by Brandon Getz
Chapter LIX
Lars was Alice, and the Dark Moon dust was an Eat Me cake. He was Ultraman engaging his Beta Capsule. He was Mario tripping on the mother of all mushrooms. It wasn’t anything like the body-horror snapping and stretching of werewolf transformation. He felt like he was wearing an inflating werewolf suit, a heavy thing but coursing with power—full-on Incredible Hulk mode. He was growing huge.
Riding the momentum from the Dark Moon’s force blast, Lars landed full-sprint on all four claws in the dirty white forest of the witch-monster’s pubes. He thanked the gods of physics he hadn’t landed headfirst in old-lady monster cooch. There wasn’t enough booze in the universe to drown away an experience like that. He didn’t have time to get caught up in the beast’s nethers. He was running, clawing, straight up Auntie Hand’s abdomen, leaping chasms of torn skin, waterfalls of dark blood, glowing walls of scar flesh. As he ran, he grew. He could feel it, his werewolf body hulking out, swelling. His clothes—everything from underpants to combat boots—fell away in shreds, and soon he was nothing but wolf, feeling the wind on his ball sack as he bounded up the body of the beast. The Hand Monster’s fur was no longer a forest, suddenly it barely reached his knees. Her cuts only cracks now, the scars minor tripping hazards. She had noticed him, finally. From the corners of his eyes, he saw the barge-sized claws coming toward him, but he still hadn’t slowed—he was raging. Rushing on moon-power and nega-magic. He was running between her saddlebag werewolf breasts, up on his hind legs, both hands clenched in heavy fists. Above him, the Hand’s jaw didn’t seem so gargantuan now—it was just a jaw, wolfish and ragged, and soon Lars was beneath it, fists ready, the wolf-monster’s hands stopping in surprise.
Then Lars Breaxface what he was born to do.
What he’d done to that Siskelian smuggler in the Pickled Quasar.
To Quillian Nine’s trash-golems on Canal City and Cairn.
To the hell-mouthed sea monster in the drainpipe of the tidal wall.
What he’d done a thousand times to a thousand other assholes in barfights and on battlefields and anywhere he’d had to call down the fury. He was what he was; he did what he was always meant to:
He punched the monster in the chin.
Werewolf fist made contact with monster jaw. Shockwave boomed from impact. Giant bones split, and giant razor teeth flew. He was bigger than the wolf-witch’s head now, and still growing. He vaulted over the monster’s shoulder as she stumbled, and as he scraped to a landing on a nearby pyramid, he saw Jay and Fish buzzing above the Hand’s open mouth.
Boom time. Drop it, Jay . . .
But she didn’t. The Dark Moon, it must’ve still been stuck to that prosthetic mitt. The Hand Monster staggered, but her hellfire eyes had locked onto his two flying companions. From below, boulders of debris crashed against the monster’s hide, courtesy of Frank. Distracted and concussed, Handzilla turned, and her mouth began to close—almost. Lars had shattered her jaw like an earthquake: skin and fur split in two from chin to throat. As she tried
to move it, the two halves of jawbone splayed. Black blood coiled up from the cracks in her skin, winding around each piece of jaw, pulling them apart as Jay wielded the power of the witch’s diviner, blood magic turned up to eleven, and between the jagged jaws, trailing a comet’s tail of shadows, Jay dived—the Dark Moon ahead of her, pulling her down like a weight.
Princess and moon-heart disappeared into the Hand Monster’s throat. The monster froze. Lars was scrambling on the pyramid, trying to steady his new gigantor bulk to launch a second attack. He felt the stings of laserfire on his back, a few of the ballsier cops edging forward from the swarm to attack the newly giant Lars. He didn’t even bother batting them away. His skin healed almost as quickly as it burned. Auntie Hand was Target Number One. He had to focus. Jay’s bloodropes fell away, and the wolf-witch’s jaw was already sealing up, her werewolf healing factor also in overdrive, pulling flesh and bone together like a zipper. Lars crouched at the apex of the pyramid, tensing his mega-arms for another leap. He looked down and noticed his own skin starting to split and bleed, a faint purple glow tracing through his old tattoos. He closed his eyes and felt something behind them, burning. Well, shit—maybe he was gonna go full-on Ragnarok Wolf after all, flaming eyes included. But before he did, he was going to save the princess from the belly of the beast—he could do that much, at least.
