Tales of the Parodyverse

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killer shrike
Mon Dec 27, 2004 at 07:27:56 pm EST
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The Last Killer Shrike Story
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The Last Killer Shrike Story



The Kind Spirit



Simon Maddicks was finally dead.

It was a bit of a relief, truth be told.

After all he had been through: the curses, the pony tail jokes, the stabbings, the estrogen poisonings- the former mercenary had had enough. He welcomed the onrushing black wave of oblivion that churned towards him. Simon stood, arms wide, waiting to be overtaken by the dark impenetrable void.

There was a tugging on his top knot.

“Hey, Simon,” Izzy Shapiro waved up at the hulking super villain, “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Shrike turned back to meet his maker, “It’s been real, cupcake, but its time for me to take the big dirt nap.”

“Well….” the pixyish Goth chick grabbed his wrist and pulled, “You’ve got a couple more stops to make first.”

“What? No! This is it. Its gotta be!” he tried to wrench his arm free but the drag of destiny was too strong for him. The pair vanished into the ether.

The Evil Spirit


“Ah,” Dark Thugos noted as Izzy and Simon materialized before him, “There you are.”

Killer Shrike’s eyes were agog at the sight of the Destroyer of Tales. The gargantuan, granite faced conceptual being sat on a park bench feeding a bustling flock of pigeons, all of which keeled over as soon as they pecked at the tyrant’s offerings.

“I love Tom Lehrer,” Izzy proclaimed.

“OK, I give up. What am I doing here?” Killer Shrike recognized the setting: they were in Off Central Park, in the middle of Paradopolis.

“You’re here for your accounting, Simon Maddicks,” Thugos rose and began walking up a path that was seemingly familiar to the Avian Assassin. He loped after the Destroyer.

“I thought that’s what was the big black wall of nothing was for,” he objected.

“You are not to die yet.”

“Like Hell I ain’t! Uh, sir,” Shrike added weakly.

Dark Thugos’s face grew even sterner, “You cannot die here, in the Parodyverse. You’ve been told that once already.”

“Well, I hate to break this to ya, but I’ve been kacked three times in this loopy place since I….” Simon’s voice trailed off, “Oh, no.”

Dark Thugos smiled without a hint of joviality, “Yes. You saw your fate. It was shown to you by your fellow fugitive, Doctor Druid.”

“Zapped like a bug by the Tinkerer’s booby trap,” Izzy spoke up from the rear, “Cruddy way to go, KS.”

“So I’m being resurrected, just so you can send me back to Earth 616 and get killed again?!” Simon shook his head, “This is payback for stopping you from murdering Yo, isn’t it?”

“No. I’m doing that out of duty. This is payback,” the Destroyer of Tales gestured, revealing a life sized marble statue of the Butcher Bird standing at the fringes of Hero Park, “I believe the Hooded Hood showed you this before, last Christmas.”

“Yeah,” Simon admitted, “It says I died a hero, saving the Parodyverse.”

The ex-soldier shuddered at the concept.

“Well, that’s a nice way to be remembered, at least. I wonder who paid to have it made?” Izzy bent down to examine the plaque, “Hm: Special thanks to Con/Simon Foundation for making this monument possible.”

“Con Simon?! Johnstantine!! That piece of s*** Limey did this to me!”

“With your money,” Thugos revealed.

“With my money!!”

Shrike’s curses, if they could have been heard by the mortal world, would have made stevedores blush.

The Can-Do Spirit


Once the Butcher Bird was finished shrieking Dark Thugos’s eyes glowed red with entropic energies.

“Now that there has been a reckoning for your part in thwarting my will during the ‘Follies of Youth,’ it is time to send you to away,” the Destroyer of Tales locked his gaze onto the costumed killer, “May your final days home be tortuous ones, pissant.”

“You take far too much pleasure in your work, Thugos,” a slim, officious looking brunette in a neatly pressed pantsuit came from behind the statue.

