Primal Passions- Issue # 9: Wild Side
Primal Passions- Issue # 9: Wild Side
Primal rolled over in bed and stretched. His eyes flew open as a bolt of pain shot through his body. Snarling, he gingerly placed one clawed hand over the bandages that covered his stomach. Two days ago their team had fought a bunch of wacko's calling themselves the Psycho Circus who were robbing the First National Bank of Quarry City. The fight had not been especially difficult but the one called Fire-Eater had scorched his midsection pretty good. Normally his accelerated animal healing took care of most of his wounds but not this time. Cuts and stabs only separated tissues which could be fused back together. Severe burns killed layers of cells which had to be completely replaced. He could do it faster than most but that still wasn't quite fast enough for his taste. At the moment his stomach was little more than a large angry red stretch of skin dotted with scabs and completely devoid of fur. If their team hadn't left the Global Defense Force, Doctor Love could have patched him up in no time. Still, he didn't regret their succession for a second. After the way that they had used him and his friends, they were lucky that they weren't in reach of his claws. Although he did not approve of revenge, his wild side didn't necessarily have the same reservations. But that was in the past. They had emancipated themselves from the iron fist of the GDF and with the dirt that G2 had on them, they would never have to worry about them ever again.......he hoped. He still wasn't exactly settled on the new name, although he had to admit that Neo-Knights was definitely more catchy than New Defenders.
G2 and the others had left out early that morning to investigate a strange disturbance in the woods outside Quarry City. Under normal circumstances the forest excursion would be Primal's area of expertise, but with the severity of his burns, G2 had insisted that Primal stay behind and rejuvenate. He had dozed on and off for the rest of the day until the pain of his injury brought him completely awake. With no chance of going back to sleep, Primal decided it was a good time to get something to eat. Moving to the edge of his mattress, he slowly rose up onto his two hind feet. Although he was equally comfortable on either two or four limbs, the quadruped walking motion tended to set his wound screaming anew. He walked sorely to the kitchen and raided the fridge for some cold chicken, two eggs and half a gallon of orange juice. He ate the chicken bones and all before popping the two raw eggs into his maw and crushed them with his tongue. He allowed the white and yolks of the eggs to run down his throat before chewing the shells and swallowing them too. Raw eggs were something which he had come to crave since transforming into his bestial form, although he never allowed himself to indulge in them unless none of the others were around. Primal drained the half gallon of orange juice to wash it all down. With his stomach somewhat settled, he left the kitchen and headed towards the new couch to settle down for some T.V. The lounge area had been blissfully repaired since his fight with BlastZone.
He had only just stretched out when the bases alarms went off.
"Code 3: illegal neo-human activity detected," announced the computer mainframe in a monotone female voice.
Unable to give a voice command, Primal snatched the universal remote from the table beside the sectional couch and used it to display the information on the entertainment system's large plasma screen. A 3D blueprint of Quarry City appeared, with a large pulsating circle in its center. Primal frantically fiddled with the remote, his claws clumsily stabbing at buttons. He had barely figured out how to pull up the details of the emergency when another alarm went off. Exasperated, Primal pressed the button to bring up the T.V.'s picture within a picture feature.G2's face filled the small box in the lower corner of the screen. Three large, diagonal scratches marred the golden metal of his helmet and there was a large crack in the black visor over his eyes.
"Primal," G2 addressed him formally; his voice was little more than a whisper. "We have a situation. The others and I have encountered something in the forest. I don't know what they are but there are lots of them. We've been separated. We can't respond to that distress call. It's up to you."
A knot of doubt and panic swelled up in Primal's throat. His wolf-like ears flattened involuntarily against his thick boxy skull.
"It's Mythos. He's robbing the Victoria Anne History Museum. He's taken hostages. I know you're injured but......Noah, he's got kids in there."
The knot of doubt in Primal's stomach turned into a stab of horror. The first time he had heard Mythos described to him he had almost laughed. The man dressed like some character from Middle Earth and ran around summoning monsters from a magical book of fairy tales. Primal had thought that meant fighting big bad wolves or wicked witches with apples. In reality the things contained within the book were beyond horrific. Mythos had summoned something called a kraken during their first battle with him. The thing had looked liked something straight out of H.P. Lovecraft's fever dream, covered in blood sucking mouths and snaking tentacles. The book was actually a prison forged in the dark ages to hold every evil and monstrous thing that could not be killed by any means available in that age. It contained terrors worthy of the lowest pits of hell. But the greatest horror of all was how Mythos summoned his minions. To release a creature from the book, he required a human sacrifice, but not just any sacrifice. It had to be a child.