He perched on the pyramid’s apex and dug his claws into the steel structure, preparing to launch his new giant self at the monster’s chin for another hyper turbo sucker-punch.
“Yo, she-bitch,” he snarled. “Let’s go.”
Then his claws started to slide—the pyramid was growing underneath him, the broken buildings around him soaring skyward, and Handzilla herself towering over him.
Oh cosmic fuck . . . The pyramid wasn’t growing; he was shrinking. He was all out of sparkle-magic Dark Moon power-up, and his gigantor-ness was wearing off. Apparently a scratch-and-lick from the magic moon-heart bought you time enough for one big punch. Or maybe it was a symptom of the fritz, his wolf blood not quite back to one hundred. Cosmic Christ, he thought, even Ultraman got three minutes as a giant kaiju-fighter. Lars was pretty sure he hadn’t even hit two. The cracks in his skin began to heal. The glowing tattoos beneath his fur faded, and in seconds, he was back to his regular werewolf self, regular werewolf-sized, stranded sixty stories up on the top of a cyberpunk pyramid as the giant vampire were-monster—who had just eaten his sort-of friend and did not seem to be exploding from Dark Moon overload as planned—lumbered toward him, eyes blazing. As the final crack in her chin sealed over, her wolf snout stretched into a smile, and even missing the few teeth he’d punched out, that megalodon grin was scary as hell.
Chapter LX
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad being the witch’s giant attack-wolf. Sure, he would have been a near-mindless city-killing freak beast with flaming eyes, but being gigantic, even for a brief moment, had been pretty rad. And at least he’d be more or less alive. At least he wouldn’t be about to die buck-ass naked in an alien universe. And his cock would’ve been huge.
There was no space princess with magic blood cocoons to save his ass this time. At that moment, she was either fighting her way out of the Hand Monster’s guts or halfway through digesting, along with the big black rock that was supposed to be super-beast kryptonite. He was stuck, and the super-beast was coming toward him mouth first. So she planned to eat him too. Whatever. It seemed fitting, he and Jay dying together in the intestines of Handzilla. If it weren’t for his wolf blood and her mission of righteous vengeance, there wouldn’t be a giant beast ravaging downtown Vampville.
Plan C, Operation: Make Lars Humungous, had somewhat flopped, but if she was intent on gobbling him up, maybe he could still backtrack to Plan B, Operation: Rip Monster Apart from Inside. He hunched atop the pyramid and let out a wicked werewolf howl that echoed through the broken city. He wouldn’t get swallowed easily like some chocolate-flavored cum wad; he’d be a hairball with claws.
Something buzzed past his tail, and he snatched it out of the air. A thick, smooth tube of polished chrome scuttling on an anti-grav motor.
“Specially engineered for maximum zero-grav and subspace satisfaction,” came Fish’s voice from behind him. “Propulsion’s a new feature, though—like a vibrator on overdrive. A great gift for your more adventuresome user of zero-gravity erotic appurtenance. Pop this baby into an orifice and ride it ‘round the cabin while you climax like a supernova. One year warrantee included.”
Fuckin’ space dildos . . . Lars coughed out a laugh as best he could, given his werewolf anatomy. He released the buzzing dildo, and it put-putted around to join a few others flying around the sword-winged cyborg fucktoy salesman. From his little swarm of sex toys, two sets of fuzzy, zebra-striped handcuffs zoomed toward him, dangling from heavy-duty anti-grav engines.
“For airborne S&M play,” Fish explained. “Can’t always wait till you’re in outer space to get
that weightless feeling.”
Lars snapped one cuff from each pair to his wrists. They lifted him off the pyramid, holding him above its point, eye level with Fish, his thick werewolf arms spread like he was on the first letter of the “YMCA.” All things considered, the cuffs were comfortable, but he felt like wolf bait on a fuzzy hook. The monster was close, moving slowly but purposefully toward them. Buildings crumbled with each step.
“Jay,” Lars said. “She’s in there.”
Fish’s head drooped. “I know. The wooden hand wouldn’t let go. She didn’t have a choice. It was that, or abandon the plan.”
