Legion - part 5: The Undead Attack
by Valandar

The night hosts many things that flee the dawning of the sun. Entities beyond mortal understanding flit from shadow to shadow, mostly content to watch the activities of mankind. Some, however, shall never be content again.

The young woman walked out of the bar, slightly tipsy, as she leaned on the arm of her companion. The young man, himself, was quite in his cups, and they laughed together as if the entire world was the funniest joke ever told. Unfortunately, their besotted state led to a wrong turn, and the two college students ended up in a dark alley, instead of back at Mountainrock University.

"M-Marsha? Umm, I think we need to g-get out of here," stammered the young man.

"Y-yeah!" responded the frightened woman.

"Aww, goin' so soon?" asked a voice from the mouth of the alley. They turned, and saw a young street punk, patting a baseball bat in his hand. "We wuz just wantin' ta get acquainted wit youse."

"Umm.. ‘we'?" asked the terrified young man. As if in answer to his question, several more punks filed into the alley, even as he heard the sounds of a couple more drop down the dead-end fence behind them. They were surrounded, and things did not look good. He held his girlfriend close, the shock stunning him into sobriety, and waited for them to do whatever they were going to, eyes shut tightly.

He waited, then heard several wet noises, and screams of agony. Expecting his girlfriend to scream, he was surprised when the screams were masculine. Opening his eyes, he saw a tall figure, nearly six and a half feet tall, tossing aside the last of the thugs. The body hit the wall limply, and lay where it fell, unmoving. "Uh...uh... thank you!

Hearing his voice, their savior turned. His angular face was as handsome as Adonis, and his tightly muscled body shone with a gleaming pale light. "Do not thank me, for I have merely removed an obstacle."

The girl had regained some of her senses, and, though still clutching tightly to her boyfriend, turned her head to look at the newcomer. "An... an obstacle? What k-kind?"

The man grinned. "Between me and my prey." Crimson, batlike wings ripped their way from his back, and he leapt, a mouth open to display razor sharp fangs. Then there was a single pair of screams, one male, the other female, and silence reigned over that region of the city of Mountainrock.

Yawning, Brian Murphy stretched, then rolled over and swung his legs off his bed. He bounced lightly on it once, amazed that the new titanium steel frame could actually support his bulk, then started getting dressed. Throwing on a pair of slacks and a sweatshirt, made for him by Allison, another resident of the Mendolsson Memorial Hostel for Displaced Metahumans, he lumbered out of the room barefoot and not totally awake.

On his way to the kitchen for a pot of coffee, he heard voices coming from the foyer area. Curious, he trundled over and peeked down the marble stairs. There, he saw John Mendolsson, the man who ran the hostel, talking to two uniformed officers and a man in a smartly tailored business suit. Concerned, he decided to head down the stairs, himself.

"And I say once again, Inspector, Calvin could not have been involved in this incident. For one thing, he was here all night last night, watching movies on the late show. It was their Halloween special. For another, I know him. If he was the kind of boy who would do this, would he have called the police when his step-father killed his mother?" demanded John. "No, he would have killed the man himself."

The man in the suit glared at Brian, then turned back to John. "I understand. I am the detective that worked on this case, and if you remember, I had no objections when you asked the State to make him your ward, considering you both have been supposedly... touched... by this so-called ‘Energy X'. And I understand how taking care of him led to the founding of this Hostel in your family mansion. However, he is the only metahuman on record with fangs, and I am not accusing him of this. All I am asking is for him to come with us downtown for questioning. And, if possible, a bite sample, to compare with the marks on the victims."

Brian coughed, and looked back and forth between the two men. "Excuse me, may I say something?"

John nodded. "Sure, Brian. Oh, Brian, I would like you to meet Inspector Avagnarde, from the Mountainrock Police Department."

The Inspector merely nodded his head once, and the huge metahuman said, "Nice to meet you. Now, first, how big were the bite marks, where were they, and on who or what?"

The man in the suit pulled out a couple of black and white photographs. "Two college students and about fourteen gang members were found dead this morning. The gang members were brutally beaten, and all died from various forms of impact trauma. However, the college students were virtually unharmed, except for bite marks on their necks, and died from exsanguination."