Primal rose from the couch, filled with determination. He clenched his jaw tight against the pain in his abdomen.
"I thought something like this might happen," G2 said, as something screeched far away in the background. "I left an ampoule out at my workbench in the lab. It contains a cocktail of painkillers and stimulants. You'll have one hell of a hangover in the morning but it should let you get the job done." Again something screeched in the background, closer this time. "Don't worry about us. We can handle things here, but you have to save those kids. We'll..."
G2 was cut off by a terrible screech as something black and insect-like tackled him from the side. The box in the corner of the screen filled with static and then disappeared as the signal was lost.
Primal swallowed his panic and forced himself to walk towards the lab. Although he was plagued by thoughts of Erica and the others in danger but he could not afford to dwell upon them. The forest was beyond the city limits and without a form of transportation there was no way he could reach them fast enough to do any good. He would just have to trust that they could handle whatever was happening by themselves. Besides, the children at the museum needed him more and he only hoped that he could get there in time to help.
After using the ampoule and fixing a fresh poultice to his stomach with some pressure dressings, he took one of three surface access tunnels that slanted up from the base. The tunnel eventually reached a plateau. Primal climbed the short wall mounted ladder up to a sealed security door in the ceiling. He used the tip of one claw to tap out the exit code. The panel slid to the side, revealing the underside of a large van. Primal reached up and pushed open a trap door which allowed him to crawl up into the vehicles cargo area. Once inside he heard the whisper of the security door seal shut below him. He quickly closed the trap door and turned toward the front of the van. The van was a clever camouflage to the entrance of the tunnel, and had not been moved since the parking structures completion. It had been strategically placed in an area where only maintenance vehicles were allowed. The black tinted windows of the vehicle hid his presence as he clumsily turned on a video screen and a small control panel installed in the back of the driver's seat. An image of the outside of the van appeared on the screen. Rolling the small spherical controller, Primal pivoted the security camera above the van to survey the nearby parking garage. He saw only a few cars parked in the distance and no sign of movement. Judging the coast to be clear, he quickly exited the van and sprinted for a lonely fire exit. The terminal inside the van insured that the vehicle doors swung shut and locked behind him. The vehicle would know to unlock upon his return by the proximity of the communicator clipped to his waistband, just as it prevented the fire exit from sounding an alarm as he passed through it.
Long ago Primal and G2 had worked out remote routes that Primal could take through Quarry City in the event that he needed to leave the base on his own. Primal had thought that he would die of boredom when G2 made him memorize every twist and turn of back alleys, and the distance between rooftops. Once again he found himself grateful for their leader's foresight. He took the shortest route he could under the circumstances. It was okay if he was seen from a distance but taking direct routes through areas crowded with people could prove problematic. Although he was technically a super-hero, he was not one of the most popular or easily recognized. Most people would simply think that he was some sort of monster on the rampage and call the police. Even to those that recognized him, his appearance was un-nerving enough for them to run away or cower in his wake. He cut through the park to save time, the wide open space allowing him to change direction quickly even at full speed. Under any other circumstance, he might have even subconsciously enjoyed the freedom of sprinting across the grass on all fours. He tried to reign in as many of his more animal-like behaviors as he could, but he could not deny that there was something intoxicating about running over 40 miles per hour.
He had almost reached the museum when he saw the ring of cop cars and armored vehicles. The Quarry City Police Department's Neo-human Crime Unit was already on the scene. The surrounding street and rooftops were filled with heavily armored police sporting neo-human repellent weapons and containment devices. He approached cautiously. Unable to announce his presence, he approached one N.C.U. officer's peripheral vision and began to wave hesitantly.
"Jesus!" the policeman yelled as he awkwardly spun and jumped back, training his weapon on Primal. "There's another one!"
"Hold your fire!" a voice called out. Suppressing his fight or flight response, Primal frantically looked up to see Lieutenant Shoemaker jogging towards him from the armored car closest to the museum front.
"Stand down. He's a white hat."
Primal heaved a sigh of relief as he tried to stop his heart from racing. G2 spoke very highly of Lt. Shoemaker. Unlike some of the higher-ups in the department, he was much more accepting of neo-humans and more willing to work together with superheroes when the need arose.
