by Sergio Black
“Shit, energy absorption. But even after all this time? How is that even possible once we forced Tadesh Tada’ to bless the room? Not even the Swordsman of the West felt any spiritual presence, and he has a reputation of being very thorough.”
The Mad Doctor looks around. “Yeah well, I guess he’s not as great as he thinks he is. I feared this would happen. No matter, small setback for a big comeback.” Andrew clicks his tongue and knickers like he was calling a dog. “Come, No.1, I have decided for now you remain useful. Make no mistake, if he breaks those cuffs, he will slaughter us all.” The Mad Doctor turns and walks out of the room, holding his breath, only allowing himself to breathe when he is out of the presence of his employee. Andrew limps down the long corridor, passing riled up prisoners amped up from the current of events. They beat on their cells, screaming and shouting profanities. The Mad Doctor acknowledges nothing while he wipes his sweating forehead, standing outside the elevator, he repeatedly punches in his 16-digit override code, attempting to speed up the process. The Mad Doctor reaches into his coat and pulls out an all-black card that simply reads, LET’S MAKE A DEAL… The Mad Doctor only needs to rub the card 7 times to call upon an Immortal. The elevator door dings, then opens, stepping inside, the door slides shut. Andrew shouts “Heil the Mad Doctor!” The elevator begins its ascent to the top floor...
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE
Lisa Ann wakes inside the sleeping bag Fang had shapeshifted into the night previous. She stands and walks down a small wooded area that smells like fresh pine and stops at a little creek that runs through a plush meadow where the yellow daybreak sheens and glimmers off the clear water.
Balto follows Lisa Ann like a stray dog and kneels to the dewy blades of grass, close as he can, but somehow still manages to tower over Lisa Ann by a couple feet. Lisa Ann looks to Balto and cracking a smile, she stands on her tiptoes to scratch his soft massive head.
“Have any idea where we are, boy?” Balto looks to his pack who sit side by side, like elite soldiers. Balto gruffs lowly several times, then uses his gigantic paws the best he can and spells out Fort Collins, Colorado. Lisa Ann is ecstatic at the acuity which her new friends display. Lisa Ann acknowledges her companions. “Thank you.” Lisa Ann stands up from the creek as she finishes splashing the clear cold water over her arms and face. “Ready to go, guys?” The Wolf pack bark happily and Balto licks Lisa Ann’s face with his wide, long, tongue. Lisa Ann wipes the slobbery kiss off her face.
“Eww, Balto, I just got rinsed.” Balto’s expression reminds Lisa Ann of a teenager committing small acts of chicanery, the gruff sound of his chuckle reminds Lisa Ann of a snickering, old smoker. Lisa Ann can’t help but to burst into laughter. “Come on, Balto.” Lisa Ann jumps onto Balto’s back. Balto stretches, sputters and leaps over the small creek and the rest of the pack quickly follow. Lisa Ann rides on the back of Balto with knots turning in her stomach, not because of the bumpy ride she is forced to endure on Balto’s back, but because Lisa Ann has a feeling, she is too late to save her parents. Lisa Ann looks down on Balto the best she can considering that Balto is 15 ft tall and weighs over 2000 pounds. Lisa Ann looks into Balto’s eye.
“Balto, can we go any faster?” In that instant, Lisa Ann is almost thrown from Balto’s back. Lisa Ann doesn’t think it’s possible but Balto went from running to sprinting and the energy she feels coursing through Balto is unbelievable. In that moment, Lisa Ann knows Balto and his pack are not just extraordinary wolves but something much more, with a distinct feeling her protectors are very old and not from this earth. If not from here then where? Lisa Ann has many questions and few answers. Lisa Ann feels the energy increase with her anxiety as Balto and the pack easily top 100 miles per hour. Balto and his pack cut the time in half from 10 hours and make it to the outskirts of Boise, Idaho in a little more than 5 hours.
The sun is setting and the temperature drops as light shadows dance in the surrounding forest. Lisa Ann recognizes the wooded terrain that opens into a plush meadow of Neu Idaho where she and an old-time friend spent much time during various seasonal months. Lisa Ann pats Balto’s head. Balto and the pack come to a slow stop. Balto falls flat to the ground in the middle of the heavily vegetated meadow. Lisa Ann clumsily pulls herself off the back of Balto and falls to the grassy ground with a small grunt. Lisa Ann looks to Balto and the pack who lie on the forest floor without a care in the world. Lisa Ann giggles to herself.
