the seekers

The fat man with the piggy eyes stared out at the small group before him. He wore a butcher's apron, stained with blood. "The thing about impaling a woman and keeping her alive is that you really need a consensual partner. The impaling spit can't pierce the heart or your evening is over and the fun is spoiled. This means that the impalee must be willing to manipulate her body in some way as the spit is going to be too rigid for you to guide yourself. The girl in question is going to be able to feel where the spit is at all times -- very well, I might add! -- and should be able to move around a bit to guide it upwards and out. Obviously, pain is going to be an issue here... If she's not able to handle pain very well, you might want to have her smoke a few joints before you start. Otherwise, I recommend morphine or mephedrine -- Demerol. Seventy-five to a hundred milligrams of Demerol is roughly equal to 5-8 mg of Morphine. Please don't try any sort of nerve blocker unless you're trained in such a thing, otherwise your partner is going to expire too soon."

James McIntyre listened to every word, his heart hammering in his chest. His erection pressed painfully against the front of his jeans and he found that his mouth was dry. He'd had cannibalism fantasies since his earliest days, but it took the Internet to let him hook up with others with similar interests. Before that, it had remained a dirty little secret, something too revolting to bring up around his girlfriends or frat buddies. But tonight, tonight it was going to be a reality.

His eyes flickered over to the skinny brunette in the corner. She was a bit thin, with sunken eyes and needle-tracks dotting her arms. She wore only a leather harness that left her breasts and genitals exposed, but she didn't look very embarrassed by her nudity. In fact, she didn't look very aware of her surroundings at all. She just sat there quietly while the fat man with the piggy eyes talked about slicing her into meal-sized portions.

"This your first time here?"

The whispered voice to his left made James jump. He looked guiltily over at the guy next to him, seeing an intense look in the man's eyes. The brown-haired male wasn't much older than James -- maybe in his early to mid twenties -- but he had an air about him that made him seem so much more worldly. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. How'd you hear about it?"

James swallowed and forced a smile. It felt good to talk about this. To get it out in the open and not worry about being looked at as a freak. "I was surfing for Dolcett drawings online and found the message board announcing the meeting. I was freaked at first, thinking it was a scam. But I'm really psyched about it all!"

A look passed over the brown-haired man's face and James worried that he'd said the wrong thing. "I'm surprised to see so many people here. There must be two dozen."

"Yeah. And to think I thought I was the only one. I wish they'd picked a bigger girl though. There's not much meat on her." James licked his lips as he spoke, nervous and excited. "What part do you want to eat? I want a breast."

The other man didn't reply, as his attention was drawn back to the girl. She was moving towards the fat man with the piggy eyes, who had revealed the spit and grill to the excited audience. The girl's flickered to the spit and for a second it looked as if she might bolt and run, but the fat man grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her close. He whispered something in her ear that seemed to calm her.

"God, what a slut," James whispered. "She wants it. I can tell."

The other man made a grunting sound in the back of his throat. "There's no need to wait anymore, Noble. I've seen enough."

James blinked. "What the hell are you talking about, man?"

The brown-haired guy ignored him, stepping forward towards the spit. The fat man with the piggy eyes noticed him and waved him away. "This is my show, kid. Too many cooks spoil the broth."

A few men chuckled at the culinary joke, but not the brown-haired man. He just kept coming, even as flames began to jump about his hair and shoulders. The fire flared so bright that many in the room were forced to shield their eyes. They were the lucky ones. They didn't have to witness the man's skin peeling back like burnt bacon. They didn't have to see his hair sizzle away to reveal white bone. 

The brown-haired man was gone by the time he'd reached the podium. In his place was a someone far bigger and far older. The skull-faced being grabbed the fat man by his collar and lifted him off his feet, growling out his words. "The stench of blood clings to every fiber of your being! You have sought to prey upon the innocent and misfortunate! That cannot be allowed to happen!"

James felt himself jostled by others as they began to stream towards the door. They never had a chance of escape, however, as a large motorcycle burst through the doors, its wheels spraying fire behind them. It wheeled to a stop, blocking the way out. Up on stage, the fat man was screaming, staring deep into the glowing orbs of the Ghost Rider. The Spirit of Vengeance was on the scene and no one here would escape his unholy wrath.

