Blackjack Messiah

by Ben Bequer

  "You are responsible, Blackjack! You are the monster here, not me! Everything that’s happened to me is your fault! And why, why have you not paid a price? Why do I have to carry all this pain? Why are you free?”

  "I was trying to stop him!" I shouted, the words wet and misshapen, but he started his pounding again.

  "I don't care!"

  "It was Brutal, not me!"

  "I don't care! I hate you! I hate you! I want you to die! I want you to suffer and burn for an eternity in the pyres of Hell!"

  "Mercy!"

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Father Mike's Madness

  The voice came from behind us. Father Mike stopped, my blood dripping from his fists, dabs of it spattered up his arms, and on his face. His robes were a canvas in red. He turned, confused, and faced his flock. Wiping my blood from his face, he stared at the congregation. His eyes were accusing, damning, full of rage.

  It was Olympia. She cried out again, “Mercy!”

  He glared down at me, desperately wanting to kill me. The sudden resistance, from villains no less, stayed his hand.

  Other voices joined, the growing chorus forming a chant: “Mercy!”

  The cry was loud, and getting louder. Some, like Olympia, were yelling louder than others. I spotted Whisper in the same row as Doctor Destroy, hiding behind her hands, weeping.

  "Mercy!"

  A dissenting growl rose from portions of the chapel, calling for blood. Flamestrike was among them, Harcore as well, and battle lines were being chosen as the crowd filtered into definite sides.

  “Mercy!”

  Father Mike still held the posture of a man in control, but the crowd around him was beyond saving. Slick in my blood, face contorted in a grimace, Father Mike gritted his teeth, but I knew he wanted to howl in rage. He had forgotten the first rule of power. Flaunting it came with a price. People wanted to be safe, even superpowered psychopaths and mercenaries. Was his first reaction to every challenge going to be violence? It looked that way. He had lost them. Time to cap this fucker.

  "Now, Haha," I said, spitting a wad of blood on the altar.

  The screens flickered and replayed the video of Razorstrike's last minutes. The crowd seemed to be of two minds. Flamestrike's group actually cheered, but more than a few, including the remaining members of the Ladies of Pain, Stormfire, and Deathshead were horrified. Without delay, Haha displayed Bubblerella's death on the wide screen. Her screams rang out through the cathedral as the machine eviscerated her. When it was done, Haha showed another video. And so on and so on, villain after villain murdered in the machine.

  Primal was aghast. This wasn't part of his plan. In fact, this sort of summary execution was his impetus to create a place free of that violence and judgment. Father Mike had corrupted his vision.

  "Ever wonder why you're so few these days?” I croaked. Haha tied my voice into the PA system, my voice a slurred, lisping mess. “You want to know how they’re empowering your Chosen. It's because of this...machine. It draws out the juice that makes us super but at a price."

  I tried to stand, but nothing obeyed. Instead, I rolled into a sprawled sitting position on the remains of the altar. "This guy preaches one thing and does another," I said, hoping Haha would get the cue.

  The video switched again. This was a view of the main lab, where Doctor Snyder was working with his team. Father Mike came into the frame from behind, beckoning Snyder closer. The video wasn't aimed in that particular direction, but Haha zoomed in so the viewer could still see Snyder's leg and lab coat. He also amplified the sound and cleaned it up, cutting out as much of the background noise as he could.

  "Father Mike," Snyder said. "Primal is asking questions. I can't keep giving you..."

  "I don't want to show you the consequences of disappointing me, Doctor," Father Mike spat, and after a brief pause, the doctor returned to the frame where his assistants were hard at work.

  "Take a five-minute break," Snyder said. They filed out, and their expressions made it clear that this was not a freak occurrence. The doctor withdrew a glowing glass vial from a cradle on the center console that measured almost twelve inches. Treating it with care, he handed it to Father Mike.

  Father Mike took the vial, opened the glass stopper and poured the liquid into his mouth. He calmly replaced the top and handed it back to the doctor. Snyder returned it to where it belonged. "If you keep using it all," Snyder said. "There will be none left for your Chosen."

  Mike laughed, "They're not mine, you idiot. They belong to our benefactor, and they don’t matter. Only I do."

