away the wires that connected him to the other body, he sat up slowly. The handsome young man flexed his powerful arms, staring slack-jawed as his muscles bulged. Looking over at the dead body on the other table, a smile grew on his lips and he began to laugh.
***
Two Days Later
"Simple but effective," Daemon had said of General Sombu's battle plan. "I like it." That was before he and a battalion of Pallan storm troopers were knee deep in Ba'roof warriors.
"Regroup!" he commanded over the clamor of the battlefield. "We've got to get some space between us and them for our weapons to be effective," he said to Bolo as he fought back-to-back with his comrade. He was, of course, referring to the 'acid burn' energy blasters Daemon had issued to his army. This sometimes illegal weapon fired a beam of other-dimensional energy which devoured living matter upon contact and maintained a delivery device compact enough for a single trooper to carry. Since the Ba'roof were possessed of an almost instantaneous healing ability, the 'acid burn' was the only weapon that could get results. However, the beams were dangerous if fired from close range. The pressing attack of the Ba'roof was making the weapons hazardous to fire.
"I got an idea," Daemon said.
"Don't do anything rash, sire."
"Rash? No. Stupid? Probably."
"Sire?" but before Bolo could ask his king what he meant, Daemon was running towards the palace at a tremendous speed.
He knew the Ba'roof were ordered to kill him on sight. Thinking, perhaps, not enough of them knew he was there, he decided to draw more attention to himself. And running towards the palace, the key to their defense, would be an effective means to do just that. As he broke the sound barrier, Daemon stopped, letting the sonic boom bring the Ba'roof's attention to him. Suddenly, they broke off their attack on the incoming storm troopers and focused on Daemon.
"NOW! NOW!" he screamed.
The storm troopers opened fire with their new weapons, searing the Ba'roof into pieces of burning flesh. Taking this opportunity, Daemon sped from checkpoint to checkpoint setting explosives as he went. And in one moment, at the push of a detonator button, the entire air defense grid was down. Daemon smiled broadly as he saw royal troop transports rise over the horizon.
***
The Throne Room
Baal laughed as he stood back and admired his handiwork for the first time in the last two days. "Rise Azikewe. Rise and see what I have given you. See the fruit of your pain."
Azikewe opened his eyes and felt strange. He commanded his legs to move and realized they had already begun. Standing to his full height, he noticed how far the floor seemed now, how small everything felt. "What…? What have you done to me?"
Baal rolled a large mirror from the side of the room, the grin still plastered on his face. "See for yourself. See my masterpiece."
Azikewe looked into the mirror and did not recognize himself. But it was not horror that came with the realization of what had been done to him, but elation. "I'm beautiful," he said, as he touched the light fur that graced what skin that still remained. He balled giant fists of omnium and watched as electrical energies sparked to life between his fingers. Looking closer at his reflection, he saw the mechanical implants within his eyes, zooming in and out with binocular magnification. He turned to Baal with a smile, looking at him in infrared. "Thank you, Baal," he said cordially. "Now die!"
Baal caught the huge fist in the face, sending him flying. Azikewe laughed that his body, once as weak as any other Pallan, could wreak such havoc on a naturally more powerful alien. "I endured your tortuous transformation…" he said, blasting with an electrobeam, "I endured your blatant disrespect…" another blast, "and now I will see you suffer!" But suddenly, the electrical energy meant for Baal did not fly outwards, but channel back, and right to Azikewe's pain sensors. "What is happening?" he asked frantically as his body disobeyed him.
Baal stood slowly from the rubble that had buried him and wiped the light-gray blood from his mouth. "Sit."
Azikewe sat immediately.
"Roll over."
Azikewe did as he was told.
"Good boy," Baal laughed. He knelt near Azikewe's face, the Pallan warrior unable to speak despite his efforts. "You didn't think I would give you all this, just to have you use it against me did you? I'm not the simpleton you would like to think me, Azikewe, as you no doubt have discovered by now. You see, dear boy, I have linked all of your functions to my neural net," tapping a metal plate at the back of his skull. "I think it, you do it. It's very simple. Now go back to your throne and wait. I'm expecting a guest."
***
"This way, sire," Bolo called as they ran through the palace corridors. "Azikewe will no doubt be in the throne room, as well as his mercenary leader Baal, perhaps."
"Is that it down there?"
"Yes, sire."
"Then you go and dispatch the rest of the Ba'roof. I will handle Azikewe and Baal alone."
