Broken Chains, Part Two |
What Has Come Before: Pendragon Adam Crown has been turned over to the Weird Happenings Organization for a psychological evaluation, following his recent emotional meltdown. While he recovers, the rest of the team tries to deal with hostile powers that have gained prominence in the British government. And unbeknownst to them, Dark Albion and Blackheart have reached a deadly agreement -- while Dark Albion unleashed an assault on Blackheart's hated enemy, Ghost Rider, the son of Mephisto sent one of his assistants to capture the Pendragon known as Shamrock, whom Albion covets. The opening salvos have been launched and the Pendragons are now slowly realizing that they are under attack....
Darkmoor
Cam McClellan stepped into his private chambers, knowing what awaited him. It made his mouth dry and his heart thud in his chest... it also gave rise to other, more private stirrings within him. He wanted this so badly... had dreamed and fantasized about it for so long. But now... Now he was having doubts.
There she was, in his bed. Her long red hair lay in disarray around her shoulders. Her face, bruised and battered, was turned towards him. Her cheek rested on a bare shoulder and Cam realized that she was naked.
Hot anger rushed through him, as he thought of the Bane defiling her flesh with their hands. If they had taken any liberties with her, he'd run them through.
After all, wasn't that the sort of thing boyfriends did for their girls?
Boyfriend? You'll never be her boyfriend, Cam. Not as long as you view her like an object to be claimed--
"Shut up!" Cam bellowed. That damned voice... it sounded so much like Peter Hunter's, always disapproving and full of regret.
The sound of Dark Albion's voice made Molly Fitzgerald stir. As Shamrock, she was arguably Ireland's greatest hero... but she was far more than that to him. She was the unattainable woman who--
Molly opened her eyes and let out a small gasp upon seeing him. He wore his armor, hiding his face and hands. They had changed much in the past few weeks, as the dark magic of the Bane had worked through him. Shamrock glanced down at herself, realized her situation, and pulled the covers up tighter. "Cam! Why are you doing this? Where am I?"
"You're safe," he said and immediately felt stupid for having voice those words. She wasn't safe. Not at all. And they both knew it.
"Where are my clothes, Cam?"
"I... don't know. You were undressed before I came in." He gestured towards her with an open hand. "Your face looks terrible. I can heal it."
"No thank you." Molly slid out of the bed, pulling the sheet with her. She wrapped it about herself, but it did little to hide her lithe form. Cam felt glad his helmet was in place, for it allowed him to stare to his heart's content. "This isn't right. You know that."
"I wanted you come here, to be with me. But you wouldn't say yes... I knew that. So someone offered to bring you for me."
Molly said nothing for a moment or two, but her eyes narrowed. There was a look in them that Cam had never seen before... and it both hurt and angered him. When she did speak, her voice was cold and brittle. Any trace of familiarity that she'd held seemed to be gone. "I thought we were friends, Cam... I know that the Red Lord has probably done things to you, but that's no reason to do the things you've done. Your mother is worried sick about--"
"I don't want to talk about her."
"Tough. We're gonna bleedin' talk about her because she's your mum! You've dealt her a terrible blow and--"
Come to the Bleeding Cathedral, my Dark Albion. I would introduce you to your new General.
Molly realized that she was shivering. The voice had come from everywhere at once, sounding deep and intimidating. It was a voice she'd heard before, when she'd stood amongst the dead and dying on the battlefield... and when she'd felt so incredibly low and alone, back in Ireland. It was the force that nagged and ate away at all of us, in our darkest moments. "Was that the Red Lord? Blimey...."
Dark Albion turned away. "I have to go. When I get back, we'll talk."
"I'm not going to just sit here and wait for you."
Cam looked at her. "Yes. You will. You'll do whatever I want. Because I'm not the same little lovesick teenager that you remember. I'm a man now. A powerful one." He raised his left hand and clenched it into a fist. When he did so, Molly screamed as the sheet around her constricted and began to cut off her ability to breathe. Gasping, she felt herself yanked to the floor. A second later, the sheet was slithering towards the bed, carrying her in its grip. Despite her struggles, the sheet was able to get her onto the bed and hold her down. Once she was secured, it loosened its grip enough to let her grab lungfuls of air.
Cam lowered his hand. "I wanted it to be different, Molly. I wanted you to look at me and want me the way I wanted you. But you couldn't do that. You just strung me along and laughed behind my back."
"I never!"
"Shh," Cam said. "Later on you can make it up to me."
With that, he turned and walked out, leaving Molly to contemplate her fate.
