Carpe Diem *HF* Chapters 1-6
By StevenBlueKing
“By the sweat of my brow, you cannot do it!” Joseph Ryan screamed at the top of his baritone voice, its rich, deep thickness encased with sharp tinges of anger and hatred, his lip curling and eyes narrowing into a piercing stare, “they have far too much power for such people like you!” he declared forcefully, emphasising a sneer on the last word. The Blue Bishop wasn’t pleased, the swelling of his blood vessels on the side of his head showing his rage to the five seated members of the party.
Each person, man and woman, was dressed in exclusive silk and satin attire, some of their wondrous garments decked with strands of gold and other luxurious ornamental jewellery. And each person who sat around the quivering antique table sat on a throne decorated in the finest wood, fabric and gems. The room in which they sat emitted an aura of wealth and power, something that suited the six people who perched themselves so firmly on the exquisite thrones. For they were the Inner Circle of the Blue Hellfire Club of Antwerp. A group of the most powerful and influential people the world may ever know, but more importantly mutants with powers so fantastic and wonderful that they struck fear into the hearts of normal men. But that is how these mammoths amongst men liked it. They had the power and they knew how to use it.
“Oh shut up, you under confidant fool!” Ozyranian Kane, the Blue Knight sniggered, his words dripping with anger, his voice rising over the tense atmosphere. For a moment, he locked eye contact with the Blue Bishop, his violent, powerful emerald green eyes burning into the Bishop’s sky blue visual organs. Neither man blinked or broke the contact, both fighting a visual battle. It was times like these Ozyranian Kane wished he could reduce that sack of bones in front of him to a pile of smouldering ashes with but a simple bolt of mystical energy. Power struggles were only fun when you were on top. But with Joseph Ryan it was different. Not only was he higher ranking, but he was also more popular. An attack on him would almost certainly seal the warrant for Ozyranian’s death. He also knew of the strong feelings the Blue King had for his Bishop. Even though he tried his best to hide it, Isambard Lent, the Blue King of the Hellfire Club felt more than a friendship towards Joseph. But it wasn’t Ozyranian’s place to judge. For now he could keep quiet and smile. He’d be King soon enough.
“You dare show me disrespect?” Joseph Ryan spat back, his eyes narrowing on the Knight, looking down his flaring nostrils at the eons old mage. “I am telling you, and the rest of this Council, an assault is impossible.” The Bishop turned to the other members of the Council for support. As per usual, he received an ambient smile from the Blue Rook, Paris Witchester, who rather openly worshipped the ground Joseph walked on. At sixteen, she was extremely young to take a seat with such an array of wonderfully powerful people, but her abilities and personality had assured her a rightful seat. Next to her, his eyes hidden behind thick dark glasses, the precog Ralph Randsom, Blue Pawn, sat silently, in what appeared to be a trance. Joseph despised the man immensely, seeing him as lazy and totally unfit for such a place in the Inner Circle. But his abilities could one day prove useful. Not many people can tug on the strings of time and see into the future as he could.
“I think you should remember your place amongst this Council, Bishop,” the high-pitched voice of Bethany Bureau screeched, her alluring black eyes dominating her porcelain face. As the Blue Queen, the only thing that rivalled her beauty was her immense need for power and the influence she exerted. Even though he was a good and powerful King, Isambard wasn’t the true driving force of the Courts. No, such a title was reserved for Bethany. With super strength, speed, stamina and agility, not to mention the power to manipulate male hormones to do her will and a sonic scream to die for, she was a force to be reckoned with. Those deep pools she called eyes could hypnotise even the strongest of minds, letting them succumb to the beauty they possessed. “The King and myself have put this forward hoping to get a positive result, but we are already decided. And you do not wield the authority to over rule us.” Every word was said professionally but with a razor sharp edge, cutting into Joseph like a knife being plunged into him.
“You people do not understand!” he protested, his words now becoming more desperate, “you cannot launch an attack on the Purple Hellfire Club. I don’t know where you have adopted this idea that since splitting from the IHFC they have become weak. Nothing could be further from the truth. We were defeated in combat against them before. To attack again would be suicide!” By now, Joseph was almost hysterical, his eyes wide with fear.
Isambard Lent smiled widely at the Bishop. “My my Joseph, it isn’t like you to be scared of something so meagre.”
“I am not afraid!” Joseph screeched, before he was shot a lazer like beam from the King, silencing him on the spot.
“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we attack. Steven humiliated us, and he must be punished. So says the Inner Circle,” Isambard declared.
“… you got the power! After all is said and done, you never walk, you never run,” Steven Booth mouthed along to the CD that bellowed loudly around the King’s private gymnasium, as he struggled to keep up with what seemed to be the ever increasing pace of the electronic treadmill he now ran, rivers of sweat pouring from his pores which he dabbed with a soft, fluffy towel. His chest wheezed and his legs were threatening to buckle under the weight of his body, but he was happy. It had been too long since he had given his body a proper workout, dusting out all the cobwebs and squeals that built up in his millennia old body. Yes, exercising would have to find its way into the King’s daily regime. And martial arts. He was appalled at the fact that for nearly three years he hadn’t had a real martial arts workout. Steven was perhaps one of the best in the world, and here he was neglecting his God given talents. That was another item to add to his agenda.
Suddenly the music, which wrapped around the whole room, came to an abrupt stop. Turning off the machine telekinetically, the Purple King stepped off the treadmill and turned to greet his guest. Stood before him, dressed in a pair of black cycling shirt and an overly sized profanity smeared shirt was the Purple Assassin Toby, her red locks hanging loosely around her hair. From the glazed over expression on her face one wouldn’t find it outrageous to declare she had just woken up.
“For God’s sake Steven it’s 5:17am and you are up, exercising and allowing us all to be assaulted by the vocals of Stan Bush,” the Assassin almost screamed, “are you completely mad?” Pushing the Purple King’s expensive navy blue Armani suit off the bench, she perched on the end and stared at the elderly monarch. She had to bite her lip to stop herself either saying something outrageous or burst into raucous laughter. In front of her was the most powerful telepath on earth and the richest man in the world, dressed in skin tight jogging pants and a white sweat drenched vest, two combinations of clothing that weren’t exactly regulars as the King’s attire. Steven raised his eyebrow at her in curiosity, but she merely shrugged and retrieved a cigarette and lighter from her pocket. Within seconds she was churning out bellows of black smoke.
Before she could retaliate, the cigarette was grabbed out of her hand telekinetically and crushed. Her eyes met with those of the Purple King; his stare piercing and authoritive. Her instinctive reaction was to extend two fingers from her hand but she knew things were different here and she respected Steven too much.
“I would prefer it if you NEVER smoke in my presence again, Miss Hare,” the King declared, snapping his fingers and teleporting inside the navy blue suit, taking a seat next to his Assassin, “you can smoke yourself to death in your own company, but never in mine.”
“Okay dad,” she declared in her traditional, smart Alec tone that had become somewhat of a trademark with her. “Anyway, some of us need sleep, so kindly keep the noise down.”
Steven smiled warmly at the young woman. “Okay, I will. But don’t over sleep, you and I have a therapy session at 11am, and don’t be late!”
Toby grimaced. “I hate those little sessions, they are so dumb!” she shouted, kicking the wall. Steven cocked an eyebrow at her, his look staring in hers. No matter how much you resented something, or how much you disagreed with a command from the Purple King, one look of those eyes had you perplexed. “Those sessions help you a lot, and you know it,” Steven declared as he adjusted his necktie, “a lot of people come to see me, not just you. Morte, Epyon, Rage…. everyone. Don’t feel so alone. We are all friends here; we aren’t here to judge one another, only to help. Now I must go and check over some paperwork, so I shall see you at eleven.” And with that the Purple King headed out of the room into the corridors.
Toby sighed as the King left the room. Even though she didn’t like to admit it, mainly because she was a teenager and everything a teenager did was right and adults know nothing, the therapy with Steven was helping her a lot. She loved the WHC a lot, but they didn’t understand or address her problems like Steven did. He seemed to warm, so loving, so caring and concerned. Unlike some of the high and mighty shrinks she’d seen in her life, he seemed to genuinely care and want to help. Looking at her wristwatch she knew she’d never get back to sleep in time. So, there was only one thing to do, and that was to run an alpha level danger room simulation, just the way she liked it. With a smile on her face, the Purple Assassin headed towards the Danger Room.
“My one dying wish would to never EVER have to look at paperwork again,” Thomas Bennett mumbled as he siphoned through the mounds of paper on his desk, looking frantically at the sheer enormity of the pile. Sometimes, being the Purple Knight of the Club wasn’t at all desirable as one had to fill in so much paperwork. Luckily, through the restructure of the Club, the Paladin had been assigned the duty of supporting and assisting the Knight. Thomas smiled wickedly as he rose from behind his desk with a vast array of folders and files, heading for Salvanza’s room. He’d allow the Paladin to sort this out.
As he stepped into the corridor he heard the dormant grandfather clock in the corner of the isle chime, signalling the eight-hour of the morning. “Dear me, I can’t believe I am up at 8:00am filing paperwork on a Saturday. I really outta get my priorities fixed,” the young Knight mused to himself, smoothing his emerald blue hair that he pinned back in a ponytail. Slowly, he snaked down the corridors of the office compartment of the Purple Hellfire Club Castle, hoping to find some company. But, it seemed he was alone. Shadow was still away skiing in Switzerland with his mysterious new girlfriend, much to the disapproval of the King, whilst Rage, Morte and almost all the Outer Circle were still tucked up in bed. The Knight passed the opening for the Danger Room, noticing it was in operation. Curiously, he tapped on the controls to see who could be having an alpha level team simulation at eight o’clock in the morning. The screen flickered, revealing the Purple Assassin within the hi-tech gymnasium. Thomas smiled. If there was anyone so recklessly insane as to risk their own life for fun, he could bet his bottom dollar it was Tobias Hare, the rebellious young teen of the PHC.
As he rounded a corner, the well-built Knight collided with Storm, the Purple Princess, sending the snowy white haired woman and the mass of papers in her hand sprawling across the room, smashing into the wall and landing with a thud.
“Sorry Elle, didn’t see you there,” Thomas said, a slight tone of laughter in his voice as he went to help the young woman to her feet. The Purple Princess merely scowled, her eyes becoming a glassy white as the hairs of her body began to stand on end. Suddenly, a gust if wind enveloped her, carrying her into the air.
“You dare infuriate me?” she screamed, her voice rumbling like thunder as lightning bolts seemingly appeared from nowhere, surrounding Epyon, “I have more power than you could even dream of!” Before she could carry on her attack, the duet were joined by a stony faced third member.
“Desist now!” Charlotte Sometimes said as she entered the corridor from her office, a black long sleeved shirt and similar skirt clinging to her body underneath the ankle length duster she always wore, her grey eyes staring at the Princess, “we do not use our powers on one another.”
Storm glared at the Queen before descending back to the ground, her eyes becoming their usual coral blue colour. “Yes milady,” she uttered in a weak, almost grovelling tone.
Charlotte’s glare didn’t ease. “Report to your office immediately and file the papers I have left on your desk,” she said, sending the Purple Princess down the corridor. As the woman entered her office, Charlotte turned to Thomas and smiled. “Can you say psycho bitch?” she laughed, linking up arms with the Knight and heading towards the recreational room.
“I know, that one has some serious problems, I mean I only bumped into her on accident!” Thomas said, a defensive tone in his voice.
“Don’t sweat it, I’ll talk to RKB about her,” Charlotte said. As the two left the corridor, Storm’s eyes became glazed over again, her narrowing vision focused on the spot the two had just vacated.
“Watch your back Rage,” she hissed, “because I am not staying as Princess forever.”
May 11th, 2002/I>
Don’t know how much longer I can hold out. Everything seems to be fine, and everyone thinks I am okay, but they don’t know the real truth. Everything isn’t okay. The PHC love me and I love them, it is the first time in ages I have felt needed, felt loved and wanted, but it still isn’t enough. RKB helps me out a lot with his therapy sessions but no matter how much talking he or anyone does I cannot be rid of these powers. Some sick twisted strand of fate denies me to ever touch another human being again. I will never know how tender it is to stroke Lenore’s face as she sleeps tenderly. All because I am a freak, a mutant freak. But for now I must hang on. People are working hard to help me, and I must work hard to bare the pain of living. But I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
He squeezed her hand hard as the plane landed gently on the tarmac runway, a smile beaming across his handsome face, his coral blue eyes staring longingly into her sky blue eyes. Leaning forward, their lips met for a moment, a tingle of electricity spreading down each of their spines, before she broke the embrace, her hand squeezing even tighter on his.
“I am nervous,” she said, her voice dripping with anxiety, “what happens if you father doesn’t like me?” Her eyes were wide with concern, like the eyes of a sick and lost puppy as she chewed on her now smeared red lips, twirling a lock of her flowing platinum hair around her slender finger.
He just smiled affectionately at her, his pearly white teeth peering through. “How could he not love you?” She just smiled back and the two began to descend from the aircraft.
“Get up!” Joseph screamed as he burst unannounced into the lavishly designed bedroom chamber, his face like thunder, his movements executed as if a hurricane was building up behind him. The flowing white trench coat he wore over his purple business suit wafted wildly in the breeze he created as he shifted about the room, placing certain possessions into a bag.
Beneath the quilted silk sheets that laid on top of the four poster Edwardian bed, a figure began to stir, bolting upright, her platinum locks spilling around her head in dismay as she wiped the sleep away from her eyes. “Joseph darling, what is going on?” she said, her voice low and glossy.
“No time to explain Felicity,” the Blue Bishop said without turning his attention from his rummaging, “we must depart for England now. The Inner Circle is planning something stupid that will cost us all our lives.” By now, the radiant woman was standing clinging to a bedpost, a white silk dressing gown hugging her curvy frame. With a click of her thumb and forefinger the lace garment disappeared, replaced by a sophisticated ash coloured blazer and s, her hair and makeup applied immaculately. Sometimes being a sorceress was excellent.