"But…" Bolo caught himself. He knew it pointless to argue with Daemon. This was a king of conviction that could not be swayed from what he believed to be right. It was a trait Bolo admired and envied of his new leader.
The doors of the throne room burst open and Daemon stepped through, 'acid burn' rifle in hand. Baal looked up from the book he was reading as he sat in the chair next to the throne. A thin smile passed fleetingly across his face. "Azikewe," he said, "Destroy Daemon, please." Azikewe stood from the throne on which he had sat his massive body and began walking forward.
Daemon sighed, "Aww shit."
An electro pulse destroyed the rifle and Daemon barely ducked a powerful punch as the new Azikewe pressed the attack. He was already tired from using his super speed; did he have the strength to deal with all this now? Azikewe finally landed a crushing fist, driving Daemon into the floor. Rolling sideways, he avoided another falling fist and counterattacked with a kick to the jaw. Azikewe seemed completely un-phased and kicked Daemon like a ball across the room. Daemon rose again to his feet and countered with a spinning backhand and two back kicks. Again, Azikewe shrugged them off. Suddenly, a small turret emerged from his shoulder and launched a rocket into Daemon's stomach.
"It's no use Daemon," Baal called from his chair. "He can't feel a thing you do to him. I turned off his pain sensors."
Daemon looked up from the floor at his enemy only to see a streak of concentrated electrical energy hit him in the face. He shook his head, temporarily blinded by the light. "That's it!" he said.
It was then that Baal saw something he never thought he'd see. Daemon's body glowed with an eerie light as waves of energy and sparks of electricity emanated from his ebony skin. The light grew brighter as Daemon seemed to be in intense concentration and his adversaries watched on in disbelief. Finally regaining his composure Baal commanded Azikewe to attack while Daemon was distracted. It was too late, however, as Daemon released the charge in a wide beam of red energy that tore through Azikewe's body. As the light from his energy faded, Daemon slumped to the floor, exhausted by an exertion of energy manipulation he thought he'd never have to use. Were his eyes not so blurry, he might have seen the hole in Azikewe's midsection grow back, stitched together by implanted Ba'roof DNA and aided by cybernetic self-repair systems. He DID, however, hear the thunderous footsteps as Azikewe came for him once again. Raising his head, he could not completely see in his normal vision, so he shifted his senses so that he could see everything as energy. It turned out to be a fortuitous choice, for he could 'see' the signals from Baal being sent to Azikewe, and he knew what had to be done.
Daemon leapt to his feet and raced towards Baal with the last of his strength. Surprised that Daemon was even still alive, Baal was not prepared when Daemon tackled him. Baal stood, while Daemon hung onto the tall creature, and grabbed at him with his talons. But Daemon was faster, ripping out one of Baal's tusks and using it to destroy the neural transmitter with one smooth slashing motion. The metal plate fell to the floor with a clang, pulling with it other cyber implants as well as a significant amount of brain matter. Azikewe stopped cold and Baal dropped seconds later, a blank stare stuck on his face. Completely drained, Daemon climbed into the throne and got some much-needed sleep. But in his unconsciousness, he could not have seen Baal slowly drag himself out towards his waiting star ship.
~~End Chapter 5~~
~~Chapter 6~~
Coronation
Daemon stood before the people of Palla, HIS people, and began the long walk towards the throne. Majestic horns and drums filled the huge area with music as Daemon marched by rows of his court all bowing on bended knee as he passed. His deep red cape billowed behind him as his embroidered boots stepped one in front of the other on the thick carpet leading to the throne. Reaching the end, he kneeled in front of the Council of Elders gathered in a crescent about him. Each of them placed a hand on his shoulder, one at a time, pronouncing loyalty and a blessing from each tribe. As the last Elder finished his blessing, they each raised their voices in unison.
"All hail Daemon of Pharaoh, all hail the King of Palla, all hail the mighty hand of our armies, all hail the chosen of the people, all hail he who speaks for Pindaru! Rise Majesty of our beloved Palla, and take your seat at the feet of the One Above All. LONG LIVE THE KING! LONG LIVE THE KING! LONG LIVE THE KING!"
And so Daemon took his seat amidst the cheers of the people. He had thought long and hard of how this day would feel to him, but it never occurred to him that it would feel…right.
***
Geo-synchronous Earth Orbit over New York City
The galaxy-class gunship, Oasis, was alive with mechanical activity. The detection of a temporal anomaly near Saturn had initiated the commotion in the beginning, but the situation had changed drastically when a fleet of ships emerged from that anomaly. The nearly-sentient computer brain of the advanced ship communicated drastic messages to an even more advanced computer on earth.