"Primal right?" Lt. Shoemaker asked. Primal nodded in the affirmative.
"Where are the other Neo-Knights?" the lieutenant asked hopefully.
Primal shook his head in the negative.
"You mean it's just you? You're going solo on this one? Like that?" he asked incredulously as he looked at Primal's bandaged stomach.
Primal snorted through his snout and looked him directly in the eye.
I'm not any happier about this than you are, his eyes seemed to say. But I'm all the help you're going to get. Take it or leave it.
Lt. Shoemaker seemed to mull something over in his mind before turning his head towards the museum.
"Mythos snuck into the museum and conjured something out of that book of his. We now that means that he's killed one child so far," he said, his voice filled with the purist disdain imaginable. A growl rolled deep in Primal's chest as he too was filled with righteous fury.
"He calls it a troll. All I know is that's really big, really strong, and ugly as hell. Mythos left it to guard the hostages while he went into the museums lower levels. He passed right over the valuables on display so he's not after money. He must be after something specific."
The lieutenant turned his eyes towards the roof of the building.
"That thing has a good view of the main hall but there's a skylight that you could slip through on the roof. We need you to subdue that thing and get it away from the hostages so that we can rush the hostages out of there before Mythos comes back. We have to get those kids away from him before this thing gets any worse."
Primal nodded his head. He knew exactly what the lieutenant meant without being told.
The N.C.U. officers gave him a wide berth as he made his lopped to the side of the museum where he was less likely to be seen by whomever or whatever might be watching the front of the building from inside the building. Upon reaching the wall Primal stared up the expanse of brick and groaned in annoyance. He was going to try something that didn't always work. Placing the palms of his long, clawed hands against the wall he began to try to scramble up the vertical surface. It took several tries but he eventually felt a familiar tingling sensation as the flash around his palms softened and flattened out against the wall. Among his many animal talents, one of them seemed to be scaling walls. According to Jason, Primal's palms and the soles of his feet were covered with thousands of microscopic, retractable which allowed him to cling to surfaces thorough means of static attraction like a gecko. All Primal knew was that it sometimes came in handy and itched like hell. When he was sure that both hands where firmly attached to the wall, he gingerly pulled his feet up and secured them to the surface. Once he was secured to the wall, he scaled the building with surprising ease and speed. Upon reaching the roof he cautiously surveyed it before sliding silently over the edge.
It did not take him long to find the skylight. Gazing down, he saw a group of children huddled close together around a few adults. It appeared to have been some sort of field trip. Nearby he saw a dark hulking form standing guard. The thing seemed human-like in shape and was massive in size. Primal searched for Mythos but saw only his monster. Luckily, the creatures back was turned to the skylight as it vigilantly watched the hostages. Primal knew that he would have to act fast if he wanted to subdue the thing before Mythos returned. He began to run his fingers around the skylight, searching for some seam or clasp that would grant him access. He was so intent upon his task that he did not even hear the cries of alarm from the N.C.U. officers below. He barely had time to notice the shadow the blocked out the sunlight before something large swooped down and slashed him across his back with a horrible screech. Primal pitched forward from the attack and crashed through the skylight. He saw the marble floor of the museum rush up to meet him and then the world exploded into a blinding white pain.
His vision began to return first, objects and colors swimming past his eyes as he struggled to focus. As the painful ringing in his ears began to subside, he heard whimpering. Achingly Primal turned his head. He had landed roughly fifty feet away from the hostages. The children looked at him with a mixture of horror and confusion. They were probably wondering if he was nightmare monster come to terrorize them. The thought of monsters brought Primal's attention to the troll that stood between him and the hostages. Sweet Jesus, the thing was ugly. It's warty, gray body was covered with a filthy sheen giving its skin a slimy amphibian-like appearance. It's overly long arms ended in gnarled, taloned hands which dangled in front of its bowed legs. Its muscular upper body supported a large head draped with long, filthy locks of hair and topped with short, crumpled horns. Its eyes were like two black marbles and it had a mouth of teeth like a bear-trap. It also smelled like raw sewage. Primal was trying not to gag from the overpowering stench as he rose to all fours when someone spoke behind him.
"You're not one of my beasts."
Primal reeled to face Mythos, the pain in his gut burning from the fall despite G2's medication. The dark haired man was dressed in a billowy purple cloak, held a large leathery book in one arm and wore a silver circlet upon his head. His pointed, elf-like ears really did make him look like Elrond from Lord of the Rings. But Primal sensed something truly unsettling beneath the costume. There was something predatory about the shape and yellow coloration of Mythos' eyes that reminded him too much of the way his own eyes looked when he lost control.