Outside the Ancient Tomes Bookstore, London
"Anything broken?"
Breeze James shook her head as she slowly tested her arms and legs. She ached from head to toe, but everything seemed to be in working order. She flashed a wan smile at Shevaun Haldane -- Dark Angel. "No... but you guys still haven't found any trace of Molly?"
"Her communicator isn't functioning so we haven't been able to get a trace on her... but we've got Gully working on a probability matrix, trying to figure out which of our foes might have struck."
Both women looked up as the Hulk moved to join them. He'd accompanied Shevaun to the scene, hoping to continue proving his usefulness to the other Pendragons. He'd felt odd joining them, for Bruce had never been much of a team player in his existence. Even the days with the Pantheon -- arguably his best "fit" outside of the Defenders -- had been filled with in-fighting and annoyance. But these Pendragons had accepted him so warmly into their ranks that he felt a need to repay them in kind. "Witnesses have identified the attacker as someone named Pao Fu... According to the files, that's an old foe Ghost Rider's. A young woman killed by slavers and then resurrected by Blackheart as one of his new Spirits of Vengeance."
"Blackheart," Dark Angel murmured. "We'd heard that he might be back, but I hadn't expected him to attack us so openly. But why take Molly? She wasn't even on the team when they defeated him before*."
(*In the "Isles of Magick" event, that ended way back in issue 9.)
Breeze shrugged. "Doesn't matter. All that matters is getting her back. Have you called Betsy?"
A look passed between her teammates and Breeze immediately understood that while Bruce wanted to contact the team's leader, for some reason Shevaun did not. Dark Angel said "She's on a date. The first one she's had since before the Pendragons formed. I'd like to handle this without her, if possible."
The Hulk's green-skinned face showed his distaste for that decision. "You're next in line when it comes to command, Shevaun. But you know she'd want in on this."
"I know. That's why we can't screw it up. Let's head back to Lyonesse -- if it is Darkheart behind all of this, that will actually help us in finding Molly. I can try and focus in on his specific mystic aura."
Breeze nodded, extending out one of her wrist-knives to make sure it still worked. "Sounds like a plan. I just want a rematch with this Pao Fu bird... I plan to pluck her feathers next time we meet."
Lyonesse
Rathoon swooped high over the island, his keen eyes scanning the horizon for miles around. He'd just come home from a peaceful night out with Fin Fang Foom, the alien dragon with whom he'd entered into an unlikely courtship. Their evening had gone well, but Rathoon couldn't shake the feeling of some dark looming in the near future -- not for he and Foom specifically, but for the world at large. A change is coming, an upsetting of the status quo, he realized. I used to feel this way before one age gave way to the next.
A stirring rippled its way down the base of his spine, making his back twitch. In the forest below -- near the Cathedral of Owls, Rathoon saw a shimmering as the walls between one world and the next became thin. The Cathedral was a spot where the Pendragons sometimes crossed over from the world of man into Avalon, but Rathoon knew of no one who should be using the area at this time.
He landed just outside the Cathedral, aware that the owls who inhabited the sacred grove seemed agitated and disturbed. "Chill, guys." Rathoon's voice was no more than a whisper but it seemed to have the intended effect. The owls had always been very friendly to the great dragon, recognizing him as a being with mystic heritage. Long ago, the owls had answered the call of the first Magician, binding themselves to the ways of the Green Knight in the process. Ever since, they had considered the good dragons amongst their closest allies.
The dragon saw a shape standing in the midst of the grove, tall and broad-shouldered. He was dressed in denim jeans and a leather jacket, with a heavy chain wrapped about his torso... but it was definitely his head and face that drew the most attention. There was no flesh to be found there, but rather a flame-topped skull that somehow managed to convey a sense of solemn nobility.
The figure stared straight into the dragon's eyes, the flames flickering brighter in recognition. "Rathoon...."
The dragon opened his eyes wide in surprise. "You know me?"
"I am a Spirit of Vengeance. In the days of the Blood's war against Zarathos, both your kind and the original Spirits were allies with the immortals. I have vague memories of you from those days...."
"Well don't that just beat all," Rathoon replied, scratching his chin with one claw. "So tell me, mate -- What brings you here?"
"My human host, Dan Ketch, has been kidnapped by one of your Pendragons."
"That doesn't sound very likely...."
The figure shimmered and grew hazy before Rathoon's eyes. When he spoke again, his voice sounded more distant and pained than before. "Nonetheless, it is true! I was attempting to renew my contact with another former host, but found that the walls between planes is most thin here on Lyonesse. If this Pendragon has turned against you, then you have reason to join me in this conflict!"
