Post by jordan on Jan 28, 2013 23:13:04 GMT -5
Fantastic Four
Issue #3
By Jordan
*
The Dance of Doom
*
Some Time Ago
It is a dark night in Latveria, the moon shone bright above. Ripples of the ocean heard, through the sound of ruffled stone. The carriages drag the marry men forward, and with despairs they stop to drink. Four men walk out of the covered wagon and stumble quick into the bar. One of greater stature and sporting a most righteous beard; next a man of ginger hair, his eyes dart from corner to corner, ready to flee, suspicious of all (would it be because he has nary a soul?); we see next the smallest of the group, an elder man on walking stick, eyes of the darkest blue. Tender legs carry him, but not too far, for he first takes the seat at the bar.
Lastly we have the leader of the group, the last to leave his carriage behind. He adorns a beautiful face, one that wouldn’t bring even a fly to harm. Muscles to make any woman swoon, a smile to strike love into even a man’s heart, and voice that not even the loveliest angel could match. This man bore a fire-pointed star on his chest and, by Christ’s name, I stop the story here, for you must realize the star to truly understand the man:
One point stood for the battles he’d won, fighting those enemies from the Gods to the Huns; next we have the point that stands for the challenges of a different sort—not the challenges of brawn nor strength, but instead of brain. Never lost a game of Chess, the man had the greatest of intellect that even the Great King would call upon him for strategy in battle. The third point stands for loyalty, which never does he stop showing to his king. From the day he first borne arms, to the day of his retirement, loyalty has always been to his King; the fourth of the stars is honor, or as the British spell it honour, as this man has the most chivalric of principles. Never has he been unfaithful, even in his many travels, and never has he dishonored his king.
Finally we have the fifth and final point, the point of love, the point that made this man most pure…was the only point he could not truly claim his own. His many travels have taken him to many a strange land, to meet many a strange women, but never has he found love. Not even in Mary can he find love. So, on this man’s chest, the fifth and final point has been made blunt, truly showing he is not the purest on man, plane for all to see.
But now let me continue our dark tale of these four twisted men as they walk into a bar.
The first of the four, the one that adorns the most righteous of beards, lays his head down wary next to the eldest of the group. “Have you any Gen?” The bearded man asks the bartender, to only be answered with a small glass of clear ale. The eldest man order a large glass of this, followed by the ginger taking a shot of God knows what. Finally, the fourth man takes his seat.
“What have ya, sir?” The bartender asks, seeing clearly that the be-starred man is of some importance. Silence spread as the whole bar stared, waiting for him to order.
“I will simply have a scotch; your finest.” The night is still young of course, and these four have much to discuss, but at the very least they leave the bar with despairs left behind and only optimisms ahead…
*
“May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?” A husky man of the upper class in Latveria gurgles, extending his beefy arm towards Valeria. Ben sees the look on her face and keeps hard from laughing.
“Why, of course.” She says, taking his hand in hers. Ben watches as he takes the lead, pulling her body closer to his. She looks as though she is about to puke. Johnny makes his way over to Ben through the crowds of dancing elites and pulls him aside. Johnny looks stern, unlike when Ben usually sees him as a happy even hap hazardous kind of guy.
“Alright Ben, it’s time to do your thing.” Johnny says, looking him dead in the eye. Ben’s eyes go wide as he looks Johnny straight back. Right now? He was sure he’d had at least another hour before… “You know what to do?” Johnny cuts off his train of thought, eyes darting everywhere in the room, suspecting everyone, trusting no one.
“Of course, of course…but, just for safety’s sake…can I have a little refresher?” Ben’s mouth curves up into a wide grin. Johnny heaves a heavy sigh.
“You make your way to the restroom. When you arrive, take out anyone who won’t leave within five minutes; anything short of fatal force. You climb through the vents and make your way—“
“What about reporters? Won’t they follow me since I’m a member of the Four?” Ben cuts Johnny off and he looks none too happy about it.
“Didn’t you do your homework? Latveria doesn’t allow outside news sources inside its country’s borders. Now, as I was saying, you make your way to the throne room, you find out if Victor von Doom is really still there, and I want to know what he does in his free time. He disappeared, and then suddenly reappeared years later. I want to know where he went, and where he found that armor of his. Understood?” Ben quickly nods his head up and down, getting ready to walk away. Just when he turns his back he feels a small, delicate, silky hand fall on his shoulder.