"Another amateur hero I presume," Mythos said mockingly. "I must admit that you're a nice change from the cape wearing idiots I usually deal with. Claws and fangs really are underrated."
Primal obliged him by growling menacingly.
"Bravo!" Mythos laughed. "I really am sorry but I'm afraid that you're a little late. I have what I came for." He held up a dusty, wooden box roughly as long as a ruler. His long, graceful fingers hid the box within the confines of his cloak.
Primal gritted his teeth as he rose onto his hind legs. He motioned to the box with one hand and gave a broad sweep of his arm. He then motioned towards the hostages and pointed towards the front doors of the museum.
_ You've got what you came for. Take it and leave. Let the hostages go._
"Hmm. You know, charades never was my strong point. I assume you're asking me to let the children go. But you see, I promised my friends a meal and well....I'd hate to disappoint them."
Mythos smiled wickedly, revealing a smile of dazzling white teeth that seemed slightly sharper than they should have.
"Kill him."
Primal spun to face the troll just as it wrapped its large arms around him. Despite Primal's immense strength, the larger monster lifted Primal off the floor of the museum and began to squeeze him. . He flailed fruitlessly as he tried to escape the brutes grasp. He might as well have been a child in the arms of a pro-wrestler. The wound in Primal's gut screamed as his healing skin ripped and bleed anew beneath the pressure wrap and the bandages. He roared in pain as he felt one of his ribs snap. Primal gasped as the breath was squeezed out of him. As a gray haze crept over his vision, he thought of Erica. He held her image in his mind as the rest of the world faded around him. Then he knew only darkness.
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When Primal regained consciousness he was curled up on the ground. He felt the warm, damp earth beneath his body, heard the chatter of insects and the singing of exotic birds. He breathed the spiced, humid air deep into his lungs. He knew that he was in India before he had even opened his eyes. Lifting his head he scanned the dense jungle around him.
As he tried to rise, he noticed that he was no longer covered in fur or possessed a tail. He reached up with his clawless hand to find his muzzle gone and his rounded ears on the side of his head. He even stretched out a lock of shoulder length hair to discover that it was a familiar dirty blond color. He was no longer Primal. He was human. He was Noah.
Rising to his feet he discovered that he was lying at the start of a small dirt path which cut through the jungle. Looking down he saw that he was dressed his favorite t-shirt and a faded pair of his brother's hand-me-down cargo pants, neither of which he had seen since his family's equipment had been incinerated along with their bodies. His feet were bare. He shifted some dirt around with his toes and decided that the earth was soft enough to walk on. A strange sense of euphoria hung around him as he proceeded down the path. Although Noah knew that none of this made sense, he could not help but feel a sense of familiarity, like some half-remembered dream. He did not know where he was but he knew that he was supposed to be there and where he was supposed to go.
He may have walked for minutes or even hours before he reached the clearing. There nestled in the middle of the jungle was the house that he had grown up in as a child. He did not bother to try the front door but rather went around to the back of the house. Although the backyard was now bordered by jungle, it still held the same sun-bleached patio furniture. There seated at the table was the old shaman from the village where his family had died. It did not matter that he had never learned the old man's name. Here he felt as if he had known the old man intimately all his life, and the ignorance of his name was some old joke between them that shouldn't be spoiled.
"Hello, Noah," the old man said warmly.
"Hello, Old Man," Noah said reverently as he sat down across from him.
Although the old man used his own language and Noah used English, they had no difficulty understanding each other. This was a meeting of souls after all. Moving their mouths and forming words was just a formality.
"It would seem that you are having some trouble," Old Man remarked, slightly cocking his wizened head.
"I can't beat that thing. It's a monster," Noah said wearily.
"You have the power to defeat foes much greater than that. Why do you not call upon the animal spirits? Why do you resist the power of the Protector?"
"Becase I don't want it. I never did," Noah replied defensively.
"No? I thought that you accepted the power so that you could save my village and avenge your family."
"And I failed on both accounts," Noah said dismally. "You made a mistake. You shouldn't have offered me the power. You should have offered it to my Dad or my brother. They could have done it. They're the ones that you should have saved."
"I did offer them the power," Old Man said pointedly. Noah looked at the shaman with shock.