“What are they planning?” Felicity Ryan questioned her husband, “darling, you are making me nervous.” Joseph stopped his actions and glided over to her, placing his hands on her arms and staring into her face.
”Just trust me on this one,” he said, trying in vain to mask his panic with a soothing tone, “now pack some of your most valuables and we must set off. Steven will know what to do.”
“Steven?!” Felicity shrieked, her eyes wide with horror, “I don’t even wanna know what is going on if he’s involved.”
“Is the vessel ready for the passage?” a voice quivered, its tone low and strong, clearly the leader of the three men huddled together in the darkened vault. His robes were the colour of blood, a deep, demanding and commanding colour, matching his tresses and piercing eyes.
“Yes, Milord, the sacrifice is ready. May Estophalum watch over us,” an older man said, his subtle grey robes and thinning black hair, which partially covered a tattoo of what seemed to be a pyramid and an eye over his right eye, giving him a more soothing and less daunting role.
A grin snaked down the leader’s face. “Soon, the new blood shall be destroyed under our heal. Death to the Purple Hellfire Club.”
End Chapter One
Chapter Two
“Yeah? Well, goodbye!” Steven Booth screamed, slamming the receiver of the telephone onto the stand, making the table shatter. His temples throbbed as blood pounded through them after his less than productive meeting with his account. According to him, Steven’s stock in Stark Industry had just gone down 12 points. Not good news when he had over a billion dollars invested in the technological company.
“I bet that infested mongrel Daemon had something to do with this,” he said through gritted teeth. His words made him laugh. “Now now Steven, don’t get angry just because Strong Industries is doing slightly better than Stark.” The Purple King pushed back on his office chair, levitating himself an inch above the polished wood floor of his office. It suddenly occurred to him he was talking to himself again, which was never a good sign.
With a hefty sigh he levitated over towards his office window, overlooking the bustling town of Burnley. The re-location of the PHC back to Burnley was so long overdue that he was glad it had finally come to happen. Even though the town had developed and evolved so much since he was last here, it still was the only place that truly felt like home to him. From the pocket of his expensive sapphire pinstripe blazer that matched his attire, he retrieved his antique golden pocket watch. 12:56pm. He hated Saturdays, mostly because he had no classes to teach. The roster of teaching that had been devised by Ian Fitzroy made Steven’s Saturday morning schedule free, something he could appreciate in theory, but he was a little disappointed about. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the fax machine beginning to stir to life, churning out a small piece of paper. With a sigh he levitated over to the machine and tore the piece of paper away, his eyes scanning over the printed text.
“Damn!” he said to himself as he finished reading, balling the paper up and tossing it into the waste basket, “I forgot Kyle was returning home today with his girlfriend.” The King stood for a moment, uncertain of what to do. According to Storm’s fax, he was due to arrive at the castle as 2pm. Luckily, all the prior arrangements for the banquet, discussed on Wednesday’s Inner Circle meeting, were underway. All he had to do is show up.
“Well, I’d better change out of this suit,” he chuckled to himself, “it isn’t even Armani.” And with that, the Purple King teleported out of his office.
“Imagine the disgrace,” his voice whipped, dripping with a delightful tinge of evil, enough to make a shiver finger down even the sternest spine, “a branch right under his nose. He will be devastated when we usurp power and show them no one is to mess with us. Fool.”
The room was dark and shrouded in a veil of morbid shadows, its bare rock walls and floor giving it a moist, humid feeling. One candle flickered bravely, fighting valiantly to pierce the over bearing darkness. In the centre of the room was a large cavernous ring, which was clearly a pit of some sort, with several alien carvings running around its rim. Mounted on the walls was a varying array of mystical chattels; ranging from jewel encrusted wands, to glimmering chalices, from thick, leather bound books to mysteriously forged stones. This was either the lair of a fanatical collector of mystical relics, or the home of a witch or warlock.
A shriek was heard as the cast iron railing doors were dragged open by two tall, muscular men with similar features dressed in identical grey robes, their eyes staring ahead onto an unseen point, not acknowledging the three figures filing into the shadowy room. The loud, bellowing sound of their feet slapping against the cold stone echoed throughout the domed room. In the centre, standing on the edge of the pit, stood a man, dressed in the finest and most vibrant red clothing, clearly the leader, a golden chalice decorated with several different coloured gemstones nestling in his hands. Underneath his breath, his thin, colourless lips wagged backwards and forwards, chanting an almost alien mantra, fragments of purple energy frizzing from his fingertips and racing around the golden cup. His eyelids were firmly closed, but underneath the flaps of skin they rolled around wildly, his whole body joining in with the enchantment.
The stony faced guards ignored the illuminated leader, obediently keeping still and not allowing anything to distract them. But the other three robed men shielded their eyes from the flying sparks of energy, their faces twisted in discomfort. Finally, the swirling light around the leader stopped, his eyes opening as he massaged his aching muscles. He turned around to greet his audience with two narrowed, intimidating pupil-less eyes, focusing on them like a predator on its prey. A smile threatened to curl across his face, but he suppressed it.
“I have purified the chalice,” he declared loudly, his tone proud and confident, “may the blood of the Chosen One now swirl around in it.”
“Yes master,” one of the hooded men spoke, his voice trembling with fear, as he began to stumble across the dark room towards the edge, where a metallic, steely lever laid on the wall. Wrapping his emaciated fingers around the top, he pulled it down. As he did so, a loud churning of metal scraping metal was heard as sparks began to fly from pit. One by one, spikes began to plunge through the stone floor, making a protective circle around the open cavity. Then, the tips of the spikes became illuminated with tongues of flames, immediately brightening the room, its loving aura of light fending off the last remnants of the oppressive gloom. Finally, from the pit emerged a round sphere. On top of the sphere was a bare-chested man, his arms and legs bound to the platform, a gag over his mouth stopping him from screaming. It was clear from the look on his face that he was terrified of the man clad in crimson, his green eyes pleading with the leaders. His platinum blonde hair curled around his head and down to his neck; somewhat matted, giving some indication of how long he had been held there. Around his muscular body were deep cuts and bruises, dried blood staining his unwashed skin.
“Welcome David,” the leader declared, his eyes wide, running around the man’s body almost hungrily, acknowledging with glee the damage the man had sustained at his hands. Hours of torture, ranging from brutal beatings with clubs to starvation, from dehydration to burning parts of his body, sprung to mind. He allowed his temperament to smile at such barbarity. Slowly, the heels of his shoes striking the floor loudly, he made his way towards the flaming ring in which David was held, before passing through the poles without any difficulty, re-appearing towering over the captive man. Clicking his fingers, a pulse of green energy ran over his hand, summoning a table to drive itself from the ground, on which he placed the chalice. Then, using the energy bonded to his hand, he opened what seemed to be a miniature portal, thrusting his hand into it. Slowly, he dragged it back out, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of a small dagger, engraved with different almost hieroglyphic writing.
David screamed, the noise muffled by the gag, which bit into his mouth, but it was clear to the leader he was in distress. This seemed to excite the man. “Do not worry,” the leader said, a threatening, hissing tone evident in his baritone voice, “for today you join the Illuminati as a member of our ranks. And I, Raito, will lead us into a golden age; make us a clan worthy enough to serve Estophalum as his loyal minions. All we need is your blood.” Without further a due, he clicked his fingers, making the material around David’s hand disappear. Before he could rise to his feet, the two robed figures ran to his sides, grabbing his forcefully by the wrists and pulling him to his feet.
His legs felt like jelly, extreme pain coursing through them. They were either broken or infested with gangrene. Tears began to stream out of his eyes as he stared at the three-cloaked men. He had felt too much pain, experienced enough torture in the past few weeks he had been held at the Illuminati’s hand, and he knew he couldn’t take much more. But the look of their faces told him he was going to get more.
“For the Illuminati!” Raito screamed, thrusting the blade into the air and then into David’s chest, making the young man wheeze in shock, before the blinding pain began to cloud his mind. A steady, crimson coloured river of blood began to seep out of the wide gash and trickle down his body. Without exchanging a word, the robed man who stood outside the ring ran to join his compatriots, taking the chalice and placing in underneath the wound. Blood began to cover the bottom of the vessel, dribbling down the golden sides, piling up until it was threatening to spill forth over the brim. With one stern glance from Raito, the man removed the chalice from David, and placed it back onto the table.
“Release him, and tie him back up,” Raito demanded, as he re-opened the portal, throwing the dagger back through the dimensional rip, quickly closing it.
Lethargically, he walked over to the blood filled chalice, a smile creeping across his pasty white face, the illuminations from the blazing stakes sprawling unearthly shadow’s across his face. Reaching out, his hands slightly trembling, he grasped the chalice and once again allowed his hands to become submerged in a conflagration of amethyst energy, making the goblet levitate just in front of him. From the deep pockets of his robe, he pulled a small, pallid white pearl and touched it with his fingers, making it levitate just above the rim of the cup.
“Great Diamopher, I, Raito, set you free from the prison of this Pearl of Persia,” Raito declared, his voice trembling as the pearl began to swirl and burst into shards of light, “come forth and purify the blood of the Chosen, and allow us to re-bond you to a mortal body, allowing you to bring the havoc you truly deserve.” Immediately the rock split open as a being of pure energy dashed into the blood, making the red liquid steam, before claming to a complete stop. Raito smiled again.
He took ahold of the still fizzing chalice and began to pour the blood back into David’s wound. As he did, his battered and broken body began to heal, his blonde, matted hair, becoming glimmeringly shiny, before turning a deep purple, his eyes becoming a solid topaz. Finally, his tattered clothing were replaced with fine garments.
“Come forth Diamopher, and receive the brand of the Illuminati,” Raito said, “and your first mission is, to destroy the Purple Hellfire Club.”
Diamopher smiled, his features twisted in rage. “For three hundred years I have been captive at the hands of Shaman,” he growled, “once I am done with these Hellfire Club people, he shall fall before me.”
End Chapter Two
Chapter Three
“We can’t risk it,” Joseph commanded, his voice stern and confidant, as he edged down the plush carpet of the expensively furbished hallway of the Blue Hellfire Club mansion, his faded blue eyes darting around frantically, like an animal in the wild, trying to evade the predator.
“But Paris is like my daughter!” Felicity said, her voice shrill and cackling, her emerald blue eyes glaring towards her husband’s. As usual, she was dressed in one of her more revealing attires, consisting of a thigh high leather mini skirt, a low lying v shaped neck shirt and knee high pointed leather boots. Her immaculate platinum blonde hair hung around her face like waves cascading against the rocks, her porcelain, unblemished skin gleaming in the light. It would be hard for the general public to believe this striking woman was almost 65 years old. But being a psyche vampire, living like a leech, draining the energy of anyone foolish enough to cross her path, kept her young. And, her incredible mystic powers were also versatile at stopping the ravaging effects of time.
Joseph turned to face his wife, paralleling her own intense glare. It was clear from a mile away that the two were deeply and blissfully in love, with an immense sexual chemistry attracting them to one another, but their fiery temperaments, combined with their thirst and desire for power and their colourful history, it was a sheer act of God the two had stayed together long enough to get engaged, never mind get married to one another. In many ways, the two of them were like a house of cards, both leaning with an equal equilibrium against one another, relying totally upon the other for emotional, financial and physical support and protection, equally balanced, like one unit instead of two separate people. Much like Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. Perhaps one day their sturdy, almost indestructible bond of love and marriage might be tested, hopefully without the effects it had for Shakespeare’s characters.
“We have to leave now,” Joseph said calmly, his eyes fading becoming much softer, peering into the deep, rich pools of his wife’s, transfixing on her beautiful face, trying to soften her tense facial muscles. Felicity made no attempt to break was had developed into a lover’s embrace, and after a few seconds, Joseph pulled away and straightened his posture. “Come on, there is a plane ready in the hangar.”
“Is that so?” an acidic voice snaked as swirls of blue smoke began to descend like a cloud of death from the high tapestries of the Blue Hellfire Club mansion, twirling and twisting around before solidifying into the appearance of the resident Blue Knight, Ozyranian Kane, his tall, muscular grey tanned body contained within his ever present, histrionic robes, a decorated hilt seemingly appeared from nowhere in his hand, allowing the blue tinted blade that was connected to it to shimmer in the lantern-lit corridor. His stabbing eyes and acute features rained down heavily upon the Bishop as he stood legs part, turning the sword so the knife slightly pierced the polished wooden floor, acting as a support for him, his free arm lying by his side.
Joseph snickered, continuing down the hallway, passing Ozyranian defiantly, Felicity following behind him. As he passed the Knight, he rubbed shoulders, knocking the broad Knight off his balance. Before he collided with the rug-scattered floor he regained his balance. The Blue Bishop sniggered, his back turned on the Knight whose face grew scarlet with anger, the air around him beginning to crackle with streaks of magical energy. Sensing the commotion behind them, the duo turned to face Ozyranian, only to be greeted by two powerful bursts of probability altering bolts, striking the two of them on the chest with immense force, lifting them into the air and tossing them down the hallway. Joseph landed first, crashing into a display cabinet, his head smashing through the glass pane, whilst Felicity collided with a wooden table, demolishing the structure and spilling her onto the floor.
“No one shall EVER be arrogant when speaking to the Lord of Dark Magic!” Ozyranian screamed, his voice projecting with the affect of several extremely low-toned people growling at the same time, his eyes glowing with energy and his hair standing on end. Without realising it, the Blue Knight was levitating a few centimetres off the ground. Wisps of amethyst bolts escaped from his radiating fists, which smouldered with blazing energy. In front of him, where the lavishly designed hallways of the mansion where, now only a trail of red could been seen by the Knight. He wanted revenge, and that meant destroying the Bishop and his wife. No one made a fool out of someone who wields the gifts he did! With but a flick of his wrist he could reduce those infidels to ashes, devastating their meaningless lives. But, he had sworn to the King and Queen he would hold back. Yet it was clear that Ozyranian Kane wasn’t as fanatical at following the royals. Soon they would bow to him. But all this was a future plan. For now, he must punish the disbelievers.