At one of many terminals in the centuries old Castle Von Doom, a man sat and evaluated the data as it came in. He leaned back in his chair with a pensive expression on his face. Though he would have rather the information simply be false readings or a sensor malfunction, his checks and double-checks confirmed them. Indeed there was an immense fleet of possibly hostile alien ships heading towards earth. They were possessed of energy weapons of planet destroying potential and they were of a time yet to be. Doom shook his head and frowned. The situation had escalated far more quickly than he had anticipated. It was time to call in reinforcements.
"Activate emergency distress call to Daemon," Doom commanded his computer. The machine complied and began the protocols. Having received the command from Doom's computer, the Oasis activated its hyperspace communications array, hyper-launching signals into space. Doom continued to stare at the computer monitor and hoped silently that Daemon would get the message in time.
***
The feast following the coronation was spectacular, not only in scale but in the scope and quality of the foods served on the elaborately crafted wares. Daemon took another bite of his meal as he watched the thousands of Pallans present dance the night away to joyous music. Daemon could only imagine the scene in the streets of Shekubwa as well as the rest of the Pallan kingdom. Bolo had commented that a celebration like this one was taking place simultaneously on all Pallan worlds, in every city. Daemon smiled and took a long drink of his ale.
"I was beginning to wonder where all the women were," Daemon commented to Bolo as the revelry continued.
"War is no place for women, my lord," Bolo explained. "They are Palla's most precious treasures and are protected from all harm at any cost. We may lose a thousand men in war, but if it safeguards just one woman's life and freedom, then they have not died in vain and Pindaru will reward them."
At that moment a shapely Pallan woman asked Daemon to dance. Standing from his seat at the head of the table, he looked back at Bolo and said, "I can see why you treasure your women."
Fireworks exploded in sparkling brilliance above the palace as Daemon danced to his heart's content with the many lovely women that attended his court. But his celebration was cut short by the loud ringing of his communication's bracelet. Stopping in the middle of the dance floor, Daemon glanced at the tiny screen on his wrist and saw the flashing red symbol of a level omega priority. Further review of the information the Oasis had sent him was worse than he expected. With a hand motion towards the orchestra, the music ceased and everyone stood in silence as they awaited the words of their king.
"I apologize to you all, but I have received a message of dire concern. I urge you all not to be alarmed, but I will require all military personnel to report to your posts immediately. Again, I say that this emergency will not put any of you in any danger, so please continue the celebration." Another hand motion raised the orchestra again and the party continued.
***
The Triedus System
As lights and generators came to electronic life across the asteroid-bound laboratory complex, a single deformed creature scurried about the narrow hallways. "Master?" it called repeatedly in a scratchy soprano as it checked room after room. The hunched, semi-human figure looked about frantically, it's long arms dragging behind him. The sharp barbs of thick insect-like hairs screeched against the metal floors from his exo-skeleton clad forearms. A second pair of smaller, far more human arms lay folded near his chest, four-digit hands rubbing each other incessantly. "Master?"
In one of the rooms, a young man sat in front of a large computer terminal, searching the compiled history files of the facility. He did not turn as the mutated being walked in. He entered slowly, looking about cautiously as each step took it closer to the stranger in the chair.
"Master? You are not him….are you?"
The man looked at the dwarfish servant. Large, black, pupil-less eyes stared back, perched atop a small misshapen head. Sideways eyelids blinked once as his head twitched periodically. The man in the chair finally turned away, repulsed. "Yes it is me, Yuraal," he said finally.
"Then the process is finally complete."
The man smiled. "Indeed it is. Have you continued with the rest of my plans?"
"Yes, master. But I have taken…some liberties with a few of the details."
"Excuse me?" the man said, turning completely and rising to his feet to tower over the much smaller Yuraal.
Shrinking backwards and huddling his head low, the surprisingly intelligent monster began to explain what he had done to accommodate a change in the situation.
The man backed off, pleased at what he heard. "You never cease to amaze me, Yuraal." He returned to his chair and continued his research. "And that is quite fortuitous for you, for I surely would have destroyed you decades ago if you proved any less useful."
"Of course…master." If not for the unnatural shape of Yuraal's face, the young man would have seen the evil scowl that appeared there.
