Tom Black #4: Portents of Armageddon with Lionel Lodestone and Tom has two women in his shower. “It would be a waste to dispose of her just yet,” slurred Lionel Lodestone, the Viceroy of Vice, looking down on the slumped form of Asil Ashling. “We should at least cut what she knows out of her brain,” suggested Professor Hammond Sterr, mad scientist. “She must have some useful information in there.” “Her soul could perhaps be traded,” considered gaunt ascetic warlock Asteroth DeSoth. “but when she is consumed by the Lurkers Below any deal will be void, so it should be some bargain of short term gain.” “It’s not her brain or her soul I’m interested in,” leered Lodestone, almost drooling over the young innocent form lying before him. “We are supposed to be a club dedicated to pleasure, are we not?” “We each have our own reasons for membership,” noted Simonides Slaughter. “but if you wish to amuse yourself with the waif for a while I don’t think anyone here would object. Then Hammond can do his surgery with what’s left, and Asteroth can pick over the remains for any intangibles he might wish to salvage. “Simonides,” prompted Anna Salem. “Black’s awake again. He’s talking with Regret.” “Then we have work to do,” Slaughter said, suddenly all business. “Lionel, do what you want to the girl, then send her on to Hammond when you’re bored.” “Splendid,” chuckled Lodestone, shifting his fat bulk in anticipation. “Have the stewards carry her to my room.” “Any word on Asil yet?” asked Amber St Clare, worriedly, as she joined Vizh in the Operations Room of the Lair Mansion. “Not yet,” Vizh admitted with a snag in his voice. “Our capacity to track people was limited by the Parody War. We don’t have Lisa to just summons missing persons back. The Olympian Pool of All-Plot-Spoiling got wrecked. I’m kind of banned from Faerie and the Celestian Demiplane.” “The diabolical Dr Moo?” asked Amber. “Sent me a price list for cooking up a replacement Asil,” growled Vizh. “And the rest of the Legion are trying their best, but that plague of basilisks in GMY today is keeping them pretty busy.” “Sorceress, or one of the other mystics?” “All tied up with some freaky portents of doom. Apparently something big rumbled their mystic seismographs. Whitney will try and scry for Asil as soon as they’ve calmed down the Fairly Great Old Ones from waking up for a midnight snack.” The possibly fake man hammered his fist onto the control desk. “I have to do something dammit!” “Well, I have one good bit of news,” Amber comforted him. “Sir Mumphrey’s on his way across the Atlantic, and he can do that replaying time trick with his pocketwatch. That might get us somewhere.” “It better,” warned Visionary darkly. “They wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” “Okay, don’t panic,” Al B. Harper advised the Lair Legion. “Just try not to let the basilisks touch you. In addition to their petrifaction gaze they’re also poisonous. And I’m pretty sure the Shoggoth can transmute back from stone on his own when he feels like it.” “Great,” answered Mr Epitome. “In the meantime, could someone please get him from on top of me?” Lionel Lodestone leaned over the unconscious Asil and licked his lips in anticipation. No matter how many innocent young things he corrupted with his psychotropic sweat secretions he never lost the thrill of destruction. He smeared his sweaty palm across her cheek, willing his dark gift to remove the girl’s inhibitions and moral codes, ramping her lust to incredible highs. Then he switched on the video cameras. Asil kicked him in the back of the knees while he was looking away, then wrapped a bullhide whip round his neck and tackled him to the floor. “Hi, lover,” she snarled in his ear. “Do you like it rough?” “What?” the Viceroy of Vice gasped, just before Asil grasped a delicate part of his paunchy anatomy and twisted. “Aaagh!” “Lionel Lodestone,” the girl giggled happily, pinning him down, nibbling his earlobe. “I’ve read your file. I know what your nasty oozy sweat can do. Very icky. Thing is, Lionel, do you know what I can do? Without inhibitions. Without limits. My darkest facets revealed. Do you know what that makes me, Lionel?” The bulky man tried to toss Asil aside, but she’d been well trained in pressure points and anyway all he really wanted to do right now was curl into a ball and howl. “It makes me Lisa,” Asil warned him, just before she bit off half of Lodestone’s ear. “Something’s very wrong with our computers,” frowned Hammond Stein, hammering the keyboard in his main laboratory. “Something’s over-riding our systems, corroding our firewalls…” He was so preoccupied with the technical challenge