James staggered backwards, his mind playing over all the possible scenarios. Even if the skull-faced thing didn't kill him, he'd probably be exposed for what he was. A sicko. A pervert. His friends would shun him. He'd lose his job at the pizzeria. And his mom....

"Going somewhere, chief?"

James whirled around to see a blonde woman walking towards. She wore a tight t-shirt and low-slung jeans, with curly hair that fell in waves about her shoulders. She was beautiful, exactly the kind of girl that starred in his most private fantasies. "Please... I'm so sorry. I'll do anything if you just help me."

"Tell you what... I'm feeling merciful today. I'll let you avoid the Rider's Penance Stare. Beyond that, you're on your own." She waved her fingers through the air, sparks of magical light dancing amongst them. James found himself mesmerized by the display... They teased him, tantalized him... and pushed him straight into unconsciousness.

Jennifer Kale stepped aside as James hit the floor, breaking his nose. The kid didn't deserve any more help than she'd given him. Turning her attention towards the Ghost Rider, she watched as he systematically punished the guilty. Some were bashed beneath his fists, others felt the whip of his chain, but most saw their most horrific sins reflected back at them through the power of the Penance Stare. When it was all done, the only ones left standing were Jennifer, the Ghost Rider and the intended victim of the evening.

Jennifer caught the girl's eyes and saw that she was either in shock or stoned. Or both.

"What are you doing here?"

Jennifer saw the Ghost Rider watching her. "Nice to see you, too."

"You were injured. By the Stark."

"I got better. So did you." Pushing her hands into her back pockets, she walked towards him, totally unintimidated by the flaming being before her. "We need to talk."

"I have affairs that must be dealt with. We must speak quickly."

"Same here," she replied. "But this is seriously bad mojo. End of the world type stuff." She ran a hand through her hair and exhaled. "Ever heard of a demon named Roland Fannin?"

"The name... is familiar. But I cannot place it exactly."

"Let me fill you in, then. Because if we don't manage to stop him... Everyone and everything in this world is headed towards disaster."

The dirt was in his mouth, sliding down his throat with every ragged breath he took. He could feel it choking his lungs, preventing the passage of air. 

Through the ground he tried to pull himself, up through the miles of Earth that now served as his tomb. How he'd come to be here was a mystery, like so much else in his life. But one thing was clear - He was dying. 

Again.

Marc Spector was no stranger to death, but familiarity never made it any easier. He'd first felt the clammy hand of death in Egypt. Shot and left for dead in the tomb of Khonshu, the ancient Egyptian god of the moon, Marc had been resurrected by some mysterious, mystical force. He'd come to know that force to be Khonshu himself, charging him with the duty and honor of serving him as his Fist. As Moon Knight, he'd fought all manner of crime -- ranging from his own mad brother, Randall, to the beautiful and alluring Stained Glass Scarlet. He'd even served as an Avenger, briefly. 

All in all, he'd served Khonshu well.

Marlene....

The word formed in his mind as his vision turned dark. Marlene Alraune had been his lover ever since his first death in Egypt. She'd stood by him through so much and he believed that it was only through her love that he'd returned from the grave this last time... he'd sworn to her that he'd never leave her again, but it had been a lie. Because he was dying, yet again. I'm always lying to you, aren't I, Marlene? Promising to put away the costume, the burden. But it always comes back to me, like a terrible drug addiction that just won't quit. No, worse than that... it's like Khonshu's stalking me. It's his fault, Marlene. He makes me do these things!

He pushed himself up through the earth, his mind working. Perhaps he'd been buried, only to be resurrected again? Maybe he was crawling out his own grave right now.

Khonshu....

The cold, clammy hand of fear gripped his heart. What if he wasn't about to pull himself up into the moonlight? What if this was nothing more than a futile last gasp at life -- What if, after all these years of knowing death like a lover, Marc Spector's time on Earth had finally run out?

Please...don't let this be it. Revive me! I'll strike them down in your name! I'll serve you...just don't let me die. Please... Marlene... There's so much I still want to do....

Marc Spector's thoughts dimmed, the weight of the earth above threatening to overwhelm him. His breathing slowed...and slowed...until his chest didn't move at all.

Marc Spector was dead.

Again.

