Come Undone
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What's Been Happening: Roma, fearing that Brian Braddock had lost his sense of moral direction, led a group consisting of the Black Knight and a revamped Ultraforce on a mission to stop Brian's attempt at curing his mad brother, Jamie. The conflict tore old friendships asunder and resulted in the death of King Brian's older brother. In addition to this, both the King and his wife were sorely wounded, leaving many to fear for the safety of Brian's unborn child... Meanwhile, the evil Mandragon continues plotting against the throne, while the man known as Slaymaster takes a most unusual pupil under his wing -- a time-displaced version of young Brian Braddock himself.
"I was the younger of two brothers, born to middle-class parents in Sussex. Basil was the proper son, the one who always did what was expected. I hated him."
The young Brian Braddock sipped the slightly pungent tea that he had been offered, watching as his master settled down on the cushions that lined the floor. The two men were in Slaymaster's private chambers, which were dark and heavily accentuated with various Middle Eastern flourishes. "I can't imagine growing up not loving your own brother. Jamie was my older brother's name -- and he's wonderful! He's an auto racer and he's bloody marvelous with the girls."
Slaymaster tugged at his moustache, looking weary and sad. "I invited you here for several purposes, my young friend. But one of them is to deliver the ill tidings of death. The evil Brian -- the one whom we hope you will defeat -- he has killed his own Jamie. It happened less than a week ago."
Brian's eyes opened wide. He'd heard so many horrible things about this reality's Captain Britain, but this... "Queen and country," he whispered. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't his Jamie Braddock, but it only quelled the pain slightly. "Why would he do that?"
"Because Jamie threatened him, of course. That is how he chooses his victims -- based on what kind of threat they pose. He would gladly kill me, if he could. In fact, he has."
"What do you mean?" Brian asked, eager for something to take the image of Jamie out of his mind.
Slaymaster leaned forward on his pillows, reaching out to light an incense candle. The odor began to pervade the room and the scent filled Brian's nostrils, making him feel lightheaded and malleable. "Relax, my young friend. And let me tell you the story that no one else living knows -- a story that deals with who I was, who I am and who I will become. It is a tale of service to Allah."
Several Years Ago
"Do you have any experience with this sort of thing?"
Slaymaster, clad in the colorful costume that he'd recently begun wearing, narrowed his eyes. He placed one hand on the side of his jet belt and inclined his head. "Don't play games with me, Kharkov. You've heard of my successes."
"Yes, but I've also heard of your penchant for... shall we say, indiscretions?"
"I'm afraid I'm not clear on what you mean?" Slaymaster replied, though he was, in fact, quite aware of what Konrad Kharkov was referring to.
Kharkov folded his hands on his desk and looked away from the mercenary. He detested these sorts of people -- they were beneath him, in almost every way. He preferred to think of himself as a visonary and a dreamer -- but it was hard to consider yourself such when you had hired killers in your office, dressed up like gaudy clowns. "I see no need to go over such things. Let us assume for the moment that you know how I feel about your past actions. You will perform the duties that I assign you and in return you shall become richer than you could ever imagi--"
"Money is not my primary concern."
Kharkov stopped short. He'd found such men to be motivated almost entirely by commercial desires in the past. "What, then?"
Slaymaster rose to his feet, moving to stand before Kharkov's desk. He towered over his employer and he enjoyed the fear he saw reflected in the man's eyes. Fear had always been an aphrodesiac for him, a way of feeling in control of the world around him. "I wish to be the master assassin of our time. I want my name to be on the lips of every man, woman and child in the realm. Do you think I like this garish attire that I wear -- or the boastful statements that I musst make in public, like some poor Mexican wrestler? Hardly! But it is the way of the world today and I shall embrace it -- for this is the way to make my mark."
Kharkov smiled softly. Ego. If it's not money, then it is ego. Always. "So, you are willing to do this job for free?"
Slaymaster leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk and bringing his face close to that of his employer. "I'm no fool. You will pay me and pay me well. But never think that I am some common criminal who will serve as your lap dog. I am a man of honor and I will be treated as such."
"Fine." Kharkov lit a cigar, waiting until Slaymaster had moved away before continuing. "I'm looking for you to obtain a number of expensive artifacts... artifacts that I will then use to bribe the leaders of other nations into turning against the United Kingdom." He paused, expecting Slaymaster to ask why he would want such a thing. When it became annoyingly obvious that the mercenary could care less, he continued in a more brisk tone that betrayed his irritation. "But you might have cause to earn that reputation of yours. England's got itself a superhero these days, just like all those yanks overseas."
Slaymaster nodded slowly. "Captain Britain. Yes, I've seen him on the telly. Quite the popular figure, isn't he?"