that he never saw the three luminous will-o-th-wisps rise up out of the mainframe behind him and begin to advance. The footmen at the Heck-Fire Club were well used to screams coming from Lionel Lodestone’s bedroom suite, but usually they were of a more feminine nature. They were slow to realise that the Viceroy of Vice’s howls meant that he was in mortal danger. When they did realise, the footmen reacted with the trained precision of the former special ops commandoes they were behind their powdered wigs and Edwardian livery. Yeoman Clarke kicked the door in and Yeomen Bence and Cornwall came in with their shock-batons primed. A bullwhip flicked across Bence’s face, sending him screaming backwards. “My eyes! Aggh! My eyes.” The whip lashed back again, tangling Cornwall’s arm so his own shock-stick came into contact with his body, spasming him to the ground. Asil laughed and put Clarke down with the spiked edge of a gynaecological instrument protruding from his neck. The Yeoman gasped for breath through the new hole in his trachea. “Now that’s what I call a great start to a date, Lionel,” Asil told the whimpering Lodestone. “Hey, what does this long spiky thing on the rack here do? Let’s find out.” More guards were coming, and Asil didn’t know of she could fight them all. She shattered Lodestone’s pelvis to keep him down and turned to the half dozen guards that raced in over the fallen yeomen crawling in the doorway. “I surrender,” the Lisa-clone smirked, eyeing the muscular guards as they oriented laser rifles at her. “Take me, boys, I’m yours.” Then the three yeomen at the back were cut down by the corridor laser defences as Tom Black gained control of them with his kaos globes. Other luminous spheres shimmered round and vanished inside the rifles of the leading troopers, possessing the devices and exploding their power packs right in their wielders faces. Another globe ignored its instructions and instead seared directly into the last guardsman, taking command of the nervous system around the guard’s right hand, twisting the weapon round to point at the guard’s abdomen, then forcing him to squeeze the trigger. “Tom,” Asil beamed as she recognised her date from the night before. “I’m glad to see you. There’s a king-sized waterbed here and I was running out of candidates to try it with.” Regret of the Damned rounded the corner and saw the carnage. “That’s Asil?” the demon temptress asked, wide-eyed. “Mousy little Asil?” “Help me,” Lodestone begged, clutching the bloody side of his head. “She’s insane.” Asil rested one foot on the fat man’s buttocks and ground his shattered bones together. “I think you should count this as self-inflicted, Lionel,” she advised him. “Now whimper quietly like a good little beached whale or you’ll be needing a spine replacement as well as a hip replacement. And the next thing I bite off won’t be your ear.” Tom swallowed hard. “Um, Asil?” he ventured. “Ma’am?” Asil eyed Tom and Regret. “You can bring her along if you like,” Asil agreed generously, heading towards the bed. “The more the merrier.” Regret shrugged. “I don’t have a problem,” she agreed. Tom sighed. “Asil, you’re not exactly yourself right now. In fact I’m full of evil energies and you’re still scaring the hell out of me. But you have to try and hold on, try to keep control of yourself while we get out of here.” “So no time for a short break first?” persuaded Regret. “These kind of opportunities don’t come that often, boss.” “Boss?” Asil asked sharply. Somewhere in her hormone-drenched brain a few facts clicked together. “Regret of the Damned! You wrecked Uhuna’s wedding to Nats! Ooh, I hope you enjoy pain!” “I’m a demon temptress,” Regret argued. “Of course I enjoy pain. And of course I wrecked Bill’s wedding. It’s pretty much right there in my job description: demon temptress. Flower arranging – no. Derailing true love – every time.” Tom hastily interposed himself between the two women. For a moment he thought he was going to get the bullwhip anyway. “Fine. I’ll whip her ass later,” Asil promised. “So where are we and what’s happening and where do you want to take me first?” “That would be ‘um’ again,” Tom admitted. “We’re in the Heck-Fire Club. We got mind-zapped by Anna Salem and brought here for… for their amusements. Regret was bound to them by some kind of pact but now she’s working for our team. I’ve managed to over-ride the local defence systems and I’m having the house weapons systems do bad things to the security staff. Now we need to get off the estate before Salem and Slaughter wake up or any of the other Inner Circle arrive to take us down.” “You took down the Black Emperor