  Doctor Snyder looked down, frightened. "I'd rather not know," he said.

  "Ignorance is bliss, huh, Doctor? I bet you think Primal is in charge here," Mike said, pushing the doctor back against the console, smashing a monitor. He started away, then realized what he had done. "Well, fix it!"

  Father Mike smiled, but then his expression changed, his face twisting in pain, as he fell screaming to his knees. Blue light erupted from his face, shooting out of his mouth and eyes, burning everything in sight.

  Dr. Snyder dodged the flames as Mike bucked uncontrollably, showing more agility than I would have given him credit for. The old man jumped and danced and hid behind a chair and soon it was over. Smoke rose from Father Mike's body, and his eyes glowed fiery blue. A ghostly white anima banner surrounded him as he walked over to Snyder, grabbing a chair, intent on throwing it, but ripping it in two instead.

  "Come here," Mike said, his voice deep with malice. "Never question me again, do you hear me?"

  Snyder wept on his knees, hands held up in obeisance. Mike regarded him with cold eyes, finally outstretching his hand. The doctor leaned over and kissed the steaming hand, flinching at the burning touch. "I forgive you," Father Mike said. "Now gather your equipment and come to the loading ramp."

  Doctor Snyder nodded, nervous, "The transport device isn't tested and, in theory, it's more devastating than the static device. I haven't had time to install a power graduation, nor any of the filters."

  "I don't care what it does, or how it works."

  "I'm merely warning you, the transport device will be...we don't know what the ultimate effect will be."

  "Don't worry," Mike said. "We are going to test it."

  As the image faded, Mike stumbled away from me, staring at his congregation. Even Flamestrike and his bunch were staring at him with venom in their eyes. Everyone had turned against him.

  Everyone except the Chosen.

  I don't know why I bothered to look at them. They were motionless, expressionless, throughout the whole thing. What was going on behind those stolid faces? Maybe it was the talk of another benefactor that got me curious - a loose, dangling thread that ate at me. Who did Father Mike mean, if not Primal? Right now it didn’t matter - they were on his side.

  "He doesn't mean to save you, or to help you," I said, crossing my legs and leaning back. Now to twist the dagger I had stuck in Father Mike's back and gut the bastard. "All he cares about is his vengeance. Hell, to him, you all are just fuel."

  Father Mike stared at his shaking hands, sticky in blood. He looked down at his robe as if he had no idea why it was red. "No, no. I was angry.” he stammered. “I was...mistaken," he said.

  Deathshead jumped the retaining wall dividing the altar from the pews, and charged Father Mike. He was no fighter, and Deathshead was, but the priest batted her away like an ant. She streaked across the chapel, slamming back into the stone wall, then slumped, lifeless.

  Stormfire shouted, "Fuck this, you're dead!" She led a charge of villains who went straight for Father Mike. It seemed as if he would be overrun, but The Chosen finally came to life, intercepting the villains.

  Chaos exploded in the cathedral. I caught Whisper's eye and motioned with my eyes towards the exit. If she got my meaning, I didn't know, because my attention was drawn back to Father Mike. He turned to me and unleashed his power. As when he had swallowed the vial, his body began to glow with unrivaled inte
nsity, burning through my eyes into my brain.

  He stared at me, all humanity gone, snarling and so enraged he was unable to speak. He strode toward me with all the urgency of an old couple on a Sunday stroll. The chapel was an orchestra of violence, the walls shaking with the immense power being hurled in such a confined space. The air rippled with screams of rage and pain. The temperature started climbing, and the taste of ozone was thick in my mouth.

  I tried to stand, Haha’s servos helping my weak effort, but Father Mike extended his hand, and a force I couldn't overcome laid me flat against the altar stairs. In the other hand, his aura crystallized into a long, lethal shard of light. I struggled futilely as he knelt close to me.

  "I hate you," he growled. “God forgive me, but I hate you.”

  I could feel Haha trying to bolster my armor by pulling from our surroundings, but it was mostly rock. The shard was sharp and long enough to pierce me through without much trouble. Father Mike hesitated, careless to my struggle, quivering in rage and disgust. "I’m going to kill you.”