Roland Fannin lit a cigarette, holding one hand cupped so that the wind would not prevent its striking. He took several long drags on it before tossing away the match and beginning the long walk down the bus station's length. He wore a long dress coat which flapped about his Italian shoes as he walked. His suit was impeccably tailored, cut to fit every curve of his long, slender body. But it was not his fashion sense that caught the eye of all he passed. Neither was it the coolly attractive features of his face.

It was the air of authority that surrounded him, the sense of pure sexual power that radiated from him. It clung to him like a second skin, affecting everyone who came into contact with him. Even now, the more susceptible in the crowd had begun to follow after him, creating a small wave of people headed towards the ticket office.

When he arrived there, he turned about with a flourish, brandishing his cigarette in one hand. He held it in a manner that made everyone think of old movie stars, back when smoking was glamorous and alluring. Smiling at the group who was now watching him with interest, he said "Thank you, my little entourage. But where I go next, I must go alone." He faced the ticket seller once more. "A ticket to New York, please. And get it for me posthaste."

"How many?"

Fannin smiled and looked back into the crowd. A woman, with pale white skin and dark hair that spilled out from beneath an extravagant hat, moved to join him. An infant was pressed to her bosom, wrapped tightly in blankets so that its face could not be seen. "Three, my good man. One for myself... one for my lady friend Lilith... and one for her child."

The ticket seller's eyes flicked down to the infant. Something in the way it squirmed in its mother's grip made him feel dirty and sick. "Of course, sir. Here you go."

Lilith reached forward and took the tickets, her eyes glittering. She had worn many names over the years, but Lilith was the one that always came back to her. The Mother of Monsters was a title given her by her enemies, but she'd long since stopped thinking of her children as monsters. They were just... special. And the one she now held was very, very special. Looking towards the man named Fannin, she said "When we reach New York, will we kill them all?"

"Oh yes. All the Seekers will scream out for mercy, my dear." He reached down and lifted her hand to his lips.

"I love it when you promise me death and mayhem," Lilith laughed.

"In the mid 1700s a group was organized in London. They were called the Seekers -- their task was to investigate and hunt down the minions of a man named Roland Fannin. Fannin is leader of the Mabdhara, a demonic race who watch over the Gates of Chaos. He is not human -- he is the spiritual father of the Mabdhara and is closely linked to the Satan of Christian mythology. The Seekers successfully defeated Fannin, burning his body and scattering his remains throughout Europe." Jennifer Kale sipped her camomile tea and watched as the Ghost Rider stood impassively in the doorway to her living room. Now that they were back in what she considered familiar territory, she'd dispensed with her shoes and plopped herself down on the floor. "At periods of approximately 70 years, the Cult of the Mabdhara reappears, eager to complete their task of opening the Gates of Chaos. If they ever succeed, then our reality will merge with the Lost Way -- chaos will reign. Fannin reappears to spearhead each movement. He is present on earth in between each recurrence of the Cult, but his power is dimmed. He's an observer during those years -- not the spiritual leader of evil that he is during the Cult's power. The last appearance of the Cult was in the 1930s...a group of investigators composed of both Americans and Europeans managed to defeat Fannin, burying his body deep in the hills of Transia. Six weeks ago, a young boy was found murdered in Chicago. His body was ritually mutilated and the sign of the Mabdhara was present at the scene. That was our first and only warning. The war has begun again."

The Ghost Rider tilted his head to the side, the flames continue to flicker. "Why were they called Seekers?"

"Because they sought the light, even in the midst of overwhelming darkness."

"You wish me to join you in this group?"

"You have to, Noble. It's our destiny. There were Kales present in each of the previous Seekers, all the way back to the beginning."

"That predates my curse...."

"Yes. But don't forget -- the Kales are special for reasons beyond the fact that your spirit can inhabit us. We were also chosen by the Blood to house shards of the Medallion of Power within us. The potential to tap into the powers of the original Spirits of Vengeance are within us." She put her empty cup to the side. "In the 1700s, Fannin tried to tap into that power for his own use. Since then, we've been involved in stopping him."

"That is not my fight," Ghost Rider retorted. "I have my own mission to consider."

"Your mission," Jennifer said, taking the bait. "Is to avenge the innocent... Or even better, stop bad things from happening before innocents are hurt. This is your opportunity to do just that. Besides... You have a personal stake in this."

Ghost Rider's features seemed to shift slightly, revealing his interest. "Go on."