One cop looked over at the other. "From what?"

The other swatted his partner. "He means blood loss, rookie."

"Gentlemen!" demanded the inspector, and the two quieted down. "The bite marks consisted of four sharp fang marks, two on either side of the trachea, piercing the arteries there." He then handed one photo to John, and the other to Brian.

Brian grimaced at the sight, but then squinted. "Inspector, the writing... is that saying the fang marks are two inches apart?"

Inspector Avagnarde nodded. "The upper teeth appear to be roughly two inches apart, and the lower teeth appear about a quarter inch closer together."

"Then it could NOT have been Calvin. His head's a whole lot broader than that. Offhand, I'd say his fangs are almost four inches apart." Brian handed the photo back. "So if he provides you with something he bites into in front of you, would that suffice?"

"Yes, that would, if what you're saying is true. I personally don't remember the size of his mouth, I was doing my best to ignore it, since the wave of oddity had not yet begun, then." The Inspector turned back to John. "Go get the boy, and bring him here. We can take care of this here and now."

About half an hour later, nearly half of the Hostel had gathered in the foyer, including the entire Security team. For some reason, Calvin had decided to wear the costume Allison had made for him, a dark blue bodysuit, with a darker jacket and belt. "So, Inspector, whatcha want me to bite into?" he asked.

"Just a moment," said the Inspector, as one of the cops returned from a brief trip outside, carrying a block of some kind. "This is putty. It's going to taste awful, but it will harden on contact with your saliva, and retain the impression we need to clear you of the crimes."

"Whatever. Just let me get this over with." He opened wide, very wide, causing the younger of the two uniformed policemen to blanche a bit, then stuck the block of putty in his mouth, and slowly bit down. "Mrrrf!" he grimaced, as he opened wide again, withdrawing his fangs from the foul-tasting block. "There ya go. Echh, someone gimme some water or somethin'."

"Thank you," said the Inspector, as he turned to go.

"Waitaminute, ‘Spector, I got an idea," said Calvin as he accepted a glass of water from one of the Hostel residents. "Seems this guy who did this thinks he's a vampire or somethin', right?" He took a drink, and swallowed.

"That is one theory, yes."

"Well, what if this guy is a metahuman, who the Energy X turned into some kinda vampire-like thing? You know, he thinks he's a vampire, and the Energy X gave him the powers to do the stuff they do?"

"Then we deal with him," said the Inspector.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah," said John. "I think I know where you're going with this. Calvin, are you saying you don't think the Police can handle a metahuman alone?"

"Depends on the metahuman. But ain't vampire supposed ta be super-strong, super-fast, turn into mist, and hypnotize you, and turn into bats?" asked the tigerish metahuman.

"Well, yes, why?" asked the Inspector.

"What're ya gonna do when your bullets just pass through mist? How ya gonna bring down someone that can toss a car? An' how are ya gonna handcuff a bat?"

The Inspector stared at him long and hard. "Young man... you're right." He turned to John. "Would you and your... security team... be willing to come downtown with us, as... consultants on this case?"

John turned and glared at Calvin, but knew the young man had a point. "Okay. We'll go."

"Wait," said Anthony, the fourth member of the Security Team. "If we're gonna be going out on Security Team business, we should be wearing our... uniforms. And right now, Calvin is the only one in uniform."

John rolled his eyes. "Of course. Officer, we'll be glad to meet you at the station if you give us time to change. Don't worry, none of us wear masks."

"Of course. I shall see you there." With that, Inspector Avagnarde turned, and left, the two uniformed cops following, closing the door behind him.

"You fool!" hissed Black Blade. "Your destructive little frenzy last night was far too close to our base of operations! On top of that, you left the bodies of your prey where they fell! You should have at least torn them apart, to make specifying the perpetrator that much more difficult!"

Vampire, swathed in piles of heavy clothes, nodded. The early morning rays had not yet fully penetrated the windows of the underground office, but their mere presence made him somewhat disoriented. He knew the sunlight could not kill him, only weaken him, but the lessons of the horror movies of a misspent youth die hard. "I am sorry, my master. The next time I require sustenance, I shall endeavor to destroy the bodies utterly."