"Are you speaking of Cam McClellan? Dark Albion....?"
"Yes!" The image flickered again and Rathoon could sense that this figure was about to lose his coherence. "I will attempt to bring down the barrier that surrounds Darkmoor... Will you and your allies stand with me? There has been much innocent blood spilled there and it cries out for vengeance!"
Rathoon reached out just as the shadowy figure of Noble Kale vanished from the grove. The dragon immediately lifted off from the ground, flying straight towards the castle. He had no idea if this being could truly bring down the Red Lord's magical barrier, but if he could... then the Pendragons might have finally gained the opportunity they had long sought....
Ichi-Riki Sushi House
"I've always heard that female sushi chefs are extremely rare -- it's believed that women's hands are too warm to make good sushi."
Betsy nodded, enjoying the effort that her date was putting forth. He was trying hard to keep the conversation interesting, bringing up various topics that Shevaun had obviously told him she enjoyed. "That is true -- at least, so far as that's what people say. But this is delicious. How long have you been a fan of sushi, John?"
John Smith looked a bit embarrassed. "It's my first time, really."
Betsy smiled, having gathered that much on her own. "And do you like it?"
"Can't stand it, to be honest. It's absolute rubbish."
Both of them laughed, attracting the attention of a few other patrons. The sushi house was a small, family-owned restaurant but it had a very eclectic clientele. A few techno-wizards were dining together in the corner, while a revenue clerk read the paper nearby, munching on salmon as she did so.
Betsy leaned forward. "So... Tell me about yourself, John. You're a builder?"
"Yes. Not a fancy job, but respectable. I guess you're used to more glamorous blokes?"
"You're doing it again," she said with a smile.
"Doing what?"
"Redirecting the conversation away from you and back to me."
"Sorry. I'm out of practice when it comes to opening up."
Betsy reached out and squeezed his hand. It was warm to the touch, with a bit of roughness to it. The hands that belonged to a hard laborer... but gentle, nonetheless. Those traits, combined with the kind of earthy good looks that Betsy found so appealing, were winning her over despite herself. She'd have to ask Shevaun how she'd met this fellow. "It's okay. I'm a bit shy myself."
"You? A model? Can't see how you'd be shy about anything."
"Modeling is just another facade you can hide behind. The camera is a way of separating yourself from the rest of the world. When I'm modeling, I get the chance to hide behind a mask, become someone else. Do you know what I mean?"
"Very much so. I... used to hide behind a mask. Then one day I looked in the mirror and thought it was time to go get a real job."
"I get the feeling there's more to you than meets the eye."
John smiled back. "Maybe you'll get a chance to find out. And maybe I'll get a chance to know the real Betsy Braddock."
The Red Lord's Throne Room, Darkmoor
The throne room was crowded with hobgoblins and sycophants, the dregs of Bane civilization. They crowded the edges of the red-carpeted walkway that led to the Red Lord's massive throne, chattering to themselves as Dark Albion crossed their paths. The Red Lord himself was a monstrous creature, born of madness and desire, and his presence dominated the room. Outside the castle's walls, men and women were learning dark arts, giving themselves over to orgiastic rites of devilish passions. Cam had seen many of them and had picked lovers from amongst the most vigorous of the participants. None of that mattered now, of course. He had his prize and needed no more substitutes.
Albion halted at the foot of the dais. "My dread lord," he whispered, falling to one knee.
Rather than hearing the dark, booming voice of the Red Lord, Albion heard a more mocking tone answer his greeting. "Arise, o son of Avalon."
Cam raised his head, staring into the leering face of an unknown figure. The man was bearded and cloaked in armor of the deepest green. There was a madness about him, but it was intermingled with keen intelligence and scornful wit. The stranger was standing at the side of the Red Lord, whose blasphemous features were calm and immobile. "Who are you?"
The figure spread his arms out wide. "I am Mordred, known to some as Mordred the Evil! I have served the Bane well in the past, allowing me the rare honor that has been accorded to me...."
Dark Albion rose to his feet, feeling anger swell in his heart. The murmuring of the courtiers had grown, as well. This sort of public confrontation was meant to humiliate Cam -- he was sure of that. Had he fallen so far in the eyes of the Red Lord? Did the Lord know of his personal doubts? "And what honor is that, child of Arthur?"
The smile froze on Mordred's lips, becoming brittle. "Speak not that name to me! I am the son of Morgan Le Fey... I am the reaver of Avalon... I am the Avatar of the Red Lord!"