Joseph groaned as he opened his eyes, the excessively bright lights blinding him for a moment, making the already excruciating sting that seemed to cut through every synapse of his brain feel even worse. As he tried to pick himself up, he realised his head was implanted in the cabinet, shards of jagged glass surrounding him. Luckily, he hadn’t fallen on any extremely dangerous pieces, and was suffering from just a few cuts and bruises. Summoning his mutant ability, his body began to dissolve from sight, re-appearing besides the dismantled cabinet, the burning singe of his clothes causing him more pain as he realised where Ozyranian had hit him. The vibrantly powerful energy had burnt a whole in his chest, ravaging skin and clothing in the process. Whatever he had hit them with, it sure was powerful. But in Joseph’s case, having a healing factor helped with such minor injuries. Within the blink of an eyelid, his wounds began to diminish.
A few feet away from him, Felicity drag herself to her feet, her body stumbling on her high-heeled stilettos. With an angry grunt, the shoes disappeared, reappearing about twelve metres in front of Ozyranian, before they began to charge at him, their sharp heels digging into the man’s face, tearing through his skin and digging into his bones. The Blue Knight whelped in pain, staggering backwards and dropping his sword, both hands shooting to the entry wounds, one on his right cheek, the other embedding itself in his forehead. Felicity allowed a smile to pierce through her stony, anger-ridden face as she brushed away a few straying locks of her platinum blonde hair, summoning a handkerchief to her presence using her magical abilities to wipe away the steady trickle of crimson that had started oozing from a gash above her left eye. Like Joseph, her clothing too had been severed, but with a wave of her fingers, which were now subjected to broken nails and cuts, which seemed to enrage her more, the garment was once again complete. Taking a quick glance at her husband to make sure he was okay, she walked forwards, light beginning to gleam over her, revitalising her pillaged appearance.
“Felicity,” Joseph rumbled, his voice a mixture of anger and concern for his wife. Before he could continue, he heard her voice pierce his mind.
I am going to show this person that NO ONE messes with me! she screamed, her tone becoming more unstable with each passing moment she spent mentally connected to Joseph. His initial reaction was to warn her off, but he had known Felicity for over a quarter of a century, and one thing that had become crystal clear to him was the fact she could more than handle any enemy that came her way. The phrase ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ sprung into Joseph’s mind, making the Blue Bishop smile impishly.
“You bitch!” Ozyranian howled as he rocked backwards and forwards, trying to drive away the blinding pain that was so deeply rooted in him. Finally, with a huge cry of sheer agony, he pulled the steel bottomed heels out of his face, dissolving them in a blaze of intense flames as they emerged from his now bleeding flesh. As he cleared the stream of blood that clouded his vision, Felicity came into sight. Biting down hard on his lip he began to charge his body with energy, but before he could launch an attack, she tackled him to the ground, wrapping her arms around his mid-section and dragging him to the floor. She quickly scrambled to the floor, placing one foot on Ozyranian’s neck, her coral blue, deathly cold eyes burning down upon the Blue Knight.
“You really want to pit your pathetic powers against one who has my gifts?” she crackled, the well-manicured fingernails on her hand beginning to increase in size and becoming much more gleaming sharp. When they reached around a foot each, she grabbed Ozyranian by the neck, pulling him to his feet and putting a safe distance between them. Immediately, he fired a barrage of mystical bolts at Felicity, who elegantly back flipped out of the line of fire. As she was half way through a back flip, her hands supporting her body, her feet pointing towards the ceiling, she pushed with all her might, thrusting herself into the air. Then, she span in a diagonal line towards the Blue Knight, sending a compilation of kicks into his head, staggering him backwards. As he did so, she used the heels of her feet to kick him in the back of the shoulders, once again throwing him forward, where she summoned a spell to keep her airborne, long enough to propel her razor-sharp nails into Ozyranian’s head. The Blue Knight screamed in pain as the blades cut through his brain, before he fell to the ground, his body seething with blood and lying still. Gracefully, aided by magic, Felicity glided to her feet, retracting her nails back to their normal length, removing the blood that splattered them.
Her eyes wandered over to the now dead Blue Knight as her eyes twinkled with excitement. It had been so long since she last had such a vigorous workout, destroying someone’s life using her most savage skills made her heart skip a beat. And moments before Ozyranian drew his last breath, she was able to tap into his life force, supping the very essence of being from his vessel, making her body teethe with energy. Finally, after the blood lust that binded her body had begun to fade away, she turned to an open mouthed Joseph, his face glancing with disbelief at his wife. Felicity merely smiled in her husky, seductive way.
“Never knew I had it in me, did you?” she laughed, as Joseph’s eyes seemed to glow with life again, as if his body was thrust back into the real world. He quickly disregarded his glazed look and stared at his wife.
“My my,” Joseph mused, “I am impressed. Anyway, enough of this, we must depart now before the rest of the Inner Circle picks up on our activities.”
The past few months had been agony for her. Those were the only words she could think of to describe her feelings. Pure and uncharted agony. All her life, the young woman known as Lark, Purple Hellion, had been racked with devastation and sadness, but this hurt her more than the rest. Ever since she found out she had the mutant ability to charge objects with kinetic energy, making them self destruct, a power that set her aside from the rest of the world, a power she couldn’t control, she had been an outcast. Too afraid to get close to anyone incase she hurt them. And being different was also a curse that fell upon her family. Her own brother was murdered and her father, along with her first ever boyfriend Sean, all in the name of the Friends of Humanity, slaughtered because they were friends with a freak, under the orders of Lark’s insane mother. Not only did she have to cope with the guilt of knowing she caused their death, but she also had to come to terms with the immense void that existed in her heart that their love alone would fill. For a time, she thought that spot had been filled.
It all started when she ran away from home and stowed away on a boat to New York, only to come into contact with the master crime lord, the Kingpin, who wanted to use her as a member of his brainwashed slaves of super mutants (see Beginning by Lark for more details). That is when she first came across the man who she thought had changed her future. He looked so smart in his tailored pinstripe, a ruby tipped cane in one hand and briefcase in the other, walking confidently and with a stride down the bustling streets of New York, making sure everyone noticed him. Later, when he saved her from the grasp of the Kingpin, he introduced himself as Professor Steven Booth, Red Bishop of the International Hellfire Club. He saved Lark’s life and promised he could help her control her powers. And he did. Taking her back to an immense mansion in Las Vegas, he showed her the wonders of the Hellfire Clubs, the work they did to ensure that the world was a better place for mutants and humans alike, using their incredible powers and even more spectacular wealth to change the world for the better. Steven took her in and offered her a home, a life and a place to fit in as a Hellion. Everything seemed perfect. Then she met him.
It was her first day field training in the Danger Room, and like the other new recruits, she was excited, admiring her brand new burgundy red battle suit, eagerly awaiting to meet the other Hellions. And as she walked into the Danger Room to begin, she noticed him. Scott, known as the Hellion Spark. His sandy blonde hair cascaded around her slightly tanned face, allowing his dazzling blue eyes to peer from beneath his veil of golden locks. There and then she fell in love. So much so, she could hardly concentrate on the battle. And that’s where it began. Soon afterwards, Scott started to share the attraction, and the two started dating. Finally, it became serious and the two declared their love to the world. Lark and Spark. They were meant to be. With a relationship as strong as steel, nothing could destroy it.
Or saw we thought Lark said cynically to herself. Then there was a row between the management, and the Hellions were quickly shipped off to join the Purple Hellfire Club in Jamaica with Steven as the King. It was a little shocking, but she had Spark by her side, and the prospect of living in a castle on a tropical island seemed so exciting. But then, disaster struck.
It was their first serious mission, what RKB descried as ‘the ultimate test of all those Danger Room scenarios’. As one might expect, everyone was a little scared, a little hesitant, but once again Spark was by her side, and she knew she could take this. But the battle was more extreme than they thought, and Spark’s heroic nature came to play as he tried to save RKB from being killed, resulting in his own death, as well as his teammate Glass. That’d when Lark’s world officially shattered. The one boy she had let into her life, the one boy she had loved and cherished and allowed to fill the gap in her heart was stolen away from her, never to be seen again. It sent her over the top. She refused to eat, refused to sleep and became somewhat suicidal. Secluding herself from the rest of the Hellions, Lark spent all her time in her room, crying herself to sleep. She attended the funeral, but the period after his death was still cloudy to the young Hellion.
Everyone was shocked and upset, most of all Steven, but they recovered, shrugging it off after a few days. Even RKB managed to put it behind him. They spoke of ‘Spark the hero’ and had a statue of him erected in the courtyard. Then he was forgotten. But not by Lark. The sting of his deaths till drove its wedge into her heart, but she decided it was time she put it behind her and tried to move on. And slowly but surely she was. Now, she still wanted to sit down and cry about him, she missed him so much, but she remembered her job. A lot of people in the PHC relied upon her, namely the Hellions, as a central figure, someone to look upto. Even though it wasn’t official, she was a kind of mentor or field commander amongst her peers. Perhaps this role was helping her. Helping others might be helping herself. All there was now was the future, and she wanted to at last but the demons of her past to eternal rest.
“I still love you,” she said quietly as she placed a single red rose on the green soil beneath a polished marble headstone, “and miss you. But I know you’d want me to carry on your work, and I shall not let you down. No matter how many years go by, you will always be in my heart, Scott.” By now tears began to flood her eyes, slowly streaking down her face, “I’ll always love you.”
“I can’t believe we are still doing this,” Waya groaned as she shifted her feet across the bustling streets of New York that teamed with throngs of people going about their normal life. Even if she didn’t exercise the right, she knew that her newly appointed title as Purple Scribe meant she could probably change anyone of these person’s lives without so much as a thought. And in some ways that frightened the young Cherokee woman. No one should be capable of having so much power and influence, but she was surrounded by people who had those things, mainly because of their association to the Hellfire Clubs. To think, she had been in the presence of an intergalactic alien Power Elemental, someone who had the Phoenix entity within their body, the Ascended One, a 180-year-old telepath, an immortal vampire wannabe woman and an eon old sorcerer. Her company was a little more varied than your average 22 year old. But being different wasn’t exactly a new sensation to Waya. Born with the ability to command the elements of earth, fire wind and water to do her will, along with Shamanic healing powers, she wasn’t exactly normal. And then she was brought up by monks and nuns in a monastery, a set of memories she was keen to disregard. All in all, it was true to say, things couldn’t get any weirder for the young woman. Or could they?
“Shh Waya,” Xeus said in a stern, commanding voice, his long, flowing cerulean hair hidden away underneath a baseball cap, his face hidden by the raised lapels of his trench coat. As the Purple Bishop of the Hellfire Club, Xeus was the only person, save the King and Queen, who held authority over the Club as a whole. But, unlike some other people in his position, he didn’t abuse such privileges. The only time he used rank, was when he was on a mission, like today. His years as a mercenary had taught him that the slightest uncoordinated move could cause someone their life.
Before the Scribe could protest, Tobias Hare, known to the Club as Harlequin, the Purple Assassin, interjected, catching their attention. “There’s the opening,” she said, pointing her finger to the entrance of the subway station. Despite her youthful age, Toby was a keen fighter, as deadly and efficient as they came, with a knack for following orders. Even though most saw her as a rebellious, sometimes annoying child, she was respected within the Hellfire Club circles for her skills and abilities.
“Right, listen here,” Xeus said as the quartet, consisting of himself, Waya, Toby and the Blue Rook, Morte, continued walking, trying not to draw any attention to themselves, which was a feat in itself, “according to our reports, the killings usually take place down there around this time.” The Blue Bishop looked at his watch, which read 1:15pm. In spite of the absence of the sun, which was hidden behind steely grey clouds, the streets of New York still hummed with activity, the balmy summer air wafting around and intoxicating everyone. Xeus noticed how good it felt for the city, which had been terrorised and hounded in the past months, to finally regain some sense of normality and enjoyment. It was true to say, nowhere else on earth deserved some happiness that the Big Apple.
Slowly, the four descended down the stairs into the dark and dank, almost abandoned subway. A few lights mounted onto the dirty walls tried in vain to pierce the thick shadows.
“Okay,” Morte hissed, her black attire blending perfectly into the shadows, but her porcelain skin literally glowing, “so we just sit here and wait?”
Xeus glared at her, refusing to answer. Sabrina Brachode was well known for her sarcasm, and to be quite honest, Xeus didn’t really like it. But there was something about the radiant young Rook that drew him to her. But, such feelings must be left to be explored until another day. For now, they had to concentrate on the mission.
A sudden shrill wind began to blow through the subway, ruffling the clothing of the PHC members. Their senses became heightened as they scanned the nearby area, looking for the source. Before they could respond, a wave of electrical energy crackled across the air in an impenetrable sheet, striking the quartet hard, sending them sprawling across the muddy tiled floor.
“State your business,” a shrill, scratchy sound declared, as twenty or so vampire suddenly appeared, supported in the air by their leathery wings. Amidst these flying demons, in the centre, was the one Xeus recognised from Steven’s files. Z’Chatra. According to the database compiled by the Purple King, he was an upcoming vampire in the Council, with a promising future, but his arrogance and lust for power sometimes got him into trouble with the big bosses. It was rumoured that he was an assistant to Darkwind, and a possible rebel. But, the Vampire Council reserved judgement and allowed him to stay on as a member. Recently, however, he got into a row with some of the more powerful senates over territory and Illuminati relationships, and he was suspended from the Council for a while.
Z’Chatra glared at Xeus with his intense, pupil-less red eyes, two over-sized fangs snaking out of his mouth, draping over his chin. “Because of your masters recent assistance to the Vampire Council by slaying the traitor known as Darkwind, I shall give you one chance to get out of here before we obliterate you.”