"Good. You may go, your resting place is prepared." With that, the possessed swordsman turned his back upon his chief Lieutenant of the Doom Guard, and leader of the Undead.

Vampire bowed, and backed out of the room. "Thissss way, massster," hissed a darkman in a blue robe, one of the ‘priestly' caste of the Doom Guard. Since the entity that had gathered them, and empowered the Undead, was a being supposedly of pure darkness, these renegade darkmen, cast out for raising their hands against their Mistress some weeks ago when it was revealed she was not hideous, and merely bore a small scar, had gravitated to the call of Black Blade, and sworn their souls to the dark power of his Master.

"Of course, bent one," hissed the Vampire. Some thing tickled in the back of his mind, as he strode towards what appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a coffin. And that something was a name, one he knew from somewhere, but could not place. One that should have meant something, but whose meaning escaped him every time he grasped at it. The name of Donovan Yorkshire.

A loud, rhythmic thudding noise distracted the desk sergeant, as he was preparing the day's paperwork. Glancing over at two policemen, just preparing to go on duty, he nodded, and they both placed themselves on opposite sides of the room, resting, but with their hands near their sidearms just in case. They had heard of the events in Patriot City, and those of the previous night, as well, and were not about to take any chances.

Soon, however, the cause of the noise was visible through the glass doors. One of them visibly relaxed, but the other stayed on his guard. It was four brightly attired individuals, only one of which looked even halfway normal. The first was a titanic man, over eight feet tall, with a chest the size of a Buick. Next to him was a six foot tall albino, dressed like a refugee from a pirate movie, and next to him was a man with short dark hair, in a blue jacket and trousers with red trim. The fourth member was scarcely human at all, a tiger-like creature that was walking on its hind legs, wearing a dark bodysuit and jacket.

"Oh, great," muttered the Desk Sergeant. "It's the freaks from the Hostel."

As the large man opened the door, the feline metahuman walked in."We prefer ‘metahumans', not ‘freaks', Sarge," he said, grinning, showing an uncomfortable amount of teeth.

The others filed in, and the large man carefully maneuvered his bulk through the doorway, managing to get in without damaging the entrance. The albino spoke up. "Excuse me, but I'm John Mendolsson, and this is my team from the Hostel. We're here to help Inspector Avagnarde with the investigation into the so-called ‘vampire killings' ?"

The man in blue nudged him. "Silverlance,' he hissed. "In this capacity, you're Silverlance, I'm Jarhead, Brian is Hauler, and Calvin is Black Tiger."

Sighing, John nodded. "Okay, call me Silverlance."

The cop who had relaxed laughed, and called to his partner."Get this, Mountainrock has our own junior league Freedom Force, now."

The other one did not take his eyes off Brian. "Don't bet on it. The muscleman, there, was recently on trial for killing three members of the Carlotti family and four members of the Vespucci family, in nearby Rock Springs."

Hauler turned, and looked at the man. He wasn't angry, instead, an odd sadness crept into his eyes. "I was found Not Guilty by reason of Temporary Insanity."

"Exactly. How's we supposed to know if you go ‘temporarily insane' again?" demanded the cop.

"Considering I no longer have a wife and son to be killed in front of my eyes at the moment I change into something not even really human anymore, I don't think that will be a problem," growled Brian. His glare bored into the cop, who involuntarily took a step back, and had to force himself not to draw his sidearm.

"Gentlemen, please, stop scaring my officers," called a voice from down the hall. The Inspector strode up, and continued. "Calvin, I would like to thank you for providing the bite sample. The Medical Examiner confirmed that you could not have been the killer of the two college students. And since that was the only thing linking you at all to the other murders, you have been dropped from the suspect list."

"Gee, that's always nice ta know," grinned Black Tiger.

Silverlance turned to the Inspector. "Sir, the faster we can get started, the faster we can deal with the situation at hand."

"Of course. Come on back to my office, please." He turned, and the others followed him back down the hall.

At the door to the office, Hauler balked. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be able to fit through that door. It's a bit narrower than the outside door."

