"Worse Than Mere Murder"
May. 13th, 2022 06:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Worse Than Mere Murder"
1/3-1/5/1989
I.
Bane had seldom been so disgusted with himself. Arms tied with wire behind his back, stripped naked, he was marched briskly down endless stone corridors lit by small torches in bronze sconces. Two Nekrosim walked in front of him, two behind him, curved swords in hand. The skull-faced men were bundled in loose brown robes of coarse material almost like burlap, cowled like monks, and they had sandals on their bony feet. They strode in silence, keeping enough of a distance that he could not lunge and seize a weapon from them.
Three hours ago, he had gotten a phone call from one of his many observers that a man with a face like a living skull had been seen on the Lower East Side, getting out of a taxi and entering a rundown apartment building on 21st Street. A Nekrosan in the world of Humans was always bad news. Bane had not waited for other KDF members to return from their various activities to go with him, he had simply set out to investigate on his own. And, looking back, impatience had once again been his weakness. Instead of a through reconaissance and staking out the building for observation long enough, he had simply entered through a basement window and started creeping through the building.
The blast of gralic energy which had flung him down a hallway to crash against the far wall with stunning force had taken him by surprise. Nekrosim had their warlocks but they were usually limited in ability. Obviously, he had run into an exception. Although he thought he had not completely lost consciousness, he was dazed and unable to resist as a dozen of the skull-faced men piled on him. His weapons and field suit were stripped away, and somehow they even knew how to unfasten the flexible Trom armor. As soon as he could stand, he was started on this march. Where the hell were they? No apartment building in Manhattan had miles of stone tunnels under it that he had ever heard of.
Naked, the Dire Wolf was a startling sight. At six feet even and a hundred and seventy pounds, he seemed to have zero body fat. His muscles were long and wiry, with high definition that make the striations stand out sharply as he moved. Under heavy black brows, his pale grey eyes flashed with rage he was not trying to hide at the moment.
The party passed through heavy oaken double doors and entered a high-ceiling room lit by chest-high bronze braziers filled with burning liquid. Rich draperies hung on the walls, there were polished ebony benches and tables lining those walls and a ten foot high statue in red metal of men in armor brandishing a spiked mace. Draldros, of course. The air was dry and warm and smelled of some acrid incense.
At the end of the room was a platform with seven wide steps leading up to a gilded throne carved so its back rose over its occupant much like a cobra hood. Seated bolt upright on that throne, alert and eager, was a Nekrosan in robes of finer material than what the others wore, dark burgundy shot through with golden threads. He held a short sceptre that ended in a round deep red crystal which gleamed with its own lambent light.
Like all the Nekrosim, the one on the throne had a face which looked uncannily like a skull covered with taut light skin. The nose was a mere snub, the toothy mouth unnaturally wide and the dark brown eyes glowered beneath a protruding brow ledge. None of the Nekrosim had any visible hair, but this one was unusual in that he wore a black skullcap of felt that gave a vague impression of normal hair. As he saw Bane, his hideous grin widened even more.
The party escorting Bane came to a halt and one of the Nekrosim lowered to his knees with head bowed. "Great Valesco, we have brought the prisoner directly to your presence as commanded."
Valesco gestured for the guard to rise. "You serve me well, Demozon. So! The Dire Wolf appears for once as he should. Humbled and helpless. Oh, you have much to answer for your crimes against my Race, Human fool."
As casually as if chatting in a diner, Bane said, "What's with all these tunnels? How did they get built under Manhattan?"
Still smiling, Valesco replied, "This stronghold of the Nekrosim is more than two hundred years old. None of your Race know of these tunnels. They started as smuggler routes and we have expanded them for generations. No Human has ever entered here and left alive."
"And you, Valesco is it? You're a sorcerer, right?"
The Nekrosan's smile slipped a bit. "You are not broken yet, Dire Wolf. I think it best that some of your famous arrogance be bled from you before you begin your series of deaths."
Despite his training, that one got past Bane's defenses. "Wait, SERIES of deaths?"
"Oh, yes." The skull-faced warlock raised the sceptre and tapped it against the hollow of his free hand. "Here in this stronghold of our Race, you will not be killed only once."
II.
Half an hour later, his wrists were untied and he was shoved into one of a series of cells on a lower level. The massive door slammed shut and he heard the lock click. Bane took stock of the cell. There was no window in the cell, but the wooden door had metal bars in an opening at face height, and through it he could see the cells on the opposite wall of the dungeon. At the base of a series of stone steps leading upward was a rough-hewn table and two stools, evidently where guards sat when on duty. No one was in sight at the moment.
The cell was dank and chill, but that did not affect him. His Kumundu training and a decade on the tagra tea diet helped his body adapt to worse conditions than these. There was a straw mat in one corner and a round hole in the floor that obviously served as a toilet. Standing near it, he could hear water lapping. The East River. Bane made his way around the cell, found nothing useful and examined the door. The bars in the opening were solid, the door was in good repair. He got a look at the lock and was pleased to see there was no bolt to draw, simply a rather obvious lock built into the door itself. Could be worse.
His field suit and equipment were undoubtedly somewhere nearby, probably being studied by the Nekrosim. The Trom devices were too advanced for even the best Human scientists to figure out and the Nekrosim were at a medieval level of technology. He was most worried about the matched silver daggers which had been given to him by Kenneth Dred and which he prized more than anything else in the world. But they were made of ensalir, silver blessed by the Eldarin, and they were too valuable to be casually thrown away and difficult to damage. He would retrieve them no matter what.
If his Link was functioning, his teammates could track its signal and come looking for him after they realized he was missing. But as a security measure, the Links deactivated when they were too far away from their owners and so his was not giving off a signal now. When this was over, he decided that was a flaw he needed Slade to correct.
With nothing constructive to do at the moment, he went over to the straw mat. Its mildewy smell and the presence of tiny bugs led him to instead brush off an area of the stone floor instead. He had slept in deserts and swamps and icebanks in his time, a stone surface was not a problem. Bane stretched out and began the Kumundu breathing patterns. In a few minutes, he slipped into a light slumber where any sudden noise would awaken him but which let him conserve energy and not waste time worrying.
Footsteps outside roused him. He felt he had been asleep for maybe three or four hours. He leaped nimbly up and peered through the bars of the door to see eight of the Nekrosim marching down the steps, each with a naked sword in hand. One went to unlock the cell opposite Bane's and two of the guards dragged out a screaming Nekrosan who was completely hysterical. The skull-faced prisoner was shrieking, "No! No! Not again!" and struggling wildly. The guards seized him and bent his arms up behind his back to subdue him. As he kept sobbing and yelling, one of the hooded jailors cuffed him hard on the back of the head with a sword hilt and that quieted him down. He sagged and had to be half carried toward the steps.