  I was helpless, and instead of fighting, I gave in. If this was how I died, then so be it. I died trying to save the world - and from Primal's reaction to the videos, he might be inclined to listen. I had hoped to be the guy that talked him off the ledge, but we had a lot of good negotiators on our side. It would help that we knew each other, even understood each other to a degree. But it was a moot point. It was done.

  And I was good.

  "I’m going to...tear you…” Mike was so engrossed in his furor, he could barely speak.

  "I'm sorry about your family," I said. "I really am."

  This enraged him further, and with a booming cry, he pulled the dagger back as far as he could, putting all he had into it. I turned away, hoping I would catch one last glimpse of Apogee across the madness in the cathedral.

  Everything slowed down, and through the throng, I caught a glimpse of her. She was moving fast, fighting off two villains. One was wrapped around her neck, choking her, some cat guy I didn’t know. His claws were locked into her shoulder while Harcore pulled her arm. Despite this, she made headway toward me, dragging the huge villain across the carpet while carrying the other.

  But she wasn't going to make it.

  "Fuck it," I said, and faced Mike. I locked eyes with the motherfucker. If ghosts existed, I was going to haunt him for an eternity. If there was a Hell, and I had a good reason to believe something like it existed, I would be waiting for him at the gates. If it took a thousand years, he was going to pay. The blade sliced towards my heart, but just as it pierced, a bright flash appeared beside me. In my peripheral vision, I felt a blur intercede between Father Mike and me.

  The dagger bit deep. I heard my scream, but at the same time, I heard two more people screaming. The dagger had run through my midsection and the thick part of Whisper’s forearm. She’d nudged his aim enough to miss my heart altogether. We were skewered together, the blade digging into the rock behind me. Whisper’s dagger cut a shallow slash across Father Mike’s bicep. He didn’t react to the pain, but Whisper’s face was frozen in agony.

  The blade twisted in my guts, and the pain was even worse than being stabbed. Every muscle in my body turned to pudding. Haha babbled nonsense in my ear, but I didn’t have the strength to tell him to shut up. Mike grabbed for Whisper, and I thought she might port away, but she stabbed at him. He batted her arm away, the dagger flying from her hand. It clattered across the floor as his fingers wrapped around her neck.

  Her breathing became hitched and wheezy as Father Mike closed off her airway, but I felt his pressure over me fade. Well, really, I noticed Haha deploy something around the horrible wound in my stomach, his armor closing around puncture that I realized that I was free.

  It made sense, Father Mike wasn't a fighter and had little experience with his newfound power. He didn't know how to concentrate on multiple things at once. I punched his blade, smashing it, but Mike lifted Whisper off the ground. Her eyes bulging out of their sockets, the popping of bone stark above clamor in the chapel. She convulsed, moments from death.

  Then Apogee struck.

  I caught her from the edge of my vision, sloughing off the cat villain, and breaking Harcore's grasp. She charged her fist and ran the last few yards at superspeed, catching Father Mike across the jaw with a blow that would have sent anyone else - even me - to the morgue.

  Her punch was accompanied by a primal scream that resounded along the entire chamber, followed by the release of her fist charge. The melee slowed for a second, as the smaller carnivores recognized the presence of an alpha predator. Father Mike flew across the room, slamming into the far wall with a crunch.

  Of Whisper, there was no sign.

  Apogee knelt beside me, and I could tell from the way her expression shifted from rage to anguish that I did not look well. I tried to scoot into a sitting position, but she pressed me down gently. “Don’t move, babe. I got you.”

  I didn’t fight her. There was still work to do, and I would have to move, soon, but at that moment, it was more important to let her take care of me. She cradled my face, noting the damage. "I'll heal," I said, trying to smile.

  Harcore reached us, but instead of fighting, he grabbed the mike from the altar. "Look at what we have here, people. A hero. Apogee! How many of us want a piece of her, huh? Stop fighting each other and let's join up against the real bad guys."

  He wasn't very compelling, and frankly, I was amazed that he was able to finish complete sentences. Harcore wasn't known for his profound intellect. But a few villains stopped fighting each other and turned on us. We were swarmed, and I wasn't going to be much good in a fight.