Jarhead reached up and patted him on the shoulder."It's okay, big guy. Just sit down outside the door, and lean your head in so you can see and hear. And if anyone tries to get close and eavesdrop, just glare at ‘em. Sitting down, you're almost as tall as anybody else standing up."

"Excuse me, can we get started?" asked the Inspector. "Thank you. Now, before you start, I had better brief you first on what you are, and are not, allowed to do as civilians. First, there's the matter of the use of Deadly Force, which all of your powers count as."

"Um, not mine," said Jarhead. "Let me explain..."

The others walked swiftly, doing their best to keep up with Black Tiger. His nose was close to the ground, and he was very nearly on all fours, but he was still moving at a very rapid pace. Occasionally he would stop, sniff the air, then back down on the ground, then hunch over and continue on, or take a sudden turn.

Eventually, the four metahumans and their police escort came to the door of a warehouse. "He went in here," hissed Calvin. "And I can smell him pretty strong. There's also a lot o' people in there, I can hear ‘em movin' around."

One of the older cops leaned in close to the Inspector and the metahumans. "Inspector," he whispered, "this warehouse is supposed to be abandoned. I say we call for backup in case things get a bit hairy."

"Good idea. Harrison, Michaels, go radio for units 8, 15, and 17. The rest of you, come with us." The inspector waited for the two named officers to jog around the corner to use their new, handheld radios, then looked at Hauler, and nodded towards the door.

KATHOOOM!!! The solid steel door catapulted inwards from the force of the powerful metahuman's massive fist, quickly followed by Black Tiger, Jarhead, and Silverlance. The cops rushed in behind them, as Brian wrenched apart the doorway to make an opening big enough to fit through.

Sure enough, there were dozens upon dozens of thugs, gangsters, and mercenaries in the warehouse, most stunned by the force of the heroes' entry. However, some of the miscreants present, disgustingly twisted forms wrapped in blue or purple robes, hissed. almost in unison, saying, "They sssseeek the massssters! Dessstroy them!"

A cacophony of gunfire erupted, and most of the invaders dove for what cover they could find. However, Hauler stood firm, shrugging off the impacts of dozens of bullets as they failed to penetrate his thick hide. He charged forwards, rushing for the densest concatenation of armed adversaries.

"Cover him!" yelled Jarhead, as he rushed from one set of boxes to another, then ducked the flying, unconscious body of one of the thugs. Grinning at the sight of a Tommy Gun, he picked it up, checked the drum magazine to see how much ammunition was left, then began to fire back at the thugs, using a series of tightly controlled bursts to force the more persistent pockets of resistance to keep their heads down.

"You heard him, cover Hauler!" called out John, as he stood up, and sent a silver bolt cascading at one of the robed figures, which collapsed with a scream, and was knocked back to a nearby wall. However, another hissed,and was surrounded by crackling electricity and darkness. Before John could do anything, he found this same energy field surrounding him, filling him with an agonizing electric charge. "Aaaaargh!"

"No way!" yelled Black Tiger, as he dove over the boxes with almost inhuman speed, grabbing one as he did so. A powerful arc with that arm sent the crate speeding on its way, smashing into the darkman, and knocking him directly into another.

Meanwhile the police seemed to be faring about as well with their highly trained and highly practiced revolver fire. Most shots they fired were to incapacitate, and soon many of the more foolish members of this mass of criminals had been taken out of the fight.

Bending down and picking up one of the last of the mercs, Hauler pulled the man to his face. Scowling, he demanded, "Where is the vampire?"

Before the terrified thug could answer, there was a thunderous retort like the crack of doom from deeper within the warehouse. The few remaining scum that were conscious immediately took advantage of this distraction to race back there, and apparently took cover behind whatever had made the noise. Hauler dropped his prisoner, who simply crawled behind a large crate, whimpering.

"Guys, I'm smelling some pretty nasty things, here," warned Black Tiger. They regrouped, even as Jarhead bent down and picked up a couple spare drums for the Tommy Gun he had acquired. The Police, meanwhile, regrouped beside and in front of the Inspector.