One of the skull-faced men came to Bane's door. "Great Valesco wants you to see this. Come quietly or four blades will pierce you. Will you cooperate?"
"Sure," Bane answered with his usual casual tone. "Might as well get out for a while."
As his door was unlocked and swung open, the Dire Wolf went with the guards as meekly as possible. They did not bind him this time and he tried not to give them any reason to. He noticed each of the guards had a short dagger sheathed in the sash which held their robes together but he was not about to try and snatch one at this point. Trying to seem harmless, Bane went with the guards to follow the other group who were hauling the other prisoner up the stairs.
They went down the seemingly endless corridors again and entered a chamber where racks held bottles and flagons of different colored fluids, some of which were bubbling and agitated. A metal tub big enough for several adults at once was filled with water, standing on a raised platform in the center of the chamber. Standing with folded arms was the warlock Valesco, watching them all enter.
"Now you will see what awaits you, Dire Wolf." Valesco directed the prisoner to be placed in the metal tub. As the man was lowered into the water, it seemed to jolt him back to full awareness and he began screaming and thrashing again.
"Hold him under," the warlock commanded. Four of the guards pressed down on the prisoner, keeping him entirely under the surface. Two minutes passed, and suddenly the resistance ceased. A big bubble of escaping breath broke the surface and then the water grew still. Three more minutes went by, and Valesco said, "That should do it. Lay him upon the floor."
As the guards dragged the limp form out of the tub and stretched body out upon the stone floor, the warlock smiled at Bane. "Are you shocked, Dire Wolf?"
"I have no illusions about you people," Bane replied. "You have a death-oriented religion that I honestly find pretty sick. I tangled with your commando Golgora a few times and I saw him do worse than drown a man."
"Ah, you are not completely ignorant. Yes, we of Perjena do revere Death as a deity. He provides the necessary balance that keeps Life from flooding the realms. Now, you would saw this Nekrosan is dead?"
"Sure. I saw your goons drown him. His chest isn't moving. I haven't tried for a pulse, but sure I think he's snuffed." Still naked but unselfconscious, Bane stood with fists on his hips. "Where's the point?"
"Watch and grow wise, Human." Valesco answered. He drained bright green fluid from one bubbling flask into a tumbler and knelt to pour it into the corpse's open mouth.
"Don't you think he's had enough to drink already?" Bane asked.
Seeing not to hear, Valesco patiently dribbled the fluid into the skull-faced man's mouth, massaging the thin neck to make it go down. Then he pressed the crystal cap of his sceptre against the corpse's soaking wet chest and it flared up with lurid flickering light. The dead body convulsed, went into a coughing fit that spewed out a quart of water and vomit. Then the prisoner took a deep, shuddering breath and thrashed about weakly. The deepset eyes in the hideous face snapped open.
"Not again," the prisoner gasped. "No more. Please, I beg you, lord."
"Return him to his cell. Bring him the evening meal in an hour. This is not his final death by any means." As four of the guards dragged the weak Nekrosan away, the sorcerer leered at Bane. "Now you understand what awaits you, my friend?"
"Oh, this is just so typically Nekrosan," Bane answered. "It's not enough to kill an helpless victim, you have to resurrect them so you can kill them again. Your discovery?"
"Yes. It came to me in my meditation. Mind you, sometimes it leaves the subject with some brain damage or paralysis. And it only works a limited number of times. You yourself are a Tel Shai knight, tough and resilient. I believe I should be able to bring you back indefinitely. You may spend the next year or two dying and coming back to life. How does that make you feel?"
For the first time, a slight understated edge came into Bane's voice, "The difference between us is that when I kill you, you're going to stay dead."
III.
Valesco sighed. "You obviously need to be softened for a week. Guards, return him to his cell."
As the four jailors surrounded him, Bane went along compliantly enough. They escorted him to the dungeon and he entered his cell without resisting. The door clicked shut. He stood watching through the bars in the door as all four left the dungeon. He wasn't frightened by the prospect of repeated deaths and resurrections, he was enraged. It was so wrong. Leave it to a Nekrosan to finally come up with something that was literally worse than mere murder. Anger stirred him to move up his escape now rather than after waiting a few days.
Bane had thought of spending the next few days sitting in the cell. He had expected to be denied food and water as part of the usual process to break a prisoner's resistance. Because of his Kumundu training, four days without nourishment would be uncomfortable but would weaken him only slightly. He had expected to make his escape when they expected him to be helpless. But now he was furious enough that he wouldn't wait.
Left alone, certain there were no closed circuit TVs, Bane sat down on the floor and crossed his left leg up over his lap. Michael Hawk had taught him so many tricks, most of which never got used but which were lifesavers when they had to be called upon. Examining the sole of his foot, he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary and so far no enemies searching him had found the escape kits either. Digging with his fingernails, he peeled away a thin strip of rubber the exact color of his skin. Under it were three small pieces of bent wire. Repeating the procedure with his other foot gave him a single-edged razor blade.
Hawk had carried a dozen gimmicks like these on his body. He had even had two false wisdom teeth fastened in his lower jaw that held tiny flexible saw blades, but Bane had drawn the line at imitating that. This was only the second time he had needed these picks, because he also carried three like them in the toes of his boots where they were easier to reach. Seeing no guards in the cell block, he reached through the bars in the door with his empty hand first and got acquainted with the lock. It was so primitive, he could hardly believe it. Sure now of its location, he took one of the picks and got to work. Three minutes later, a decisive click sounded. Bane opened the cell door a few hinges, heard the hinges squeak almost inaudibly and closed it again so it was shut but unlocked.
He had been listening for signs of other prisoners but had heard nothing. It was quiet enough down here that his enhanced hearing should have picked up on footsteps, motion on a straw mat or even breathing. All he could detect was that one Nekrosan who had been drowned and brought back, and that one was snoring in a deep irregular way. Now he just waited.
After what seemed like forever, two of the skull-faced guards came down the stairs carrying wooden platters that held tin plates and tin mugs. One of them opened the door to the snoring Nekrosan's cell and came out without the plate or mug. "He's too deeply under to roust," the guard said. "He can eat when he wakes. Nothing for the Human, then?"
"No, our lord wants him hungry and thirsty until he weakens. I have heard of him, the notorious Dire Wolf. Did you know he killed Golgora in a knife fight?"
"Golgora was a master, this Human must be dangerous. Well. I have one more duty before I can sleep. Will you remain here, Grimnol?"
"Yes," said the guard. "I'll enjoy the stew and the bread and the beer. If nothing else, our lord is generous with his food rations. I'll see you when my shift ends."
