🚀 go-pugleaf

[Continued From Part One]

        Pseudo-demons poured out of the sky, turning day into a  ghastly
night.  The kind of night with long teeth, sharp claws, and  breath which
was equally offensive.
        Mr. Morbid watched for a moment in awe.  The gravity of the
situation was difficult for him to comprehend.  It was like just barely
surviving five rounds with Satan himself, and then having someone say,
"Just kidding!  Go five more rounds."
        *Morbid.  Listen to me,* Eugene told him telepathically.  *As your
loyal servant and Shadow Minion, it is my duty to aid you in any way you
desire.  While my powers are indeed great, they do have their limits.*
        "Cut to the chase, Eugene.  As you can see, it's about to hit the
fan.  And it's taking all of my concentration just to hold my blood in
right now."
        *It is quite simple.  If you remain here, you will die.*
        Mr. Morbid didn't like the sound of that.  It's one of those
phrases that there is no good way to say.  "Are you suggesting that I run?"
        *Call it what you will.*
        Morbid looked around and saw his comrades-in-arms preparing
themselves for whatever fate awaited them.  "There are so few left, Eugene.
We could lose this one."
        *True.*
        Morbid closed his eyes briefly and frowned.  "Just keep me alive,
Eugene.  I'll do the rest."
        *As you wish.*
***
     As the tide fell upon them, Kim Nelson ran towards one of the first
pseudo-demons to land.  `Why not', she thought.  `Better than sitting
around waiting for them to come and rip me apart where I stand.'
     Kim had various advantages over normalguys.  She was very strong, and
extremely tough.  She was able to absorb electricity to add to her power.
And she was trained decently in hand to hand combat.  Note that nowhere in
this description is there anything about her being more stable than the
general public.  It had been a long two days for her, and she'd already
lost it in combat once.  Now, with the end of her life (and many more lives
than that, but she wasn't really thinking about most of the others right
then) very likely at hand, she was on the verge of doing so again.
     In other words, the pseudo-demon had her for lunch.  Um, let's
rephrase that.  After all, this is a demon we're talking about, who might
very well have liked to have Kim for lunch literally.  But he didn't.  The
pseudo-demon just ducked her wild first punch, then returned a blow that
knocked Kim back.
     The pseudo-demon then laughed and rushed Kim's unsteady position, only
to find himself almost kissing her feet.  Before he had the chance to get
up, Kim drove a fist down to the back of his head and he went still.
     Michael stood up.  "I told you earlier, calm down.  I can't trip this
whole horde by myself."  He flashed Kim a quick grin before spinning at the
pseudo-demon approaching from behind, then grabbing the demon and throwing
at Kim as Michael himself went to the ground from the throw.  Kim shifted
position slightly to brace herself, then knocked the pseudo-demon to the
ground with a pile-driver.
     Michael had just enough time to flip back to his feet and get to Kim's
side before six more pseudo-demons came to replace their fallen comrades.
And the battle raged on.
***
     Punch. Run. Kick. Jump. Move. Dodge. Karen Moire felt herself slipping
into an almost entranced routine. She was, for all practical purposes,
invulnerable to whatever was thrown at her. This meant that as a combatant,
she would not succumb to her wounds and drop from the battle like others
had already done. Unfortunately, the human mind and enhanced human body are
far too susceptible to fatigue, and Karen's had long since been pushed past
their breaking point. Others had rested, but Karen had pushed on, moving
like a preprogrammed dynamo, slapping, punching and kicking pseudo-demons
as she walked relentlessly forward like an unstoppable juggernaut. Those
around her saw how effortlessly she shrugged off her opponents' raking
talons and angry blasts, and watched as she marched through the line of
opposition, cutting a swath in the enemy ranks as she pressed forward. Many
superguys, ready to give up the ghost, saw her tireless efforts and felt
their spirits buoyed by her example. It was as though the battle simply
couldn't be lost with a titan playing the field.