“Ben,” he hears the melodic voice come from behind him. He turns around, wide-eyed, nervous about how this mission will go. “Good luck out there.” Valeria says with a strange look in her eye. Ben nods his head slowly.
“You too.” Ben walks away into the crowd, leaving Johnny and Valeria standing in silence. Ben makes his way over to the restroom unnoticed by the authorities and ducks in without a sound. He checks all of the stalls without interference. He looks about the ceiling for the vent and discovers it just above one of the crystal sinks in the restroom.
Ben pulls himself up onto the sink and equips his web-shooters to his wrists. He fires a line of webbing and pulls the vent from the ceiling, placing it gently on the ground under the sink. He starts pulling himself into the vent when the doorknob rattles.
Out of fear, Ben stops dead in his tracks. He’d forgotten he locked the door. “Who’s in there?!” Someone yells in a deep voice, sounding a little under the weather.
“No vacancy!” Ben yells in his best Hispanic interpretation. The man outside calls for help and within seconds what sounds like three men’s weight hits the door hard. Ben can hear the wood cracking under their weight. He quickly pulls himself into the vent and launches a web down to the cover on the floor, pulling it back up, placing it over the hole just in time for the door to break. Six armed guards rush in. followed by a large man in a green cloak wearing a metal suit of army. “Oh, shit.” Ben mumbles to himself when he realizes that the man in the green cloak is none other than Victor von Doom.
“I want him found.” Doom starts, pointing around the room. “Searching every room, inspect every guest.” He pauses and looks up thoughtfully. “And gas the vents, while you’re at it. Do not hurt the guests though, that is a direct order from Doom.”
“Yes, sir!” The men yelling, bolting around in all directions. Ben quickly scurries through the vents trying to find something, anything, anyway to get out of the vents before they gas the place.
*
Shadows fall dark over the sun stricken land as the party of four make their way briskly across. For days upon days have they been traveling, only to find not one single town. Water runs low and food even lower, but still they push on, if only in hopes of finding another.
But one pipes up, the one of ginger hair, and when he speaks a crude accent abounds. “Shall we just lay down here and die my brethren? For if we continue on this lonely path, it will be the same outcome. But if we were to turn back now then maybe, just maybe, we’d have a chance on God’s mighty green Earth.”
“Nay!” Yells the man with the blunt star upon his chest. “Nay, we turn back now and we are better than not a single man from where we derive! I say we find what we are looking for, or we die trying!” His hand goes out hard, striking down the man with the ginger hair.
“But friend, we must think about our families—I have a wife and daughter!” The one from whom spouts the most righteous beard speaks up. “They’ve survived this long, but how much longer can they? They already think me crazy for embarking with you!”
“Then you turn back, never did I ask you to journey along with me!”
“Four is the number thou claimed was needed to release the Fountain, my friend! Without us, you have but one!”
“I have been called the mightiest of men! If all’s I need is eight hands, who might you be to say I cannot grow them myself!”
“Now listen you adolescents.” The elder man pipes up. “For these months I have followed you on your crusade I’ve done nothing but walk and walk and walk. I’ve only one sturdy leg and a wooden stick to hold me up. I need this to live and wonderful life!” Pointing his cane to the ginger upon the ground, angrily he speaks again. “Said you who would take a cup home to your ailing wife, offer it as spirits and have her drink herself into health once more!” Now on to the bearded man. “And you! You are old and unable to support your family! What makes you think you can return to your family? What makes them accept you again?!” And now once more does silence fall over the group of four travelers as they walk on, towards the Fountain of Life.
*
“He’s coming.” Valeria whispers into Johnny Storm’s ear as trumpets blare across the large ballroom. Just twenty minutes after he’d sent Ben off to find Victor von Doom was it announced he’d be giving a speech.
“Are we excited or scared?” Johnny asks jokingly into Valeria’s ear. Victor von Doom has been off the radar for years, this will be his first public appearance in a long time. Why? Why now? The trumpets stop playing and the room grows silent. Out onto the balcony walks the great and mighty Victor von Doom.