“If I didn’t know how fierce you guys were, I would almost say you guys were harmless. We are not far, guys, just hang tight and stay here. I got this.” Balto barks loudly as if to tell Lisa Ann she is not going alone. “I’m serious, guys, I got this.” Balto uses his paw to rub his nose as if to tell Lisa Ann he will stay. “Good, I will be back with my parents within an hour. If I’m not back, just assume something happened.” Lisa Ann walks off into the distance, and treads between tall redwood trees, rubbing her shoulders to generate heat within her chilled body, looking back at Balto and the pack. Balto stands bold and strong with a look Lisa Ann doesn’t quite recognize.
In less than 10 minutes, Lisa Ann approaches the edge of her backyard that surrounds the little cul de sac she once frolicked and played in as a small child. Lisa Ann squats close to the ground attempting to blend in with the surrounding vegetation. But at the same time, Lisa Ann can’t help but notice how quiet the surrounding area is. Lisa Ann remembers the laughter of children and the sound of neighbors having a good time in the small close-knit community within the large city of Boise. Lisa Ann draws closer, just enough so she can’t be seen and yet she can see through the screen door that leads to the back yard. Lisa Ann is lost for words.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LET’S MAKE A DEAL
The elevator opens and the Mad Doctor takes one step forward, standing just in front of the closing doors. He peers inside his dark penthouse that sits atop of N.S.W.P.’s Headquarters. The loft itself is decorated lavishly with cherry red walls and white furniture covered in plastic wrappings, for any stains that taint the vanilla sofa, no matter how small, would cause the Mad Doctor to hurl the sofa over the balcony, regardless of who was below or who became a casualty. Andrew had done this many time before, resulting in several fatalities. The Mad Doctor exhales the wind in his chest, musters all the bravado he can before he limps to a sturdy, oak desk planted in the middle of his quarters.
The lavish room, like most expenditures, cost the Mad Doctor nothing, courtesy of the Neu Reich. The Mad Doctor walks around to what he calls his ‘thinking chair,’ pulling out the black chair on wheels, he plops himself in the cushy seat. Leaning forward, he grabs a matchbook off the tabletop, holding the matchbook before his eyes he strikes the matches, lighting six black candles that line his desk. The Mad Doctor sits back and begins stewing over the turn of events, causing his temporal lobes to throb when he thinks of how close he is to his envisioned appetites. Andrew leans his weight forward so both elbows rest on the desk and begins twiddling the mysterious Crow Shaped Calling Card betwixt bony fingers. The Mad Doctor drops his head to the hardwood and closes both eyes, mentally preparing himself for what comes next.
Pulling himself upright, ‘I can do this, I can do this, I can do this!’ The Mad Doctor uses his thumbs to rub the top edges of the Calling Card that nick his skin just enough to draw blood, and taint the surface. The Card absorbs the blood, which congregates to the middle and forms the Devil’s Winged Skull insignia that glows brightly. Its luminescence grows brighter as he counts out the number of times, he rubs the Card like a well-practiced ritual. When the Mad Doctor reaches the number five, his whole body begins to tremble and sweat leaks from his armpits, causing his dirty, smelly clothes to stick to his wet underarms. The Mad Doctor finds himself short of breath as he thinks back to the brief encounters, he’s had with the shroud of a man known as $chadenfreude Sickfreak. The smell of death and feeling of empty depravity follows the man like the plague. Everything about the Superior petrifies t
he hell out of Andrew. The way he talks with a tone of high-pitched certainty is like having a one-sided conversation with Hitler. Closing both eyes, the Mad Doctor speaks aloud as his lips tremble, rubbing the Card a sixth time, he shouts. “SIX”!
The temperature in the room drops 100 degrees and a gust of death sweeps through the loft, blowing out all but a single candle that burns front and center, leaving just a faint bit of light to silhouette Andrew’s face. The Mad Doctor sits in his chair, quaking from the sudden bitter cold, but mostly from fear. Everything in the room frosts over with thin layers of black ice. The Mad Doctor’s breath catches in his throat when he hears a small sound of his balcony crystallizing over, SHHHKKK! The ancient Immortals have given the Mad Doctor almost all the material indulgences he could have ever dreamed of, but he would trade the world’s wealth for the single carrot that eludes his hollow eyes, the feeling of true power, the power to bridles life and death with the snap of a finger.