"You think you can handle him?"
"I'm in great shape and I've armed myself with the best weaponry money can buy... How can I fail?"
The Present
"...So we were enemies?"
Slaymaster looked away from the flame, noting the surprised look in Braddock's eyes. The young man had come to rely on Slaymaster for so much, but most of all as a link to the real world. Here in Mandragon's realm, with all the pomp and circumstance that the would-be King demanded, it was all too easy to forget one's place in things. "I was a young man, fresh from having spent five years traveling through the Orient and the Middle East. I had learned the arts of killing, of forging my body into a weapon. But I had neglected the things that would truly make me strong -- the spirt. The soul." He sighed and looked away. "My brother had excelled at the university, but there was a yearning in me that could not be quenched by books and professors."
Brian ran a hand through his blond hair, appearing confused. "I've never understood why you became a killer. You seem so... noble, if that's the word. The way you've battled against overwhelming odds in Otherworld -- the way you took me in, even after I wore the face of your worst foe...."
"My father used to bugger me. From the time I was seven years old, to the time when I finally drove a pen into his throat and felt his warm blood spurt onto my face."
Brian gasped out loud. "Your father molested you... By Merlyn's grace, that's horrible."
Slaymaster reached out a hand to Brian and let his fingers interlace with those of his pupil. "My father's abuse did not drive me to be a killer. To claim that is to weaken what I am, what I have become. My father's torments only made me stronger."
"Then... Why?"
He rose then, uncurling himself from the floor in such a fluid motion that Brian Braddock could only marvel in amazement. Slaymaster moved through the room, stopping before two swords that hung on the wall, their blades crossed. "The Sahabah asked of Muhammad 'O Prophet of Allah! Would we be very few in number?.' And Muhammad replied 'No! You’d be as great in quantity as the foam of the sea is, seen wherever the eye can reach. But you’ll be overtaken by ‘wahn’."
Brian felt lost and made no effort to hide it. "What is wahn?"
Slaymaster looked extremely pleased. "That is exactly what the Sahabah said. Good. Muhammad explained that wahn was 'Love of this world and fear of death.'"
"You're not making any sense," Brian stated. "I don't have a clue about Muslim scripture."
"It's more of a prophecy, my young squire. A foretelling of the final days. The number of true believers will swell under we are like the foam of the sea... but we will be undone by a love of this world and a fear of death. In my youth, I was always drawn to the sensual pleasures. I seduced playmates into games of doctor. I did the vilest things to animals, not because I disliked them -- but because I wished to experience them. I wanted to know what it felt like to choke the life from the living. To become like unto God."
Brian felt a chill go down his spine and he thought of leaving, of running away to his room. Where was Merlyn? His Merlyn? Why hadn't he saved his chosen champion from this hellish realm?
"Brian. Drink."
Braddock looked up to see that Slaymaster was offering him another cup of tea. The aroma, mixed with that of the incense, made him nauseous. "No, thank you."
"Please. My story is nearing an end."
Reluctantly, he accepted. He was beginning to feel that perhaps he had little in common with this man, but he did not want to offend him.
Slaymaster watched him drink and then began his story anew. "We clashed, you and I. I bested you again and again, carrying out Kharkov's aims. But in the end, you were too much for me. You threw me to the sharks and it was by only the slimmest of margins that I survived*. And it was then that Allah laid out his plan for me...."
(*The entire Kharkov/Slaymaster storyline was shown in Super Spider-Man and Captain Britain # 243-247, beginning in October of 1977.)
A Terrorist Camp Somewhere in Afghanistan, Three Months after the Kharkov Affair
Salman could scarcely believe his eyes. The man before him had once been his most promising pupil -- an Englishman who had taken to the ways of the assassin like a babe to milk. And yet now... now he had returned to his former master like a beaten puppy, with scars that both marked his flesh and his spirit.
Batting away the flies which buzzed hungrily about his sweaty brow, Salman squinted against the afternoon sun and said "You should not have left me before I was finished. Now look at you...." He spat at the feet of the Englishman, who stood his ground. "And now I suppose you expect me to take you back into my confidence?"
"I want to know why I failed," Slaymaster replied. He seemed older -- far older -- than when he had left Salman's training two years before. "I did everything as you taught me."
"Liar! Dog!" Salman pressed his nose close to his pupil's, allowing his breath to sting hotly into Slaymaster's eyes. "Did I tell you to cloak yourself in the garb of the Imperialist pigs? Did I tell you to put more faith in your weapons than in your body? No!" He turned away from him, waving a hand dismissively. "I have heard reports of your exploits. Giant robotic snakes... rocket ships... What was this? Nonsense. You sicken me."
"Please," Slaymaster whispered.