"Oh, come now," rang a sterling voice, from the shadows of the rear of the warehouse. "Surely the scent of your destiny is not so pungent?"

"And what destiny is that?" demanded Silverlance.

"Why... the grave, of course!" rang the voice once more, then silence.

Unnerved, the bold heroes, human and metahuman alike, all began to move slowly towards the rear of the building. Jarhead glanced at Black Tiger. "Anything?"

The feline teenager sniffed the air, and looked around, cocking his head. "I smell ‘em... and I almost hear about four of ‘em... but I don't see ‘em..."

"Four... in addition to the thugs?"

"Well, only four of ‘em are moving. Dunno if they're thugs or not."

Silverlance looked around. "Black Tiger, take point. Warn us of status changes. Hauler, you're behind him, and Jarhead and I will bring up the rear and provide covering fire where needed. Inspector, I recommend that you and your men stay back, in case there are metahumans among them."

Even as the Inspector nodded his head, a spectral form rose from the floor in front of the police officers. Wreathed in wispy shreds of tattered cloth, wrapped around a skeletal form, its visage inspired icy tendrils of terror that gripped the hearts of the officers. Some, revolvers still out, aimed and fired at this new threat, panic preventing any form of accuracy.

"Watch where you're shooting!" yelled Jarhead, ducking instinctively as one bullet impacted a concrete pillar just above his head. To his horror, those rounds that did find their mark merely passed through whatever sort of being this was. "Stop, stop, it's not real! It's just an illusion or a phantom, you can't hurt it!" he yelled.

"But I am real!" snarled a voice, as a hulking beast nearly as large as Hauler dove from the shadows. It's iron-corded muscles were covered in stretched, parchment-like skin, and its lips were pulled back to reveal a mouth full of numerous, needle sharp teeth. Its fingers ended in dirty broken claws, and it lashed out with one ape-like hand, grabbing Jarhead's left arm.

Silverlance reacted first. "There's more of them Be ready!" He summoned his concentration, and fired out a shimmering bolt that sizzled through the air into the undead behemoth. To his dismay, while the creature was rocked back, it did not let go of Jarhead.

Hauler turned to go help his friend, but found himself face to face with a new foe, himself. This creature stood six and a half feet tall, and was covered in rune-encrusted armor, and wrapped in long linens. However, it's horrible face was evident, little more than a skull with two pinpoints of light where its eyes should have been. "And where do you think you go, colossus?" asked the creature, as it dropped into a low fighting stance.

"To help my friend!" he bellowed. He charged the undead creature, but suddenly found himself sailing through the air, head-first into a concrete pillar. His mass shattered the pillar, but the impact dazed him momentarily.

Black Tiger, meanwhile, had ducked off to one side, and was sniffing his way through the shadows. The scent he had originally been following had passed this way, and he had only now picked it back up. But before he got far, his enhanced hearing picked up the sound of very faint chanting further down the way. Trusting his instincts, he jumped up at the wall, then used it as a springboard to leap back in the opposite direction. Barely a half second later, a sizzling ebony bolt of lightning impacted the ground where he had been moments before, and he finally saw his foe, another corpse-like creature, this one hunched over and wrapped in the tattered remnants of a darkman's robe. "Ewww... I knew there was a reason we shouldn't have done this!"

Even as Hauler and Black Tiger encountered their foes, Jarhead grabbed the pinky of the taloned hand holding him, and twisted. He expected to have to use some force, but to his surprise it took every ounce of strength he could muster to even barely bend back that digit far enough to force the creature to release him. "Good god, this thing is definitely stronger than human," he muttered. Seeing the groggy Hauler rise to his knees, Black Tiger dancing away from further black lightning bolts, and Silverlance and the police avoiding the terrifying touch of the phantasmal menace, he had an idea. "Hauler, Black Tiger, Tag team with me! Rotate clockwise!" He then dove to the side, as the huge creature charged, ramming its shoulder through a concrete pillar.