"I spoke to your father's soul first. He refused the power because he felt at peace with your god and he did not think that it was right for him to prolong his life past his death. I offered it to your brother next but he refused as well. He told me that you were the youngest, that you deserved a second chance more than he."
"And I took it," Noah said guiltily, feeling selfish compared to his father and brother.
"If you had not taken the power of the Protector then all might have been lost. At least you survived and kept the power safe. You have taken the spirits far from their home, but you have used them to do much good in your land. Perhaps that alone is enough to justify your decision."
Noah looked uncertain.
"It's not that I regret saving people. I'm glad I could help, and I know that I would be dead right now if I hadn't accepted your offer. It's just that........"
The shaman gave him a sad, knowing smile that only the experienced old can bestow upon the naively young.
"I am sorry Noah. You are so young, even after what you have seen. Your life ended before you even began to make your own path and it is only now that it is no longer yours that you realize all its possibilities."
"I love her," Noah tried to explain with conviction. "I want to be with her and protect her."
"Then be with her," the shaman suggested.
"I can't. Not like that. She deserves better than that. Erica's been through Hell and back. She deserves a normal, happy life and that's something I can never give her."
"People rarely get what they deserve," said the shaman sternly. "My people did not deserve to die and neither did your family. You may have deserved a second chance and you may not, but you got it. You and she may deserve the life you dream off but it may never come. Be thankful for the time you have together now."
Noah turned his eyes away and did not look directly at the old man. He shook with what might have been guilt and what might have been anger but not even he really knew.
Old Man scrutinized Noah for a few moments before his expression softened.
"But perhaps you are right," he sighed. "You were dying and desperate, and you did not understand the responsibility involved. I should not have given you the power. It was never meant for someone like you."
Not far away, something stirred the jungle near the edge of the yard. A low growl drifted through the air. Noah's head swiveled to pear into the darkness of the underbrush but he only caught a flicker of movement.
"Now you have a choice to make," Old Man said, apparently unconcerned with the disturbance.
"Choice?" Noah asked, once again giving the shaman his undivided attention.
"Whether or not to remain the Protector," Old Man clarified.
"You mean....I could go back? Be human again?"
"Yes," Old Man nodded.
"How?" Noah asked suspiciously.
"Simply go inside the house and lay down in your old bedroom. When you wake up you'll be Noah Williams again. No more Protector. No more 'Primal.' You'll keep the second life that the power granted you. You can take Erica and live your life."
A twig cracked somewhere in the nearby jungle. Noah glimpsed yet more movement before quickly turning back to the old man.
"But I was being killed back there. I don't see how turning back into a human would help the situation," Noah countered.
"Don't worry. I can 'pull a few strings' as your people say. You won't die."
The old man motioned to the door invitingly. Noah slowly rose to his feet and approached the sliding glass door. He grasped the handle and slid the door open easily. He was about to step inside when he paused.
"What about the people in the museum, the children? What will happen to them?"
"What always happens to the helpless when no one is around to protect them," the old man said matter-of-factly as he watched a passing dragonfly light upon Noah's vacant chair.
Noah stood in the doorway for an entire minute without saying a word. He then very slowly slid the door shut and turned around. He did his best to fight the tears that welled up in the corners of his eyes.
"I can't beat that thing can I? Not the way I am now."
"No," said the old man as he continued to observe the dragonfly.
It took every ounce of strength Noah had to step forward and keep walking. He passed right by the shaman and continued to cross the yard.
"Noah," Old Man called out just as he was about to enter the jungle. "What I said earlier, about the power not being meant for someone like you. I don't believe that. It's just the opposite."
Noah looked at the nameless old man one last time before walking into the jungle. He shook his head when he was sure that he was out of sight. The old guy was free to believe whatever he wanted.
As Noah walked deeper into the trees, the jungle seemed to come alive around him. He began to hear the near silently tread of paws upon leaves and the flap of large wings in the branches above. He caught the flash of eyes in the bushes around him and saw the tip of a scaly tail as it slid over a tree root.
When he was sure that he was sufficiently lost he stopped. He heard the rustling of the jungle around him as the wild spirits closed in. The sounds of growling, panting and hissing swelled around him like a tidal wave before falling eerily silent. He continued to stare straight ahead with expectation. He was not disappointed.
The thing that emerged from the trees and bushes was both horrifying and beautiful. Its body was an impossible amalgam of creatures big and small, ferocious and gentle. Its features were constantly changing as the different spirits that composed it rolled and folded like the ocean's waves. It towered over Noah and regarded him with eyes far more ancient and wild than he could fathom.