“Jury,” Dark Thugos sneered, “You have no claim here. Your title allows you dominion over origins, not conclusions.”

The Shaper of Worlds shrugged dismissively, “As if I need you to tell me my job. You are going to have to hold your pivot, Destroyer. Killer Shrike comes with me.”

“For what purpose?” the brutish member of the Triumvirate demanded.

“Simon Maddicks is to do some consulting work for my Office.”

“Consulting work?” Simon was starting to feel a case of conceptual whiplash coming on.

“Yes. You’re going to help me select the new Killer Shrike.”

The Shaper returned to her sanctum with Izzy and Simon in tow. While Shrike pored through the mug shot books, looking for a suitable replacement, the ghost, or perhaps hallucination, of Dreamcatcher Foxglove’s first love walked about the tidy little room, admiring the art on the walls.

“I recognize some of these guys,” Izzy realized, “That’s Carrington, a previous Shaper of Worlds. And that’s Wilbur Parody, founder of Parodopolis. He was a big time villain, right?”

“One of the biggest,” Jury was forced to admit, “He also held the title of Shaper. And Chronicler, and Destroyer. You’re very well informed, for a possible figment of the Champion of Chaos’s subconscious.”

“Wait,” Simon looked up and swept the top-knot from the front of his eyes, “You said you’re the Shaper of Worlds?!”

“About three hours ago, yes,” Jury rolled her eyes.

“You have to forgive the big guy- if you’re talking about anything except killing its in one ear and out the other,” the black clad Izzy smirked.

Shrike ignored the dig, “The guys that brought me here to the Parodyverse, Atlas and Census Jones, they said they used to work for the Shaper of Worlds!”

“The Jones Brothers attended one of the former office holders, not me. They managed to free themselves from their obligations, however, causing quite a bit of trouble in the process,” Jury smiled wickedly, “How unfortunate for them and their disciples that a new incarnation of Penny Blood has risen, ready to wreak vengeance on them all for their transgressions.”

“Yeah, sure,” Simon held up the thick book and showed Jury the photo, “I found the guy I want to be the next me.”

“Ah, Mr. DeRedondo. Excellent choice. I shall set his origin in motion immediately. My part of the bargain is fulfilled. You are free to leave.”

The Shaper of Worlds gestured at the pair, and they were gone.

The Free Spirit


Izzy and Killer Shrike found themselves back where they began: facing down the closing tide of Nevermore.

“Hey, wait, I thought I had to go back to my homeworld and die again!” Shrike objected.

“Nope. While you were working out the particulars of your replacement I leafed through some of the Shaper’s mail. The Chronicler wrote that since the way you were killed here in the Parodyverse was ‘thematically similar’ to what happened to you on Marvel Earth. So they can send you on your merry way now without the Narrative getting too screwed up.”

Simon stared at the girl for several moments, “I didn’t understand a word of that.”

“Me neither. I think it’s metatextual.”

“Huh,” Shrike shrugged and got ready to be enveloped by entropy, “I really hated this place.”

“Aw, come on, Shrikey,” Izzy beamed, “You had fun here. Admit it.”

“No.”

“Don’t be stubborn. You got to work for some of the Parodyverse’s greatest villains. You slaughtered a fallen hero. And you almost made Keiko wet her pants.”

Simon Maddicks held on for as long as he could, but eventually broke down and smiled, “I suppose it wasn’t all bad.”

“That’s the spirit,” Izzy punched his shoulder playfully, “You were good at being evil. And now you get to find out what’s next.”

He looked over to the little ghost, to thank her, perhaps, or to make some snide comment about her eyeshadow. We’ll never know, as she had already left. Simon was alone, and then he realized the blackness wasn’t approaching him, he was approaching it. His essence was being drawn to The End by some astral gravity, by finality.

Killer Shrike flew one last time, and then Darkness consumed him. And then he was gone.

To be Continued…













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