"Very well, Grimnol. Enjoy your supper." The jailor trudged wearily up the stairs. Left alone, the one called Grimnol dropped his platter down on the table, pulled up a stool and prepared to dig in. Watching from his cell, Bane was delighted that the guard had sat down with his back to him. That should make things smoother. The Dire Wolf opened the door to his cell, took three rapid silent steps and slid the razor blade deeply across the jailor's throat, holding the dying man with his free arm to prevent any struggle. It took less than a minute before he lowered the corpse to the floor. Some blood had gotten on the Nekrosan's robes but it didn't show well against the burgundy color.
Bane stripped the dead man and tugged the robes on to himself, drawing the sash tight. There was a wide-bladed knife tied to that sash and the curved sword had been propped against the table. With two weapons to hand, the Dire Wolf felt better prepared. He started for the stairs, thought twice and went back to begin eating the stew. The guard wouldn't need it and Bane's enhanced metabolism made him always ravenous. The hard black bread was smeared with lard, the beer was bitter but he needed liquid. As soon as he was done with the meal, the Dire Wolf wiped his mouth with a sleeve and picked up the sword again. He stalked up the stone steps with a sudden predatory spring in his step.
IV.
The Dire Wolf had only a vague idea where he was. He had a good innate sense of direction but these monotonous tunnels did not give him much to work with. As he rounded a corner, he met two of the guards. They were not carrying swords but shovels and buckets. One of the skull-faced men spotted the blood on the robes Bane was wearing and started to say, "Are you inj-" before the sword lopped his head neatly off and then chopped deep in the chest of the other man on the return stroke. The Dire Wolf cleaned his new sword on their robes and tugged the bodies to one of the doors at intervals. This one opened on a storeroom with a dozen crates piled against the rear. He threw the bodies in there, including the severed head, closed the door and started moving again.
Suddenly he recognized a section of the corridor and opened the door to the execution chamber. The tub of water was still there, as was the array of bottles and vats of colored serums. Even the wet spot on the floor was still there where the body had lain. Bane considered smashing all the Alchemical potions but aside from making him feel better, it wouldn't accomplish anything.
Peering out into the corridors, he saw four of the Nekrosim turning a corner as they marched away from him, so he went the other way. Finding the execution chamber had given him some idea of where he was in relation to his being brought here. Walking quickly, he made his way through the monotonous unmarked corridors until he came to a dead end that had a metal ladder going up to a trap door in the ceiling. This could be promising. The Dire Wolf leaped up those rungs, slid open the bolt and raised the trap door. Cold night air rushed in. Heart pounding with sudden excitement, he stuck his head up into an alley between two rundown buildings. He could see the East River not two blocks away. Bane hopped up into the alley, sword still in one hand. It was the middle of a freezing winter night. He walked over to the corner and saw he was on 24th Street and Second Avenue. On the next block was a phone booth, just a clear chest-high enclosure with the phone and a ledge with the directory on a chain.
A delivery truck rumbled by, but the driver didn't even notice him. You saw stranger sights than a man in dark monk's robes on New York streets late at night. Bane got to the phone and made a collect call to 28 East 38th Street. Instantly, the call was accepted and he heard the familiar voice of Ted Wright, "Jeremy?"
"Hi, Ted. Listen. I'm okay. I'm at 24th and Second Avenue. There's a colony of Nekrosim in the city. Who's available?"
"Shiro and Cindy are driving around in the Mustang now, looking for you. Khang is here right next to me," said Wright. "You've been missing almost twenty-four hours, captain." Despite the relief in his voice, Wright sounded almost annoyed. "We can't trace your Link."
"I was a prisoner. Send Shiro and Cindy to this location. Have Khang gate here immediately. I want you to stand by in our medical ward in case any of us come home injured. Got it?" Bane went on, "There's a Nekrosan warlock named Valesco who has a blasting wand. Unknown number of Nekrosim guards moving around in tunnels under the streets." As he was still speaking, a silent explosion of blinding white light erupted almost on top of him and the rush of displaced nearly knocked him down. Suddenly standing where nothing had been an instant earlier, the seven foot bulk of Khang loomed up over him. The silver man was bundled in his concealing outer clothing of flannel pants, trench coat, scarf and gloves and slouch hat so that nothing of his true appearance could be seen.
In a deep rumbling voice that seemed to come from every direction at once, Khang said, "I am glad to see you alive and well. We were a bit worried, captain."
"Good to see you, too," Bane said. "We have a nest to clean up tonight." Talking back into the phone, he said, "Ted, Khang is here. I'll report back as soon as there are developments. Don't worry." He hung up as a dark green Ford Mustang skidded to a halt at the curb and he felt the warm contact with Cindy's mind establish itself. That was immensely satisfying. The blonde telepath rushed from the passenger seat and embraced him with all the strength in her little body.
"Don't do this again!" she demanded. "Leave us a note on the bulletin board or wait until one of us is at headquarters okay? You give me grey hairs!"
Bane hugged her tightly and disengaged. "I know. You're right." He looked up as a young Asian man in jeans and a plain white T-shirt with an open denim vest hurried up. "Shiro! Good to hav you here too. Here's the situation, you guys. There's a colony of Nekrosim in tunnels under the street here. Unknown number. They're led by a warlock named Valesco, fairly dangerous individual. We're going down to break them up and end their menace. Everyone clear?"
Shiro Mitsuru raised a hand. "One thing first, captain," he said in a lightly accented voice. "Wouldn't you like to get into your spare field suit first? It's in the back seat of the car."
Without answering, Bane strode over and opened the passenger door of the two-seater. With the deftness of hundreds of hours of practice over the years, he threw the robe into a doorway nearby and got into the Trom armor, the heavy boots and tough pants and crewneck shirt, all black. The waist-length jacket with its built-in weapons and own inner layer of armor was next. A gunbelt held a 38 Smith & Wesson Police Special. Picking up the visored helmet, the Dire Wolf lowered it over his head and left the visor up.
He turned to see both Shiro and Cindy both smiling at him. "Now we're set to tackle the entire realm of Perjena," the Tiger Fury said with a grin. "Ready when you are, captain."
Bane led them to the alley and found the trap door had locked itself from the opposite side when he had lowered it. Casually as if ripping open wrapping paper, Khang gripped the edges of the trap in his huge gloved hands and yanked it loose, tossing it aside.
"Okay, team, let's do it." Bane climbed through the opening and dropped lightly down ten feet into the tunnel beneath, skipping the ladder completely. Cindy and Shiro followed, but Khang did not even attempt to squeeze his great bulk through the opening. In another burst of gralic force, he appeared next to them in the tunnels.
The little blonde was wearing a black field suit identical to Bane's but she held her helmet in the crook of one arm. "I'm picking up lots of agitated minds. Nekrosim, all right, quite a few of them. Sick sick sick, they worship Death. Maybe thirty or forty. They're running back and forth searching for an escaped prisoner." She grinned at her lover and partner with glee. "Wonder who that could be?"