Something in his tone made Salman pause. He recognized the pleading quality, for it was a note he heard once before, years before. In his voice. "Praise Allah," he whispered. Turning back to Slaymaster, he gestured for the Englishman to fall to his knees. When he had done so, Salman placed a hand atop the man's shoulder. "I trained you in our ways, taking what you had learned from those in the Orient... but I never made you one of us. Not truly. I thought your money paid for only fighting skills. I was a fool. We fight not for mere vengeance. We fight for Allah. Let me teach you... and you will not falter again."
Slaymaster frowned slightly. "You're saying I lost because I lacked... faith?"
Salman looked deeply into the other man's eyes. "You have slept with many women since you left here?"
"Yes."
"And you have drunk much and gambled much?"
"Yes, but what--"
"You suffer from wahn. You are lost in the sea of Earthly pleasures. But you could be so much more. I see in you the potential to be Allah's great agent on Earth." Salman leaned forward and kissed the Englishman's forehead. "You must trust me, for the road to perfection shall be hard. You will be taught to withstand pain, pain such as you have never experienced... and I will have experts from throughout the world forge your body into a living weapon."
Slaymaster stared up into the man's eyes and, for just a second, he thought of his father. How his father had always pushed him into the background, while he praised good, sweet Basil in front of all others. But late at night, when all the lights were darkened, it was not Basil who soothed away all of daddy's needs... "I want to hurt them," he whispered. "I want to be important. I want everyone in the world to know me and to recognize me."
"Then why hide behind a mask? Put it aside. Put away the silly costumes and weaponry, as well. All you will need is your faith." Salman's eyes darkened. "But you are weak, I see that. You need the drink and the women to make you forget things, don't you?"
"How--?"
"I have seen it all too many times. But I will make the pleasures of the flesh lose their appeal for you," he promised. "Those sinful desires will trouble you no more."
The Present
Brian Braddock lay back on the cushions, his eyelids fluttering. He felt like he was floating and he felt the Amulet of Right slide to the side of his chest. "Dizzy...."
Slaymaster nodded. "I have drugged you. I apologize, but the time has come." He shrugged off his clothing, standing nude before his pupil. He saw Brian's eyes widen, but the youth was too far gone to say anything. "Salman tried everything to dissuade me from sexual pleasure, but nothing worked. Finally, he had me tied by my feet from a rafter and he used a device called a jazzler to punish me. In the end, even that failed. I was still weak. It was not until he made me a eunuch that I realized that he was right. That the only true path to enlightenment lay not in the flesh, but in the spirit."
Brian heard the words and they filled him with dread. He tried to rise but could not.
Slaymaster pulled down one of the blades that hung on his wall -- a long, gleaming bit of silver with an ivory handle. "You are much like me. In your youth, you were a womanizer. You sought to find fulfillment through a series of romantic encounters. None of them satisfied you. In this reality, you eventually found a purpose for yourself, as some sort of deluded champion of Otherworld. You married. You are expecting a child. You are lying to yourself. But you... Still so young, so easily molded." He moved towards Brian and smiled, the blade glinting in the light. "I will take away the temptations of the flesh. You shall grow strong." He knelt beside his pupil, smelling his fear. "And do not worry -- you will still achieve erections. The testicles are not needed for that... But you will find yourself in so much more control than before."
And the brief, violent act was done.
Afghanistan -- Then
Slaymaster stared at himself in the mirror, noting how hard and firm his physique had become -- the orange and yellow fabric he now wore clung to every muscle, outlining it. His right hand was at his side, having been molded into a cutting weapon through an ancient ninja technique. His eyes gleamed with the the power of mesmerism and his jazzler -- the weapon whose touch he knew so well -- hung from a belt at his side. He was Death personified.
"You still wish to go back to England?"
Slaymaster turned to face Salman, who had grown fat over the years. The man sat now in a chair, his three chins looking grotesque beneath his chubby face. "I must go back and win my honor. The good Captain still thrives and there are many -- including a woman named the Vixen -- who desire my services."
Salman snorted. "You should stay with us. It is Allah's will that we strike against the infidels."
"You don't know Allah's will."
Salman stared at him in surprise, then rose sloppily from his chair. His expression was one of fury. "Oh! So now the student thinks he is the master, eh?"
"I know I am." Slaymaster moved so quickly that Salman -- even at the height of his physical prowess -- could not prevent what occurred. The assassin drew his jazzler and shoved it against the older man's throat, sending him into spasms of pain. Slaymaster held the contact for a long moment before letting Salman fall to the floor, gasping. "You taught me pain. You taught me faith. You are like a father to me."
Salman looked up and saw only a mad gleam in Slaymaster's eye. "You would... treat your father... this way?"
