A PENDRAGONS UNIVERSE SPECIAL EVENT
"...The landslide results are proof positive that England wants change. The bitter disappointment of Tony Blair's regime are a thing of the past. The scandals, the meat scare and the outright lies will be no more. I accept the baton that is being passed and I promise you that the United Kingdom shall regain its place as a leader in the European Community. We shall regain the trust and admiration of the world. I promise--"
"Turn it off, Joey. I don't want to listen to it anymore." Romany Wisdom turned the page of her book, trying to erase the doubts that plagued her. She tried to avoid politics altogether, but she could help but be concerned when a Conservative like Clive Winthrop could be elected Prime Minister.
Joey Chapman, lounging across Romany's couch, tossed the remote to the floor. "Bloody idiots. We're gonna go right back to Thatcherism, you watch."
"Jackie's met him and thinks he's not half bad."
Joey grunted. "I love Jackie like my mum, but it doesn't change the fact that she's upper class. She doesn't understand what people like us have to go through."
"Ah. The plight of the common man, as voiced by Joey Chapman. Please let me seek out my violin so I can play in accompaniment."
"Laugh it up, Romany. But mark my words -- dark days are comin' for us. Dark days."
Romany didn't bother responding, instead choosing to refocus her studies. But there was something in the air, she had to admit -- a long, dark night was about to fall.
"Your speech was PERfect! ABsolutely PERfect!" Jonathan Grant helped the Prime Minister's jacket, putting it away while Winthrop poured himself a drink. "Mr. Blair and his party never knew what hit him -- overnight, we've thrown the British political structure into a tizzy!"
Winthrop ignored his assistant's words and actions. Grant was like a small insect of some kind, constatnly darting about for attention. Instead, the Prime Minister polished off his drink and smiled into the mirror. He was a handsome man, a bit heavy in the midsection perhaps, but certainly not fat. Instead, he gave the impression of being a bear -- a wild bear squeezed into the tiny frame of a human male. "We only have a few months, Jonathan. We have to make the most of them."
"Sir?"
Winthrop turned, regarding his aide with narrowed eyes. "As soon as my plans to ally ourselves with Latveria come to light, there will be pressure on all sides. I must have my agents placed firmly within the goverment -- there can be no mistakes."
Jonathan swallowed, his ample adam's apple bobbing. "I understand, my lord. What shall you have me do?"
"Contact the Hellfire Club first. Tell them that I wish to meet with them, in private, this evening. After that, send word to Victor that I shall visit Latveria on a matter of state within the week. This is primarily for the press, there will be no true discussions of anything political during my stay there. I want to make it appear that Latveria is coming out of its shell, but is only willing to talk to me because of my promise to change both England and the entire European Community. Finally, there is a small box in my study, addressed to Dane Whitman. Make sure it is delivered to Garrett Castle. I have my doubts about the abilities of my allies to effectively deal with Whitman and his teammates. I want him to know what he faces."
Stephen Strange floated in the air, the sweet smell of incense filling his nostrils. The rain was coming down hard, striking the walls of his Sanctum Santorium and causing strange shadows to flicker across his floor. Lightning flashed once more and Stephen heard his man-servant, Wong, drop a glass in the kitchen. The sound of glass shattering only set Stephen's nerves further on edge.
An ancient book bound in human flesh hovered before him, the pages turning every so often as he exerted the smallest measure of his magical power upon them. The words were almost indecipherable, written in scrawling print across the page, but Stephen understood enough to cause him great worry.
From the Nether-Realms a dark lord returns, sealing away all glory and light. The blackest of hearts shall rule the land of Olde Kings and the most powerful of mages shall be struck down, his blood staining the floor of his Olde home. What shall come is most terrible and bleak, a world where the mystic arts flourish and mankind is assaulted by enemies of all types--
Strange glanced up as the storm suddenly became silent. The book had come into his possession only days before, brought to him by one of his many associates in the world of the occult. The prophecy itself seemed nothing unusual - he had read many such portents of doom in his time as Sorceror Supreme. But there was something... something in the weight of the manuscript, in the erratic care with which it had been prepared, in the all-too accidental way it had come into his hands....
Lightning illuminated the room, a long plume of electrical fire shattering the windows of Strange's sanctum. The eldritch lightning bolt, not formed of any Earthly storm, struck home, sending the Sorceror Supreme into a paroxysm of pain. He screamed, every synapse suddenly firing at once.
When Wong entered the chamber, his face full of concern, he saw only his beloved master smoking upon the floor.
The war had begun, though none knew of its true nature.
Victor Von Doom sat in his study, staring at the monitor board before him. Holographic images of various mages flickered in the dim light as the armored tyrant studied his would-be enemies. He had to admit that the Prime Minister's course of action was a bold one, full of risk -- but it was that very boldness that was catching his enemies unaware.
Between Doom and Winthrop, most of their perceived threats were already eliminated before they even knew what was hitting them.
Stephen Strange, comatose following a lightning strike.
Jennifer Kale, bloodied and bruised, was currently floating face-down in the Everglades swamp.
Wynter, the chief mage of the Pendragons, was distracted by the threat posed by Nekron. Should Nekron prove a failure, Doom had no doubt that the magician could be dealt with later.
The other heroes, those of a non-mystic bent, would soon find themselves devoid of help from magicians such as Strange. Even Doom's nemesis, Reed Richards, would find himself on uneven footing when confronted with the magical threat posed by Clive Winthrop.
Yes, Winthrop was quite a tactitian.
Doom would have to plan his own betrayal of the Prime Minister very well. The world would belong to Doom and no other.