Waya, who was beginning to stagger to her feet after the electrical wave, smiled wryly at the chief vampire. “Well, according to our files, you are Darkwind were pals,” she laughed, “and you, old Z’Chatra dear, was suspended from the Council for being a rebel. I mean, how embarrassing is that? And, to take out your anger, you band together a bunch of loser Vampire Council rejects and start terrorising New York. I mean, come on, you are a total wash out.”
Before she could respond, another bolt of electricity erupted from the vampire’s hand, pure anger rattling his body. But this time, the PHC members were ready, as Morte toppled out of the way, followed by Toby, who drew her gun from a holster strapped to her leg, firing a silver bullet directly into one of the vampire’s head, making it collapse to the ground with a sickening thud. “One down, nineteen to go,” the young assassin laughed.
Xeus was already on his feet, sword in hand, hacking at the beasts, Waya by his side, combining her ability to manipulate the elements and her healing factor, to decimate the threat. Within moments, Morte and Toby joined the duo, and in literally three minutes, the total vampire population of the tunnels was no more.
“Well, that was easy,” Xeus, said, as he drove the blade of his sword into Z’Chatra’s head, making sure he was dead. Except for a few cuts and torn clothing, the PHC members were in apex condition. “I think we’d better rendez vous with the King,” he declared, “better keep the little midget informed.”
“I heard that!” Steven screamed, forcing himself to be heard in the quartet’s head, his tone holding a counterfeit angriness, “I have been maintaining telepathic contact with you all since the battle started. Well done. Now finish up there and get home as soon as possible.”
His eyes became heavy as his vision blurred, the flaps of skin above his eyes drawing down, like a curtain at a theatre. The Purple Knight winced, his heavy boots resting on the control panel, his eyes becoming incredibly lazy underneath his blue tinted sunglasses. I knew I shouldn’t have pigged out he sighed, as his hands began caressing his swelling stomach. One of the dangers of living a life of luxury was to indulge in too much good food, as Epyon was now learning. He grimaced in pain as he remembered he still had a training session with the Hellions to do.
Perhaps the only good thing that had happened today was that there had been no activity that needed PHC attention. No life threatening monster rampaging around the countryside, no catastrophic natural disasters. Just a nice peaceful day.
Beneath his boots, the control panel that held all the reins for the security system of the castle suddenly blipped to life. Looks like I spoke too soon Epyon moaned as the monitor in front of him flickered to life. As he observed the screen, his mouth dropped wide open, his face portraying total and utter shock.
“What the HELL are they doing here?” he said, jumping to his feet and triggering the invasion alert.
“Oh what now?” Steven shouted as he came striding out of his dressing room, the ankle length, jet-black trench coat that covered his double-breasted, hand stitched black pinstripe suit, wafting around his diminutive frame like the unruly moaning of a ghost. “Can I NOT have two minutes to myself?” he groaned. Leaving the immense clothes room, he entered the corridor that led to the other rooms in his suite, his face consumed in thunder. “COMPUTER!” he demanded forcefully, “explain to me the situation, and I mean now!”
There was a slight hum before the flat, feminine voice of the computer churned to life, filling the lavish hallway with her soothing tone. “Intrusion at main gates, intruders identified as Felicity Harvard and Joseph Ryan. Updated files tell me both are alpha class threats. Purple Knight Epyon triggered alarm. He..”
“Okay, thank you computer,” the King declared, his tone becoming much softer. Summoning his cane telekinetically, he began to materialise out of the corridor.
End Chapter Three
Chapter Four
“You have some nerve!” Epyon shouted as he descended from the air, his flailing golden hair turning back to its usual blue colour as an aura of energy danced around his muscular body, his face brimming with anger. His relationships with Joseph Ryan in the past hadn’t exactly been brilliant. When he was the young Black Knight of the Beverley Hills Hellfire Club, Epyon was subjected to much cruelty when Joseph reigned as White King, but luckily, unlike some of his other friends, he was rescued. And now, all Epyon wanted to do was make him feel pain like he did.
“Hold your fire,” Felicity said in a soothing, unthreatening tone, her coral blue eyes pleading with the young Knight, “we do not come here to fight.”
“Do not bother talking to him,” Joseph snickered, a disgusted tone lingering in his voice, “he is merely the monkey. We demand to see Steven now!” Like Epyon, an aura of blue energy began to crackle around the former White King, as shards of power began to form in his hands.
“Demand this!” Epyon shouted as he used his super-speed to crash into Joseph’s mid-section, dragging him to the ground before he started to pummel his with a barrage of energy-laced fists. He didn’t care if he killed him; he hated him too much to care. Suddenly, a gust of wind appeared between the two men, peeling Epyon off of him and tossing him up into the air, before colliding hard with a nearby oak tree, his super dense flesh and skin cutting through the wood.
“Foolish child!” Felicity screamed as she levitated into the air, her face wild with fury, “you do not understand the forces at work here. Now we must see the King.” Behind her, the gates of the castle began to slowly creak open, revealing the faces of Storm, the Purple Princess, a gust of wind carrying her just above the ground, sheets of electricity coursing around her frame, Ian Fitzroy, the Purple Advisor, energy erupting and dancing around his fingertips and Salvanza, the Purple Paladin, his body beginning to grow as extra mass was added.
“What the Hell are they doing here?” Ian questioned, his eyes scanning the area for Epyon. Quickly he saw him, and with a nod, signalled for Storm to go and retrieve him. Obediently, the Princess took to the sky.
Joseph clambered to his feet, a trickle of blood flowing from one nostril, uncharted rage evident in his eyes. Time was running out, the Blue Hellfire Club would be upon them any time; he didn’t have time for this! “OUT OF MY WAY!” he screeched, as an immense wave of kinetic energy erupted from the palms of his hands, washing over the Paladin and Advisor with intense fury, propelling the two men into the air unconscious. Then he turned to the Princess and Knight who stood defensively, ready to fight. Joseph merely snickered, his eyes straining upon the two of them as if they were the lowest forms of life on this earth. Just as he began to launch an attack, Storm summoned a whirlwind, which consumed the White King, tossing him frantically into the air in a dazed spin, whilst Epyon sped across the grass, firing a beam of force at Felicity, catapulting her into the stone walls of the castle’s exterior barricade. Storm’s gaze intensified, as did the speed at which the whirlwind span, making Joseph scream louder and louder, before the screaming stopped. Satisfied that she had defeated him, the whirlwind calmed to a stop. But before she could respond, Joseph teleported in front of her, sending his powerful leg kicking into her face with incredible force, tearing into skin and bone, hurling her body across the air effortlessly, before unleashing a wave of energy bolts upon the young woman, smashing her to the ground in an unconscious state.
By now the former White King was glowing as a pulse of energy emitted from his body, his eyes raging with pure power. His gaze narrowed on Epyon. “Fancy round two?” he cackled in a hoarse, high-itched screech.
“I think not,” a distinct, familiar voice declared, its usual arrogance gleaming through as a figure began to materialise a few feet in front of Joseph. Immediately, the high-pitched tone became clear to Joseph, as his face began to twist in horror. It was now or never he had to plead his case, and plead it well.
“Steven,” he said jollily, before a torrent of telekinetic bolts began to drill into his face and body, before a powerful beam expanded from the King’s body, smashing into Joseph and toppling him to the ground, striking it with incredible force. The King hovered a few feet above the crater formed by Joseph.
“What in the name of Beelzebub are you and HER doing here at my home attacking my members?” Steven Booth spat acidicly, his steel blue eyes burning with an intense heat that could melt an iceberg. Old wounds didn’t heal easily, and memories of Joseph and Felicity from his past were hard to forget and suppress. Both of them had hurt him in a way so deep that he could never forgive them for what they did. All he wanted to do was to make them sorry. For a moment, the ancient monarch’s attention focused on the scattered members of the PHC who lay motionless on the springy grass. Epyon was tending to Storm, trying to snap the young woman out of the deep sleep without success. A vicious, profusely bleeding wound dominated her usually beautiful, angelic face now twisted in a position that screamed pure agony. Seeing one of his students that way only intensified the already torrid temper that harboured in the King. His gaze then fell on Salvanza and Ian who were both sprawled on the ground. Yet another excuse to pulverise Joseph.
Before Joseph could mumble a reply, a bombardment of high intensity telekinetic bolts rained into him, piercing through flesh and weakening bones, making the former Bishop collapse back into the ditch. With a disgusted snigger, Steven levitated Joseph from the ground and spun him to face the raging King. Steven opened his mouth to speak before a powerful mystical bolt exploded around the old monarch, making him drop Joseph back into the ashened cavern, his body falling on top of his.
“I see you haven’t lost that arrogance,” Felicity said as she hovered in the air, her hand smoking with remnants of mystical energy, “first rule of combat: always watch your back.” A smug smile crept across her face before a surge of energy bubbled in her mind, making her grasp her head in pain as she plummeted backwards through the air, collapsing into a tree with a bone crunching thud.
“Why did you come today?” Steven said as he levitated back into the air. Joseph crawled to his feet.
“You must believe us Steven,” he voice pleaded, “we didn’t come here today as enemies, no, we came as allies.” The Purple King’s eyebrow cocked as he looked at his former friend. Could he be telling the truth? So many times in the past Joseph had lied to him, cheated him, all for the sake of wealth and power. Could Steven ever truly trust this man again?
“Speak,” he said, through gritted teeth, seeing a relieved smile wash over Joseph’s face. Quickly, the White King scrambled to his feet and went over to assist Felicity, pulling her to her feet. When she had come round, he once again turned to Steven.
“The Blue Hellfire Club are invading today,” he said, his voice grim and forceful, “Isambard has thrown his support behind a scientist named Bolviar Trask, who is apparently making cybernetic mutant hunters.”
“Trask?” Steven quizzed, “I have been following his development for years now. I knew he was upto something. That’s why I pulled a few strings and got the US Senate to ban him from doing government work regarding these ‘sentinels’.”
Joseph smiled. “Yes, and you have been doing a good job. But Isambard has been privately funding Trask and using his influence to keep the Antwerp authorities off his back. And now, they are planning on invading the Purple Hellfire Club.”
Steven’s eyes flashed purple as pure psionic energy formed his hands and emitted from his body. Every cell of his being was now raw with energy. “WHY?” he screamed, his voice low and bellowing.
“First, to take revenge, but also to try out these new sentinels against worthy adversaries,” Joseph said. It was clear from his facial expression, that Joseph Ryan was uncomfortable with the situation. Even though in the past he had known Steven to be a trusting, kind and generous man, he had also been one of the few to experience his irate and livid side. Seeing him emit so much energy still sent a tingle down his spine. “Felicity and I immediately refused take part and left to warn you, but Ozyranian Kane tried to stop us. Luckily we managed to escape, but Felicity was forced to kill him.”
Slowly, the King’s aura began to fade away as the elderly monarch descended to the ground, his heavy loafer shoes landing with a thud. His eyes flashed for a moment as he entered Joseph’s mind, scanning his most recent memories. Satisfied with what he saw, the King turned his attention to the two of them. “You tell me the truth,” he said, “come on, follow me to the War Room.”
Sheets of energy crackled loudly as they hurled themselves through the air, smashing into anything that stood in their way. These immense concussive blasts brought ruins of buildings raining down on the people of Manhattan, causing the streets, which thronged with people, to empty in a panicked frenzy, escaping the cruel attacks. The man in the middle of the chaos stood silently, a pitiless grin set on his stone cold, pallid face, displaying his rows of razor-sharp, glistening teeth, too many of them filling his mouth to make him human. In his clawed hands, another burst if energy formed as he hurled the projectile, allowing it to erupt besides a nearby chain of parked cars, sending the automobiles crashing across the sky. It had been too long since he had stalked the earth, and now Diamopher was making up for lost time. Humans were always his favourite beings to torment, as they seemed to team with energy and emotions, perfect for him to toy with an exploit. A new thought entered his head. New York, according to the Illuminati, was where the White and Black Hellfire Clubs were situated. And wherever there were hellfire Clubs, one could guarantee Shaman or one of his lackeys was hiding. Diamopher roared with laughter, tongues of fire escaping from his mouth as his hair stood on end, an unearthly growl emitting from his mouth. With but a thought, his body began to increase in size as his muscular frame amplified. In a matter of moments, he stood at 8 feet tall. Around him, people scrambled out of the way, trying to find a safe haven from the utter chaos that had engulfed what was supposed to be a normal Saturday afternoon shopping in Manhattan.
Diamopher stalked stealthily, his mighty body breaking and demolishing anything that stood in his way, bolts of intense mystical energy erupting from his sword-like fingertips, raining even more destruction upon the public. Before he could smash through another building, an over turned oil tanker suddenly rose from the ground, guided by an invisible hand, which hurled itself at the demon with sheer force, dragging him off his feet and throwing him into the side of a vacant McDonald’s shop. Four figures descended from atop a Wal-Mart store across the street, engulfed in a protective telekinetic bubble. As they landed on the ruin scattered pavement, the purple energy disappeared, allowing them to comprehend the sheer destruction that had befallen one of Manhattan’s smallest, but most elite shopping streets.
“Damn it,” DarkWolf said, his voice teeming with anger as the Sword of Haresh formed in his hand, “which big ass demon has attacked this time?” The three figures surrounding him gave no reply. “Right, listen up,” the Black King commanded, “Nate, Rogue, you two go and see if that thing is down for the count, Mo, you get the civilians to safety and I’ll get in contact with SuperGrover and get him to get some of his people over here.” As Justin Mills gave the orders, obediently his court members executed his plan. Even though he had only been King for a relatively short time compared to previous Black Kings, he had most certainly shown to be a valiant leader and most deserving of his title. And Rogue, the Black Queen, and Nate and Monet, the Black Prince and Princess, were like a family to him, helping him carry out the work the BHC did with a humorous and easy going attitude. They made a perfect team.
“That was a mighty big tanker you threw at him Natey,” Rogue said as she took to the air, hovering a few inches above the scattered debris, her orange hair wafting behind her like a wailing banshee, “I think that critter is down for a little while.”
