Tales of the Parodyverse

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Balefire
Fri Mar 26, 2004 at 07:16:58 pm EST
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And for the reading pleasure of whoever feels so inclined to do so, Balefire #5.
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Balefire #5: Some Things are Better Left Alone….






When you put a giant castle hovering above a city, it does things to people. Some cope by collecting cats. Others ritualistically slaughter cats. You know, normal stuff that people tend to do under pressure. But, throw in the fact that the entire city has recently come under the control of Canada and is under mind-control by Canadian Nightmare, you have an entirely different story.

Here we have the root of Balefire’s somewhat dastardly, kind of evil plan. Other than killing a few dozen reporters, enclosing a city a neigh-impenetrable energy shield, and threatening world domination, he hasn’t actually done all that much evil stuff. Oh, and he’s imprisoned spiffy and taken on the role as mayor of Gotham-Metropolis York, but suffice it to say that in some ways, that’s a step up for the city.

And now that the plot’s been laid out, we get into the juicy, meat-based portion of the story…

No really, here it is…




Balefire squinted at the castle window as a third sun appeared in the sky, threatening permanent damage to his optical nerves as it overshadowed the first two. The chronal distortion fields were makeshift at best, but despite certain anomalies, they would suffice until all of the players could make it to the field

Circumstances were maneuvering against him and in a few hours, establishing a proper conduit would have proved to be nearly impossible. Through his latest efforts, he had bought more time, though it could be mere hours more, depending on the field stability. The Lair Legion should have made a move to stop him by now, yet, without certain key elements, even their meddling wouldn’t be enough to set his plan into motion.

But, things have a way of working out, Balefire reminded himself as he stepped back from the dais. “Grrl, Jean-Pierre, we have work to do. The rest of you, stand guard over the field generators.” Yes, things do have a way of working out… though sometimes, a bit of pressure here and there can go a long way.




“C’mon? Are you sure you can’t just let is slide this one time?”

“I’m sorry sir, but it is airport policy not to let live animals past customs.”

“But it’s not a live animal,” Nats pleaded with the British customs agent. “It’s a Fecal pie, made from the finest ingredients in all of Europe, hand-selected by the friendly people of Treichel and Kotz bakery.” The pie began to gurgle and attempted to lurch out of the box before Nats did it in with a swift punch to what would be the head, if pies often had heads.

“I don’t know…” The guard squinted at the box dubiously, as the pie attempted to open the lid for a quick escape.

The argument could have gone on for hours had the flying phenomenon’s companion not just then arrived.

“Hey Natsy! You ready to go?” CSFB! shouted across the room.

“Eh, I guess so,” Nats said as he discarded the fecal pie in the nearest waste receptacle. “Remind me again why I didn’t just fly here?”

“First of all, I doubt the old codger would feel like getting carried across the Atlantic. Second of all, Finny said that the insurance wouldn’t cover another overseas pigeon incident.” Nats winced in remembrance.




“Let’s see here. Victim’s name, height…” The Birthday Bandit stumbled through the mess of papers surrounding him. “Age, age verification, parent/guardian signatures if applicant is under the age of eighteen. Never had to fill out forms before… Great-Aunt Mildred’s sister’s maiden name, where applicable? Are you absolutely sure we have to fill out all of these forms?”

Xander nodded. “Of course. Standard villainy procedure. You can’t start torturing innocents without a proper license, and even then you have to get signed release forms from the victims in question.”

“Eh… still not so sure about this.” Turbo Treesloth stared down at over a metric ton paperwork. “Do you even count as an innocent?”

“Well technically…no. But, otherwise I would count as a hero, possibly skilled in the mystic arts, and have you ever seen the release forms for hero torture? Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

“Well, we did want to take some initiative,” Birthday Bandit reminded his tree-climbing cohort. “Balefire didn’t even give us the O.K. to torture you; I think he actually threatened something about testicals and boiling water if we even came near this room. Should probably do things right the first time.”