"Fannin has allied himself with Lilith. What's worse is that she's given birth again -- but not to one of the Lilin. She's given birth to a child she conceived with Zarathos."

Noble Kale said nothing, but his mind was full of questions and concerns. Zarathos was a soul-stealing demon who had been imprisoned in the Medallion of Power alongside the Spirits of Vengeance. He had been bound to Dan Ketch's brother John Blaze for many years and had nearly destroyed Noble when the two had clashed several years ago. If he had produced an heir with Lilith, it could be immensely powerful. "So be it," he finally said. "I shall aid you. But we will need others."

"I've already got a few in mind. Remember Magik? Her realm is being threatened by Fannin, too. She's willing to help us. And Moon Knight was a good ally against the Stark... and we could use his money, because this is going to get expensive."

"Moon Knight is dead," Ghost Rider replied. "I saw his corpse lying on the fields of Tibet."

Jennifer smiled enigmatically. "He'll be along for the ride. Trust me."

The dry earth fell away as a white-gloved hand burst up from underneath. The hand clutched at the air for a moment before an old man reached forth and grasped it. The priest grunted as he helped haul Marc Spector from the Egyptian soil. Moon Knight's costume was covered with dirt and blood, his face as pale as the moon himself. Spector's eyes were open and wild, his mask having come off at some point in the hours before. "Where...? Where am I?"

The priest knelt beside the hero, raising a cup of water to his lips. "You are in Egypt, outside the tomb of Khonshu."

Marc drank the water greedily, grimacing as it slid down his parched throat. When his thirst was slaked, he leaned back. "Egypt...? I was in Tibet... how did I get here?"

"You were slain in battle with the alien beings known as the Stark. But when you return to consciousness, you will find that your body has been returned to your home. Such is the power and  grace of Khonshu."

Marc sat up suddenly, his eyes narrowed. He could feel strength returning to his limbs, awakening his senses. "Return to consciousness... this is all in my head, then? I'm not really in Egypt?"

"What is reality? Your spirit, your soul -- is here. What more do you need to know? Come," the priest said, rising. "Follow me and enter into your new life."

Marc watched as the priest began moving towards the open tomb. It was the same one in which Marc's first death had come. Shot and left for dead by his mercenary partner, Bushman. So many years ago, he marveled. 

He stood on unsteady legs, waiting for his sense of equilibrium to return. He stared up at the night sky, seeing all the twinkling stars as if for the first time. A full moon hung before him, bathing him in its rays of light.

He felt a sense of vague dissatisfaction at this turn of events, at being turned into a pawn of Khonshu's once more. But perhaps the God of the Moon was performing only an act of kindness, saving his beloved servant from the final rest that all others seemed to find. I'm not ready to die, Marc thought. He'd spent too much time repairing his contacts in the business community, too much time repairing his fractured relationship with Marlene. 

And I'm scared of death, don't forget that. Marc remembered the blackness, the horrible emptiness of eternal solitude. Locked alone with yourself forever, forced to face exactly who and what you were. The desire to escape himself had led Marc to create other identities for himself over the years -- the cabbie, Jake Lockley; the millionaire playboy, Steven Grant; and, most persistently, the coldly efficient crimefighter known as Moon Knight.

In the end, it doesn't matter what I want, does it? Khonshu's got me by the short hairs. He holds the key to my staying alive... and in return, I'm going to do whatever he asks.

With an open mind and a heavy heart, Marc Spector walked forward. The priest stood waiting at the doorway of the tomb, a smile on his aged lips. When Marc reached him, the priest put a gnarled hand on the younger man's shoulder...

... and guided him inside, to a new beginning.

Amanda Sefton felt like she was flying. She tossed and turned under the thin sheets of her bed, imagining herself in the arms of a blue-furred man named Kurt. Their lovemaking was so frenzied that it seemed to lift Amanda off her feet.

When they were both spent, she lay in his arms. He was so warm and soft... and here there were no demons, no black-magicking mothers and no mutant hatred. Here was only Love.

Amanda closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest, enjoying his scent. His fur seemed to trap it all in and she reveled in it, marking herself with his musk, with....

She felt dry skin crack beneath her cheek and she opened her eyes to see that Kurt was a dessicated corpse, his flesh broken and torn. Small insects and worms crept in and out through his body.