***
Daemon paced back and forth across the bridge of his flagship, the Phoenix-class war machine called the Pindaru-shar or Pindaru's Sword. Under other circumstances he would have found his first command of a starship nearly half the size of Earth's moon exciting and perhaps fun, but it seemed that the fate of the entire earth was at stake. Doom's recorded message spoke of an alien fleet of over a thousand ships heading towards earth. They would reach the planet in just under a week. He didn't have time for 'fun.' Bolo sat in a smaller chair near the king's command seat. His hands were folded in front of him and his eyes were closed.
"Are you praying, Bolo?"
"Yes, my lord. I am asking Pindaru to give us the strength to protect our Terran brothers and sisters. Would you like me to pray for you too, sire?"
"Yeah, Bolo. Ask him to remove bad memories."
"Bad memories, sire?"
"It's a long story," Daemon dismissed it, turning towards the forward observation window, trying desperately to push images of his past failures away.
"Hails coming in, sire," the communications officer announced.
"Patch them through."
The messages came in one at a time accompanied with an image of the sender on the huge viewscreen.
"Admiral Jimbawa, sire. Dkimbi Fleet ready."
"Admiral Dukal, sire. Dalzu Fleet ready."
"Admiral Keltombo, sire. Shakra Fleet ready."
"Admiral Minari, sire. Rakim Fleet ready."
"Admiral Azembe, sire. Chaka Fleet, ready."
"Admiral Ngomu, sire. Seema Fleet ready."
"Admiral Babwe, sire. Zimundi Fleet ready."
"Admiral Nekemba, sire. Monjaro Fleet ready."
"Admiral Cultapec, sire. Gheti Fleet ready."
"Admiral Fulazi, sire. Kasawe Fleet ready."
"Admiral Galadin, sire. Serengo Fleet ready."
"Admiral Hashazi, sire. Kelimon Fleet ready."
Daemon nodded, pleased by the shear number. "Twelve fleets?"
"Each tribe maintains their own fleet, sire," Bolo answered. "All are yours to command."
"Good," Daemon said, feeling a little more hopeful for the battle ahead. "Open all communications channels."
"Yes, m'lord."
"All vessels hyper-jump on my mark. 5…4…3…2…engage." On his command, the hundreds of powerful Pallan vessels passed into hyperspace simultaneously in a flash of light as bright as a small star. Though none save Daemon knew even of the existence of a planet called Terra, nor her physically similar inhabitants, they were all prepared to fight and die if need be to protect them. Daemon prayed silently in his command chair that the latter would not be necessary.
~~End Chapter 6~~
~~Chapter 7~~
Judgment Day
With a spectacular flash of light and the temporary searing of the very fabric of space, the Pallan fleet emerged from hyperspace. In the center of the formation of over 900 vessels was the huge phoenix-class Pindaru-shar, the flagship of this force. Daemon stood from his command chair at the center of the behemoth's bridge.
"Location," he asked.
"We have emerged within the orbit radius of the last planet in this solar system, sire," an ensign responded. "Tachyon drive will have us to Terra in less than ten minutes."
"Very good," Daemon responded, noticing how his underlings already had begun addressing time in earth standards for his benefit. "Alert all vessels to condition RED." Daemon seated himself once again, his head resting in his hand. It seemed only a little while ago that he was merely a mercenary - a hired gun among others. How was it that in such little time he had become a billionaire, a king and the commander of millions of soldiers? Needless to say, he did not have long to properly prepare for his new roles, just as he knew he was unprepared for the coming battle. The Oasis had identified the crafts as Koraxian, a race he had had little contact with, if any at all, as was the case for the Pallans as well. Given enough time, he could have researched Koraxian starship specifications, standard weaponry and battle tactics, but the distress call was urgent and needed an immediate response. Daemon felt a tiny shudder run through his body. He felt as though he was walking into a deathtrap with a blindfold on. But there was nothing he could do but adapt, and as always, put on a brave face.
"I can't believe this," Daemon said as his ship hurtled towards earth. "Goddamned Koraxians...who do they think they are? I go to Palla to claim the thrown, stop a civil war...then THIS happens!" He sighed. "What would this galaxy do without me?"
The soldiers on the bridge cracked small smiles as they worked. Daemon took notice and patted himself on the back for successfully relieving at least SOME of the tension in the room.
Suddenly, alarms began to blare as the fleet neared Terra and the network of Koraxian vessels that surrounded her. Daemon stood once more as the spiked spherical ships came into view. "Open a channel," Daemon commanded.