“One would suppose so,” Xander agreed as the two came prepared for the potential weeks of laborious paperwork. “Though, you haven’t treated me all that bad, and seeing as this is your first time at it, I suppose you could leave the formalities until later.”

“Really?” Turbo Treesloth exclaimed.

“Indeed then,” Birthday Bandit agreed as he attempted to muster up his most threatening and dastardly of villainous voices. “So… to begin! Hmm… to begin. Begin-to-begin! Yes well, I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to how to start off. Any suggestions?”

A pensive look crossed Xander’s face. “Well, I can see that you’re a bit inexperienced in the whole “merciless torture of victims for information” shtick, so I suppose that I can offer a few pointers here and there. Let’s see , first of all, you’ll probably need several instruments of torture with which to do the actual torturing.”

“Well, we were sort of denied access to the castle’s torture equipment, the weapon stores, the chemical storage center, and the kitchen, but we did manage to gather several rather threatening non-violent household objects.” The two emptied the contents of their pockets, revealing an earwax cleaner, pencil shavings and several non-toxic Crayola crayons.

“Hmm,” hmmed Xander to his captors. “I guess that those will just have to do. But to begin the actual torture… I suppose quite a few villains like to soften up their victims with a bit of threatening and light wounding before the hours of unending pain and unceasing torment. To start off with, Birthday Bandit, how about using your taser and making a few threatening demands.”

“Alright,” the Birthday Bandit decided as he brandished the weapon. “Here goes… Tell us what we want to know or I’ll zap Turbo Treesloth over there!”

“Hey!”

“Quiet you overgrown squirrel!” The Birthday Bandit snapped as a quick jolt to the back of the neck left Turbo Treesloth twitching on the ground. “How was that?”

“Well, you could use some work,” Xander admitted. “Normally, the senseless violence is directed at the torture victim. But in any case, I think you’ve got that stage covered. We could probably just skip straight to the part where you reveal Balefire’s plan in an overconfident speech before attempting to do me in with a hasty fit of rage…”




“Fie! A pox upon you, New Jersey!” Hamboy mumbled incoherently as he awoke from his unexpected slumber. The musty odor of damp stone filled the room. Hamboy tried moving but found his arms and legs restrained, cold, metal shackles holding them taut. A quick glance of his surroundings affirmed what he had already surmised. He was in some sort of dungeon, held in place on a wooden medieval replica torture rack.

The ham helmed hero tested the bonds that held him. The metal seemed strong enough. Hamboy struggled against his restraints, and was surprised as the wooden framework snapped and splintered easily, and the faint scent of rotting wood filled the air.

‘But how did I wind up there? And where is here?’ Hamboy shook his head groggily as he attempted to remember what had happened. Scattered thoughts clouded his head. ‘What had I been doing, what was it? Someone… wait, no, two people. They had showed up at the Lair Mansion. Something hadn’t been right about them… tried to enter unnoticed.’

‘Saw them on the security monitors… claimed they were salespeople. John… something, or was it Jean? And the other one. Jane Doe… wasn’t her real name.’ Hamboy’s mind reeled as he dug deeper into his scattered memory. ‘Remembered the dossiers, Gril, maybe. Or was it Girl? No… it was Grrl. Part of Balefire’s team. Avoided the anti-solicitor defense grids; got past first level mansion security. Called for help.’

Hamboy struggled, trying to remember what had happened, how he had ended up there. There was something there, at that very moment in time, something that wasn’t right. It thwarted him every time the tried to break past.

Hamboy shook his head, putting his thoughts aside for a moment. Whatever it was that brought him here, whatever he needed to do, he couldn’t be of any use until he found a way to escape.




The Scene: a classical American living room, a wood framed television sitting in the center of the old fashioned carpet.

As we watch, the camera moves forward, and we lose sight of the family. The camera zooms in slowly until the only thing left is the oak framed television. The screen changes, the image fading from a classical, wholesome television show to a blank screen.