“Not fucking working. Where’s Frank? He was down throwing rocks at Goliath a second ago.”
“Don’t know,” Fish said “Saw him stop a piece of building from falling on some people. Then the princess went in. I lost track.”
A lone corpse bird passed by, squawking and dripping some kind of slime from its sallow skin. It made Lars hungry just looking at it—until the Hand stepped close enough to smell her breath. Like a meth addict who’d been drinking battery acid. The stench burned his sensitive wolf nostrils, and his stomach turned.
“Look, Lars,” Fish said, nodding toward his swarm of toys, “all I’ve got here are a couple of souped-up prototypes outfitted for anti-grav. Flying fucktoys. Nothing with any firepower. You guys destroyed all of that when you broke into my house. I’m just one little amphibian with a pair of wings and a laser chainsaw for a hand. I can’t take on a world-ending colossus. I couldn’t even beat you. We need to fly out of here. Out of the city, straight on to the next syndicate. Maybe they have something there that could blow a hole in this monster. But apocalypse-wise, Armageddonly-speaking, I'd say Imperium’s lost, and so is the princess. We failed.”
Lars couldn’t believe it. Jay’d been so damn sure that Fish’s Dark Moon plan would work. Swallow, overload, ka-boom. But it hadn’t—and in less than a minute, they’d be the next course in Auntie Hand’s all-you-can-chomp buffet.
“Fuck it,” he growled. “Let’s go.”
Then, from the Hand Monster’s open mouth, a skull-shattering shriek erupted. It swelled, climbing in pitch and volume. The monster threw her head back, eyes closing as she shrieked, Lars and Fish both shaking from the vibrations of the sound. Jay, Lars thought. The warrior princess must’ve been hacking her way out of the wolf-witch’s guts after all. The monster’s eyes opened—and from them, columns of violet-black fire shot straight up into the sky. Out of her mouth a wider column beamed, swirling nega-fire searing through her teeth. The shrieking continued, a high singing tone more felt than heard. The network of name-scars across her skin burned deep purple and then the black flames ruptured through the flesh, a web of holy magic Dark Moon nega-fire engulfing the alien witch-monster. In a fireworks finale of jet-black fire and violet sparks, the giant werewolf Auntie Hand exploded, her body bursting along the seams of her scars, and her massive wolf head popping off, sailing over the tidal wall toward the sea of hungry serpents, as white fur and hot, hot blood rained across the ruined city.
The shrieking ceased, and the silence was deafening.
As the smoke cleared, Lars saw a black balloon flying over ground zero, right where Handzilla’s chest had been. No, not a balloon—a bubble. A bubble of monster blood. And it was gliding down to the burning, gore-spattered crater below.
“Fish,” he said, “get us down there.”
Chapter LXI
At the center of the crater, the sphere of blood bloomed, and Jay stepped onto the scorched pavement, covered in organ bits and entrails but alive, intact, and holding her tech-laced broadsword. The bubble melted into a puddle behind her, black and glistening like an oil slick.
Lars unlatched the fuzzy cuffs and dropped to the ground, Fish and his dildo army buzzing behind him.
“You did it,” he said. “Slayed the monster. Saved the world.”
Jay smirked, sheathing her sword behind her back. Entrails clung to the jagged ridges of her shadow armor. “Had some help. That was a hell of a punch.”
Lars shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
“Top-notch heroics,” Fish cut in, drifting toward Jay. “Have you ever thought about modeling? I have a new line of high-tech bondagewear you’d look fantastic in. What’s your bust size, 36-C? How do you feel about nipple armor? It’d be a great business opportunity. Everybody loves a hero.”
“I’m not going to wear your metal bras, frog man.”
As Jay waved off the eager amphibian, the battle-weary wolfman dropped to all fours and stretched his haunches. He’d been in wolf mode too damn long now. He was tired. He needed a beer. His hands began to twitch, and in moments he was back to his human self. It felt good, if a little breezy.
“You’re not wearing clothes.”
“Price you pay for going gargantuan, princess. I’ll pick up some new threads when we’re back in my ‘verse.”
“About that . . .” Jay began. “Wait. Where’s Frank?”