The London Hellfire Club arrived en masse at a quarter to ten. It was Margali, the Red Queen, who broke free of the small talk first. She was standing near the fireplace in Winthrop's rather chilly sitting room, holding a wine glass in her hand. "Doom cannot be trusted. As soon as he's had his fill of us, he'll run to Richards and lead an assault against us. Once he knows he can't beat us on his own, he'll have no choice but to seek out our downfall."
The Ebony Knight nodded. Once he'd been a collector of the arcane, but now he belonged body and soul to the cursed Ebony Blade. "She speaks truth. We must be prepared to strike him down lest he betray us."
Clive Winthrop paced, his face a mask of concentration. "We need Doom for now, but he'll be dealt with eventually. I'm going to be quite busy in the next few weeks, consolidating my new political power. I'll be meeting with other European leaders almost immediately. What this means is that I'm counting on the Hellfire Club to deal with our local problems."
The Ebony Knight stirred. "I have already made it clear that the Black Knight is mine. The sword... it hates him."
Winthrop stopped and smiled. "Oh, I understand your base desires very well, Knight. Your opposite number is your own to deal with." He turned to Margali. "The Red Queen shall lead the Hellfire Club's assault on the Pendragons. Doom will give us aid in terms of technology and magic."
Margali hesitated before speaking, "And when will our victory be complete?"
"Within six months, my dear Red Queen. All we have to do is keep our little Pendragons off-balance for that length of time, and keep outsiders from discovering us. I've crafted a delicate little spell, centered on several points of ancient power in the British Isles. By the time our six months are up, things will have progressed to the point where I can activate the spell -- and magic will reign supreme in Britain. We shall be cut off from the rest of the world -- in our own little kingdom, to rule as we see fit."
The Black Queen, who had bided her time as of late, growing ever more fearful of Margali's power, spoke up "And you still have not told us how you would rule. For most of us, it is obvious -- we desire power, wealth, prestige. But what of you? When I look in your eyes, I see nothing but hate and evil!" She strode towards him, her hand raised. "I refuse to aid a creature like you! No matter how vile Mountjoy may have seemed, you make him look--"
Winthrop's hand shot out so quickly no one in the room had a chance to even blink. He grasped the Black Queen by the throat and lifted her off the floor. Her dark curls hung loosely down her back. "You insult me. That is not acceptable." A slight increase in pressure was followed by a horrible cracking sound, as the Black Queen's neck snapped. A second later, hellfire engulfed her. Winthrop tossed her body to the floor, his eyes flashing. "Anyone else have any doubts to discuss?"
Dane Whitman ran the towel over his back and shoulders. The workout had been intense, but he'd needed it. With his workload increasing and Sersi demanding more of his time, he'd given serious thought to taking a break from the Pendragons. He hated to do that, though -- England needed the Black Knight and all of its protectors more than ever. The election of Winthrop was making everyone jumpy.
"Mr. Whitman, sir? A package has arrived."
Dane nodded at his butler. "Just set it down over there and I'll get to it. Thanks."
The Black Knight looked out the window, seeing Sersi flying back from a shopping excursion. They were to host a party this weekend and she'd insisted on picking up a few things. Dane shook his head. It seemed like every weekend Sersi threw a party.
Pulling himself away from thoughts of debt and high credit card bills, Dane turned his attention to the package. Plain brown wrapping covered something about the size of a large hat box. With no return address, Dane had no idea who had sent it. The mystery intrigued him, to be honest, and he started to rip it open without hesitation.
What he saw froze his blood.
There before him was a human head -- the head of Sean Dolan, his former friennd. Sean Dolan, who had fallen prey to the curse of the Ebony Blade. A look of horror was forever etched on Sean's face.
"By Avalon...."
With a trembling hand, he reached for a small envelope that lay beside his old friend's severed head. Inside was a simple, handwritten note that read :
LEAVE ENGLAND OR SUFFER THE SAME FATE.
Dane crumpled the note in his hand, feeling the hot sting of tears. He'd wondered how the Ebony Knight had acquired the blade... had he tracked Sean down and murdered him? "Whoever did this to you, Sean, is going to pay. I swear in the Lady's name...."
The flaming motorcyle tore through the streets of London, attracting the stares of all it passed. Though none recognized the flaming visage of its rider, all hoped and prayed that he would not turn his damning gaze in their direction.
For Neil Gow, it was one of the most fearful moments of his life. Stepping out of the pub with a pint in his hand, he came to a sudden stop as the motorcyle neared. Though his mind was slightly numbed by alcohol, he would recount this scene to his wife Christine with eerie clarity later that evening.
The motorcyle's rider wore dark leather, a Union Jack emblazoned on the back of his spiked jacket. He was of good size, riding a motorcyle like none Neil had ever seen before -- one of hard angles and sharp edges. Flame shot forth from beneath its wheels.
But nothing compared to the horrible face that rested atop the broad shoulders. Devoid of all flesh, it flickered like a candle top, alight with unholy fire. He seemed like a figure birthed from Hell itself.
Perhaps, Neil mused, he was.
The Ghost Rider rode past, his mission of Vengeance driving him forward.
Though Winthrop and his dark allies did not know it, a new force had entered the fray.
England's embattled soul had a new champion.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Welcome to the beginning of a long, dark night.
Black Mass moves the Pendragons Universe into a new and darker direction. We've always had plenty of magic in these stories, but the mystic level will rise considerably over the next few months.
Pendragons will take on an even more mystical slant, as I plan to restore some elements from the late, lamented Knights of Pendragon series, and Ghost Rider UK will debut soon, furthering the more mystical nature that our little universe is taking. Exactly who this Ghost Rider is will be dealt with in our very first issue, so I promise there won't be any long, drawn-out mystery in that regard. GR will also be the series where we reveal exactly who Clive Winthrop really is.
Let me know what you think,