"Yes, sire"
"All vessels, when in firing range, break off into twelve fleets and strafe the planet in a circular orbit. Destroy as many enemy ships as possible but DO NOT slow your orbit for any reason. I'll see you all at the victory party."
Daemon's fleet practically crashed into the Koraxian network around earth as it broke into tribal fleets as ordered by their king. The Pindaru-shar veered ominously past one of the more intimidating Koraxian vessels (even THIS monster being dwarfed by the phoenix-class ship). "All batteries," Daemon ordered, "Fire at will." As his ship passed the Koraxian ship, a side-mounted fusion cannon lashed out with a wide beam of energy, tearing the enemy ship in two. Daemon smiled in satisfaction. "Now that's more like it!"
His celebration was shortened by weapons fire. The ship lurched beneath him and he tumbled backwards, almost hitting his head on a tactile console. "Direct hit to the deck beneath us," one of his men reported. "Cosmetic damage only. They were aiming for the bridge, sire," he added.
"Fine, if they want to play it that way..." Tapping a few keys on his personal console (which gave him access to any ship system), Daemon opened two mine bays. On the under side of the huge ship, doors as large as houses, seeming tiny against the mammoth walls of the Pindaru-shar, opened to release literally hundreds of high-explosive mines. The three-pronged, star-shaped mines spun outwards as they armed themselves immediately falling near a cluster of ships. The resulting explosion was spectacular as over a dozen Koraxian vessels fell into the atmosphere in balls of flame. Daemon checked the sensors at his console and watched as the Shakra fleet dived into a group of enemy ships. The slower, less maneuverable Koraxian vessels became like sitting ducks, as they were broken apart by Pallan cannon fire.
***
"Mindblank!" Kirax screamed. "USE THE MINDBLANK!" Krivisa obeyed his commander, and they felt the mindblank spread across the fleets. From Kirax's ship, the sole possessor of a mindblank generator, the wave of energy emerged. As it spread from Koraxian ship to Koraxian ship the field flowed outward, devouring the Pallan ships in its brain-destroying expansion. Immediately, the defenseless Pallans forgot who they were, what they were doing...how to pilot their vessels. They slammed into Koraxian ships, each other, the atmosphere; some even veered towards the moon and created brilliant craters upon its pocked surface. Many ships spun out of control and into the Pindaru-shar, none onboard remembering to compensate for the huge vessels small gravity field.
Daemon felt his own mind slipping into oblivion one memory at a time. He watched as sirens screamed, and the computer voice warned of generator core breaches, radiation leaks and other terms which he slowly could not identify. Helpless, his piloting skills having left minutes before, he watched as the Pindaru-shar careened into a group of Koraxian ships. He shook his head as it ached with lost memories. "I'm sorry," he managed to say before he forgot how to speak, "I've failed you all again..." Daemon was no more than a vegetable when the city-sized power core of his ship exploded in a violent eruption of energy. And with Daemon and the Pallan Royal Fleet went all hope for earth's survival.
~~End Chapter 7~~
~~Chapter 8~~
Déjà Vu
With a spectacular flash of light and the temporary searing of the very fabric of space, the Pallan fleet emerged from hyperspace. In the center of the formation of over 900 vessels was the huge phoenix-class Pindaru-shar, the flagship of this force. Daemon stood from his command chair at the center of the behemoth's bridge.
"Location," he asked.
"We have emerged within the orbit radius of the last planet in this solar system, sire," an ensign responded. "Tachyon drive will have us to Terra in less than ten minutes."
"Very good," Daemon responded, noticing how his underlings already had begun addressing time in earth standards for his benefit. "Alert all vessels to condition RED." Daemon seated himself once again, his head resting in his hand. It seemed only a little while ago that he was merely a mercenary - a hired gun among others. How was it that in such little time he had become a billionaire, a king and the commander of millions of soldiers? Needless to say, he did not have long to properly prepare for his new roles, just as he knew he was unprepared for the coming battle. The Oasis had identified the crafts as Koraxian, a race he had had little contact with, if any at all as was the case for the Pallans as well. Given enough time, he could have researched Koraxian starship specifications, standard weaponry and battle tactics, but the distress call was urgent and needed an immediate response. Daemon felt a tiny shudder run through his body. He felt as though he was walking into a deathtrap with a blindfold on. But there was nothing he could do but adapt, and as always, put on a brave face.
"Sire?" A young communications officer approached him.
"Yes?" Daemon said, lifting his head to the Pallan youth.
"In our haste to inform you of the attack on Terra, we neglected to include some information."