Bane allowed himself a faint smile in return. "See if you can locate the leader. Let's head this way." As they headed along the stone corridors, lit by flickering torches, Bane tried to figure out the layout but he had not been able to get a good visual in his head.
Ahead was an intersection where the tunnel met another corridor running perpendicular. Hurrying toward them were a dozen of the Nekrosim trotting at a near run, each with one of the curved scimitars in hand. As they saw the strangers, the skull-faced men howled and charged without hesitation.
"Time to dance," Shiro chuckled as he head to meet them head-on. Raised since infancy on martial arts, the Tiger Fury had studied the past decade under Teacher Chael on Tel Shai. He plunged directly into the attackers and became a blur of arms and legs flashing in all directions. There were sharp cracking noises and Nekrosim went tumbling back with broken necks and caved-in chests. In a few seconds, they had drawn back and were encircling the Asian fighter with a noticeable lack of eagerness. Only five were still standing.
"Surprised?" Shiro taunted them, moving toward the nearest one. The Nekrosim broke into panic and scrambled to get away. The Tiger Fury tripped the nearest one and smashed an elbow down at the base of the man's neck with the sound of bone breaking. He rose from the body and faced his teammates. "They're not too tough," he scoffed.
Bane shook his head. "Now those ones will gather the rest. We need to find Valesco in a hurry."
"I've got a lock on the sorcerer," said Cindy. "He's resting on a cot or something. That way." The blonde frowned as she turned to her teammates. "For a Nekrosan, he's got some serious power. A blasting wand, some spells of his own, strong gralic defenses. I think we shouldn't underestimate him, boys."
"Lead the way, Cin." Bane had not taken time to inform his teammates about Valesco's hellish game of killing prisoners so they could be brought back only to die again. That could wait for the debriefing when they were back at headquarters. As Cindy broke into a trot down the corridor, her three partners kept pace.
"Here we are," she said, stopping in front of a plain wooden door with a slim candle burning in a cup at face level. "Jeremy, you want to take lead?"
"Absoutely." Bane found the door was locked and dropped into a low stance, drawing his elbow back and smacking the palm of his hand just abover the doorknob. It was not sheer strength that made this technique work, it was channeling all the torque from his legs up through his torso and into his arm. The door slammed inward and he stepped through.
Lying on a platform covered with thin pillows, the skull-faced warlock stirred and sat up as the door crashed open. He had changed into a long silk tunic with wide sleeves and had taken off his skullcap. His reflexes were quick. Valesco rolled and got to his feet, lunging for where the blasting rod rested on a low table next to a wine goblet. Before he could seize that weapon, a sharp crack sounded and a 38 slug punched home high on his chest, near the shoulder. Valesco cried out and fell to the floor, unable to catch himself.
Pointing the Smith & Wesson, Bane said over one shoulder, "Khang, I want you to guard the door. Reinforcements will be reaching us any second. Cin, verify what he says." The Dire Wolf stepped closer to grab the blasting wand and toss it out of reach.
"How many prisoners do you have?" he asked in icy tones.
Suffering and confused by the unexpected situation, Valesco answered, "Two. You and Gilthrol. How did you escape?"
"Never mind that. How many Nekrosim are in this stronghold of yours?"
"Thirty. Ah. I am losing blood. Let me call my attendant."
"Forget it," Bane said. "You were going to murder me and then revive me by magick so you could do it again. You thought it was funny to put a man through one death after another. It's worse than mere murder." He pointed the gun at Valesco's hideous face but hesitated. Still, after all he had been though, Bane could not bring himself to kill in cold blood. It was not Tel Shai ethics but something deep inside his own mind. The Smith & Wesson slowly lowered.
Shiro was staring at the Nekrosan. "Jeremy, is that what he was doing? Killing the same person over and over? It's the worst torture I ever heard of."
The Dire Wolf exhaled. "I was next for his game."
"Well, luckily I don't share your reluctance about finishing an enemy off." In a blur, the Tiger Fury pounced upon the prone form of the wounded Nekrosan. His rigid hand came down like a hatchet on Valesco's neck and broke it cleanly. As Shiro rose, he smiled thinly at his captain. "I let an enemy go once because he was injured and unarmed. Two days later, he took some shots at me from a roof and I learned my lesson."
"It's for the best," Bane admitted grudgingly. He picked up the Darthan-made blasting wand and snapped it in half, then broke off the gem on the end and tossed the halves of the shaft aside. Placing the gem on the stone floor, he struck it sharply twice with the butt of his gun and broke it into shards. As he stood up again, intolerable white light from the doorway filled the chamber, dazzling all of them. Thunder crashed, numbing their hearing.
Khang filled the doorway. He was holding up his massive hands, steam rising from them. "Those Nekrosim are no threat anymore," his inhuman voice rumbled. As the others crowded past him, all they saw was an empty corridor. One curved sword lay on the stone floor and a single sandal was upside down in a corner. The silver giant brought his hands down. "Are we finished here, captain?"
Jeremy Bane moved past his most powerful ally, heading for the cell block. "One more thing." They encountered no more of the skull-faced men as they moved down a flight of wide stairs and through an open door to the dungeon where six cells faced each other. The dead guard still sprawled where Bane had left him only a short time earlier.
Finding the cell where the prisoner had been left, Bane gestured to Khang. "You wanna get this for me?" The silver man seized the heavy door and tore it off its hinges without seeming to make the slightest exertion and set it aside. The Dire Wolf knelt before the prisoner briefly.
"Well, he's gone. Each resurrection left some damage, I think. At least now that bastard won't be reviving him so he can face another death. Okay, we're done here. Let's get out in the open air again, team."
They started down the long corridors, heading for the ladder that led up to the outside world. Cindy said, "What a nightmare. I'm sorry, there is nothing about the Nekrosim I respect at all. I wish they would stay in their own realm and never come out."
Shiro added, "How about collapsing the tunnels so these beauties can't use them?"
"The streets above would fall apart," Bane said wearily. He suddenly seemed tired as the adrenalin levels dropped in his body. "Worst sinkholes in history. But I have an idea. Listen, Khang. After we're up on the street, can you blow open that wall? The East River is right on the other side. If you flood these tunnels, the Nekrosim won't be able to use this stronghold."
"With pleasure." The silver man tilted the brim of his slouch hat down lower over his scarf-wrapped face. "You should all go up that ladder now and go home. I will meet you there when I am done."
Cindy had already put a small foot on the lowest rung of the ladder. "Great. It smells like mildew down here, I need some fresh air. Only Midnight War stuff like this could make Manhattan feel safe and wholesome."