and the White Empress? How?” “Like I said, I managed to control their internal house defences. As long as I can do that, we can…” Tom’s words were cut short as the power went down across the mansion. Someone had found the emergency cut-off for the electronic counter-intrusion systems. “Say a bad word now, Tom,” Regret urged him. “You know you want to.” Then Asteroth De Soth confined them all in the Scarlet Shackles of Saggeroth and took them down. They hung there in mid-air, spread eagled with wrists and ankles pinioned by squirming serpents of eldrich energy. Asteroth DeSoth, another contender for the Christopher Lee lookalike contest, stepped forward to examine them. “The Scarlet Shackles of Saggeroth,” Regret recognised. “Ooh, they always get me hot! I think it’s the way the serpents slither. You should try the full-body variation sometime.” “Really?” asked Asil, interestedly. “De Soth, I presume,” Tom asked the warlock who had just captured them. “I heard that Hagatha Darkness had turned the rest of your family into goldfish.” The gaunt sorcerer ignored them all. He bent down to the yeoman whose life-blood was pumping from a sucking gut wound and dipped a finger to taste. “Kaos plasma,” De Soth concluded. “Rather than channelling all that dark energy inwards for your physical enhancement you’re spawning it outward in discrete little packets, each with its own basic sentience, able to possess whatever it comes into contact with.” “What’s he talking about, Tom?” Asil demanded. “Well, with any luck he’s about to explain about something called the Judas Box,” Tom answered. “They don’t know about the Box,” Regret supplied. She’d been fully briefed before she’d been sent to seduce Tom Black. “It appears every now and then containing some dark item or cursed object or something, then vanishes again. That’s all the Heck-Fire Club know. This time it brought you your gift.” “What gift?” demanded Asil. “Tom, if you don’t start explaining soon I’m going to have to spank you.” “How long does that psychotropic sweat stuff last?” Tom asked, halfway between worry and interest. “You will not be killed,” DeSoth assured the young man. “You will be preserved, alive, so that we can mine this wonderful energy from you, day after day, year after year. A natural battery of kaos should not be wasted.” He chuckled coldly. “I suppose we might amputate your limbs to prevent any ambitions of escape you might harbour.” “But he still pays me, right?” Regret checked. “You,” De Soth warned the demoness, “you will be returned to the one who is looking for you. Sage Grimpenshast will pay a hefty bounty for the spirit that thwarted his plans for Bill Reed. I believe he has whole legions of demons toiling night and day to devise punishments suitable for you.” Regret’s face turned pale as a look of horror washed over her. “Please don’t…” she mouthed, but fear stopped up her throat. “The Lair Legion is going to take this organisation to pieces,” Asil warned. “When they find me you’re going to wish you’d been a goldfish with the rest of your clan.” “The Lair Legion?” Asteroth chuckled. “My dear, this is the Heck-Fire Club. Not only do we have the raw power to destroy your Legion if we have to, we have the best lawyers in the world. We control the media, the legislature, the stock markets, the military industrial complex. We have enough politicians in our sway to pass laws that would make Special Resolution 1066 look like a reasoned half-measure. We could snuff the Lair Legion like a flickering candle.” “You talk big now,” Asil sneered. “So did Baron Zemo, and Count Armageddon, and Devil Doctor, and the Supreme Interference, and the Resolution Prophecy, and the King of Stories, and the Gamesmaster, and the Hellraisers, and the Dead Hell-Lords. Oh, and the Parody Master.” “Besides,” Tom Black pointed out, “you forgot to mention, Asteroth, that in addition to my little friends being able to possess electronics and nervous systems they can also possess magic spells. Like this Scarlet Bands of Saggeroth thing.” “They what?” demanded the warlock. Then the writhing red mystic serpents that restrained Black sprayed outwards, darting to encompass the head of the warlock who had cast them. De Soth almost got out a counterspell before he was jerked backwards with the twisting snakes locked about him like a helmet. “That’s got to be unpleasant,” Tom said, looking down at the writhing warlock. “I hope.” He had his will-o-th’-wisps shatter the magics holding the women with him. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Asil came out of the shower in Tom’s hotel suite wrapped in the biggest guest bathrobe that she could find. “How are you feeling now?” Tom asked her cautiously. “Much better,” the Lisa-clone admitted. “Under control.” She shot him a mischievous glance. “Disappointed?” “Maybe a little. But if anything had happened while you were Lodestoned it wouldn’t have been you. So it wouldn’t have been good. Well, not good in one sense anyhow. What I mean is…” “I know what you mean,” Asil told him. “I’ve called the Mansion to let them know I’m alright. They’re sending Vizh over to fetch me. And Hatman and CSFB! and Yuki and Epitome and the Shoggoth.” Tom blanched. Asil padded over to him. “I still don’t know if we can trust you, Thomas,” she admitted. “There’s still some things I don’t understand about the last twenty-four hours. Why we were kidnapped. How you escaped. What you did to Asteroth DeSoth and those others. There’s things you’re not telling me.” “A few.” Tom smiled back at Asil. “We all have our secrets. I have the mystery of the Judas Box. You have Lionel Lodestone’s left ear. Friends keep each other’s confidences, and know when not to push.” Asil considered this. “Well, thank you for a memorable date, Tom. If nothing else it’s helped me realise that there might be life after George. Maybe not the life I expected, but…” Tom leaned down and kissed her on the lips. It was unnervingly familiar. “Just do me a favour,” he asked her as they parted. “Please put your clothes on before the Lair Legion arrives to collect you.” “She’s gone?” asked Regret, coming out of the shower just as Asil had earlier, except for the bath robe. “Yes,” said Tom. “And I have a new collection of threats to add to my old collection. Some of them were quite graphic and very imaginative.” “The glorious heroes of the Lair Legion are never going to like a man filled with evil kaos energy,” the demon temptress pointed out, “even if you weren’t a direct blood descendent of a sadistic mass-murderer. One day you’ll probably have to destroy them all.” “They were a bit preoccupied,” Tom noted. “Apparently there’d been signs and portents of some great evil coming into the world. All the taps in Montreal poured out blood for twenty minutes yesterday. Everybody in Copenhagen forgot the word ‘photocopier’. The Mona Lisa wept mustard - the report doesn’t say if it was English or French mustard. A secretary at the Daily Trombone gave birth to a two-headed coypu. J. Jonah Jerkson is blaming Goldeneyed.” “A great evil has come into the world,” Regret pointed out, folding herself in Tom’s arms. “This is going to look so good on my resumé.” “I didn’t ask to be filled with evil power,” Tom argued. “I’m a victim here.” Regret slithered her wet body across Tom. “And to the victim the spoils. Do you want me to look like Asil again? Or Lisa? Dancer? Sorceress? Yuki Shiro? Mr Epitome? Please don’t ask for Uhunalura, I’m so sick of doing her.” “You can change shape into anyone?” “Anyone you desire. And only anyone you desire. It’s a demon temptress thing.” She looked thoughtful. “I managed a horse once. And a few domestic animals. And a post box.” “Your shape is just fine for now,” Tom promised her hastily. He felt her lithe body up against him. “It really is completely fine.” “Tomorrow every occult nutcase on the planet is going to be in Paradopolis looking for you,” Regret predicted. “Doomsday cultists, religious fanatics, diabolist covens, mystic laundries, the Westminster Necropolis Company, the Necromancer General; they’ll all be out for a piece of you. And then there’s the supervillains. B.A.L.D., HERPES, von Doom, Thighmaster, Masamune, Ku Ku Ka Choo, the diabolical Dr Moo. They’re all going to want you as well. To ally with you or serve you or control you or destroy you.” Black grabbed a knot of Regret’s midnight hair and jerked her head back so she was looking up at him. “Bring them on,” he said, and kissed her. Epilogue: Simonides Slaughter and Anna Salem were already seated when the clerk brought Visionary and Sir Mumphrey Wilton in to the office of Mr Sneek of the old law firm of Sneek, Sneek, Grabbitt, and Thuggery. The unctuous attorney himself was positioned behind an antique writing desk. “Ah, Sir Mumphrey, Mr, ah, Visionary. I believe you had something to say to our clients?” Sneek asked in thin sneery tones. “We have a message to convey, yes,” agreed Visionary through gritted teeth. Slaughter seemed completely at ease. “Go ahead,” he offered. “Take your best shot.” “Don’t like you,” Sir Mumphrey told the Black Emperor of the Heckfire Club. “You’re a sleazy arrogant preenin’ oik of a bully, and I look forward to the day that you and your gang of loathsome reptilian leeches are ground into the Earth and exposed for the scum