"I'm listening."
"Apparently, the message which came across our own communications grid as well as your personal contact system was accessed by a Terran man calling himself the Harbinger. He claimed affiliation with an organization called the Black Hellfire Court, mentioning that you would recognize the reference. With his warning of the Koraxian fleet, he included a data packet of seemingly useful intelligence."
"Interesting," Daemon said as he scratched his goatee. "Play the full message on screen."
The officer tapped a few keys on a nearby console, and the message appeared on the huge screen at the head of the bridge. After a short silence with the BHC symbol being the only image, the face of the Harbinger became visible. "Daemon," Robert Maxwell said, "I am called the Harbinger and am an...associate of the Black Hellfire Court. I believe you are familiar with it from what I heard from those members who have met with you. I must inform you that a fleet of over a thousand Koraxian vessels will soon emerge from a space-time distortion near Saturn and attempt to destroy earth. This is a dire situation and your assistance, and that of your starfleet, is greatly needed. Before you go into battle, I must warn you that the Koraxians are in possession of a device called a mindblank. Capable of wiping a person's mind clean of all memory, it would mean the end of your fleet. I will take an advance force to the Koraxians and destroy their mindblank capability before you arrive. I have included a computer file detailing Koraxian vessel designs and other pertinent information. God speed to you and good luck." The message ended the same way as it began, with the BHC symbol.
Daemon smiled broadly. "This changes everything. Upload the data packet to every ship in the fleet. When we make contact, the Pindaru-shar will hang back from the battle in reserve. Bolo, gather a small crew and come with me to one of the docked gunships. I will lead the battle from there. We've got two minutes people....MOVE."
***
Egypt
Matt Flisken stumbled across the shifting dunes of harsh sand as he made his way to the rendezvous point. Nervously, he looked back to the dozen or so tents that dotted this area of Egypt's famous Valley of Kings. A single light still illuminated the otherwise dormant camp. He decided it was Prof. Vargas, occupied by the part of the tablet's riddle he still had yet to decipher. He would not notice this midnight jaunt to the nearby settlement.
Without the comfort of electric streetlights to pierce the blue-black curtain of night, Matt was reserved to navigating by touch along the shadowed wall of the largest building in the village. It was here that his contact had told him to be at a half-hour past 12:00. Matt reached the corner of the building and leaned against the stucco wall, fumbling with the rolled papers he held in his hands. Glancing at his watch, he looked about again nervously. "Come on. Come on," he said softly, tapping his foot.
"You are not one for stealth I see," came the deeply accented voice from behind him.
Matt slipped off the building and fell into the dirt road, making a small cloud of dust appear. "Dammit! Don't do that!"
The dark man laughed, his face still obscured in the darkness. "Do you have it?"
Matt rose to his feet, swatting the light brown dirt from his clothes. "Do you have my money?"
A hand reached out from the cloaks under which the man hid and dropped a briefcase to the ground. "Five million American dollars, as agreed. Now do you have what I want?"
Matt shoved the roll of papers into the man's outstretched hand and snatched up the briefcase. He popped the latches and opened it slightly, peering in to see bundles of twenty-dollar bills stacked neatly inside. "Oh yeah," he drooled. "Working for a damn college archeology group NEVER paid like this."
"You disgust me," the dark man said as he glanced over the writings.
"You can think whatever you want about me now. I'm rich. I don't care."
"So the good doctor digs for the Eye as we speak?"
"Yeah, we're not scheduled to get to the temple before we find the Eye first. Why is any of this important to you anyway?"
"It does not concern you," he said turning his back. "I will be in contact if I need you again."
Matt didn't have time to respond as the man seemed to melt into the shadows as quickly as he had appeared. Shrugging his shoulders, he returned to his tent and dreamed the dreams of the newly rich. He wouldn't quite realize what his betrayal had really caused until it was too late.
***
"What do we have here?" Daemon asked seated at the bridge of the omega-class gunship Nirvansu (Little Thunder).
"It would appear we have about fifteen hundred Koraxian vessels, and one converted asteroid of
unknown origin. It's markings are in Terran Standard, with the word 'Inferno' being prominent on it."
"Never heard of it. Who is it attacking?"
"The Koraxians."
"Good. Ignore those retreating ships...we should concentrate on the ones that are staying. Break our
fleet into twelve standard squadrons, and engage."
"Aye, sir."
Daemon took the flight command console, and began piloting the ship himself. "These Koraxians sure know how to party! BYOB!"
"BYOB, sire?"