3/7/2015
1/3-1/5/1989
I.
Bane had seldom been so disgusted with himself. Arms tied with wire behind his back, stripped naked, he was marched briskly down endless stone corridors lit by small torches in bronze sconces. Two Nekrosim walked in front of him, two behind him, curved swords in hand. The skull-faced men were bundled in loose brown robes of coarse material almost like burlap, cowled like monks, and they had sandals on their bony feet. They strode in silence, keeping enough of a distance that he could not lunge and seize a weapon from them.
Three hours ago, he had gotten a phone call from one of his many observers that a man with a face like a living skull had been seen on the Lower East Side, getting out of a taxi and entering a rundown apartment building on 21st Street. A Nekrosan in the world of Humans was always bad news. Bane had not waited for other KDF members to return from their various activities to go with him, he had simply set out to investigate on his own. And, looking back, impatience had once again been his weakness. Instead of a through reconaissance and staking out the building for observation long enough, he had simply entered through a basement window and started creeping through the building.
The blast of gralic energy which had flung him down a hallway to crash against the far wall with stunning force had taken him by surprise. Nekrosim had their warlocks but they were usually limited in ability. Obviously, he had run into an exception. Although he thought he had not completely lost consciousness, he was dazed and unable to resist as a dozen of the skull-faced men piled on him. His weapons and field suit were stripped away, and somehow they even knew how to unfasten the flexible Trom armor. As soon as he could stand, he was started on this march. Where the hell were they? No apartment building in Manhattan had miles of stone tunnels under it that he had ever heard of.
Naked, the Dire Wolf was a startling sight. At six feet even and a hundred and seventy pounds, he seemed to have zero body fat. His muscles were long and wiry, with high definition that make the striations stand out sharply as he moved. Under heavy black brows, his pale grey eyes flashed with rage he was not trying to hide at the moment.
The party passed through heavy oaken double doors and entered a high-ceiling room lit by chest-high bronze braziers filled with burning liquid. Rich draperies hung on the walls, there were polished ebony benches and tables lining those walls and a ten foot high statue in red metal of men in armor brandishing a spiked mace. Draldros, of course. The air was dry and warm and smelled of some acrid incense.
At the end of the room was a platform with seven wide steps leading up to a gilded throne carved so its back rose over its occupant much like a cobra hood. Seated bolt upright on that throne, alert and eager, was a Nekrosan in robes of finer material than what the others wore, dark burgundy shot through with golden threads. He held a short sceptre that ended in a round deep red crystal which gleamed with its own lambent light.
Like all the Nekrosim, the one on the throne had a face which looked uncannily like a skull covered with taut light skin. The nose was a mere snub, the toothy mouth unnaturally wide and the dark brown eyes glowered beneath a protruding brow ledge. None of the Nekrosim had any visible hair, but this one was unusual in that he wore a black skullcap of felt that gave a vague impression of normal hair. As he saw Bane, his hideous grin widened even more.
The party escorting Bane came to a halt and one of the Nekrosim lowered to his knees with head bowed. "Great Valesco, we have brought the prisoner directly to your presence as commanded."
Valesco gestured for the guard to rise. "You serve me well, Demozon. So! The Dire Wolf appears for once as he should. Humbled and helpless. Oh, you have much to answer for your crimes against my Race, Human fool."
As casually as if chatting in a diner, Bane said, "What's with all these tunnels? How did they get built under Manhattan?"
Still smiling, Valesco replied, "This stronghold of the Nekrosim is more than two hundred years old. None of your Race know of these tunnels. They started as smuggler routes and we have expanded them for generations. No Human has ever entered here and left alive."
"And you, Valesco is it? You're a sorcerer, right?"
The Nekrosan's smile slipped a bit. "You are not broken yet, Dire Wolf. I think it best that some of your famous arrogance be bled from you before you begin your series of deaths."
Despite his training, that one got past Bane's defenses. "Wait, SERIES of deaths?"
"Oh, yes." The skull-faced warlock raised the sceptre and tapped it against the hollow of his free hand. "Here in this stronghold of our Race, you will not be killed only once."
II.
Half an hour later, his wrists were untied and he was shoved into one of a series of cells on a lower level. The massive door slammed shut and he heard the lock click. Bane took stock of the cell. There was no window in the cell, but the wooden door had metal bars in an opening at face height, and through it he could see the cells on the opposite wall of the dungeon. At the base of a series of stone steps leading upward was a rough-hewn table and two stools, evidently where guards sat when on duty. No one was in sight at the moment.
The cell was dank and chill, but that did not affect him. His Kumundu training and a decade on the tagra tea diet helped his body adapt to worse conditions than these. There was a straw mat in one corner and a round hole in the floor that obviously served as a toilet. Standing near it, he could hear water lapping. The East River. Bane made his way around the cell, found nothing useful and examined the door. The bars in the opening were solid, the door was in good repair. He got a look at the lock and was pleased to see there was no bolt to draw, simply a rather obvious lock built into the door itself. Could be worse.
His field suit and equipment were undoubtedly somewhere nearby, probably being studied by the Nekrosim. The Trom devices were too advanced for even the best Human scientists to figure out and the Nekrosim were at a medieval level of technology. He was most worried about the matched silver daggers which had been given to him by Kenneth Dred and which he prized more than anything else in the world. But they were made of ensalir, silver blessed by the Eldarin, and they were too valuable to be casually thrown away and difficult to damage. He would retrieve them no matter what.
If his Link was functioning, his teammates could track its signal and come looking for him after they realized he was missing. But as a security measure, the Links deactivated when they were too far away from their owners and so his was not giving off a signal now. When this was over, he decided that was a flaw he needed Slade to correct.
With nothing constructive to do at the moment, he went over to the straw mat. Its mildewy smell and the presence of tiny bugs led him to instead brush off an area of the stone floor instead. He had slept in deserts and swamps and icebanks in his time, a stone surface was not a problem. Bane stretched out and began the Kumundu breathing patterns. In a few minutes, he slipped into a light slumber where any sudden noise would awaken him but which let him conserve energy and not waste time worrying.
Footsteps outside roused him. He felt he had been asleep for maybe three or four hours. He leaped nimbly up and peered through the bars of the door to see eight of the Nekrosim marching down the steps, each with a naked sword in hand. One went to unlock the cell opposite Bane's and two of the guards dragged out a screaming Nekrosan who was completely hysterical. The skull-faced prisoner was shrieking, "No! No! Not again!" and struggling wildly. The guards seized him and bent his arms up behind his back to subdue him. As he kept sobbing and yelling, one of the hooded jailors cuffed him hard on the back of the head with a sword hilt and that quieted him down. He sagged and had to be half carried toward the steps.