Beside her the Black Prince remained silent, his eyes glowing with telekinetic energy as he flew besides the Queen. The two of them passed through the hole carved out by Nate’s attack, entering the decimated fast food building. Diamopher’s attacks, combined with Nate’s onslaught had reduced the building to little more than rubble and ash. Suddenly, two steel girders gave way to the oppressive force of the shaken building, showering the Black Hellfire Club members with stone and concrete. Luckily however, Nate’s telekinetic bubble consumed the two of them, allowing the rubble to just slide off them. The Black Prince then expanded the bubble, casting the debris aside and allowing him and the Queen to proceed towards the oil tanker, which was embedded into the walls of the building.
“No signs of life here,” Nate said cautiously, “I think it is safe to say whatever that thing was, it is history now.”
Rogue shook her head in agreement, her fiery tresses dancing around her shoulders. Nate glanced for a moment at the young Black Queen, admiring her physique in the custom made, black leather suit and cape she was in. If not for the intensity of the mission, the well renowned wise cracker of the group might have made a few mischievous comments. “Justin wants us to bring the body back for examination. I’ll move this big ass lorry.” Gliding inches above the ground, the Queen’s leather bound hands grabbed firmly on to the bottom of the lorry, as she summoned her super strength and began gently prising the colossal vehicle from the wall. Beads of sweat began to form on her brow as she did so. Suddenly, before she could retaliate, the lorry seemed to jolt out of the wall and hurled by an unseen force through the wall of the building, sending the lorry smashing back onto the street and into the side of another edifice, crushing the Queen under its immense weight. Diamopher emerged from the cavity, his body seemingly untouched by the impact. Nate immediately launched a series of telekinetic bolts at the demon, which seemed to bounce of his flesh with little damage. With a sadist smile, Diamopher summoned a bolt of energy, which he drove into the Prince’s chest, tossing him through the wall, sending him sprawling onto the road. Defiantly, the demon levitated out of the building, just before it collapsed into rubble.
“What the…?” DarkWolf said as he saw the lorry fly through the air, then Nate flung into the road. Instinctively, the mercenary ran to his friends’ aid, using a burst of super speed to assist him. Just as he reached Nate, a barrage of energy consumed around him, making his nervous system collapse from the strain, paralysing the man in his tracks. Diamopher glided towards him.
“Are you one of those pathetic Hellfire Club members?” he spat, kicking DarkWolf solidly in the ribs, lifting the King off the ground and throwing him across the street.
“Yeah,” DarkWolf said, “I’m the Black king. And I’m gonna kick your ass.” Despite the pain of having what seemed like a nervous system on fire and a few broken ribs, DarkWolf couldn’t show any signs of weakness. He never had done and he wasn’t going to start now. His eyes spotted a very familiar brand on the monsters body. Illuminati Justin growled to himself, saying every letter as if it was the lowest derogatory comment of all. In his lifetime, too many good and innocent people and friends had fallen at their hands. His thoughts went back to the events of the Millennium Massacre, of the fabled Ascension of the Illuminati and the rise of Estophalum.
“Such strong words coming from someone who is in your position,” Diamopher chuckled, “but then again you humans have always been a stubbornly arrogant race. Such a pity you chose the wrong side. The Illuminati could have made good use of you.”
“I’d sooner die,” DarkWolf grimaced. Diamopher’s eyes narrowed on the young man as he extended his hands. “So be it,” he said as he began to unleash a bolt of energy. But before it could be discharged, a sharp, powerful kick placed itself in the monster’s spine, toppling it forward, allowing the discharged energy to explode it his own face. Monet somersaulted out of the way, taking to a defensive position on the floor, brushing a lock of straying hair from her face. Her eyes burned with anger as she saw DarkWolf wrenching in pain and Nate collapsed in a pile on the ground, blood dripping from a deep wound in his cheek. That person was going to pay big time!
Diamopher rose from the ground, his face twisted with fury. “The arrogance of you humans!” he screamed, a sonic blast erupting from his mouth knocking the Black Princess off her feet. Then he rose to the air, two leathery bat wings extending from his back. “Death to you all!” he shouted, as energy formed in his hands, his gaze falling hungrily, mercilessly, on the four fallen BHC members.
“Steven?” Rage questioned as she turned around in the control chair of the War Room, her mouth gaped open as she acknowledged his two guests. Steven just shook his head, irritation clear in his face.
“Apparently,” he said, his voice shrieking, “We are under attack soon by the Hellfire Club of Antwerp.”
“The who?” Sharon Stokes said as she rose from her chair to stand with the rest of the group, her emerald green eyes and radiant auburn hair immediately catching Joseph’s attention. Felicity, noticing her husbands admiring gaze, gave him a quick elbow in the ribs.
Steven sighed loudly. “The Antwerp Hellfire Club. Have you ever heard of the ‘Day The Hellfire Clubs Almost Died’?” Blackfire nodded silently. “Well,” Steven continued, “Antwerp was one of the six Clubs. A few years ago Isambard Lent approached me when I was head of the Hellfire Club of Northern England and offered me a place as Blue Bishop. I didn’t really need the title but I saw it as kind of a collective security. I thought the Antwerp Club could prove useful one day. But then Isambard and that bitch of a Queen of his, Bethany Bureau, started to demand that I do more for their club so basically I told them where they could put their Club. But then they started plotting against me and finally all this crap went on, and basically, I beat them up really badly and now they are out to get me back.”
“I see,” Charlotte, said, her ever-present duster wrapped tightly around her diminutive frame, “so, what’s the big deal? We’ll just beat them up. But, may I ask, what they are doing here?” It was so unusual to here the Purple Queen hold so much content in her voice.
“For today, they are our allies,” Steven said. His voice became much more serious. “Bolviar Trask, someone I have had Blackfire here keep an eye on for a while, has been funding a sentinel project with Isambard’s help. The reason I am a little concerned is that they are testing the sentinels out on us.”
Before anyone could reply to the King’s briefing, the doors of the War room opened as Epyon, Ian Fitzroy and Salvanza walked into the room, their gaze fixed on Joseph and Felicity with an intense glare. “Brilliant,” Steven said, his voice becoming more cheerful, “I take it Dr. Morgan gave you a clean bill of health.”
“Yeah,” Epyon spat, “all except for Storm. She has a skull fracture. Be out of battle for a few days.” The Knight’s hand suddenly glowed as one of his intricately carved swords appeared in his hand. Joseph winced.
Abruptly, the large flat screen monitor in the corner of the room hummed to life as the picture scrambled, before revealing what looked like Manhattan after a Godzilla rampage. “Alert!” a flat, feminine voice beamed, “alpha level danger field erupting in Manhattan involving four officials from the Black Hellfire Club. Requests immediately PHC attention.”
Everyone in the room turned their attention to the screen. “What the…” Steven gasped as he saw the computer replying the events of the past few minutes. “How on earth did he get loose?”
“Huh?” Blackfire quizzed.
“Diamopher,” Steven continued, “I have been collating a file of fax of mystical artifacts and demons and such, and I was reading about him. Some wanna be demon god who got his butt kicked by Shaman. Even though he isn’t exactly Diablo, he does pause a threat.”
“Well duh!” Blackfire said, a mixture of laughter and panic in her voice, “he just tore up a whole block and totalled DarkWolf, Rogue, Nate and Monet.”
Steven stood for a moment, his thumb and forefinger caressing his chin, his arms crossed over his chest. “It is quiet for days, and then everything happens at once,” he said wryly, “okay. Rage, contact our team in New York and get them to get over there to help out pronto. The rest of you go and get kitted out, Ian, find Joseph and Felicity a suit, and get ready for the fight. I’d better contact Shadow and tell him to take Porscha to a hotel. Damn, I really wanted to meet her. But whatya gonna do?” Obediently, the room began to rally round, carrying out the King’s orders.
“Yes, you heard me right, a demon who just blew up half of Manhattan,” Rage said, chuckling slightly to herself. Perhaps HALF of Manhattan was an over statement, but at least it caught Xeus’ attention.
“Okay Queenie lady,” Xeus said through the wristwatch communicator, “but how will be know where to find the demon?” An impish grin spread across his face as he saw Rage slap her head in dismay, trying to cover a grin.
“Look for the street that is a little messy,” she laughed.”
End Chapter Four
Chapter Five
“Okay dad,” Shadow said, his tone a little worn down by disappointment as he held the sophisticated cellular phone to his ear with his shoulder, whilst keeping one arm firmly on the grip of the steering wheel. On the other side of the line, Steven Booth, known to most as RKB, the Purple King of the Hellfire Club hung up, before Shadow could offer his assistance in the battle. With a sigh, the Purple Prince tossed the telephone into the dashboard then turned to face his passenger.
Porscha Rushmore resembled a cherub, some high being of radiant beauty that shouldn’t have belonged to this ugly, anaesthetically pleasing world. With her mane of golden, silky hair that flowed down her back to her waist like crystal clean water cascading over a waterfall, blending in perfectly with her sparkling deep pools of blue for eyes. Her skin was like porcelain in the gentle glow of the sun, making her seeming exude with exquisiteness. With her hourglass figure and remarkable fashion sense, it wasn’t exactly a mystery why Kyle had noticed her. Within the PHC, the Prince had a reputation as an incredible flirt, but for the past few months he had been involved in what seemed like a rock steady relationship with the Black Headmistress, Marnie Fox, also known as the Hellfire Phoenix. But, that had abruptly come to an end, one which Kyle was upset about, but in another sense happy that he was no longer tied down and committed to a woman who lived thousands of miles away.
What he failed to alert the PHC members of was that he and Porscha were actually involved in a relationship ever since Christmas, whilst Kyle was still dating Marnie. At first it started as a friendship, the two of them often meeting on a Saturday night in the bustling Jamaican hotspots, enjoying one another’s company. But as time went on, Kyle found himself becoming more attracted to Porscha, and he knew she felt the same way. With the escalating events regarding the Hellfire Clubs (see For the Future Forget the Past *HF* for details!), and his failing relationship with Marnie, Kyle seized the opportunity and the two started to date officially. Now, Steven had hoped to bring Porscha home to meet his father and the rest of PHC, announcing their engagement. But, it seemed someone had decided to mess his plans up.
“Sorry Hot Leather,” Kyle said, his voice soothing and clam, with a hint of mischief in it “but my dad and the team have been called away on some serious business.”
Porscha gave a little laugh, covering her mouth with her hand, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “I guess you mean ‘saving the world’ kinda business,” she joked, cocking her eyebrow at Kyle. The Prince just laughed, turning his attention to the winding country road in front of him that would take him onto the motorway.
“Yup,” he said, “and he wants me to take you somewhere safe. I know, we’ll go into Liverpool, I always loved that city when I came here as a child on vacation with my dad. You aren’t too disappointed are you?”
Once again Porscha let out a shriek of laughter, her sudden outburst covering up the heartily content sigh she had just released. “Well, not really,” she stuttered, “I mean, I am kind of nervous about meeting your dad and the rest of your ‘extended’ family.”
“Hey, I know we aren’t normal, but we aren’t that bad,” the Prince joked, “anyways, I met your parents, you have to meet mine!”
“Hmmm, my parents are Dr. Francais Rushmore and Mrs Morgana Rushmore, orthopaedic surgeon and librarian,” Porscha mused, “your dad is Lord and Professor Steven Booth, mutant telepath extraordinaire, Purple King of the Hellfire Club, richest man on the planet, owner of Booth Incorporate, political figure type of person and a really powerful noble man. Nah, I can’t see the difference, can you?”
“Point taken,” Kyle said.
Steven walked into the small changing room in silence; the only audible sound over the gentle hum of conversation was the slapping of the steel plates on the bottom of his knee high combat boots against the metal floor. In his battle suit, consisting of black spandex pants, red armoured torso, shoulder protectors and glowing golden cape, his trusty ruby tipped cane in his hand as always, the Purple King looked like he would have been more comfortable in a wrestling ring. But the uniform has several defensive good points.
“Okay, silence,” he said quietly as the conversation immediately declined, all attention in the room focused on him. Despite his rigid exterior, inside the Purple King was on edge, waiting for any sign of his attackers. He could handle the Blue Hellfire Club single handed, but he wasn’t at all keen on the idea of battling sentinels. Files he had obtained from Charles Xavier, a close friend and telepath of Steven’s, indicated that these robotic fighters weren’t to be under estimated. And the ranks of the PHC were spread a little thin. But with himself, Rage, Epyon, Blackfire, Ian Fitzroy and Salvanza on the battlefield, with the assistance of Felicity and Joseph, perhaps things weren’t going to be too bad. Unfortunately, the Hellions were engaged in a mission, which had them absent from the fight. But Steven was in one way relieved as he didn’t have to worry about them getting injured. Despite hours of training from himself and various other members of the Court, the Hellions were still a little ‘wet around the ears’ when it came to facing dangerous opponents. But they were making steady progress, and soon enough they would be a force to be reckoned with.
“Right, I don’t want this fight to take place inside the castle,” Steven said sternly, his words cold and blunt, his ice cold blue eyes glaring down on the team, “this isn’t just the PHC base but it is also our home. And I like it the way it is now. So, we will take this fight into the forests. Just hit and hit hard, stay together as a group and don’t get excited. Use all your talents, and don’t forget that there is no I in teamwork. I want people to fight in pairs and to watch out for one another. Now the quicker this is over the better. There are much more important issues to attend to in New York. Everybody clear on what to do?” Silence filled the room as everyone nodded or made some kind of gesture to show the King they understood. Steven smiled. “Good. Now in this battle I’d prefer Blackfire and Rage to fight the actual Blue Inner Circle, I will also be helping out, and the rest of you taking on the sentinels. I will be maintaining a telepathic mind link between us all. Now,” he said, as he clicked his fingers, making the assemblage suddenly burst into surges of energy, before materialising amidst the dense forest that lay at the back of the immense castle, “be on your guard.”