"If you hurt her, I'll make you all pay," he said with iron conviction.
The creature then opened its massive jaws and consumed him. As the creature drew Noah into itself, he also opened his mouth and consumed it too. The sensation as the spirits enveloped and filled him was much like drowning. Noah felt himself slowly fade as he gave over to the wild. He gave himself to the spirits and became the spirits. He became the Protector who was also called Primal. Noah Williams gave over all that he was until only one small piece of him remained. The spirits tried to claim this as well but he resisted. That piece was not his to give. That piece he kept for her.
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Primal's eyes snapped open as the troll continued to crush his body, his irises now a blazing feral yellow. His muscular prehensile tail reached up and wrapped itself around the creature's neck like the coils of a snake, squeezing and choking. Primal's tail pulled the monsters head to the left, exposing its right shoulder. With a snarl Primal clamped his jaws upon the troll's shoulder, the crushing force of his bite driving his fangs deep through the monsters thick hide. A strange pressure seemed to build inside his head before shooting through his gums and tingling through his teeth.
The troll roared in pain as it loosened its grip on Primal. No longer trying to crush the life from his body, the troll instead struggled to wrench him from its shoulder. Primal kept his fangs locked tightly around the creatures flesh as he dug his claws into the troll's body. Finally with a tremendous shove the beast managed to dislodge Primal, the hero's claws leaving deep gouges in its body and his mouth ripping a large chunk of meat from its upper torso. The flesh tasted vile but that was not important. The troll was not prey. The troll was an enemy in his territory. His instincts compelled him to destroy the invader and save the young cowering nearby. Primal spit out the nauseating prize and bared his fangs.
The troll took a savage swing at Primal who easily dodged the blow. The movement sent it stumbling. Again and again the creature slashed and swung at Primal but to no avail. It movements became increasingly slow and unfocused. It stumbled almost drunkenly as it squat bow legs tried to keep pace with Primal's swift dodges.
"What's wrong?" demanded Mythos. "Why can't you kill him?!"
The troll cried out it in anger and pain at it made another unbalanced attack, the sound like the lowing of a bull. Primal saw his opening and pounced upon the weakening creature. His slammed the larger beast to the museum floor as he used the hawk-like talons of his rear feet to slash it across the gut. The troll screeched and reached for Primal's face with its powerful hands. Primal growled in annoyance as he gripped of the creature's right arm with his tail. The left arm he seized and wrenched aside. There was an audible crack as he broke the troll's wrist. With his remaining free arm Primal thrust his hand into the large gash that he had made in the creatures belly. Forcefully he pushed his fist higher into the cavity to where his ears heard the powerful thumping beat. Digging his claws into the warm pumping organ, Primal pulled with an immense strain. It took several moments before muscle and sinew finally yielded and ripped. Primal roared triumphantly as he ripped the troll's heart from its body, the hemorrhaging chambers still feebly pumping foul smelling, brown blood.
A scream broke out amongst the whimpering of the nearby children. Primal jerked his head upward to see Mythos running towards the front of the museum, half carrying and half dragging one of the schoolchildren. Casting aside the mangled heart, the bestial hero charged after them. Mythos saw his approach and quickly pulled an ornate dagger from his belt and held it to the girl's throat. Primal skidded to a halt on the tiled floor.
"I think not my noble beast!" Mythos seethed. "You may have defeated my minion but the day is still mine. I have what I came for. If you try to follow me or stop my escape then her blood will be on your hands."
Primal growled in frustration as Mythos began to back towards the entrance of the museum. He longed to charge ahead and pounce upon his enemy but he could here fragment of him that was still human in his head, reasoning that he could not risk the girl's life. Primal watched as Mythos and turned and exited the museum using the girl as a shield against the N.C.U. officers outside. His sensitive hearing picked up the beating of the massive wings from afar and suddenly he knew what Mythos's escape plan was. He also knew that if he succeeded the girl was doomed anyway. It was now or never. Springing into action he charged forward, his body a brown and silver blur. He reached the museum entrance just as a large creature with the body of woman, the wings and feet of vulture and the face of an old hag swooped down from the sky. The creature that had knocked Primal through the skylight of the museum seized Mythos and his hostage and began to ascend just as Primal leaped through the air with impossible power and agility.