One of the skull-faced men came to Bane's door. "Great Valesco wants you to see this. Come quietly or four blades will pierce you. Will you cooperate?"
"Sure," Bane answered with his usual casual tone. "Might as well get out for a while."
As his door was unlocked and swung open, the Dire Wolf went with the guards as meekly as possible. They did not bind him this time and he tried not to give them any reason to. He noticed each of the guards had a short dagger sheathed in the sash which held their robes together but he was not about to try and snatch one at this point. Trying to seem harmless, Bane went with the guards to follow the other group who were hauling the other prisoner up the stairs.
They went down the seemingly endless corridors again and entered a chamber where racks held bottles and flagons of different colored fluids, some of which were bubbling and agitated. A metal tub big enough for several adults at once was filled with water, standing on a raised platform in the center of the chamber. Standing with folded arms was the warlock Valesco, watching them all enter.
"Now you will see what awaits you, Dire Wolf." Valesco directed the prisoner to be placed in the metal tub. As the man was lowered into the water, it seemed to jolt him back to full awareness and he began screaming and thrashing again.
"Hold him under," the warlock commanded. Four of the guards pressed down on the prisoner, keeping him entirely under the surface. Two minutes passed, and suddenly the resistance ceased. A big bubble of escaping breath broke the surface and then the water grew still. Three more minutes went by, and Valesco said, "That should do it. Lay him upon the floor."
As the guards dragged the limp form out of the tub and stretched body out upon the stone floor, the warlock smiled at Bane. "Are you shocked, Dire Wolf?"
"I have no illusions about you people," Bane replied. "You have a death-oriented religion that I honestly find pretty sick. I tangled with your commando Golgora a few times and I saw him do worse than drown a man."
"Ah, you are not completely ignorant. Yes, we of Perjena do revere Death as a deity. He provides the necessary balance that keeps Life from flooding the realms. Now, you would saw this Nekrosan is dead?"
"Sure. I saw your goons drown him. His chest isn't moving. I haven't tried for a pulse, but sure I think he's snuffed." Still naked but unselfconscious, Bane stood with fists on his hips. "Where's the point?"
"Watch and grow wise, Human." Valesco answered. He drained bright green fluid from one bubbling flask into a tumbler and knelt to pour it into the corpse's open mouth.
"Don't you think he's had enough to drink already?" Bane asked.
Seeing not to hear, Valesco patiently dribbled the fluid into the skull-faced man's mouth, massaging the thin neck to make it go down. Then he pressed the crystal cap of his sceptre against the corpse's soaking wet chest and it flared up with lurid flickering light. The dead body convulsed, went into a coughing fit that spewed out a quart of water and vomit. Then the prisoner took a deep, shuddering breath and thrashed about weakly. The deepset eyes in the hideous face snapped open.
"Not again," the prisoner gasped. "No more. Please, I beg you, lord."
"Return him to his cell. Bring him the evening meal in an hour. This is not his final death by any means." As four of the guards dragged the weak Nekrosan away, the sorcerer leered at Bane. "Now you understand what awaits you, my friend?"
"Oh, this is just so typically Nekrosan," Bane answered. "It's not enough to kill an helpless victim, you have to resurrect them so you can kill them again. Your discovery?"
"Yes. It came to me in my meditation. Mind you, sometimes it leaves the subject with some brain damage or paralysis. And it only works a limited number of times. You yourself are a Tel Shai knight, tough and resilient. I believe I should be able to bring you back indefinitely. You may spend the next year or two dying and coming back to life. How does that make you feel?"
For the first time, a slight understated edge came into Bane's voice, "The difference between us is that when I kill you, you're going to stay dead."
III.
Valesco sighed. "You obviously need to be softened for a week. Guards, return him to his cell."
As the four jailors surrounded him, Bane went along compliantly enough. They escorted him to the dungeon and he entered his cell without resisting. The door clicked shut. He stood watching through the bars in the door as all four left the dungeon. He wasn't frightened by the prospect of repeated deaths and resurrections, he was enraged. It was so wrong. Leave it to a Nekrosan to finally come up with something that was literally worse than mere murder. Anger stirred him to move up his escape now rather than after waiting a few days.
Bane had thought of spending the next few days sitting in the cell. He had expected to be denied food and water as part of the usual process to break a prisoner's resistance. Because of his Kumundu training, four days without nourishment would be uncomfortable but would weaken him only slightly. He had expected to make his escape when they expected him to be helpless. But now he was furious enough that he wouldn't wait.
Left alone, certain there were no closed circuit TVs, Bane sat down on the floor and crossed his left leg up over his lap. Michael Hawk had taught him so many tricks, most of which never got used but which were lifesavers when they had to be called upon. Examining the sole of his foot, he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary and so far no enemies searching him had found the escape kits either. Digging with his fingernails, he peeled away a thin strip of rubber the exact color of his skin. Under it were three small pieces of bent wire. Repeating the procedure with his other foot gave him a single-edged razor blade.
Hawk had carried a dozen gimmicks like these on his body. He had even had two false wisdom teeth fastened in his lower jaw that held tiny flexible saw blades, but Bane had drawn the line at imitating that. This was only the second time he had needed these picks, because he also carried three like them in the toes of his boots where they were easier to reach. Seeing no guards in the cell block, he reached through the bars in the door with his empty hand first and got acquainted with the lock. It was so primitive, he could hardly believe it. Sure now of its location, he took one of the picks and got to work. Three minutes later, a decisive click sounded. Bane opened the cell door a few hinges, heard the hinges squeak almost inaudibly and closed it again so it was shut but unlocked.
He had been listening for signs of other prisoners but had heard nothing. It was quiet enough down here that his enhanced hearing should have picked up on footsteps, motion on a straw mat or even breathing. All he could detect was that one Nekrosan who had been drowned and brought back, and that one was snoring in a deep irregular way. Now he just waited.
After what seemed like forever, two of the skull-faced guards came down the stairs carrying wooden platters that held tin plates and tin mugs. One of them opened the door to the snoring Nekrosan's cell and came out without the plate or mug. "He's too deeply under to roust," the guard said. "He can eat when he wakes. Nothing for the Human, then?"
"No, our lord wants him hungry and thirsty until he weakens. I have heard of him, the notorious Dire Wolf. Did you know he killed Golgora in a knife fight?"
"Golgora was a master, this Human must be dangerous. Well. I have one more duty before I can sleep. Will you remain here, Grimnol?"
"Yes," said the guard. "I'll enjoy the stew and the bread and the beer. If nothing else, our lord is generous with his food rations. I'll see you when my shift ends."