     Then, the titan faltered.
     A sound penetrated Karen's war-fogged mind. It was a familiar sound,
one that she was sure she'd heard before. The haze of fatigue began to
creep over the woman's attention once more, to send her back into the
routine of combat that had kept her on her feet for so long. Then she heard
the sound again, and stopped.
     The sound had been a man. A human man. Crying out in pain. Karen
stopped suddenly, and for the first time since Hell(tm) itself had
descended upon the Earth, looked through her eyes and actually saw what was
before her.
     On the ground in front of her was Mr Morbid, a fellow combatant, just
beginning to recover his senses. But that wasn't right... she'd knocked a
pseudo-demon there, hadn't she? She was sure it had been one of the enemy,
how could she have mistaken a man for a monster?
     How could she?
     Karen waded back into the battle, trying to numb her mind with the
fight. She swung halfheartedly at the enemy, who began to surround her.
They buffeted her, they swiped at her, and finally they managed to form a
pile on top of her large enough to keep her down. Karen might have been
able to break free and rejoin the fight. But she didn't.
     Nearby, allies groaned as they watched the titan fall.
***
        "Oh, jeez..." groaned Windswimmer as the horde of pseudo-demons
advanced.  "Those mind-controlled superguys were one thing, but don't I get
a few more practice runs against some easier-type villains?  Muggers or
giant oatmeal monsters or something?"
        "Fly away home, then, girly!" growled Ludge, snapping on his riot
helmet.  "This is a job fer Battletank!"
        "That's 'womany' to you, mister!" she snapped, since Liberty
Richards was not there to correct him.  "An I don't fly, remember, I swim!
And I didn't come all this way to run away now!  All right, barf-faces,
let's see what you're made of!"  She soared off at full speed, as a subset
of pseudo-demons swarmed around her.  Judy waited until they were almost
upon her, then executed a sudden nose dive, and her attackers smashed into
each other.  Since pseudo-demons are notoriously bad-tempered and will
fight among themselves as quickly as they will attack others, Windswimmer
calmly  elementary-backstroked herself a few yards away and let them have
at each other.
        "Atta girl, er, woman!" roared Battletank from the ground.  But
look out behind you!  Here, I'll cover ya!"  The armored man aimed his
plasma blaster at another bunch of pseudo-demons who were approaching
Windswimmer from behind and fired, taking out most of them but setting
himself up as a target for a dozen or so others.
        "Battletank!" cried Windswimmer in horror.  Fred's blaster  could
only hold back some of them; the rest beset upon him, tearing away bits of
his sticker-bedecked riot armor to expose his all-to-human flesh.
Battletank roared in outrage as he struggled to fight them off, but with
little success.
        "Get away from him!" screamed Windswimmer, paddling her away to a
position overhead and desperately searching for a way to intercede.
Battletank's plasma blaster was ripped off his arm and tossed aside, as the
offending pseudo-demon leapt forward to assure that the big man's arm would
soon follow.  Windswimmer swooped down to pick up the weapon.
        "I said, get AWAY from him!" the young woman ordered again, pushing
the controls on the weapon to 'Full'.  Then she closed her eyes and
squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of plasma into the fray and praying
that Fred still had enough protection from the remnants of his armor to
withstand the blast.  His attackers evaporated in the heat, while
Battletank crumpled to the ground, battered, bloody and decidedly
well-done.  The pseudo-demons surrounding him had taken the worst of the
blast, however, so he was still alive.  Windswimmer scooped him up in a
cross-chest carry, and swam as fast as she could, desperately seeking
shelter of any sort, if there was in fact a refuge from these creatures.
***
     "There's no end to these creeps, is there?" Shadebeam asked as she
sent half a dozen pseudo-demons flying with a trampoline spell.  "I--
HotFlash, look out!"
     "I am looking out!" HotFlash exclaimed as she flew past, a horde of
demons following her.  "Did you realize that flames tend to attract
pseudo-demons?"