As the King’s strong English accent faded from audible range, a new sound erupted; the sound of lazer blasts raining down on the team, causing them to avoid the unseen assault. Steven toppled to the ground dragging Epyon with him, before rolling in the thick wild grass and springing to his feet, a telekinetic bubble flaring to life around him. Emerging from deep within the array of trees came the sound of heavy footsteps as scores of 10 feet tall, cast iron grey coloured robots appeared, their arms outstretched, allowing a barrage of assaults to seep from their palms. Walking with them was the assembled Blue Inner Circle, headed by Isambard Lent.
“So predictable Steven,” he laughed, his words tinged with a faint French accent, “I knew you wouldn’t want to damage your precious castle.” He stopped for a moment, holding his hand up in the air and ceasing the march. “It is time for retribution Purple King,” he hissed, “your brought disgrace on my Club. Now you shall pay.”
Before anyone could attack, a colossal tilde wave of pure psionic energy spewed into the air, knocking the whole army backwards, making the androids collide with the trees. Hovering in the air, his body bleeding with energy, Steven glared, his icy cold eyes now submerged in a ferocious purple glow. “BRING IT ON!” he managed to scream.
“Events are going better than we expected Milord,” a shrill, blood curdling voice screamed, “four members of a separate Hellfire Club have fallen before Diamopher. And the PHC are currently in a battle with some unimportant people, which leaves the New York group of PHC members vulnerable. Soon they shall all fall before the Illuminati.”
“Indeed they shall,” Raito said, his commanding voice almost shaking the foundations of the cavernous room, “resurrecting Diamopher back to our ranks was a wise move. After the PHC has been disposed off, all shall fall before us!”
“Death to you all!” Diamopher shouted, as energy formed in his hands, his gaze falling hungrily, mercilessly, on the four fallen BHC members. Too many long years had passed since he’d felt the thrill of destroying life with his hands, a pleasure that was denied to him by the oppression he was subjected to at the hands of Shaman, the Sorceror Supreme. Soon, everyone would fall before him, grovelling in vain at his feet for mercy. He’d show them all!
Without warning, the oil tanker that was embedded in the crumbling building suddenly flared to life, being forcibly ejected from the cavity, sending the vehicle hurtling into the rubble choked road. From within the large hole the lorry made, came the Black Queen, a deep gash dominating her forehead as she hovered in the air, a look of uncharted fury across her beautiful face, the leather garment she wore now reduced to little more than a few well-placed pieces of material.
“I don’t know about you matey,” Rogue growled, anger threatening to spill over the rim of her voice, “but it is rude to try and kill a lady on your first date. Almost as rude as hitting a man when they are down.” Her jade eyes pierced into the demon, who merely smiled menacingly, the fragments of energy coursing around his arms. The Black Queen sighed to herself. Justin looked like he was in pain, but nothing too serious. Nate was starting to stir to life, the young psi holding his aching head in discomfort. Monet was already on her feet, her vision a little dazed and her eardrums ringing horrendously, but at least she was alive. Seems everyone’s ready for round two
“Bah, such pathetic threats from a mortal,” Diamopher sneered as he discharged a small sheet of energy that struck the rock just above Rogue, making the Queen dive out of the way of the falling rubble. She darted towards the ground, picking up a toppled lamp post with her strong arms, and tossed it at Diamopher, clipping him around the mid-section lifting him into the air, before tossing him like a rag doll through one of the unbroken windows of the large food store behind him. The Black Queen immediately darted down towards the three figures who were standing watching the woman.
“Who the hell is that?” she question in her Southern drawl, “he sure packs a punch?” Symbolising her statement she allowed her gloved hand to caress the bloodied wound on her head.
“Looks nasty,” DarkWolf said, “and I don’t know who this guy is. But he just tore up a whole street and almost defeated us all. We have gotta take him out soon.”
“Don’t worry,” a familiar voice said as it rounded the corner onto the street, “the cavalry has arrived.”
“Xeus!” Monet said cheerily as she saw the Purple Bishop run towards them, three figures following them. She scarcely recognised two of the women behind him, identifying them as Morte, the Purple Rook, and Waya, the Purple something, who had just moved from the GHC with Rage. The Black Princess was already acquainted with the final member of the quartet, the smart mouthed, abrasive Purple Assassin, Toby.
“That’s me!” the Bishop said enthusiastically, “RKB sends his regrets that he can’t be here, but there is a problem back at the castle. So you’ll have to do with us.” He was silent for a moment, his facial expression becoming more serious. “Where’s Diamopher?”
“Who?” Nate cut in sharply. The Black Prince didn’t hold very high regards of the Purple Bishop (see For the Future Forget the Past for details), but those feelings would have to be buried for now. What was important was the mission at hand. Then, perhaps he could ‘show’ Xeus a thing or two. A mischievous smile enveloped his face.
“Diamopher,” Xeus said solemnly, “according to RKB’s files, he is a demon who Shaman combated and bonded to a mystical enhanced chalice years ago. Somehow he has been resurrected.”
“D..d…demon?” Morte stuttered, her white face turning an even paler shade, resembling an unblemished winter snowfall. The Purple Rook’s memories flooded into her head as she heard that dreaded d word, the torture at Agatha’s hands forcing their way to her consciousness. (See Hallelujah Amen by Morte for more details) Morte’s breakfast threatened to appear in her mouth as her stomach twisted.
“You okay Sabrina?” Toby questioned, a look of concern on her face, “you look really pale, and that is saying something when talking about you!”
Morte could feel everyone’s eyes burning into her. She quickly straightened herself up, trying to regain her composure. “Yeah, just feel a little iffy after battering all those vampires. Anyway, come on, are we going to sort this guy out?”
DarkWolf paused for a moment, resting his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “It seems this Diamopher has some freaky ass super strength and perhaps even a healing factor. He can also fly and he’s been tossing around some really powerful bolts of energy. Anyone got any ideas how to take him out.”
“SILENCE!” Diamopher commanded as he materialised a few feet away from the group, “you are nothing more than a mere annoyance!” He allowed his arm to fly in an almost semi-circular motion, unleashing a concussive wave of energy, knocking the group off their feet into the air.
“Might wanna add teleportation to that list Wolf-Man,” Xeus said in his rich, deep foreign voice as a faint aura of glowing energy slid over his body as his mutant power to absorb, manipulate and re-channel energy sprang to life. As he landed on the ground, he unleashed a sheet of electrical discharge out of his eyes towards Diamopher who merely lifted his palm into the air, grasping Xeus’ charge and turning it against him. Before it hit him, the bolt exploded and knocked the Purple Bishop to the ground. Nate Grey soon rose into the air engulfed in a purple hue of telekinetic energy, his gaze fixating on the towering demon. Without uttering a word he began to fire a salvo of intense telekinetic energy into Diamopher, which bounced off him with little effect. Nate just grimaced, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he concentrated harder, making his blasts more powerful. Behind him, the Purple Scribe Waya fired a tongue of flames at Diamopher with her right hand, a flow of electricity coming from her left. But the combined discharged failed to damage Diamopher, who stamped his foot on the ground, making the pavement buckle, trapping the two attackers in a prison of concrete. “Next victim?” he mused, before the mystical blade of Haresh pierced through his shoulder, making him gasped for air as it escaped from his punctured lung. DarkWolf viciously pulled out the sword, causing the demon even more pain, whilst Monet used her superstrength to throw a toppled vehicle at him, knocking him to the ground.
“Now,” DarkWolf called as Rogue darted from the air, her gloves slipping from her hands. With little effort she flung the car off of Diamopher and placed her bare skin against his broken mouldy flesh. As usual, the Black Queen’s parasitic mutant powers to absorb a person’s psyche jolted to life, allowing her to access his memories. But something went wrong. A sudden surge in energy pulsed through his body, running into Rogue’s making her scream out in an inhumane wail, her body glowing as energy pumped through it. Then she was ejected into the air with force, allowing her to smash to the ground on the other side of the pavement with a bone-crunching thud. Toby and Morte immediately rallied to her aid, but two bolts of incredibly strong energy collided with their unprotected backs, sending the two women face first into the hard concrete of the sidewalk. Diamopher rose to his feet, all his wounds fading as he smiled at the unmoving body of the Black Queen. “Thanks for the recharge Rogue,” he smiled, before punching Monet forcibly in the face, knocking her off her feet. Before he could attack him, DarkWolf toppled out of the demon’s direct line of fire, towards the prison that encased Waya and Nate. The structure suddenly burst open under a gust of hurricane strength wind as Waya appeared, the elements raging around her as she hovered into the air, Nate besides her, supported by a telekinetic wave. “You picked the wrong day to mess with me,” the young Cherokee woman hissed, her eyes brimming with electrical energy as the ground beneath her feet began to tremble. Diamopher merely laughed.
“Do your best,” he quipped.
“Our plans may have changed,” Raito said hastily as he tore away his vision that had been glued to the events on the observation pool in front of him. Diamopher was clearly winning.
“Please tell us your alterations Milord so we can carry out your will,” a servant said.
“Scramble our top Strike Force Ralph,” Raito commanded, “have them go and assist Diamopher. I wish for him to return back to base and allow the Strike Force to finish off the weakened Hellfire Club members.”
“Yes Milord,” Ralph said as he bowed respectfully.
“I love this view!” Kyle Eccleston said in a high-pitched cheerful voice as he released his grip on the cast iron railings and entered the luxurious suite of the hotel room, his eyes gawping open as Porscha stepped out of the bathroom, a flowing white evening dress that fell to her ankles, cut up one side running up her right leg, her flowing blonde hair hanging unrestrained around her beautiful face. “But not as much as this one,” the Purple Prince said as he slipped his arms around Porscha’s waist, pulling her close towards him until their noses were almost touching.
“My dad’s got a restaurant around the corner,” Kyle said, “nice classy place with great food. How do you fancy it? And perhaps we can go clubbing in town later? Sound good to you?” Porscha was silent for a moment, her eyes averting from Kyle’s face to the plush blue carpet. Gently, Kyle tipped her chin towards him, gazing into her eyes. “Is there something wrong? You aren’t still upset about not meeting my dad are you?” His face was awash with concern for his girlfriend.
“It’s not that,” she stuttered, “it is just, well, I have been keeping something from you for a few weeks. I didn’t know how to tell you, or what you’d say. But it is pointless hiding it any longer.”
Kyle looked longingly into her eyes, his hazy feelings for her making his mind cloudy. Underneath these romantic feelings, there was a tingle of curiosity. “What is it?” he said in his silky, lathering voice.
“I’m pregnant,” Porscha, said meekly, “I found out last week whilst we were in Switzerland.” She looked up from the floor towards Kyle. He broke the embrace for a moment, staggering backwards, his eyes wide. With shock? Porscha hoped not. She had dated many boys in her time, but Kyle was the only one she truly had feelings for. Even though his father was a billionaire, he held no airs and graces. The money didn’t affect him. Porscha prayed she wouldn’t regret telling Kyle the news.
“Oh my God…” Kyle muttered, each word coming out slowly and uneven.
“Please don’t be mad,” Porscha pleaded.
Kyle turned towards her, an immense smile beaming across his face as he ran to Porscha, flinging his arms around her. “Mad? I am not mad. I can’t believe it! I am going to be a dad!” He kissed Porscha quickly on the lips before pulling away and gazing into her eyes. “I can’t believe it! I am so happy!” In his erratic display, her picked Porscha up by the hips and twirled her around in the air. “This calls for a celebration!” The Prince stopped for a moment, a devilish smile on his face. “But no alcohol for you!” Porscha smiled. Kyle returned the gesture, before hugging her. Porscha laid her head on his shoulder as he began to caress her golden tresses. She just smiled, a content feeling washing over her face.
“Marry me Porscha,” Kyle whispered tenderly in her ear before pulling away, revealing a fur trimmed box from his pocket. He opened it, revealing a golden ring with an immense diamond in the centre. Porscha stared bewildered at him as he got down on one knee.
“I was going to wait until we got back to the castle. Everything was planned. We were going to have a romantic meal, then go and watch the stars. Then I’d take you to the observatory, where we could see the stars properly. Inside I was going to have the place filled with roses and then I was going to propose. But now feels right,” he said, raising to his feet, “I must be the luckiest man alive. So what do you say?”
“Yes, yes I will!” Porscha said as he slipped the ring on her finger, before the two shared another lingering kiss. As they finally broke away, Kyle began to talk.
“I can’t wait to tell dad,” he said, “you can have a proper examination at the castle. I can’t believe it. I must be the luckiest man alive!”
The full force of the hurricane rained upon his muscular body, lifting his feet off the ground and throwing him backwards. His back smashed into the side of the building with an audible crack, before a bombardment of telekinetic bolts were fired at him, striking with some force, but not an incredible amount. Waya’s hair flailed around wildly as sheets of electricity hummed around her body, the colossal wind force emitting from her hands. Besides her, Nate’s aura was burning brightly as he fired bolt after bolt of energy at the demon.
“Keep him at bay,” DarkWolf shouted, most of the sound coming from his mouth drowned out by the attack, “the Sword of Haresh seemed to harm him. I’ll get Rogue to fly me up there when she comes around.”
“Well make it soon,” Waya said, her voice straining with pain, “he’s starting to fight back.”
“And what shall we do?” Toby said from the distance, as she ran towards the trio, Morte hot on her heels.
“Morte, you’re a telekinetic right?” DarkWolf questioned. She nodded. “Good. Help Nate. Toby, watch my back.” With that, Justin Mills ran into the debris, looking for Rogue. As he ran, a hand gripped his ankle, pulling him to the ground.
“Sorry Wolf-Man,” Xeus joked and he pulled himself up from the ground, a mischievous grin across his face. DarkWolf dusted himself off and jumped to his feet, his hands grabbing Xeus by the shirt.