"Very well, Grimnol. Enjoy your supper." The jailor trudged wearily up the stairs. Left alone, the one called Grimnol dropped his platter down on the table, pulled up a stool and prepared to dig in. Watching from his cell, Bane was delighted that the guard had sat down with his back to him. That should make things smoother. The Dire Wolf opened the door to his cell, took three rapid silent steps and slid the razor blade deeply across the jailor's throat, holding the dying man with his free arm to prevent any struggle. It took less than a minute before he lowered the corpse to the floor. Some blood had gotten on the Nekrosan's robes but it didn't show well against the burgundy color.
Bane stripped the dead man and tugged the robes on to himself, drawing the sash tight. There was a wide-bladed knife tied to that sash and the curved sword had been propped against the table. With two weapons to hand, the Dire Wolf felt better prepared. He started for the stairs, thought twice and went back to begin eating the stew. The guard wouldn't need it and Bane's enhanced metabolism made him always ravenous. The hard black bread was smeared with lard, the beer was bitter but he needed liquid. As soon as he was done with the meal, the Dire Wolf wiped his mouth with a sleeve and picked up the sword again. He stalked up the stone steps with a sudden predatory spring in his step.
IV.
The Dire Wolf had only a vague idea where he was. He had a good innate sense of direction but these monotonous tunnels did not give him much to work with. As he rounded a corner, he met two of the guards. They were not carrying swords but shovels and buckets. One of the skull-faced men spotted the blood on the robes Bane was wearing and started to say, "Are you inj-" before the sword lopped his head neatly off and then chopped deep in the chest of the other man on the return stroke. The Dire Wolf cleaned his new sword on their robes and tugged the bodies to one of the doors at intervals. This one opened on a storeroom with a dozen crates piled against the rear. He threw the bodies in there, including the severed head, closed the door and started moving again.
Suddenly he recognized a section of the corridor and opened the door to the execution chamber. The tub of water was still there, as was the array of bottles and vats of colored serums. Even the wet spot on the floor was still there where the body had lain. Bane considered smashing all the Alchemical potions but aside from making him feel better, it wouldn't accomplish anything.
Peering out into the corridors, he saw four of the Nekrosim turning a corner as they marched away from him, so he went the other way. Finding the execution chamber had given him some idea of where he was in relation to his being brought here. Walking quickly, he made his way through the monotonous unmarked corridors until he came to a dead end that had a metal ladder going up to a trap door in the ceiling. This could be promising. The Dire Wolf leaped up those rungs, slid open the bolt and raised the trap door. Cold night air rushed in. Heart pounding with sudden excitement, he stuck his head up into an alley between two rundown buildings. He could see the East River not two blocks away. Bane hopped up into the alley, sword still in one hand. It was the middle of a freezing winter night. He walked over to the corner and saw he was on 24th Street and Second Avenue. On the next block was a phone booth, just a clear chest-high enclosure with the phone and a ledge with the directory on a chain.
A delivery truck rumbled by, but the driver didn't even notice him. You saw stranger sights than a man in dark monk's robes on New York streets late at night. Bane got to the phone and made a collect call to 28 East 38th Street. Instantly, the call was accepted and he heard the familiar voice of Ted Wright, "Jeremy?"
"Hi, Ted. Listen. I'm okay. I'm at 24th and Second Avenue. There's a colony of Nekrosim in the city. Who's available?"
"Shiro and Cindy are driving around in the Mustang now, looking for you. Khang is here right next to me," said Wright. "You've been missing almost twenty-four hours, captain." Despite the relief in his voice, Wright sounded almost annoyed. "We can't trace your Link."
"I was a prisoner. Send Shiro and Cindy to this location. Have Khang gate here immediately. I want you to stand by in our medical ward in case any of us come home injured. Got it?" Bane went on, "There's a Nekrosan warlock named Valesco who has a blasting wand. Unknown number of Nekrosim guards moving around in tunnels under the streets." As he was still speaking, a silent explosion of blinding white light erupted almost on top of him and the rush of displaced nearly knocked him down. Suddenly standing where nothing had been an instant earlier, the seven foot bulk of Khang loomed up over him. The silver man was bundled in his concealing outer clothing of flannel pants, trench coat, scarf and gloves and slouch hat so that nothing of his true appearance could be seen.
In a deep rumbling voice that seemed to come from every direction at once, Khang said, "I am glad to see you alive and well. We were a bit worried, captain."
"Good to see you, too," Bane said. "We have a nest to clean up tonight." Talking back into the phone, he said, "Ted, Khang is here. I'll report back as soon as there are developments. Don't worry." He hung up as a dark green Ford Mustang skidded to a halt at the curb and he felt the warm contact with Cindy's mind establish itself. That was immensely satisfying. The blonde telepath rushed from the passenger seat and embraced him with all the strength in her little body.
"Don't do this again!" she demanded. "Leave us a note on the bulletin board or wait until one of us is at headquarters okay? You give me grey hairs!"
Bane hugged her tightly and disengaged. "I know. You're right." He looked up as a young Asian man in jeans and a plain white T-shirt with an open denim vest hurried up. "Shiro! Good to hav you here too. Here's the situation, you guys. There's a colony of Nekrosim in tunnels under the street here. Unknown number. They're led by a warlock named Valesco, fairly dangerous individual. We're going down to break them up and end their menace. Everyone clear?"
Shiro Mitsuru raised a hand. "One thing first, captain," he said in a lightly accented voice. "Wouldn't you like to get into your spare field suit first? It's in the back seat of the car."
Without answering, Bane strode over and opened the passenger door of the two-seater. With the deftness of hundreds of hours of practice over the years, he threw the robe into a doorway nearby and got into the Trom armor, the heavy boots and tough pants and crewneck shirt, all black. The waist-length jacket with its built-in weapons and own inner layer of armor was next. A gunbelt held a 38 Smith & Wesson Police Special. Picking up the visored helmet, the Dire Wolf lowered it over his head and left the visor up.
He turned to see both Shiro and Cindy both smiling at him. "Now we're set to tackle the entire realm of Perjena," the Tiger Fury said with a grin. "Ready when you are, captain."
Bane led them to the alley and found the trap door had locked itself from the opposite side when he had lowered it. Casually as if ripping open wrapping paper, Khang gripped the edges of the trap in his huge gloved hands and yanked it loose, tossing it aside.
"Okay, team, let's do it." Bane climbed through the opening and dropped lightly down ten feet into the tunnel beneath, skipping the ladder completely. Cindy and Shiro followed, but Khang did not even attempt to squeeze his great bulk through the opening. In another burst of gralic force, he appeared next to them in the tunnels.
The little blonde was wearing a black field suit identical to Bane's but she held her helmet in the crook of one arm. "I'm picking up lots of agitated minds. Nekrosim, all right, quite a few of them. Sick sick sick, they worship Death. Maybe thirty or forty. They're running back and forth searching for an escaped prisoner." She grinned at her lover and partner with glee. "Wonder who that could be?"