     "I've vaguely heard of the phenomenon," Shadebeam noted as she
intercepted the last two of the followers.
     "These guys are worse than autograph-seekers!" HotFlash growled, as
three pulled her to the ground.  "And their personal hygiene is only
marginally better!"
     "Not to worry!" a heroic voice declared.  "I'm back and I'm
bun-length!"  Commander Frank, the owner of the voice, leapt into the fray,
pulling the demons off of HotFlash and pounding them hard into the wall of
the building.
     "Thanks," HotFlash said as he helped her up.  "I'd work on the battle
cry if I were you, though."
     "Anyone seen Willwarp or Spatial K around?" Shadebeam asked.  "I don't
see 'em!"
     "Microvax put out a distress call," HotFlash said.  "To quote: 'oil
can!  Oil can!'  They went to check on him.  And Bizarre Guy is right
over--"
     Several dozen pseudo-demons went flying hard in the general direction
of the horizon.  "Takes that!  And thats!  Or thises!"
     "--there."
     "This is one time I wouldn't mind very much to have Mighty Guy's
overkill on our side," Shadebeam grumbled as the slashing claws of an
advancing demon made her jump back.  "What-- hey!  I'm talking here!"  She
spun the demon around, gave it a wedgie with it's own pseudo-tail, and
booted it away.  "What are our chances?"
     "Not good," HotFlash snarled, as she was surrounded by six more
demons, all of them promising painful death whilst simultaneously inquiring
if she was available.  "But I-- hey!  Stop eating my flame blasts this
instant, mister!"
***
     Roboguy had thought the bearhug Bodyslam had given him earlier was the
mother of all bearhugs.
     He now had good reason to revise that opinion.
     "Arrrrrgggghhhhh," he groaned as the pseudo-demon tried to squeeze him
open like a... Never mind.  You don't want to know. Really.
     "To use what is probably an old cliche," the robot said.  "You can
dish it out, but can you take it?"  With that, he pointed the taser mounted
on his right arm at the pseudo-demon's torso and fired.  To his relief, the
blast pushed the creature back, forcing it to let go of the robot.  Roboguy
took a second to regain his balance and look over the damage reports before
turning his attention back to the pseudo-demon.
     "Grrarrhhh," the pseudo-demon growled as it climbed back to his feet.
     "My, aren't we articulate," Roboguy observed.  "Though I personally
think Lou Ferrigno does it better."  He raised his arm again and fired the
taser, hitting the pseudo-demon square in the chest.  It staggered back,
nearly losing its own balance, but didn't fall over.
     "Hmm.  You were ready for that one," Roboguy observed.  He raised his
arm to fire again, waited for the demon to brace itself...
     ...and fired the taser mounted on his *left* arm.  The demon was
caught so off-guard by this that it lost its footing, and stumbled
backwards.  Roboguy continued firing on it, this time with both tasers,
knocking it over quite nicely.
     "Surprise," he said.
     Naturally, that was when another pseudo-demon plowed into him.
     "Ow," he commented, wincing at the pain, not to mention the damage
reports he was getting from the computer.  Luckily, the damage was mostly
exterior, the storage unit where his friend David's virtual form was
undamaged.
     "Anybody get the license number of that truck?" he asked.
     The two pseudo-demons growled in response and advanced on him.
     "Never mind."
***
        Meanwhile, half a world away....

        "What's so important that you had to drag us out here at this time
of the morning?" Switch griped, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.
        The morning rush hour was just commencing and Injuryman had taken
Barmaid and the sleepy eyed Switch out to Redfern Railway station without
giving them any reason. Perched on top of a low roofed garage they observed
the crowd of commuters making their ways to and from the trains.
        "Are we here to stop some kind evil corporate plot?" Barmaid asked,
"Or some nefarious Government Agency from exploiting the working masses?"