“Evening, Herr Doctor, you rang a dang dang... Tell me, Andrew, do you remember the meaning of my name?” When he speaks, Andrew recognizes the cold Slavic accent. $chadenFreude stands on Andrew’s balcony, head tilted forward, letting his deep purple eyes excavate the darkness. The Mad Doctor attempts to use the tips of his toes to swivel around so that just maybe, he would be able to catch a glimpse of the legendary Immortal’s face. $chadenFreude stops the Mad Doctor mid-swivel, creating a sticky fog around his Oxfords that harden and freeze into jaded black ice. $chadenFreude Phantom Phorms into a blizzard of thick ash and soars behind the Mad Doctor, placing an icy cold hand on his left shoulder. The purple ring on his middle finger is carefully sculpted with a giant Eye at the center, with an I layered over the top, shining and glinting the way no earthly metal is capable of. The Mad Doctor loses any thought that may have formed through his synapses, with his fixation on the ring’s flawless craftsmanship.
“I told you, I will reveal myself to you at my leisure! Now, what is the meaning of my name!?” The Mad Doctor reground himself to reality, hearing the repeated question clearly for the first time.
“Your name is a translation from German, it means one who takes pleasure, or pleasures themselves in acts of torment.” $chadenFreude leans in closely and breathes heavily into the Mad Doctor’s ear.
“Rough translation, but nonetheless, you’re correct, Herr Doctor.” $chadenFreude turns his icy breath into a thin mist that creates a numbing cold, clinging to Andrew’s inner ear canal. The Mad Doctor winces, the wet mist freezing over to ice, the pain sensation replicating that of a thousand red tipped needles pricking his ear in unison. $chadenFreude watches Andrew and reads how he fixates with fascination on his Apocalypse ring.
“Herr Doctor, it’s not polite to stare. You like my Apocalypse ring?” $chadenFreude stands up straight and raises his head, then holds his hand in front of the Mad Doctor’s mouth. “Since you like it so much, go ahead and give it a little kissy kiss kiss.” $chadenFreude rips a smile from cheek to cheek. He loves subjugating others to his torment, and never passes up an opportunity to gloat and show his Superiority over those he deems lesser beings. Andrew shakes with hysteria as he is unsure of $chadenFreude’s intent, he much prefers the company of Creepious Thinman. He figured out early on, that he was more complex and practiced practicality, whereas, with $chadenFreude, the man’s unpredictability scares the shit out of him. Andrew puckers his lips and kisses $chadenFreude’s ring with a soft ‘muah.’ $chadenFreude nods and bats his eyes softly.
“Yes, very good, Herr Doctor.” $chadenFreude raises his right hand and starts petting Andrew’s bulbous head like he was a lap dog, then proceeds to ramble on about the ring’s history. “My Apocalypse ring solidifies my esteemed status as a General among the Order, one of four if I must gloat, as well as it nullifies any energy-based powers or reality warping powers. I imagine you could only hope to have one someday.”
$chadenFreude stops petting Andrew’s tufts of hair and places both hands on each shoulder, then squeezes, digging his razor-sharp nails into Andrew’s collarbone. Andrew doesn’t cry out from the pain but simply purses his lips tightly, not wanting to give the Immortal any further satisfaction. “Oh, you’re so tense, Herr Doctor, I can just feel it in your fragile bones. You can relax, I won’t kill or maim you... today. You correctly objectified my name. If you had gotten that wrong though, I would have felt insulted and I would have had to take measures to ensure that you’d never forget. Have you ever tried to work with one hand? You’d be very surprised what you can do with just one hand. Fun fact, Herr Doctor, you know most people have the misconception that perdition is a fiery crematory. But they’re mistaken, Hell is sliced into seven sections, each of which is overrun by different Pagans and ruled by humanity’s grotesquest individuals to ever live, now immortalized in Tartarus until Lady Mcdeath comes to reclaim the Castor of Time. Down there, they fight for hierarchy just like they did in the dark times. The despotisms they show each other trump even your worst nightmares. I have frequented as a guest of honor many times, courtesy of our master. Can you imagine it, inside that inadequate brain of yours? To be greeted as an Emperor, pagan kings and sinners answering your every whim. Just to prove fidelity. You know the most handsome Superior of the viking ages use to be encaged down there, at least until my arrival. He literally gave me his personable features. That’s how I became the handsome authoritarian who stands before you. Wouldn’t you agree, Herr Doctor, that I’m handsome?”