Her starry amethyst eyes darted around the wreckage of the crater, and a look of worry crossed her face.
“I bet he’s fine,” Lars offered. “That old log is a tough son of a bitch.”
Fish said, “Yeah, but the monster—she could’ve stepped on him, right? Or he could’ve been caught in the explosion? She really blew up, with nega-fire and everything.”
Lars shot him a look. The fish-eyed cyborg was oblivious.
Concrete scraped concrete on the far side of the crater, and from a caved-in liquor store, right on cue, a pile of rubble and monster guts fell away to reveal the dusty and battered foliage of a ragged tremuloid that had seen better days. Frank lurched out from under the debris, dragging a case of some glowing vampire booze.
“Frank,” Jay called, “you okay?”
As if to answer, the beat-up tree sat himself on the charred pavement, ripped the case open, popped the cork off a bottle, and began sucking the liquor in through the prehensile branch.
Jay smiled a shark-toothed smile. “He’s okay.”
Surrounded by his whirring sex toys, Fish headed for the damaged tremuloid, offering medical assistance in exchange for a healthy swig of whatever spirits he’d looted.
“About our ticket home, though,” Lars said. “Pop out that puzzle box and let’s all vamoose. I’ve still got some brews in Sheila’s hold. Those kegs from the fart alien. We can all kick back and toast to victory.”
Jay’s smile faded. She turned to look at the ruined city, the smoke and fire, the survivors just now making their way from wherever they’d hidden away. “I can’t, Lars.”
“Taking the throne back, huh? Mission of righteous vengeance succeeds. Guess the old witch wasn’t totally wrong.”
“I’m not staying to be a queen.”
She stopped to wipe a spot of blood from her scarred cheek. Hell of a woman, this magic ninja alien vampire princess. Kills the monster, rejects the spoils. On some level, Lars had to admire that. Selflessness wasn’t exactly in his nature, but he could grok it on occasion.
“I’m going to do whatever I can to help,” Jay said. “I caused this. It’s the least I can do.”
“All right . . .” Lars said. What else was there to say? Good luck? Toodles? “Good luck with that,” he added. “Toodles.” He scratched the hair on his chest and belched. Goodbyes were weird. One more check in the pro column for flying solo. Nobody to say adios to. “So, about our payment? I seem to remember a contract for a haul of negativium for services rendered. And one of those suits of armor. I’ll take an IOU on that, if it’s cool. I can’t even tell if the castle’s still standing from here.”
“Still playing the mercenary,” Jay said.
“A werewolf’s gotta eat.”
Smirking, the princess reached up and unlatched the spiked spaulder on her shoulder. “It’s a good thing I kept all this close by.”
Beneath the piece of armor were the two vials of negativium and beside them, shining in the moonlight, the small, golden puzzle box—the
key to the door between universes. She took the vials of neg out first and started to offer one to Lars, then paused. “You want Fishman to hang onto this for now?”
“Hell no. That’s a shit ton of money. My big score,” Lars said. “Besides, Fish is playing nice now, but I think he’s still pissed about us busting up his shop back in Canal City. Might figure it’s restitution.”
The crater was littered with blackened ropes of the wolf-monster’s yeti fur. Lars grabbed up a smaller strand, one about the thickness of a licorice rope, then took the vial of negativium from the princess, knotted it in the monster hair, and hung the whole thing around his neck. The vial nestled among his chest fur and faded ink, for now dangling like a ridiculous piece of jewelry.
“Not bad,” said Jay. Then, calling to the amphibian, “Mr. Fishman? Payment. As promised.” She tossed the vial, and Fish caught it with his flesh hand. He flashed a wide frog-lipped smile and raised his mechanical arm, a small compartment irising open near its elbow. He tucked the vial inside, gave a webbed thumbs-up, and went back to boozing with Frank.
Jay then unfastened the key from its hiding place on her shoulder and offered it to Lars. The wolfman took it, dwarfing the delicate box with his thick tattooed hands. This was it. The monster was gone. There was no more mission. He had his ticket home. Back to Sheila and the big empty and whatever trouble he could find there, among the stars.
“You sure?” he said. “Back there, you’ve got infinite worlds. Here, it’s just the one. Kinda boring, if you ask me.”