A green robe falls over his body in a fashion so perfect as to conceal whether he has muscles or not. What is visible of his arms is wrapped in a thick bandage, suggesting scar tissue beneath. His legs are covered with the same bandages. His face, however, remains unseen. Covered by a Guy Fawkes mask on a stick held up by only his left hand, his face remains an invisible variable. His voice is powerful and shaking.
“Hello, honored guests. I have invited you all from every corner of the globe to attend this special occasion.” A stray gust of wind blows through the open window to Doom’s left, revealing a star painted on his chest, blunted at one point. “What makes this night so special, you may be asking yourselves. Well, tonight I have something very special planned.”
“Get in position.” Johnny growls over the intercom system to Valeria and Franklin. He watches them out the corners of his eyes as they dart to the edges of the ballroom.
“I have unearthed a plot to overthrow me. Now, I realize most of you do not care about this one way or another, but what I say next will certainly perk your interest.” Chatter grows within the crowd.
“Johnny, what’s going on?” Ben’s voice breaks over the intercom.
“Doom’s giving a speech, where are you?”
“The vents, they’re going to try to gas me out.”
“Find a way out, now. Meet us back in the ballroom. Something’s about to go down, something big.”
“These rebels plan to strike tonight, when they expect my guard to be the lowest!” Doom says, holding a glass of champagne in the air, and then taking a sip. “You all cannot leave, for through those doors lies in wait my enemy army. However, when they charge the castle, you will either be forced to fight and kill them all…or die.”
“NOW!” Johnny screams, jolting the Fantastic Four into action. “Flame on!” A red aura incases Johnny’s body, flames radiate from his very skin. He rockets into the sky and stares Doom straight where he believes his eyes are. “What is the meaning of this, Doom?” Johnny assumes Doom smiles under his mask.
“Maybe I just want to ensure the future of my country. Then again, maybe I just want to see you break.” Doom back-steps quickly through a the door from whence he came. Johnny storms forward but narrowly misses the door as it bolts shut. The front doors of the castle burst opena s hundreds of Latverian pesants storm in, shoving swords into whomever crosses their paths. Gunmen following at the back of the seemingly endless wave of militiamen.
The battle has just begun, and the Fantastic Four have been played a fool.
Issue #3
By Jordan
*
The Dance of Doom
*
Some Time Ago
It is a dark night in Latveria, the moon shone bright above. Ripples of the ocean heard, through the sound of ruffled stone. The carriages drag the marry men forward, and with despairs they stop to drink. Four men walk out of the covered wagon and stumble quick into the bar. One of greater stature and sporting a most righteous beard; next a man of ginger hair, his eyes dart from corner to corner, ready to flee, suspicious of all (would it be because he has nary a soul?); we see next the smallest of the group, an elder man on walking stick, eyes of the darkest blue. Tender legs carry him, but not too far, for he first takes the seat at the bar.
Lastly we have the leader of the group, the last to leave his carriage behind. He adorns a beautiful face, one that wouldn’t bring even a fly to harm. Muscles to make any woman swoon, a smile to strike love into even a man’s heart, and voice that not even the loveliest angel could match. This man bore a fire-pointed star on his chest and, by Christ’s name, I stop the story here, for you must realize the star to truly understand the man:
One point stood for the battles he’d won, fighting those enemies from the Gods to the Huns; next we have the point that stands for the challenges of a different sort—not the challenges of brawn nor strength, but instead of brain. Never lost a game of Chess, the man had the greatest of intellect that even the Great King would call upon him for strategy in battle. The third point stands for loyalty, which never does he stop showing to his king. From the day he first borne arms, to the day of his retirement, loyalty has always been to his King; the fourth of the stars is honor, or as the British spell it honour, as this man has the most chivalric of principles. Never has he been unfaithful, even in his many travels, and never has he dishonored his king.
Finally we have the fifth and final point, the point of love, the point that made this man most pure…was the only point he could not truly claim his own. His many travels have taken him to many a strange land, to meet many a strange women, but never has he found love. Not even in Mary can he find love. So, on this man’s chest, the fifth and final point has been made blunt, truly showing he is not the purest on man, plane for all to see.
But now let me continue our dark tale of these four twisted men as they walk into a bar.