Amanda screamed, backing away so quickly that she tumbled out of bed and onto the floor. A dream! It's all a dream! she tried to tell herself, but even though her rational mind recognized the truth of it, she could not escape the horror.

The Kurt-Thing rose from the bed, his cracked face split in a leer. His genitals, always shaped differently from a normal man's swung heavily between his legs. The fleshy tube was bloated and cracked, seeping yellow-green pus. "Come back to bed, Amanda. I want you."

Amanda closed her eyes tightly and summoned her Soulsword. The blade felt heavy and reassuring in her grip. She slashed out blindly, feeling the sword bite deep into the flesh of her lover. He was cut in two, his entrails spinning out wildly like ropes of meat. 

Amanda Sefton, Mistress of the Winding Way, stayed there on the floor, covered by the blood and gore of her lover and cried until her eyes were dry. 

"Such a pitiful thing, this human emotion called love."

Amanda stood quickly, brandishing her sword. Her golden armor covered her form now, as well, offering all the protection it could against the being before her. Though she had never seen this figure before, she could sense his power and recognized his nature. "Fannin."

"Nothing more than a shade," he replied, waved his hand as if in apology. "But I wanted you to know that you are not safe. Not even here, in Limbo. I can reach you through your dreams... and I can make all that you have seen into reality."

"Trying to frighten me away from Jennifer and the other others? I'm surprised you're so worried about me."

"I recognize what an ally you could be," Fannin said. "You control Limbo, just as I will eventually control Earth. We could be quite a pair. King and Queen."

"Fuck you."

Fannin's laugh sounded sharp and dangerous. "I'd split you in two. But I will leave you be. For now. But think on this -- I can save not only your own life, but that of your loved ones as well."

"Did I stutter last time, demon. FUCK YOU."

Amanda opened her eyes suddenly, finding herself back in her bed. The covers had been kicked off her body, leaving her naked and shivering. Shakily, she lifted herself up and vomited onto the floor. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she sent out a small message, wrapped within a spell. It would reach Jennifer Kale within the hour, containing only the words "He knows who we are. Beware."

The train rolled slowly into the station, its compartment walls splattered with blood. The only moving beings onboard were Fannin, Lilith and their child... who had been a very naughty baby. Fannin's tongue snaked out of his mouth, long and fat, to caress the splintered carcass of a young boy. His blood was delicious.

"We're here," Lilith said, staring out the windows. "Are you certain that we will find the fifth Seeker before Kale does?"

Fannin straightened his coat, picking a piece of skin from it and flicking it away. "Positive. Four of them were brought together unknowingly by the Sorcerer Supreme to take part in that alien invasion. Even then, the threads of fate were weaving them together. But the fifth is still unknown to them and Kale has yet to scry away their identity." Smiling triumphantly, he walked over to the exit and put a hand around Lilith's waist. The train was slowly coming to a halt and that meant the next stage of their trip was about to commence. "Are you ready, my dear?"

"Always."

"Then let us be off."

Together, they strode off the train and into the night.

Next Issue: Our opening storyline continues as Moon Knight returns, with several strange changes to his personality and motivation. Meanwhile, our fifth and final member makes their debut.

SCRIBBLINGS OF MADNESS

Welcome back to our very first issue! What's that, you say? How can you come back to a first issue? Well, it's pretty easy, really -- because this is actually Seekers, volume 2. Volume 1 was published by Marvel Volume One (neat way that worked out....) back in the late 1990s. For twenty or so issues, readers were treated to the villainy of Roland Fannin and the unlikeliest collection of heroes since the original Defenders. But all good things come to an end, as they say, and I left MV1 without ever completing the original series.

Which brings us to this. Avengers 2000's first horror title, starring a few characters who have little connection to the Avengers. What can I say, other than to point out that Moon Knight is a former Avenger? :-)

Look for some horrible stuff in the issues to come. In order for me to write scary, disturbing stuff, I have to disturb myself, so expect some weird things as I'm pretty hard to shock. The opening scene was actually inspired by an article I read about how the Internet allows fetishists to find others like themselves. There are sites out there that feature cannibalism recipes, sex stories and even artwork. Dolcett, mentioned in this issue, is apparently the biggest thing going in such circles. Yuck.

Anyway, I hope you're all intrigued enough to come back for issue two.

See You Soon,

Barry Reese