you are.” “Fascinating,” remarked Mr Sneek. “And possibly actionable.” “Go ahead,” Vizh challenged him, mimicking Slaughter. “We’d love to go into a court-room and repeat what we’ve just said, in front of the press and the cameras. And then spend months and months bringing testimony about why your client is sleazy, arrogant, preening, and an oik, whatever that is. All in front of the public, in the face of the world, with Leno and Letterman doing Heck-Fire Club sketches every night, and the papers printing full membership lists, and former employees talking on Aagrah in the Afternoon. And we can have Hallie digging deep into every database on the planet and the Librarian checking every document for evidence to substantiate our claim, and we can call upon every contact we have from Akiko Masamune to the Abyssal Greye and see what they can dig up – in one case literally. Let’s do it.” Slaughter lifted a hand to silence Sneek’s response. “Let’s cut to the chase, gentlemen. I assume you’ve come here to issue some kind of threat?” “Stay in your kennel,” Sir Mumphrey snapped at the Black Emperor. “As long as you remain there, sniffing your own vomit and lickin’ your testicles, we won’t come after you. Once you come out and start pissin’ on the lawn, if you start entangling innocents in your disgustin’ games, or if you ever come after my amanuensis again I will see you all dead in a ditch. Is that plain enough for you?” Sneek glanced at the hidden recorder in his desk, but somehow it was immobile, as if frozen in time. “You’re very arrogant for an sad old man,” Anna Salem noted. “You think your magic pocketwatch will protect you from the greatest telepath of the age? Or protect your little Legion from the wrath of the Knights of Heck-Fire?” “Hey, you’re welcome to try rooting about in my head,” Vizh offered the White Empress. “Of course, you might remember there’s some stuff in there that gives mind readers a bad time. Elder gods and Apostates and Yo-beings and Shapers and Space Ghost, stuff like that. And the Legion doesn’t need protection from scum. We are the protection.” He paused then added, to make sure his was clear. “That makes you the scum, in that analogy.” Slaughter yawned. “Well, if that’s all you have to say I have things to get on with. There’s a gala party on our luxury yacht tonight, with the rich and powerful from five continents gathering to mingle and deal. I can’t spare time for any more preaching from people who have no evidence against us and have no leverage to threaten us.” “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” raged Visionary. “Untouchable by the law, safe behind your ivory walls playing your nasty little games, wrecking lives.” Slaughter smirked. “Cleverer than you.” It got dark outside. There was a rumble of thunder. There was a crash so loud that it echoed over the whole city. “What was that?” demanded Anna Salem. Mumphrey joined the others at the window. “Hmph,” he said. “Looks very much like a freak gust of wind has lifted your luxury pleasure yacht from its moorings, blown it across the city, and by a remarkable chance of fate has dropped it directly on top of your Heck-Fire Club residence.” “What?” snapped Slaughter, staring at the devastation that was clearly visible up on the ridge of Pierce Heights. “Your evening soirée may be off, old boy,” Mumph told the Black Emperor. “Bet your insurance doesn’t cover that,” Vizh told them. “It was just an act of god. Well, hemigod at least.” Sir Mumphrey whirled Slaughter round and pinned him to the wall by the throat. “Now listen very carefully, you little pissant,” the eccentric Englishman warned, bringing his face right up to the Black Emperor’s. “If you ever come to my attention again – ever – I will see you destroyed. No law, no protocol, no clever defence, no politicking will save you. I will have you dead. You and your Club will stay quiet and keep to your place or the Lair Legion will grind you into the dirt. Do you understand me? If your next words are not ‘Yes, sir, I understand you,’ then they will be the last words you ever utter.” Slaughter looked into Sir Mumphrey Wilton’s eyes. Then the Black Emperor looked away. “Yes, sir, I understand you,” he said. Wilton continued to stare at him for a long, long time. “See that you do,” he said at last. “Next time we do this the hard way.” The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Who's Who in the Parodyverse Where's Where in the Parodyverse Illustration by Dancer Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2007 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2007 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