"Bring Your Own Booze. An old Terran expression."
"Of course, sire."
Daemon resumed piloting his vessel, and focused on the ship in the center of the spherical formation,
which he deduced to be the flagship. He zipped around the fleet, and swung around and pointed his ship
upwards. His ship plowed through the rings of Saturn, and flew back toward the Koraxian fleet. He
aimed directly for the center ship, and flew through the maze of Koraxian vessels. He dodged left, right,
up, down, avoiding the other ships. He flipped open a tiny red hatch, and buzzed right over his target. He
tapped the button, and pulled quickly away, his ship being pushed faster by the explosion beneath him.
"Now that's the way I like to see those slimebags!"
"Hey, is this fun or what?" Daemon asked as he tore a Koraxian ship to shreds with his converted drill
laser. His ships were winning the fight, and he watched as ship after ship broke apart and exploded
brilliantly. "This is definitely a good day to fight!" he shouted, not noticing an oncoming chunk of debris.
It slammed into his ship's navigational sensor, and sent his craft tumbling through the void. Then a burst
of red and white filled his screen, and creeped slowly out of existence.
"Someone get this ship righted and fixed, and then tell me what the hell just happened!"
"Sire," his second-in-command said. "We are being hailed by Inferno."
(Note: For the rest of the story of Kirax, the Harbinger, the Clan Chosen and the BHC, check out Kirax War by the Harbinger.)
***
The War Room of the Pindaru-shar
Daemon entered the large room through sliding metallic doors. As his highly polished boots clicked together upon crossing the threshold, his entire staff of Admirals stood and cheered him. With a slight nod and a signature grin, Daemon accepted the applause.
"Please," he said waving his hand at the collection of war heroes, "Please be seated. I have a few things I'd like to address."
The assemblage sat at Daemon's command in unison, the orderliness in which they did all things very apparent. As they did so, each of their second-in-commands went to an 'at ease' position as they stood along the walls of the room. All eyes turned towards the King and awaited his every word.
"As it is, we managed to hold off and virtually destroy most of the Koraxian Fleet long enough for our comrade to shuttle them back to their own time. I commend you all for your courage and strength in protecting my adoptive home. Now, I will call an immediate withdrawal of our forces back to the home system which remains virtually unguarded without her fleet. I leave you Admirals to conduct your own fleets from here on until further notice."
"Excuse me, sire," one of the Admirals spoke up, "but you sound as though you will not be coming with us."
"Indeed I will not be joining you back to Palla."
Immediately, the room erupted in a fury of protests. "But sire, we need you," "You would abandon your people?" "I cannot allow it," "Palla needs you, sire."
Daemon, now standing, raised his hand in a gesture of silence that met with instant obedience. "This leads me to my last piece of business. Bolo, please step forward."
Snapping to attention, Bolo approached his King with head held high. As he reached his side, he clicked his heels and stiffened back to attention. "Yes, sire."
Daemon removed a large chain from around his neck and placed it on Bolo. The heavy, golden disc hung at the center of Bolo's chest, reflecting the room's light off of the Royal Seal of Palla. "I have named Bolo my Prime Minister."
A look of slight confusion crossed Bolo's face, "But sire...there is no such office."
"There is now," Daemon grinned, "I AM the King am I not? As Prime Minister you will rule in my stead all of the territories and provinces of the Kingdom of Palla, while I remain on Terra for the time being. This medallion is a representation of the authority with which I have bestowed you." Turning to the Admirals, "The Prime Minister is to be treated as you would treat me. An insult to him, is an insult to your King. His words are my words. So shall it be."
Bolo was aghast, and his lips began mouthing words that would not form in his throat. "But sire," he managed at last, "I am no ruler."
"You have proven yourself far more capable a politician than I, Bolo. And I have no doubts of your military leadership."
"But what of the Tribal disputes you were intended to quell?"
"I believe you to be a man without such biases, Bolo. But if it comes to such a thing, than I am easily contacted. Face it...you're stuck." Daemon took Bolo's hand and shoved it skyward in a victorious fashion. "Hail the Prime Minister!"
"Hail the Prime Minister," everyone in the room repeated joyfully.
Bolo, now smiling widely, stared into Daemon's eyes. "Long live the King!" he shouted.
"Long live the King!"