“Whilst your down here being a goof our friends are getting knocked around like rag dolls,” DarkWolf shouted, pure fury spread across his face, his words hitting like a hammer slamming against metal, “now get your worthless ass up there and help out!” Xeus opened his mouth to speak but withdrew quickly, running towards the battle sight. The Black King just sighed a disgusted sigh and he carried on his search for his Queen. His keen eyes scouted the ground as he noticed a member of his Court lying face down on the concrete pavement. “Damn it Monet,” he said, rolling her onto her side and looking at what was clearly as very bloody, very broken nose. The Black Princess gurgled to talk, but the stress became too much as she closed her eyes and fell into unconsciousness. DarkWolf picked her up gently and carried her to where Rogue was lying, behind a disregarded van. Placing her down carefully, he shook Rogue awake.
“He got me again,” the Southern belle said, her croaky voice showing some humour, “I am going to seriously have to pay him back.” She stumbled to her feet, slightly buckling as she remembered her sprained ankle.
“Xeus, Waya, Nate and Morte are trying to keep him pinned to the wall using their power wielding abilities,” Justin said, “Toby’s watchin’ our back and Monet’s out of this fight. You need to fly me near enough to Diamopher so I can cut him up a bit.”
“Monet?” Rogue quivered, her voice trembling with concern, “what is wrong with her? Is she okay? I’ll make him pay for hurting her!”
“Calm down Abby,” DarkWolf blurted out, “she’s not seriously hurt. Anyway, we have gotta get moving.”
“Okay Wolfy,” she joked as she began to hover in the air, grabbing the Black King under the arms. Slowly, she ascended into the air and began to fly towards the raging battlefield. Just as they came over the Hellfire Club fighter’s head an intensely bright light crackled across the sky, blinding the Queen, making her drop Justin. Fortunately for the Black King, he landed on his feet unharmed. As the light cleared, twenty very unfriendly looking people stood before the assembled BHC and PHC members. Where Diamopher had once been, now there was an empty space. Justin looked at the particularly distinct markings on each of them.
“Illuminati Strike Force,” he growled almost inaudibly.
In the centre of the group, his body covered in glimmering steel armour, a royal blue silken cape flowing down his back, two sharp, twirling horns erupting from his head, a curved sword in his hand, an elderly looking man with steely grey hair and chalky white eyes smiled at the Black King. “By order of Raito, master of the Illuminati branch of England and the demon Diamopher, we the Premier Strike Force have been assigned the task of destroying you all. Surrender now, and your deaths will be quick and painless. Prolong and fight, and you shall meet a torturous and slow end.”
“Surrender this!” Rogue screamed as she lifted a car over her head, throwing it into the cluster of people, quickly dispersing them. Within moments, the Hellfire Club members were ready to fight as the Illuminati advanced upon them.
DarkWolf back flipped out of the way of the armour-clad man, dropping into a low crouching position. He did swiped the man’s feet from under his legs, making the shielded man fall to the ground. But, with uncanny speed, he regained his posture on his feet, swinging the curved blade towards the Black King. Justin struggled to pull the Sword of Haresh above his head in time to stop the sword, sparks flying as the two blades collided with a scratching sound. “Just surrender weakling, you are no match for Gentil. My enhanced speed, strength, stamina, agility and healing factor are too much for your meagre body to handle.”
DarkWolf grimaced as he struggled to throw off the oppressive blade, before he managed to unleash a swift kick into Gentil’s mid-section, making the elderly man drop his sword and stagger back. The Black King laughed. “Meagre?” he joked, before Gentil stood up straight, two lazer-like beams of crimson energy shooting from his eyes hitting DarkWolf in the shoulder and throwing him to the ground.
“Gentil must have forgotten to tell you about his optic blast,” a shrieking hissing sound said in DarkWolf’s ear. As he opened his eyes, Justin could see the person speaking. It was a tallish woman, with scaly green skin, yellow pointed eyes and an incredibly long tongue with hung out of her mouth, a thick green substance coating the tip of it. Inside her mouth were rows of sharp, jagged teeth. “Gentil is getting a little forgetful in his old age. But don’t worry, Chameleoness is here to assist.” Before he could reply, the tongue wrapped around DarkWolf’s arm, swinging him around before smashing him into the side of a parked lorry, bashing him through the metal.
Morte ran in a zigzag line, avoiding the hail of energy bolts that rained down on her from above. Circling above her head, like a vulture ready to pick away at her carcass, was a man dressed in a skintight blue spandex suit, thick body armour covering his torso. Out of his back sprouted two extremely large, angelic looking wings. From his fingertips, bolts of intense explosive energy erupted, aiming for the Purple Rook.
“Hold still!” he shrieked, “you are only making Cherub angry!” His blue eyes glowed green as more energy rained from his body, each one missing Morte by a hair. In her haste, Morte wasn’t looking where she was going, her attention focused on escaping her airborne attacker, and she collided roughly with a lamppost, slamming into it with incredible force. Dazed from the bang, she didn’t defend herself against Cherub’s bolt of energy, which exploded besides her, knocking her into the concrete. Help us Steven she said groggily to herself, before she passed out into the cold, barren darkness.
End Chapter Five
Chapter Six
She fought hard to suppress the rage that began to bubble to her surface, trying to clear her mind of the distinct twinge of anger that burned like a single candle, threatening to get bigger and bigger until it consumed her like a bonfire. Even though her powers were much more useful in rage form, the murderous wrath that racked through her was too dangerous to unleash. With a heart felt sigh, the Purple Queen drew her katanna from within the lining of her trench coat, which hung awkwardly over her purple and blue spandex suit. She hated spandex, hated it more than anything imaginable, but luckily for her, RKB had altered the fabrics to make it a little looser than normal. But she still didn’t like it. Yet, when she went full out and had a real workout, having a second skin that could easily glide through the air helped.
Her eyes analysed the battle that had suddenly erupted. Blackfire had wasted no time in attacking the Blue Inner Circle members, trading a barrage of kicks and punches with a very agitated looking Blue Queen. Charlotte smiled mischievously to herself. The stupid woman probably didn’t know what hit her from the looks of things as she allowed Sharon’s fists to plummet her face without retaliation. Charlotte knew those types of people. Trashy bimbos who think because they can fire a bolt or two of energy they are all powerful. But, those kinds of people didn’t even come close to the sheer power and skill that the Purple Enforcer possessed. Watching Sharon fight was amazing, her movements to fluid, her timing so correct and accurate. Within moments, she had Bethany Bureau on her knees, semi conscious before Blackfire delivered a powerful punch to the nose, instantly breaking it and knocking the woman into blackness. With a grin, Blackfire looked over to Rage, and then scanned the area for the Blue Rook. Someone had told her she was the cow to look out for. I am gonna enjoy making her see sense Sharon laughed to herself.
The Purple Queen turned her attention to her King and friend, Steven Booth. He was hovering about twenty feet off the ground, surrounded in a blazing aura of purple, barely contained in the unstable aura that encased his body. Every cell of his body literally bled psionic energy as he channelled this produce into offensive telekinetic blasts that he unleashed mercilessly onto the robotic foe beneath. His eyes were always a feature that people immediately noticed about Steven. They were too blue for someone of this world, yet at the same time, this vibrant colour was suppressed by a chilling, deadly coldness that emitted from his sockets, giving him a stare that could kill. In her short time as Queen, she had seen Steven reduce fully-grown men to whimpering children with but a gaze. Yet now, even that powerful colour was burned away as an intense purple energy seeped from his eyes, the energy consuming his whole head. It was unusual to see Steven use his physical psionic powers in such an uncharted and dangerous way. Sure, she’d witnessed him use his powers before, but he always used the mental aspect of his powers. But now he cut loose like never before, allowing himself to radiate with energy, harnessing this immense power to cut down his foe. And he was doing a great job as well. For now, she’d let him continue.
A sudden sharp, pointed tap on the shoulder jolted her violently from her thoughts as she span around with incredible speed, brandishing the katanna in her right hand towards the object that struck her shoulder, cutting through the soft wooden walking stick easily. Quickly, she noticed the darkened glasses on the man’s face and withdrew her attack. This man was blind. She snickered to herself as she reviewed her actions. “Hello sir, I think you are a little lost. Why don’t we get you out of here?”
There was a long pause as the man, dressed in an elaborate white pinstripe suit and lavender shirt stood motionlessly in front of Charlotte. Even though she couldn’t see into the darkened lenses, she was sure that the man was staring at her. She could feel his eyes burning into hers, and before she realised it, she was completely perplexed in her spot, paralysed to the ground. The man’s hand fumbled with the dark glasses, talking them off his face. As he did so, he revealed his eyes, which were completely frosty white.
“You will submit to the will of Ralph Randsom, Blue Pawn,” he said in a clearly Egyptian tone, his tanned skin contrasting with his attire.
In a silky, lethargic voice, Charlotte began to speak. “I will submit to the will of Ralph Randsom, Blue Pawn,” she responded. A cruel grin spread across the blind precog’s face. But that was quickly erased as he felt the ground beneath his becoming unstable, until he felt his leg’s being swallowed into the rock. Before he could fight back, he was waist high in what was only moments earlier normal woodland.
“Hypnotising the Queen is totally last year,” Ian Fitzroy said as a flurry of green energy danced wildly around his clenched fists as he manipulated the density of the earth beneath Ralph’s feet. Then, with a faked yawn, the Advisor unleashed a small, but effective bolt of energy at Ralph, knocking him unconscious. As he lost consciousness, Charlotte’s body shuddered, freeing her from his hypnosis.
“Thank you Ian,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, “now I must go and assist Blackfire. You return to Salvanza and the rest of the sentinel squad.”
“Yes Char,” Ian said as he saluted, taking to the air towards the sentinel battlefield. Rage quickly ran towards Blackfire, who was engaged in a deadly conflict with a strikingly beautiful young girl, no more than sixteen, who seemed to have the Enforcer on her toes. Such fury, mercilessness was expressed in the girl’s mannerisms as she tossed her limbs into Blackfire’s body. With a scream she unleashed two explosive bolts of pure white energy, throwing Blackfire to the ground. Charlotte bit her lower lip in anger until a few droplets of blood appeared. With a scream, she charged at Paris Winchester, the Blue Rook, tackling the girl to the ground by the mid-section, taking the blonde bombshell by surprise. Summoning all her strength, she pinned the wriggling girl to the floor, before smashing her knee into her face.
“Now play nice,” Charlotte joked, before the girl’s right hand broke free, smashing a fist into Charlotte’s fleshy face, drawing blood to the surface, The Purple Queen lost her grip on the youngster, who forcibly threw Rage off of her, scrambling to her feet. Charlotte stood up, the roots of her hair becoming crimson as she began to convert into Rage. Paris merely sneered as energy bolts formed in her hand. Suddenly, she felt an immensely painful sensation submerge her right leg. To her horror, her leg was on fire. Blackfire, who had staggered to her feet standing just besides Paris laughed, sending her elbow crashing into Paris’ face before increasing the severity of the flames.
“Take that,” she giggled, before noticing the transformation of the Purple Queen. Then she became aware of the tongues of fire that lapped around her palms. It wasn’t a good idea to wave fire, something dangerous, in front of a homicidal maniac. Rage was in control now, the glazed look washing over Charlotte’s face as she began to laugh hysterically, before leaping for Blackfire.
The energy flowed through him like a drug he had been craving for eternity, replenishing him, revitalising him. Steven Booth hadn’t felt this good for ages. Cutting back, allowing himself to tap into the immeasurable energy reserves that he accessed, which owned him the title as the most powerful psion on earth, perhaps even the galaxy. His power was seemingly endless, as he plunged deeper and deeper into his mind, opening up gates and tearing down boundaries he never knew existed. The only time he had truly used his powers so fiercely was when he… well, it was an event he’d sooner forget. For now he would savour his new found freedom. In front of him he noticed how well Joseph and Felicity worked together. No matter how much he hated them, he couldn’t help but feel some sort of content feeling that two people he had cared for deeply before were now happy. Maybe after this battle was over they could rekindle their friendships. Or perhaps not. Too much had passed between them all. But he’d try.
“Steven,” Salvanza said nearby as he darted the lazer fire of one of the sentinels before taking its head clean off its body with a bolt of solar energy, “are you sure you are okay?”
“What do you mean?” Steven roared, his voice projected in a monstrous tone by the energy pulse that emitted from his nimble body.
“You’re using way too much power,” Salvanza said, “you don’t need to use all this.” The Paladin’s eyes looked at the King with an almost pleading gaze.
“You speak nonsense,” Steven said, his aura becoming fiercer, “I need more energy, I NEED MORE!” A burst of extremely powerful energy erupted from him, smashing the airborne sentinels and PHC members through the air. An inhumane scream sounded from Steven, before the blaze settled down, sending the King’s unconscious body colliding with the ground.
Isambard smiled cruelly as he stepped from behind an oak tree. “How interesting,” he laughed, “I just super charged Steven’s powers with my own mutant power, and look what happens. Cool.” His distinct French accent cackled loudly through the air. Then he noticed the unmoving body of the Blue Queen, Bethany Bureau collapsed on the floor, her beautiful face covered in cuts, bruises and blood. His fists immediately clenched as fire burned in his eyes. “I shall destroy you all for this insolence Purple scum!” he growled, “Sentinels, destroy them all.”
“Destroy destroy destroy,” Joseph tittered as he rose from his feet, instantly materialising behind Isambard and booting the Blue King in the shoulder blade, “it that ALL you think of?” Before he got a reply, Joseph brought his heel crashing down on Isambard’s cranium, before kicking him in the face, throwing him into the air. The former Blue Bishop caught Isambard by the lapels of his jacket and proceeded to swing him around, before releasing him, allowing him to collide roughly with the stonewall that surrounded the outer layer of the castle. Isambard crumpled in a heap on the floor, before he was pinned to the wall by his neck, courtesy the former Blue Bishop. Joseph’s grip was hard and cast iron, his fingers digging deep into Isambard’s throat. The smirk that had been across his face vanished, as his features twisted in utter horror. “It is payback Isambard,” he growled, “payback for manipulating me. For trying to destroy the very things I held precious. Now, now you die!”
“But, but I could, I still can return all those things to you,” Isambard ranted, “all you need do is destroy the PHC and then you will be King again, King of the Beverley Hills Hellfire CLUB!”