White letters begin to materialize on the screen… ~war~ … the letters fade again into the background. After moments, the same fuzzy white haze appears, shaping into more letters… ~greed, violence~ …which give way to the same unyielding blankness.

~Is this the type of place you want your children to grow up in?~ …the message reads across the screen. ~For a better future, vote spiffy for President~… a slight pause… ~because how the hell could he make things any worse?~ … the same dark nothingness… ~This commercial brought to you by the campaign to kill… impeach… elect mayor spiffy for President~




“I trust that works for you gentlemen?” Balefire asked as he turned of the projector and stepped out from the shadowed corner of the boardroom.

“Humph,” a gruff voiced man grunted at the comment. “I suppose. But we hope you’re correct in that this’ll handle the problem.” He leaned back in the chair and scrunched his eyebrows.

Balefire smiled. Simply a means to an end, the group of fools assembled here would be amongst the first to go once his plans were set into motion. “Of course. The mayor and soon to be President will be nothing more than a fleeting memory.”

“And you’re certain that those to blame will be punished swiftly?”

“I assure you; the guilty parties will be apprehended and most likely killed in the effort. Sadly this will long before the time anyone could even begin to question whether or not they’re guilty, and by then, any evidence saying otherwise will have most likely… disappeared.”

“Good. I trust that all will work out according to plan.” The chairman rolled his chair back and began to stand. “I suppose that’s all of the busin-”

“On last thing,” Balefire interrupted. “I believe that part of our agreement entailed the transfer of a certain piece of technology into my possession….”




Balefire entered the courtyard of his hovering castle and made his way to gibbet hanging in the center of the open space. Plans were coming to fruition, and with the immigration paper he held at his side, the final pieces of the puzzle would fall into place.

Coming to a stop, Balefire watched as the cage made it’s decent to where Balefire could look the gaunt figure within eye to eye.

“You know why I’m here, Xander,” the villain announced simply as he handed the sheets and a simple red pen to the Sorcerer Supreme of the Parodyverse.

“Of course, of course,” Xander replied, signing the sheets one by one.

Balefire half frowned as he watched the proud sage sign over his free will. He had expected some sort of challenge from the man, some futile rebellion, a last show of defiance. It was almost disappointing to watch the matter proceed as simply as it was.

Perhaps the man thought he had found a loophole, some petty clause that would allow his escape? It couldn’t be. The papers were iron-clad. No act of magic or artifice could invalidate them. No, Xander the Improbable was his.

And with that, he accepted the signed papers from his prisoner and watched as Canadian Nightmare’s mind control took Xander over.

“Grrl open the cage.”

“So, Xander how exactly did you plan to stop me, to escape from this one?”

A small smile came over the Sorcerer Supreme’s face at the comment. “Simple. I’m not Xander.” And with that Balefire watched as the man’s face shifted and he found himself face to face with the Dark Knight.




Gasp! I told you stuff would happen, but did you listen? Of course not, no one ever listens… but anyway… The playing field has been revealed and most all of the contestants have been named. But what are the stakes?

The near-omni-mayor spiffy is put into yet another compromising condition as a yet unnamed but easily guessable entity puts their cards on the field.
Things seem to be boiling down into a confrontation between the Lair Legion and Balefire’s yet-to-be-named Strike Force.

What will happen? Will our next issue be this story-arc’s conclusion? Probably not, but will the conclusion be coming up in the next few issues? Anything is possible as the contenders line up for one final go at it!




This Week’s Bonus Feature:

And, as a bonus, this issue includes the never before shown “Pick a Villainous Team Name” challenge. The contest is open to anyone and multiple entries are encouraged. Just pick out a villainous name or Acronym (along with corresponding expanded form) and write it in. Who knows? Your response could be the next name for Balefire’s yet unnamed strike force, or at least the inspiration behind the new name.

Good Luck!





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