  Apogee keyed her earpiece. "Now Templar."

  A familiar light appeared behind me, a thin line slicing through the empty air, swinging open to reveal a huge portal. It was not subtle, but the villains were either too dumb or caught up in bloodlust to notice. Haha giggled in my ear, and I laughed too. It was wet and harsh, but I didn’t care. As I turned, there was Battle, and Epic's Legion and the All-Stars.

  Now it was a fight.

  In big hero fights, there are these moments that happen from time to time, strange convergences of luck where all the stars line up perfectly like some strange intergalactic convergence, and the guy you most want to punch in the face in the whole wide world appears in front of you.

  I'd had it happen a few times before, but never in such sweet fashion as when Flamestrike landed in front of me. "You and me, Blackjack. We have unfinished business!"

  My first instinct was to reach out, grab him by the face and hit him until I broke him. Under normal circumstances, I would have been on him like flies on excrement, but these weren't normal times. I was dropping gallons on the floor and felt myself fading.

  "Not a good time for this, Blackjack," Haha warned. I could feel him fiddling with the gaping wound in my stomach. Flamestrike saw my condition and licked his lips, eager for the easy kill. "I'm the dude that killed Blackjack," he'd tell anyone who'd give him the time of day for the rest of his life.

  A hand pressed on my shoulder. It was Epic, "I got this," he said, stepping between Flamestrike and I. The villain's cocky smile faded.

  Then another hand pressed on Epic's shoulder - a big black hand.

  "This bitch-ass punk ain't worth your time, big E. I got this," Moe said, flashing me a little wink.

  Flamestrike reconsidered the whole thing, sheathing himself in fire, and taking to the sky. Moe was on him in an instant, grabbing him by an ankle. The villain screamed, powering up his flame aura, but that was the wrong thing to do against a guy like Moe, who could absorb energy and turn bigger, stronger. The more you beat on the guy, the tougher he got.

  Flamestrike’s scream of panic was the starting gun. The clean line of heroes and villains rippled into a messy clump as they attacked each other. Rivals instantly paired off, determined to settle old scores while others decided to take the team approach and gang up on their opponents. The vi
llains outnumbered us, but some seemed determined to fight amongst themselves ignoring us entirely. Apogee tightened her hold around me, and I clenched my guts, preparing for the burst of speed that would take me out of the fight. I opened my mouth to protest when I felt a hard tug, and Apogee was gone.

  I turned back to see her being dogpiled by a group led by Harcore. I fought out of a sitting position, but I was still on one knee when a pair of Chosen fought through to me. One guy propped me up and the other swung back for the killing blow when a loud "swoosh" preceded a warm spray across my face. I opened my eyes and the Chosen in front of me was split in half from the top of his right shoulder to his left hip. The Chosen looked at me, and then at his wound in confusion. The top part of his body split from the lower before he realized that I hadn't done anything.

  Templar stepped away from the splattering corpse finishing up the swing on his enormous sword. The other Chosen let me go of me to attack Templar but a blur sent him toppling into the throng of villains, solidifying as it knelt beside me. It was Ricochet. "Dude," he said, moving towards me in small, controlled hops. "He's hurt bad!"

  "Medic! We need to evac you," Templar said, helping Ricochet get me to my feet. I threw an arm over each of their shoulders and they dragged me away, but an instant later there was a bright flash of purple energy, and at its core was Apogee. She collapsed on the floor, caked with some sort of blackish-red goo, with long strands that looped back into the closing portal. The energy faded and Apogee dry heaved, clutching at her stomach. I turned towards her, but I had no strength to fight Ricochet and Templar as they laid me down. I felt a cool hand over my forehead, Dixie’s fingerless gloves showing her long nails. Her eyes were glowed green.

  Dixie's healing touch was like cold water on a burning hot day, soothing and almost electric to the touch. The pain from Father Mike’s beating, the broken bones, and the bruises, slowly flowed out of me. Gauging from the shape I was in, it would take hours of Dixie’s ministrations, followed by more hours in a real healing pod until I was anything close to normal.