Dark Albion heard the babbling voices rise up in a tumult. Avatar of the Red Lord... What does that mean? "I am the Red Lord's chosen pupil."
"Apparently not." Laughter greeted this statement.
"Until the Red Lord tells me otherwise, I am... And I am willing to destroy you to prove it."
Mordred held up a hand to still the younger man's words. "No need for that, sweet boy. The Red Lord has no plans to throw you to the wolves... Not yet, anyway." More laughter, causing Cam to burn with anger. "It has been decided that you are too close to the Pendragons and the coming war with them is going to be bloody indeed. Your own mother may be one who stands against us, after all." Mordred's wolfish smile reappeared. "I have shown the strength to slay my own kin. Have you?"
Dark Albion clenched a fist, summoning the mystic flame that was his to control. "I fear no battle. Not even with you."
"Of course not." Mordred gestured to the Red Lord. "But neither do you have leave to attack me now. Only the Red Lord may grant that. So go back to your quarters, young lion. For a trap is soon to be sprung."
Blackheart watched the exchange with great amusement. The Red Lord was quite aware of Cam's activities... and Blackheart's, as well. It had been he who had given final approval, in fact... for there was an element to all of this that Cam knew not. While Dan Ketch lay in mystic slumber beneath the castle, it had been Blackheart who had impersonated Noble Kale... It had been Blackheart who had promised to lower the Barrier so that the Pendragons might enter the Red Lord's realm.
And when they came, they would be torn limb from limb.
Weird Happenings Organization Headquarters
Adam Crown dreamed of Avalon, its green grasses and blue skies. He dreamed of ley space, which separated our realm from the divine. He dreamed of Arthur, looking regal and bearded, striding through the fields of gold.
And he dreamed of the Green Knight.
In the first days of Adam's service to Avalon, it had always been the Green Knight who would show them the way. But later, after Dane Whitman had become a Pendragon, the Lady of the Lake had taken an increasingly strong role. Adam had almost forgotten the hideous beauty of the Knight.
The great being floated before him now, the rays of power emanating from him in waves. Adam felt naked and ashamed, like he was a soiled creature brought before purity. Because I am, he dreamed.
The Green Knight regarded him with impatience. Feelings more than words pressed into Adam's mind, carrying with them wisdom beyond mortal comprehension. You have forgotten the face of your father.
"I know," Adam replied, both in the dream and in reality. Even as he slumbered, his lips moved.
In Glastonbury, you were shown the way. You were shown the way to tap into the spirit of Arthur. You were Whole. But you have become broken since Darkmoor*. Remember.
(*See issue 33)
Adam tossed in his bed. "Blackheart tortured me. He filled my head with doubts."
He weaved foul magicks in your heart, Adam Crown. Seeds of doubt that took hold and grew strong and mighty, withering you from within. It was that weakness that led Jim Jaspers to choose you as his plaything.
Adam felt relief flood through him. He had feared that Jim had seen something within him... had uncovered the truth about his own doubts. But instead he's merely seen that Adam was weakened all ready, was ripe for the bending. In his dream, he raised his arms up to the heavens. In his room, he rose from the bed, golden light shimmering around his body. His armor and sword, held in storage at the W.H.O. facility, reappeared on his body. "I should never have doubted. I have remembered the face of my father."
Adam felt the full weight of the Green Knight's blessings within him and felt both physical and emotional changes come over him. He felt his doubts burn away once more, revealing the new growth within. His body, too, was altered... becoming stronger than in the past.
And the great sword hummed with power as he drew it forth.
Voices, magical and pure, echoed throughout Avalon and the world of mortals. From the halls of Lyonesse to the dark towers of the Red Lord's realm to the shady, rain-slicked London streets, the voices whispered:
All hail Adam Crown! All hail Arthur! All hail the true king of England!
TO BE CONCLUDED
Next Issue: "Broken Chains" concludes with the Pendragons making a powerful assault on the Red Lord's forces... Can Adam Crown make good on his plans for redemption? And will Cam make the right choice when all is said and done?
AUTHOR'S NOTES
We continue gearing up for issue fifty, which is pretty amazing to me. This is now the longest-running thing I've written in the world of fanfiction and I'm pretty proud of it, I must admit. Fanfiction is an odd thing, as many, many people look down upon it. But it's all about love of the source material and adding, in some small way, a bit of ourselves to that tapestry.
On another fanboyish note, I'll give a No-Prize to the first person to recognize Mr. John Smith. It's not that hard, I don't think. :-)
You can reach me at aric_dacia@yahoo.com