“SHUT UP!” Joseph screamed, “I don’t care about that anymore. And I don’t care about you. Goodbye.” With that Joseph crushed Isambard’s neck, breaking the trachea. As he felt the last dying breath squeeze from Isambard, he released the body, allowing it to collapse to the ground.
“Sorry about this,” Blackfire said as she pulled a sword from the holster in her shoe, thrusting the blade deep into Charlotte’s head, “but unlike you I can’t come back life and by the looks of things, especially those claws, you want me dead!” Rage winced as the blade cut through her bone before rupturing the grey matter inside, killing her instantly. With a flash, the body appeared to return back to normal, only with Charlotte in control, and no bloody head wound. The Queen glared at Sharon as she knocked away her hand that offered to help her up.
“That dying stuff hurts!” Charlotte said, “If I wasn’t External, I’d be really mad right now!” Despite her stony faced appearance Blackfire could see a grin crawling over her face. Charlotte noticed the unmoving body of Paris. “Is she?”
“No,” Blackfire reassured her, “just sleeping. That’s everyone down except for that Isambard freak and those sentinels.”
“Correction” Joseph said as he wandered into the forest, brushing the stray branches from his face, “Steven’s powers were being amplified to extreme levels by Isambard. Finally, Steven’s mental circuit breakers must have overloaded, and he literally exploded taking out all the sentinels and I finished off Isambard. Now let’s get the rest of the PHC to the infirmary.”
“Good idea,” Charlotte said rigidly as she turned on her heels to head out of the clearing, “oh and Joseph,” she said, “I call the shots around here.”
His eyes flared as the vibrant purple eddy opened revealing the less than pleased face of Diamopher, the demon once again converting to its normal state, with its swirling green eyes, extruding canine teeth, razor-sharp claws, two twisting horns and tail, all contained within the decorative silver robe he wore. “You’d better have a good reason to have summoned me back Raito,” he growled, his voice low and threatening as a bloodlust entered his eyes.
The Illuminati leader sniggered, tossing a straying strand of scarlet hair over his shoulders. Clicking his fingers, a vortex opened, which he retrieved a jewel encrusted golden chalice, levitating it just above his shoulder, before closing the wormhole. “Do not address your master in such a tone,” Raito snarled, “I have in my possession the very vessel that imprisoned you for so long, and I shall have no hesitation returning you back to your grave.” The sight of cup seemed to quieten Diamopher who pulled his robes tight around her before glaring at Raito with utter content.
“Master,” the demon uttered, his voice counterfeit and clearly meant in a mocking tone, “why did you take me from the battle? I had the Hellfire Club members at my mercy!”
“Indeed you did Diamopher,” Raito said in a sincere tone, “but I wanted to test out our new Strike Force. The Great Houses of the Illuminati disregarded us, forcing us into hiding. But we shall prove our worth when we destroy the Hellfire Clubs, thorns in Illuminati sides for centuries. Then they will respect us.”
“Yes, but I still want to finish them off!” Diamopher roared, “they must feel my wrath.”
“SILENCE!” Raito scolded, “you shall have your vengeance very soon. For now, we must determine why that sword the Black King wields affected you.”
The demon was silent for a moment, his eyes focusing on the deep incision on his abdomen. A silvery blue trail of dried blood lay around the wound. He wanted to touch it, but waved his right. “It burns still, even with my healing skills,” Diamopher, “it must be mystical in nature.”
“You think?” Raito said sarcastically, his words forceful, “we must remove him immediately.”
“Really?” Rogue said as she punched the armour-clad brute in the stomach, “you really want me to surrender?” The creature just growled, trying not to show the Black Queen it was afraid. This seemed to make Abby Gannon giggle as she once again punched the giant in the stomach, before tossing it into the air. She looked around the battlefield. Morte was being harassed by some winged dude and DarkWolf was having some serious tongue problems. Looks like she’d have to sort things out. Again. With a sigh, she hovered into the air and began to fly towards the scaly clad woman who lurked near the entry opening Justin had caused in the side of the van. Suddenly, she felt a powerful hand wrap around her fiery tresses, yanking her violently backwards. Gentil pulled her towards him, holding her with her hair as she wriggled around, trying to free herself.
“I let you get those punches in,” Gentil growled, “just to boost that pathetic ego of yours. But now, you shall feel first hand the wrath of Gentil.” With a sickening squelch, his meaty hand collided with Rogue’s face, tossing her across the battlefield like a lifeless rag doll before she landed with a crunch. The beast smiled.
Nate tossed another car towards the woman, who once again teleported out of the way into a clear space, before unleashing another torrent of blasts upon the Black Prince. He screamed in pain as the energy diffused his telekinetic shield, making his skin burn fiercely and his nervous system overload as the bolt struck. Before he could retaliate, the woman brought another hail of fire upon him, bringing the psychic to the ground. “You never were a match for Neuroses,” she giggled, before teleporting behind Monet, who was trading blows and winning with a tall, slim raven haired woman. From the looks of things, she had superstrength, agility and speed, not to mention some fantastic fighting techniques. But Monet was quicker and more effective, using her limited telepathic powers to sense every move she made, keeping one step ahead, whilst her advanced intellect allowed her to plan a course of action.
“Can you handle her Dominix?” Neuroses cackled, twisting a lock of blonde hair around her finger. The young woman grunted, before Monet sent her knee into her face, followed by a super strength enhanced punch and head butt, knocking Dominix into darkness. The Black Princess gave a strained sigh of relief, wiping her sweat washed brow, before slyly grabbing Dominix’s motionless body, hurling it at Neuroses, knocking her from the air.
“Yup, didn’t think you could handle me,” Monet cracked, before a tendril wrapped around her neck, dragging into the air, its crushing hold squeezing the oxygen from her lungs. The Black Princess was reared in front of her attacker as she left out a sickened gulp. He was about eight feet tall, his whole body a powdery blue colour, consisting of what she could only think and hope was goo. Two broad arms fitted with eight serpentine tendrils flailed around. A mass of greasy black hair rumbled around his head, his slit-like eyes blemished with red staring menacingly at her. The grasp around her neck became tighter, and another tendril closed in around her waist. Monet began submitting to the tempting, all consuming blackness that flooded into her head and body, before passing out. Neuroses rose into the air, her hair standing on end as a current of energy circulated around her. She noticed the limp body of the Princess and frowned, returning back to the ground.
“Dam it Grotesque, you get all the fun,” she whined. Suddenly Chameleoness jumped from a nearby building towards the two of them, her long, slimy tongue wrapped around the unmoving body of the Black King, a devilish grin washed over her face. Before anyone could comment, the trio were made a quartet as Gentil joined them; Rogue drooped over his right shoulder, Nate over his left. With a grunt he threw them to the ground. Cherub also descended from the ground, Morte in his grasps.
“Great Alpha Squad,” Gentil said as his eyes looked hungrily over the unmoving bodies, “despite Dominix’s pathetic attempt, our task is done. Now, allow us to assist in capturing the Purple Bishop, Assassin and Advisor.” Everyone was silent for a moment as they contemplated Gentil’s words. Chameleoness smile grew larger as she looked at Dominix. Everyone knew that if you failed Raito, you didn’t make it home in on piece. Hopefully she’d be allowed to ‘dispose’ of her.
“Now you are just plain rude,” Xeus said as he jumped into the air, his right arm punching down on his attacker, allowing him to throw himself further in the air. The Purple Bishop smiled as he saw the look of utter disdain cross the Illuminati Strike Force member. From what he could tell, this one was a vampire of some sort, and he even possessed a sonic scream, illusion power and some damn nasty matter dissolving energy blasts. It was the man who first declared the attack. The leader, Xeus hoped. That’d show people he was worthy of his title of Purple Bishop. He could swear he heard someone refer to him as Top-Heavy.
“Come DOWN!” he screamed, allowing the sonic scream to scold from his throat, knocking Xeus to the ground. But before the Bishop collided with the tarmac road, he managed to flip himself upwards, booting Top-Heavy in the face, making the steely grey haired man backwards, allowing Xeus another round house kick, lifting the man off his feet. He rammed into the ground with a thud.
“See, that’s what you get for being a loud mouth,” Xeus said, his voice betraying some sort of counterfeit sincerity, “now go to sleep!” The Bishop unleashed a bolt of energy. With an uncanny burst of speed Top-Heavy jumped to the air, avoiding the blast, unleashing a staff from his robes, smashing the metal stick into Xeus, before hitting him with a bolt of energy that made his suit dissolve away with an explosion. The Purple Bishop collapsed inertly to the ground. Without taking a break, the old man back flipped towards Toby, who was dodging electrical discharges from a sandy haired man. Glaring at the Illuminati member, Top-Heavy took over, hitting Toby with a sonic scream, before cracking her skull roughly on the edge of a building, allowing his metal staff to run amuck on the rest of her, before finishing her descent into unconsciousness with an energy blast.
“Master Top-Heavy, your skills still have me in awe,” the sandy haired man said.
“Thank you Electro,” Top-Heavy said, “now assist Maelstrom in taking down the final traitor. Raito wishes for us to report back to him soon.”
“Yes Milord,” Electro bowed.
“Welcome back to the land of living my friend,” Dr Morgan joked as he leaned over the Purple King. Steven’s eyelids began to slide open; the strong florescent lights of the sophisticated hospital ward making him immediately close them again. The medical facility that was installed in the Purple Hellfire Club Castle was the best in the world as far as private infirmaries went, especially when dealing with mutants. Steven tried again to open his eyes, the light filtering in once again but he pushed it away, finally opening them fully. His temple throbbed in agony as a splitting headache racked his mind. Every synapse of his brain, every cell of his body seemed to be on fire, frying with intense pain. As his eyes adjusted to the glow, he noticed he was in the psionic restraint room. Damn it he said to himself as he tried to pull himself up in the hospital bed I must have lost control of my powers.
“Dr. Morgan?” Steven called, his voice weak and guttural, “where’s the rest of the PHC?” His words became more agitated as the sentence progressed.
“We’re right here,” he heard Charlotte reply as her beautiful face came into focus, “don’t worry the Blue Hellfire Club threat has been diminished. Those members who survived are in the dungeons.”
“Survived?” Steven questioned.
Joseph grunted. “I killed Isambard and Ozyranian back at base. Ralph, Paris and Bethany are all in a bad way. Also, Epyon took one of those sentinels in for inspection.”
The Purple King’s eyes began to flash purple as a distinct blue aura flared up around his head. His hands immediately shot to his head as he cried out in pain. Finally, a vortex of light erupted in front of his bed. “To New York,” he screamed, “you must all go now before it is too late!” And with that the man passed out, the vortex sucking the assembled members through it.
“Cower before me,” Electro shouted as he backhanded Waya roughly across the face, knocking the airborne Scribe from the sky, landing her solidly on top of a steel roofed car. The young woman winced in pain as she collided, before her Shamanic healing powers set in. However, it would take a while to fully replenish, so she had to keep these people busy. From her observations she was the only one still standing, and she couldn’t be taken down.
“Cower before this!” she said, pain evident in her voice as she sent an enormous burst of fire into the sky, consuming Electro in the inferno. She heard him scream out in pain as he tried to erect his force field. With a thought, she began to summon a whirlwind around his body, increasing it in ferocity as it neared him, finally consuming him. That would take care of him for a while. But she could see the Illuminati Strike Force’s attention fall upon their distressed teammate. Waya grimaced as she rolled painfully off the car roof onto the floor.
“I’ll sort out little Miss hard to kill,” Chameleoness hissed as she bounced into the air, using her powerful muscles to propel her across the street, landing on top of the car lid Waya had previously occupied. A sinister grin washed over her face as her mouth gaped open, revealing rows of sharp, jagged teeth, and a long pensile tongue that darted out, a thick green ooze coating it. It hovered around Waya’s head for a moment. Before it could strike, a rip opened above the Illuminati member, as a pure light illuminated the area. As it cleared, it revealed the presence of seven puzzled PHC members.
“What the…?” Rage said as her eyes darted around what looked like the epicentre of a severe hurricane. The elite Manhattan shopping street was now little more than a shamble of broken buildings, torn up concrete, decimated roads and a scattering of obliterated vehicles. But the sight that caught her eye the most, that sickened her, was to see her Court members, Waya, Xeus, Toby and Morte, as well as four familiar Black Court members, the Black King Darkwolf, Queen Rogue, Prince Nate and Princess Monet, lying frighteningly still amongst the rubble. Immediately, the Queen’s pupils began to redden, as did the roots of her hair. But she fought hard to overcome the Rage. She knew that she had to keep her head about things.
“Who the Hell are you?” Chameleoness spat, as she turned to face the seven members, who were about ten feet from her.
Joseph smiled as he realised the Illuminati brand over the woman’s right eye. Instantaneously, his palms flickered with energy. “By the looks of things Illumanti scum,” he shouted, “your worst nightmare.”
Ian Fitzroy’s face illuminated in a smile. “When will you people learn?” he sighed, as he fired a bolt of density altered energy at Chameleoness’ stomach, tearing through it with the force of a 100 mile an hour bullet, “when you kick one of us, we all limp.”
End Chapter Six
Steven Booth
King of the Blue Hellfire Club
Former Red Bishop
Former Black Headmaster
Rage's Partner In Crime
Insanity Midget
President of the Frank Sinatra Association
The Blue Hellfire Club
The Blue Hellfire Club Role Play
Song Quote of the Month: What If God Was One Of Us?
If God had a name, what would it be and would you call it to his face?
If you were faced with Him and all his glory,
What would you ask if you had just one question?
What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us?
Just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home
If God had a face, what would it look like and would you wanna see?
If seeing meant that you would have to believe,
In things like Heaven, and in Jesus and the saints,
And all the prophets
And yeah, yeah, God is good,
And yeah, yeah, God is great,
And yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us?
Just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home,
Back upto Heaven all alone,
Nobody callin' on the phone,
'Cept for the Pope maybe in Rome