Bane allowed himself a faint smile in return. "See if you can locate the leader. Let's head this way." As they headed along the stone corridors, lit by flickering torches, Bane tried to figure out the layout but he had not been able to get a good visual in his head.
Ahead was an intersection where the tunnel met another corridor running perpendicular. Hurrying toward them were a dozen of the Nekrosim trotting at a near run, each with one of the curved scimitars in hand. As they saw the strangers, the skull-faced men howled and charged without hesitation.
"Time to dance," Shiro chuckled as he head to meet them head-on. Raised since infancy on martial arts, the Tiger Fury had studied the past decade under Teacher Chael on Tel Shai. He plunged directly into the attackers and became a blur of arms and legs flashing in all directions. There were sharp cracking noises and Nekrosim went tumbling back with broken necks and caved-in chests. In a few seconds, they had drawn back and were encircling the Asian fighter with a noticeable lack of eagerness. Only five were still standing.
"Surprised?" Shiro taunted them, moving toward the nearest one. The Nekrosim broke into panic and scrambled to get away. The Tiger Fury tripped the nearest one and smashed an elbow down at the base of the man's neck with the sound of bone breaking. He rose from the body and faced his teammates. "They're not too tough," he scoffed.
Bane shook his head. "Now those ones will gather the rest. We need to find Valesco in a hurry."
"I've got a lock on the sorcerer," said Cindy. "He's resting on a cot or something. That way." The blonde frowned as she turned to her teammates. "For a Nekrosan, he's got some serious power. A blasting wand, some spells of his own, strong gralic defenses. I think we shouldn't underestimate him, boys."
"Lead the way, Cin." Bane had not taken time to inform his teammates about Valesco's hellish game of killing prisoners so they could be brought back only to die again. That could wait for the debriefing when they were back at headquarters. As Cindy broke into a trot down the corridor, her three partners kept pace.
"Here we are," she said, stopping in front of a plain wooden door with a slim candle burning in a cup at face level. "Jeremy, you want to take lead?"
"Absoutely." Bane found the door was locked and dropped into a low stance, drawing his elbow back and smacking the palm of his hand just abover the doorknob. It was not sheer strength that made this technique work, it was channeling all the torque from his legs up through his torso and into his arm. The door slammed inward and he stepped through.
Lying on a platform covered with thin pillows, the skull-faced warlock stirred and sat up as the door crashed open. He had changed into a long silk tunic with wide sleeves and had taken off his skullcap. His reflexes were quick. Valesco rolled and got to his feet, lunging for where the blasting rod rested on a low table next to a wine goblet. Before he could seize that weapon, a sharp crack sounded and a 38 slug punched home high on his chest, near the shoulder. Valesco cried out and fell to the floor, unable to catch himself.
Pointing the Smith & Wesson, Bane said over one shoulder, "Khang, I want you to guard the door. Reinforcements will be reaching us any second. Cin, verify what he says." The Dire Wolf stepped closer to grab the blasting wand and toss it out of reach.
"How many prisoners do you have?" he asked in icy tones.
Suffering and confused by the unexpected situation, Valesco answered, "Two. You and Gilthrol. How did you escape?"
"Never mind that. How many Nekrosim are in this stronghold of yours?"
"Thirty. Ah. I am losing blood. Let me call my attendant."
"Forget it," Bane said. "You were going to murder me and then revive me by magick so you could do it again. You thought it was funny to put a man through one death after another. It's worse than mere murder." He pointed the gun at Valesco's hideous face but hesitated. Still, after all he had been though, Bane could not bring himself to kill in cold blood. It was not Tel Shai ethics but something deep inside his own mind. The Smith & Wesson slowly lowered.
Shiro was staring at the Nekrosan. "Jeremy, is that what he was doing? Killing the same person over and over? It's the worst torture I ever heard of."
The Dire Wolf exhaled. "I was next for his game."
"Well, luckily I don't share your reluctance about finishing an enemy off." In a blur, the Tiger Fury pounced upon the prone form of the wounded Nekrosan. His rigid hand came down like a hatchet on Valesco's neck and broke it cleanly. As Shiro rose, he smiled thinly at his captain. "I let an enemy go once because he was injured and unarmed. Two days later, he took some shots at me from a roof and I learned my lesson."
"It's for the best," Bane admitted grudgingly. He picked up the Darthan-made blasting wand and snapped it in half, then broke off the gem on the end and tossed the halves of the shaft aside. Placing the gem on the stone floor, he struck it sharply twice with the butt of his gun and broke it into shards. As he stood up again, intolerable white light from the doorway filled the chamber, dazzling all of them. Thunder crashed, numbing their hearing.
Khang filled the doorway. He was holding up his massive hands, steam rising from them. "Those Nekrosim are no threat anymore," his inhuman voice rumbled. As the others crowded past him, all they saw was an empty corridor. One curved sword lay on the stone floor and a single sandal was upside down in a corner. The silver giant brought his hands down. "Are we finished here, captain?"
Jeremy Bane moved past his most powerful ally, heading for the cell block. "One more thing." They encountered no more of the skull-faced men as they moved down a flight of wide stairs and through an open door to the dungeon where six cells faced each other. The dead guard still sprawled where Bane had left him only a short time earlier.
Finding the cell where the prisoner had been left, Bane gestured to Khang. "You wanna get this for me?" The silver man seized the heavy door and tore it off its hinges without seeming to make the slightest exertion and set it aside. The Dire Wolf knelt before the prisoner briefly.
"Well, he's gone. Each resurrection left some damage, I think. At least now that bastard won't be reviving him so he can face another death. Okay, we're done here. Let's get out in the open air again, team."
They started down the long corridors, heading for the ladder that led up to the outside world. Cindy said, "What a nightmare. I'm sorry, there is nothing about the Nekrosim I respect at all. I wish they would stay in their own realm and never come out."
Shiro added, "How about collapsing the tunnels so these beauties can't use them?"
"The streets above would fall apart," Bane said wearily. He suddenly seemed tired as the adrenalin levels dropped in his body. "Worst sinkholes in history. But I have an idea. Listen, Khang. After we're up on the street, can you blow open that wall? The East River is right on the other side. If you flood these tunnels, the Nekrosim won't be able to use this stronghold."
"With pleasure." The silver man tilted the brim of his slouch hat down lower over his scarf-wrapped face. "You should all go up that ladder now and go home. I will meet you there when I am done."
Cindy had already put a small foot on the lowest rung of the ladder. "Great. It smells like mildew down here, I need some fresh air. Only Midnight War stuff like this could make Manhattan feel safe and wholesome."
3/7/2015