~~End Chapter 8~~
~~Epilogue~~
Flashes of light exploded over the eastern seaboard of the United States in a rainbow of brilliant colors. Only a few stargazers and astronomers would even get a glimpse of the hyperjump effect of the assembled Pallan fleet. Even fewer would see the yellow and orange streak of the Starscream tearing through Earth's atmosphere. But indeed there were some who paid quite close attention to the strange phenomenon in the sky.
A man in a dark suit stood from his chair in the back of the room and walked towards the huge viewscreen that comprised one of the four walls. "Can you get a positive identification?" he said in a burly, smoke-ridden voice.
"Yes, sir," the technician at the scanner controls spoke. "Specs read identical to a craft used by ET designate: Daemon."
"So the fox has returned to the chicken house," the man said, arms crossed over his chest. "Is your team ready to move, Lieutenant Mason?"
The tall, muscular soldier stepped next to his superior, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen. Apprehension was apparent on his face, though it went unnoticed by anyone. A deep sigh told the tale however, as Lt. Mason formed his response. "My men are well-trained, sir, but... I don't feel we are completely prepared to deal with Daemon, Mr. Walsh."
John Walsh finally turned to face Lt. Mason, a look of disdain in his eyes. "Explain."
With steely military discipline, Mason hid his fear. "I believe our assessment of his abilities is wrong. Daemon is far more powerful than we're ready to deal with."
Mr. Walsh's powerful stare lightened unexpectedly and Mason almost thought he saw the hint of a smile on his face. "Then what do you suggest, Lieutenant?"
Lt. Mason was surprised at the sudden turn-around in Mr. Walsh's tone. "Uh... I would like to wait for the 'special' equipment, sir,"
The smile that was once barely visible suddenly grew into a full grin. "Very good, Lieutenant. I will order a speed up in production from the tech department." With that he turned and went back to watching the blip on the screen. "You're dismissed."
***
"Honey," Daemon shouted as he opened his apartment door, "I hooooome!" There was no answer. Daemon skipped into the living room, dropping his leather trench coat onto the couch. "Honey?" Still, there was no answer. "I'm ready for that talk I promised you."
A folded piece of paper on an end table caught Daemon's eye. Removing his shades, Daemon began to read. "Dear Gabe," it said in loopy script hand-writing, "By the time you get back, I'll be at my mother's house upstate. I'm sorry to leave so suddenly but I really needed to see her. I won't be gone for too long. Please remember that no matter what happens, I love you very much. -Lydia."
"Hurry back, sweety," Daemon whispered to himself. "I love you too." He folded the slip of loose-leaf and put it in his pocket with a sigh. "It's going to be so BORING around here," he said, looking around his empty apartment.
***
Deep-space
The bridge of the Makktra vessel was dark except for the flashing lights on various parts of the control panel. In the flight chair sat the severely brain-damaged alien, Baal, his face still frozen in a surprised expression. Blinking rapidly, he woke to the sound of muted laughter behind him. Using his one functioning arm, he pushed off on the control panel in front of him and spun the swiveling chair about. His eyes rolled in their sockets as he searched in the darkness for the source of the cackling, his head unable to move from where it rested on his shoulder.
"I understand your alarm," the baritone voice said as a cloven foot stepped out into the dull light of the console, "I get that all the time."
Baal's eyes squinted.
"You don't remember me?" Hellgoat asked with a sarcastic grin. "I'm hurt."
A short, hard breath came from Baal's throat, and his lower lip twitched.
"Come now," the demon said, "You must remember how I found you struggling to crawl to your ship amidst the chaos of the Pallan liberation. You couldn't have forgotten how I carried you from the palace and piloted this craft from the system."
Baal's eyes widened as the memories returned.
Hellgoat laughed. "You are such a pitiful thing this way. Is there nothing you can do to make this a REAL conversation?"
Baal turned the flight chair around and fumbled in a compartment to his right. At last, he pulled a thick electrical cord from the drawer and placed it on his lap. He then clumsily opened a panel on the console in front of him, connecting one end of the cord to the main computer and the other to a jack at the base of his skull. Electrical hums and other such noises emanated from the computer as Hellgoat watched somewhat curiously. After a few seconds, Baal turned once again, the cord trailing behind him.
"This will have to do for now," the computer said in a cold monotone.
Hellgoat smiled. "Very creative."
"Well what is it you want," the voice said, unable to capture Baal's intended impudence.
"I am only a good Samaritan attending to another in need. For NOW, I ask only for a ride. You DID have a destination in mind did you not?"
Baal did not answer, but simply set the ship's course for the Triedus System. Hellgoat smiled and if he could, Baal would have too.
~~End~~