The first of the four, the one that adorns the most righteous of beards, lays his head down wary next to the eldest of the group. “Have you any Gen?” The bearded man asks the bartender, to only be answered with a small glass of clear ale. The eldest man order a large glass of this, followed by the ginger taking a shot of God knows what. Finally, the fourth man takes his seat.
“What have ya, sir?” The bartender asks, seeing clearly that the be-starred man is of some importance. Silence spread as the whole bar stared, waiting for him to order.
“I will simply have a scotch; your finest.” The night is still young of course, and these four have much to discuss, but at the very least they leave the bar with despairs left behind and only optimisms ahead…
*
“May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?” A husky man of the upper class in Latveria gurgles, extending his beefy arm towards Valeria. Ben sees the look on her face and keeps hard from laughing.
“Why, of course.” She says, taking his hand in hers. Ben watches as he takes the lead, pulling her body closer to his. She looks as though she is about to puke. Johnny makes his way over to Ben through the crowds of dancing elites and pulls him aside. Johnny looks stern, unlike when Ben usually sees him as a happy even hap hazardous kind of guy.
“Alright Ben, it’s time to do your thing.” Johnny says, looking him dead in the eye. Ben’s eyes go wide as he looks Johnny straight back. Right now? He was sure he’d had at least another hour before… “You know what to do?” Johnny cuts off his train of thought, eyes darting everywhere in the room, suspecting everyone, trusting no one.
“Of course, of course…but, just for safety’s sake…can I have a little refresher?” Ben’s mouth curves up into a wide grin. Johnny heaves a heavy sigh.
“You make your way to the restroom. When you arrive, take out anyone who won’t leave within five minutes; anything short of fatal force. You climb through the vents and make your way—“
“What about reporters? Won’t they follow me since I’m a member of the Four?” Ben cuts Johnny off and he looks none too happy about it.
“Didn’t you do your homework? Latveria doesn’t allow outside news sources inside its country’s borders. Now, as I was saying, you make your way to the throne room, you find out if Victor von Doom is really still there, and I want to know what he does in his free time. He disappeared, and then suddenly reappeared years later. I want to know where he went, and where he found that armor of his. Understood?” Ben quickly nods his head up and down, getting ready to walk away. Just when he turns his back he feels a small, delicate, silky hand fall on his shoulder.
“Ben,” he hears the melodic voice come from behind him. He turns around, wide-eyed, nervous about how this mission will go. “Good luck out there.” Valeria says with a strange look in her eye. Ben nods his head slowly.
“You too.” Ben walks away into the crowd, leaving Johnny and Valeria standing in silence. Ben makes his way over to the restroom unnoticed by the authorities and ducks in without a sound. He checks all of the stalls without interference. He looks about the ceiling for the vent and discovers it just above one of the crystal sinks in the restroom.
Ben pulls himself up onto the sink and equips his web-shooters to his wrists. He fires a line of webbing and pulls the vent from the ceiling, placing it gently on the ground under the sink. He starts pulling himself into the vent when the doorknob rattles.
Out of fear, Ben stops dead in his tracks. He’d forgotten he locked the door. “Who’s in there?!” Someone yells in a deep voice, sounding a little under the weather.
“No vacancy!” Ben yells in his best Hispanic interpretation. The man outside calls for help and within seconds what sounds like three men’s weight hits the door hard. Ben can hear the wood cracking under their weight. He quickly pulls himself into the vent and launches a web down to the cover on the floor, pulling it back up, placing it over the hole just in time for the door to break. Six armed guards rush in. followed by a large man in a green cloak wearing a metal suit of army. “Oh, shit.” Ben mumbles to himself when he realizes that the man in the green cloak is none other than Victor von Doom.
“I want him found.” Doom starts, pointing around the room. “Searching every room, inspect every guest.” He pauses and looks up thoughtfully. “And gas the vents, while you’re at it. Do not hurt the guests though, that is a direct order from Doom.”
“Yes, sir!” The men yelling, bolting around in all directions. Ben quickly scurries through the vents trying to find something, anything, anyway to get out of the vents before they gas the place.
*
Shadows fall dark over the sun stricken land as the party of four make their way briskly across. For days upon days have they been traveling, only to find not one single town. Water runs low and food even lower, but still they push on, if only in hopes of finding another.