Silverlance saw this, and grinned. Jarhead would make a good field commander, if the group ever got large enough to need one, even without combat powers. Meanwhile, he had finally gotten a clear shot at the ephemeral entity, and took it. To his surprise, his silver lance, as the members of the Hostel had dubbed it, impacted squarely with the creature, sending it flying into, and through, the ceiling. His blast was powerful enough to rupture the ceiling as well, and then a semi-solid form fell back through that hole, landing in a heap in front of the police.

Black Tiger had heard Jarhead's shout, and paused for a moment to try to figure out clockwise and counter-clockwise. This proved to be a nearly fatal mistake, as a black lightning bolt lanced into his back as he turned, knocking him tumbling forwards. He turned it into a rolling pounce, diving full into a relatively unprepared armored foe. Knowing that his claws would not likely get through that armor, he balled up his fists, and let loose with a series of punches as rapidly as he could, using the boxing techniques Jarhead had taught them. The helm rang with every blow, and soon his opponent was stunned, and edging backwards. It tried to rasp out some sort of command, but a swift uppercut silenced it for the moment, and knocked it back several feet.

Jarhead and Hauler passed each other on their way to their new sparring partners, and Jarhead stopped him. "The big guy is trying to pop his shoulder back in place, we got a moment... toss me towards robe-boy, but not too hard!"

"Gotcha!" The big man held out one hand, and the smaller man stepped in it, then found himself hurling through the air at the entity hurling lightning. He prepared himself, and swung a fist, only to growl at himself as the creature vanished right before impact, in a cloud of black sulfurous smoke. He managed to tuck into a roll, and come up back on his feet, then saw the creature's destination, as another cloud of black smoke formed not too far away. Snatching up a fire extinguisher, he rushed at it, and swung with all of his might, while holding onto the hose of the extinguisher. The loud metal ringing showed him he was right, and he swung again, feeling another satisfying impact as the creature was sent skidding down the floor for ten feet by the force of the blow.

About this time, the huge undead that had first attacked Jarhead had managed to get its arm back in its socket, and turned to find his little prey. Instead, he found one huge hamfist connecting with his chest, whooshing the air out of his lungs. Even as he doubled over, a second fist connected with his face, snapping him back to an upright position with a thunderous boom that rattled the windows of the warehouse. A third punch, a roundhouse, sent the creature off its feet, and flying through three concrete pillars and imbedding it in a wall.

"ENOUGH!" boomed a voice, one familiar to Black Tiger, Hauler, and Silverlance. Sure enough, a black disk announced the arrival of the Wielder of the Black Blade, or simply ‘Black Blade'. "Now is not the time, Descendant of the Wielder!" he cried, and raised his hands.

"Whatever you're gonna do," yelled Jarhead, "It's not gonna be enough!" Emboldened by his success, he swung his impromptu bludgeon at the demon-possessed swordsman. To his dismay, not only did the fire extinguisher bounce off the armored figure as if it was a stone statue, there was not even a sign that Black Blade had even felt it. Moments later, the various thugs, mercenaries, darkmen, and Undead Lords that populated the warehouse prior to the arrival of the metahumans and the police simply faded into inky black pools, that flowed away into the shadows of the dimly lit corridors.

"Dadblastit, no! We got four men hurt in this fracas, and not one of the bad guys stays so we can even arrest them?" demanded Inspector Avagnarde. Scowling, he strode up to Silverlance. "First, I'd like to thank you for your help. Without you guys, those zombie-like creatures probably would have killed us all. Second, would you please kindly tell Jarhead to get rid of that fire extinguisher quickly, it's hissing, and likely to start spraying all over the place."

"Oops," said the former Marine, as he tossed the damaged fire extinguisher off to one side. Sure enough, the moment it hit the ground, it cracked, and a white foam started spraying for ten feet in all directions. "Sorry, Inspector."

One cop, mildly injured by a thug's bullet early in the melee, piped up. "What the heck were those things? And where'd they go?" he asked, holding his arm tightly to stop the bleeding.

Silverlance looked thoughtful. "They were a ghost, and a ghoul, and two other dead things... and if their number includes a Vampire... Inspector, I'd say this looks like the murders from last night, and the incident a few weeks ago at the museum, are connected. Connected by demons and the Undead."

To be continued...