$chadenFreude $ickFreak tightens his hand on Andrew’s already reverberating shoulder, sending a frenzy of cramps down his arm. “Well, the question, would, uh, a question makes more sense if I had ever actually seen your face?” $chadenFreude applies a bit more pressure, painfully enticing Andrew to his will.
“What was that?” The Mad Doctor doesn’t hesitate and nods his head up and down.
“Yes, you’re so godly and handsome. Even RiRi has nothing on you.” $chadenFreude lets a small chuckle escape between cold blue lips.
“Yes, I would say my figure is better. Wouldn’t you, Herr Doctor?” The Mad Doctor stifles a laugh that wells up in his chest, creating a throaty noise. $chadenFreude, feeling mocked and thoroughly annoyed, squeezes further to get his point across. “Something funny to you, Doc?”
The Mad Doctor shakes his head from side to side. “No, I’m not laughing at you, I’m just admiring your tasteful phazaz.” $chadenFreude smiles.
“Tasteful, huh?” Lowering his head, $chadenFreude extends his 2-foot tongue, wrapping it around Andrew’s throat, the tip flickering upward caresses his moist cheek, the skin itself bumpy and salty, tasting of stale saltines. “Mmm, you’re so... lecker, full of fear, yummy yummy fear. I could manipulate you in such ways you would beg me to send you to the afterlife.” A few seconds elapse, and in mere moments, Andrew’s last few hours flicker through $chadenFreude’s mind, leading up to the present events.
“Ja’, I see. Any occurrences that expired in a timely manner, you need not say, all it takes is one lick of tasty DNA, then ACH! or voila, as you would say. You know, I was in the middle of a good torture session. Pity, the last guy didn’t know the meaning of my name. He was your former president or something, who knows anymore, you all make up different titles every day, in attempts to reassure yourselves of your own importance, it seems... humans always looking for an opportunity to advance your own ego under the false pretense that you are more important than you believe to be… Now, since you rang a dang dang, you better have something good for me to take back, our Lord and our Shepherd.”
The Mad Doctor’s eyes dilate further at the saying of the word ‘TORTURE.’ “Yes, sir. We have Nefarious and the Reaper Scythe. He’s also in possession of Vergina’s Eye, but it seems to have deserted him, after we got him into Ronnies Room it vanished, and this time I do believe for good.” $chadenFreude nods his head.
“Yes, very gut. So, our Master was right about salvaging that prison cell. It cost us a small fortune. Ronnie’s services were not cheap, but once
again, what’s money when you supervise the world’s wealth?” $chadenFreude’s smile sears from ear to ear, as he slowly dances his slimy tongue around the purple Sinatonium incisors that have small orchid diamonds encrusted on the surface, then finally outward to his lips.
“Yes, you have done well to locate the Eye of Vergina, or better known to me and mine, as the Left Eye of Lucifer. That Instrument hasn’t been seen for thousands of years. It’s as if our minor setback forced it back to the stars. Do you know the fable behind that Eye? The legend is, during the decline of the 12 Olympians, they gathered together at Olympus and sunk what was left of themselves into a Star that granted them power and reign over the Heaven and Earth. It was a way to immortalize themselves after the fall of their paradise. That children’s story was even before my time. The power it brings the wielder is far beyond anything you could imagine. Our Shepherd will be pleased with this, his current host is slowly breaking down, this body lasted him a good while though. I’m sure Nefarious will make a suitable permanent host once he has fully matured, seeing as he already commands the Eye of Vergina. Since the loss of the Master’s original form, he’s been searching for a way to get his body back or at least find a replacement vessel to contain his immense output of Devil’s Magic; he gets tired of switching bodies so much... I am curious to know, what’s his real identity? The commandeer of the Eye? Our Master is ever lost in his plans and never revealed it to me.”
The Mad Doctor lets out a sigh. “You won’t believe this, but it’s Killian’s heir.” $chadenFreude chuckles at this.
“Oh my, Killian’s heir. What are the chances? He is in for quite a surprise, Herr Doctor. Now, down to other business. I know you rang a dang dang, because you need something.”