But one pipes up, the one of ginger hair, and when he speaks a crude accent abounds. “Shall we just lay down here and die my brethren? For if we continue on this lonely path, it will be the same outcome. But if we were to turn back now then maybe, just maybe, we’d have a chance on God’s mighty green Earth.”
“Nay!” Yells the man with the blunt star upon his chest. “Nay, we turn back now and we are better than not a single man from where we derive! I say we find what we are looking for, or we die trying!” His hand goes out hard, striking down the man with the ginger hair.
“But friend, we must think about our families—I have a wife and daughter!” The one from whom spouts the most righteous beard speaks up. “They’ve survived this long, but how much longer can they? They already think me crazy for embarking with you!”
“Then you turn back, never did I ask you to journey along with me!”
“Four is the number thou claimed was needed to release the Fountain, my friend! Without us, you have but one!”
“I have been called the mightiest of men! If all’s I need is eight hands, who might you be to say I cannot grow them myself!”
“Now listen you adolescents.” The elder man pipes up. “For these months I have followed you on your crusade I’ve done nothing but walk and walk and walk. I’ve only one sturdy leg and a wooden stick to hold me up. I need this to live and wonderful life!” Pointing his cane to the ginger upon the ground, angrily he speaks again. “Said you who would take a cup home to your ailing wife, offer it as spirits and have her drink herself into health once more!” Now on to the bearded man. “And you! You are old and unable to support your family! What makes you think you can return to your family? What makes them accept you again?!” And now once more does silence fall over the group of four travelers as they walk on, towards the Fountain of Life.
*
“He’s coming.” Valeria whispers into Johnny Storm’s ear as trumpets blare across the large ballroom. Just twenty minutes after he’d sent Ben off to find Victor von Doom was it announced he’d be giving a speech.
“Are we excited or scared?” Johnny asks jokingly into Valeria’s ear. Victor von Doom has been off the radar for years, this will be his first public appearance in a long time. Why? Why now? The trumpets stop playing and the room grows silent. Out onto the balcony walks the great and mighty Victor von Doom.
A green robe falls over his body in a fashion so perfect as to conceal whether he has muscles or not. What is visible of his arms is wrapped in a thick bandage, suggesting scar tissue beneath. His legs are covered with the same bandages. His face, however, remains unseen. Covered by a Guy Fawkes mask on a stick held up by only his left hand, his face remains an invisible variable. His voice is powerful and shaking.
“Hello, honored guests. I have invited you all from every corner of the globe to attend this special occasion.” A stray gust of wind blows through the open window to Doom’s left, revealing a star painted on his chest, blunted at one point. “What makes this night so special, you may be asking yourselves. Well, tonight I have something very special planned.”
“Get in position.” Johnny growls over the intercom system to Valeria and Franklin. He watches them out the corners of his eyes as they dart to the edges of the ballroom.
“I have unearthed a plot to overthrow me. Now, I realize most of you do not care about this one way or another, but what I say next will certainly perk your interest.” Chatter grows within the crowd.
“Johnny, what’s going on?” Ben’s voice breaks over the intercom.
“Doom’s giving a speech, where are you?”
“The vents, they’re going to try to gas me out.”
“Find a way out, now. Meet us back in the ballroom. Something’s about to go down, something big.”
“These rebels plan to strike tonight, when they expect my guard to be the lowest!” Doom says, holding a glass of champagne in the air, and then taking a sip. “You all cannot leave, for through those doors lies in wait my enemy army. However, when they charge the castle, you will either be forced to fight and kill them all…or die.”
“NOW!” Johnny screams, jolting the Fantastic Four into action. “Flame on!” A red aura incases Johnny’s body, flames radiate from his very skin. He rockets into the sky and stares Doom straight where he believes his eyes are. “What is the meaning of this, Doom?” Johnny assumes Doom smiles under his mask.
“Maybe I just want to ensure the future of my country. Then again, maybe I just want to see you break.” Doom back-steps quickly through a the door from whence he came. Johnny storms forward but narrowly misses the door as it bolts shut. The front doors of the castle burst opena s hundreds of Latverian pesants storm in, shoving swords into whomever crosses their paths. Gunmen following at the back of the seemingly endless wave of militiamen.
The battle has just begun, and the Fantastic Four have been played a fool.
Concluded in Fantastic Four Issue #4: Doomsday in Latveria