        Injuryman regarded them both with the serene gaze of the No-Can-Do
master, and took another sip from his double strength espresso. He was more
experienced than Barmaid and Switch and knew how to handle these early
morning assignments: drink coffee, strong coffee and lots of it. These two
amateurs had neglected to even bring a thermos flask with them!
        After annoyingly long pause Injuryman finally chose to speak.  "We
are here looking for pick pockets." he explained, indicating the crowd
forming below.
        "Pick pockets?" Switch repeated. "You got me out my warm
comfortable bed, away from my warm and comfortable girlfriend to look for
petty crime? If I remember rightly, last week we saved this city from total
domination by a crazed publisher. I don't think a few purse snatchers are
going to present much of a challenge!"
        "Crime is crime." Injuryman stated factually. "Besides, this is
supposed to be a test of observational skills. I've already spotted three
pick pockets in the crowd, let's see if you guys can find them too. C'mon,
think of it as the vigilante version of 'Where's Waldo?'"
        "This bites." Barmaid muttered, slumping down against the low wall.
"Couldn't we do this at a more reasonable hour? Aren't criminals lazy good
for nothings who don't get out of bed until midday?"
        "I think that's Generation X." Switch quipped.
        "Look, guys," Injuryman started, "That thing with the Publisher was
a one million shot down here. Chances are we won't see another supervillian
on this continent for years. I mean it's not like demons are going to start
swooping down out of the sky or anything."
        It was of course at this moment that demons began swooping down out
of the sky.
***
     It was finally over, thought one Mr Roginberg, as he painfully
extracted himself from the wreckage of his car. Someone or something had
finally stopped those damned possessed superguys. Limping from the battered
automobile that had been his hiding place for the past hour, Roginberg
slowly made his way towards the small Albertan city's nearest convenience
store. The city, like so many others across North America, had been badly
damaged by the invasion. But with luck, a phone would still be working
somewhere, and he might be able to call for help. Bouyed along by that
thought, Roginberg continued his painful sojourn forward.
    Wearily, the man wondered at what the other survivors were pointing at
and screaming. They all seemed to be running away from something or
other... Roginberg cursed under his breath; he was in the middle of the
road and cover of any sort was far too distant for him to reach, especially
hobbled as he was. Turning to face his fate, Roginberg had only a moment to
scream before the cry was forever torn from his throat by a hundred taloned
hands, ripping and tearing as they passed.
     The world thought that it had earned its rest after repelling the
crazed superguys that had plagued it. It couldn't have been more wrong.
There was still a long race to be run before rest of any sort could be had.
     And the rest promised at the end seemed to be the cold, dark, eternal
final sleep.
***
     Pilgrim beat wildly at the pseudo-demon with his remaining stave,
taking time out only to duck the returning blows.  The attack was futile,
but it was the only thing Ben Washington had left.  All of his tricks --
smoke and concussion bombs, a bolo, flash powder and more -- had been used
up long before the pseudo-demons had even arrived.  One of his staves had
been lost during the beginning of the demons' rush, and now he was left
with only one piece of metal, several aching muscles, and a massive
headache from an earlier hit.
     Ben did a backwards flip over a wrecked thing of metal that had
probably been a car a few hours ago.  Now it was just a convenient blockade
to keep a pseudo-demon off of his back for a few more seconds.  Ben was
behind most of the other superguys, trying to mop up whatever horrors got
past the main line before they could get to Amiga.  After all, he'd only be
good for cannon fodder at the front line.
     "Ben!"
     At Michael's yell, Ben backed up a few more steps and caught what his
teammate had throw -- a foot long metal cylinder with a recessed button.
His eyes flicked from Michael, turning back to the main battle, down to the
cylinder and back to the pseudo-demon now standing on the former car.
Nothing to lose, Ben decided.
     He gave a small prayer and pointed one end at the demon, then hit the
button.  And was almost impaled on a long glowing staff that shot out from
either end of the cylinder.  There was just enough time for Ben to drop his
stave and get the staff more or less into position before the demon got to
him.