"Oh, yes." Slaymaster smiled coldly and slashed down with the jazzler once more. He repeated the act again and again until his mentor was a bloody mess, unable to even raise a hand in his own defense.
And then he paused.
"Any last words, my dear teacher?"
To Slaymaster's great surprise, the man did not beg for mercy. Nor did he ask for Allah's assurance that he would be accepted into heaven. Instead, he whispered "I do not even know your name."
The man who would eventually torment the Braddock family, blinding Betsy and leading Brian to commit an act of foul murder... the man who would eventually be reborn through the actions of Braddock himself... laughed. "You never asked."
"Tell me," Salman whispered. "So that I may curse your name to a thousand hells."
"The name my father gave me is not mine. It is his. I am the slayer of men. Know me as your Master."
The Present
Slaymaster held the boy's testicles in his hand, shifting them from finger to finger. It astonished him how something so powerful in its hold over mankind could be so small and easily destroyed. He set them aside and wiped the blood from his hands, casting a glance over to where his victim lay. The boy would be in extreme pain when he woke up, but Slaymaster would be there for him, eager to help him deal with the terrible shock. It would take a combination of drugs and mesmerism, but he had no doubt that eventually young Brian would not only accept the actions he'd undertaken, but embrace them. After all, Brian was now free to ascend to a higher spiritual form. And I will take him there, the assassin mused.
A soft rapping at his door made Slaymaster turn away from his reverie. He wondered who would dare disturb him at this late hour and surmised that it must be Mandragon himself -- or one of his flunkies on the Council. Cracking the door just enough for him to see who was calling, Slaymaster whispered "Yes?"
Sat-Yr-9, a trands-dimensional variant of Opal Luna Saturnyne, stood there in the hall, looking resplendent in her crisp uniform and newly curled hair. "Sorry to disturb you, Slaymaster -- I'm sure you and young Brian are busyy with some sort of game," she said, allowing her voice to dip a bit as she spoke. It implied exactly what she thought of their games. "But Mandragon wanted you to know that the temporal bombs are in place. With Dark Guard still distracted with the cleanup from Roma's schemes, they haven't noticed a thing."
"Good," he said, nodding. "Then the boy's home reality will be gone for good?"
Sat-Yr-9 laughed softly. "Oh, yes. He's stuck with us now. I hope he learns to like it here."
"Once he's seized the crown, he can manipulate things to his liking," Slaymaster murmured.
Sat-Yr-9 tossed her hair playfully. "You mean seize the crown on behalf of Mandragon, correct?"
"Of course... We all serve Mandragon faithfully. In a way, he's much like a father to us all. Guiding and cajoling... all to get what he wants."
"An interesting way of putting it," she replied. "Good night, Slaymaster. Give my regards to your plaything."
Slaymaster watched her move back down the hall, making sure she was gone before he closed the door once more.
The boy was his. And through him, all of Otherworld would be ripe for the taking....
Next Issue: The Braddocks return to center stage, as we deal with the fallout from the recent crossover with Black Knight: Destiny Walk and The Pendragons. Will Meggan's unborn child survive? And what will Mandragon do next? Be here to find out!
Author's Notes
A few important points:
1. As I stated once before, please don't take this story or anything related to Slaymaster as my personal viewpoints on Islamic religion. Slaymaster is a disturbed, sick individual. He is not representative of the Muslim faith and his viewpoints on what constitutes heaven, hell, etc. are his -- the character's. Also, while I have done a fair bit of research on Islam for the purposes of the storyline, I am by no means an expert on the Muslim faith. Please forgive any errors that have been made. I am merely attempting to continue on with the characterization given to Slaymaster by Alans Moore and Davis.
2. This story was an attempt to mesh the original Slaymaster story with the ones done later on by Moore and Davis. The initial appearance of Slaymaster featured a guy in a standard supervillain costume and lots of gadgets -- in fact, he had so many gadgets that you'd have to described him as a campy homage to the 60s-era Batman show. But when he finally returned as an agent of the Vixen, he wore only a yellow jumpsuit, had adopted the Muslim faith and was now far more serious and deadly. I took a few liberties with the original storyline, but since the story in which Slaymaster first appeared hasn't been reprinted in almost 30 years, I don't think many of you will be able to spot what changes I made. They weren't major, so don't worry. :-)
3. The ongoing story of young Brian Braddock does not end here. When he finally confronts King Brian, expect some fireworks -- of both the physical and emotional kind. This story is one that I felt a bit uncomfortable writing, to be honest. I wasn't sure -- and still aren't -- that it was entirely appropriate for the Pendragons Universe. Hopefully, I told an interesting -- if disturbing -- story without offending too greatly.
Keep in touch,
Barry Reese