     Block claws with an arm-guard.  Feint at the face to get the
pseudo-demon back.  Use the staff's greater reach to keep alive for a
little longer.  Opening -- go for an eye?  No, he couldn't do that. Even if
it was a demon, Ben just couldn't drive something through one of its eyes.
So he flicked the staff lower and crushed its throat, then prayed for a few
seconds to catch his breath before the next pseudo-demon found him.
***
     As above, so below...
     "How long do we have?" asked Gaskell quietly from inside the dubious
safety of a solid titanium hemisphere which Behn had summoned into
existence.
     "I don't know," replied Behn, shuddering as another pseudo-demon
smashed into the shield with sledgehammer force. She frowned as a crack
appeared in the metal, and tried to fill it with her powers. Eventually,
however, the shield would be more patches than original material, and then
it would fall. When that happened, the Tribe and its two allies would die,
their bones added to the grisly landscape without.
     "We're pinned down," muttered Spenser. "There's nothing we can do, is
there?"
     "Not unless you can get us an escape route, no," replied Behn,
astoundingly calm. She realised that, for the second time in her life, she
knew with perfect certainty that she was about to die. There was something
calming about that knowledge.
     For long minutes there was only silence under the half-sphere. Each
defender pondered plans and crazy schemes, each one discarded as quickly as
it was conceived. There was simply no way to fight the entire population of
a world.
     Correction: there was no way to fight the entire population of a
world... and win.
     Finally, Grey Leopard broke the silence. He turned to Gaskell. "Liz?"
he began, "Um... there's something I wanted to say to you... before it's
too late."
     Gaskell looked up from her morbid meditations and faced Cory. Surprise
was written across her face. "Yes?" she asked quietly, her fear of death
only barely apparent.
     "It's just... I... just wanted to say..."
     "Yes?" asked Gaskell again, shooting a look at the others in the
hemisphere, who were looking at the two with a combination of confusion and
gallows humour.
     "Liz," said Cory, finally fighting back his nervousness, "What I'd
wanted to say to you was that..."
     "I think I've got a plan," stated Travelling Man evenly, ignoring the
pair. All eyes turned to him except Cory's, which were downcast and filled
with a mixture of anger and relief. Anger because he hadn't had a chance to
finish what was arguably one of the bravest acts of his life, and relief
because a plan meant the possibility of salvation. Of course, if Cory
wasn't going to die, he was certainly not going to finish saying his piece
to Gaskell.
     "What do you have?" asked Aphra. Travelling Man was about to answer
when a taloned claw finally battered its way into the shield. Grey Leopard
leapt up and slashed at the intruding hand with his own sharply-clawed
gloves, beating it back for the moment, then stuffing his tail into the
crack.
     "You were saying?" the young feline prompted.
     "Not much time," replied Travelling Man dryly and quickly. "When I
give you the word, break your shield and try to find Gggthxtsth."
     "What are you going to be doing?" demanded Milton. Travelling Man
shook his head as the shield shuddered again under the impact of the
demonic army.
     "No time," said Travelling Man. "Break your shield in ten seconds!"
     And with that, Travelling Man had teleported away. Reappearing outside
the shield he looked up at the cloud of hideous troops massed about the
besieged hemisphere, which crouched squat to the ground like a turtle
hiding its head and waiting for a predator to leave.
     "Over here!" bellowed Travelling Man, realising that this action was
tantamount to suicide. Almost as one the ghastly army turned to look at the
superguy, hatred of life gleaming in their eyes. Travelling Man teleported
a short distance away, drawing the army closer to him. Another teleport...
and the chase was on. It was a chase that could end only one way but the
aged superguy ran it nonetheless, living in the moment and never thinking
of when it would end in tearing claws and gnashing teeth.
     Travelling Man only hoped that his sacrifice would be made into
something worthwhile. It was up to the others to see to that. He knew that
his story was over.
***

[Continued In Part Three]