The harpy turned in surprise as Primal sailed towards it, exposing Mythos and the girl. Primal saw the villain's dagger arc through the air, whether to stab the girl or to defend against him he did not know. It did not matter. His jaws snapped closed around Mythos' wrist, the powerful bite crushing bone and severing flesh. With his clawed hands Primal gripped the girl firmly before he began to fall back to earth. He held tightly to both the girl and Mythos, the two of them suspended between Primal and the harpy in a morbid tug of war before gravity decided the victor. With a sickening rip and a howling scream, Mythos's hand came apart from his arm, showering both Primal and the girl with blood as they fell. Primal braced for the landing, his muscular legs absorbing the impact as his hind feet agilely struck the pavement below. He looked up to see the harpy soar high into the sky, carrying the now limp Mythos. He watched as the pair climbed higher and higher before disappearing over the rim of nearby rooftops.
Primal's attention was diverted from the sky by the crying child in his arms. Looking down he saw that she was an Asian girl around eleven years old. The savage part of him softened as the child's tears stimulated a different set of instincts within him as well as his human emotions. His arms and face covered with blood, Primal used the end of his tail to wipe the child's face. The combination of fur and tears cleaned most of the blood from the child's face, while the act seemed to calm her somewhat, her wailing fading into sniffles and whimpers. Looking up Primal saw the rest of the children and their teachers being rushed out of the museum to waiting ambulances emergency personnel. Many of the N.C.U. officers stood watching him in amazement. Others fingered their weapons nervously, unsure of whether Primal was now the threat. Primal spotted Lt. Shoemaker standing in the middle of the commotion. Slowly he walked toward the officer, cradling the girl in his arms and ignoring the more uppity N.C.U. officers. Lt. Shoemaker cautiously approached Primal and took the crying child from him. The two stood facing each other for several moments.
"Thanks," Lt. Shoemaker finally said, his eyes still uncertain as he eyed Primal's bloody visage. Primal did not expect or wait for any further praise as he turned and bounded back in the direction that he had first came.
He kept out of sight as much as possible as he made his way back the base, the darkening twilight of the evening aiding his journey. His communicator opened both the fire exit to the parking structure and the doors to the decoy van inside. He then slowly descended the access tunnel and made his way inside the base. He had only just reached the bottom when the communicator hanging on the band of his black shorts began to beep. He unclipped the i-pod like device and turned on its audio only communication feature. He didn't want the others to see him like this.
"Primal? I can't see you. Are you there?" G2 asked.
Primal strained his voice and directed something that sounded like "mhmm" into the communicator.
"We're alright," G2 announced. "We're a little banged up but I think we're going to be okay. Thorn is fine. We're heading back to base."
A wave of relief burst somewhere deep inside of him and he sighed with relief. Erica was safe.
"Primal," Erica said, addressing him by his codename over the communicator per their security procedures. "Are you alright? Did you stop-"
Primal turned off the communicator and made his way into the base. He passed through the large common room and made a beeline for the men's quarters and the showers. He stripped off his blood stained shorts and deposited them in his locker along with his communicator. Grimacing he removed the pressure dressing and bandages from his twice injured stomach. He then trudged into the shower area and approached the large shower head that had been installed when the base had been retrofitted for his new body. He turned the water as hot as he dared before stepping beneath the steaming jets. A river of red tainted water and gore poured from his body and snaked towards the drain in the tiled floor. He opened his maw and allowed the water to pour into his mouth. He did his best to rinse the taste of the troll's putrid tasting flesh and blood from his mouth. He vaguely recalled the taste of Mythos' blood and now realized that although not as foul as the troll's there had been something wrong about it. It had tasted sickly-sweet, like rotting fruit. The more human part of his brain made a note to mention it to Jason later.
When he was sure that the last of the taint had been washed from his body he turned off the shower and approached a large drying booth that had been installed for him. As the warm air whipped around his body, drying his fur, he inspected the wound on his stomach. Although recently assaulted the wound was beginning to heal much faster than he would have expected. Once he was dried to a mere dampness, Primal exited the booth and used a large beach towel to finish the job. He wearily reapplied a poultice and bandages to his scabby, pink stomach and put on a fresh pair of shorts. He began to leave the locker room and paused as he began to pass the large mirror that hang upon the wall. Swallowing hard he turned to stare at himself. Physically nothing seemed to have changed. He still possessed the same chimera body that he had after his first transformation; the same brown fur, extended neck, semi-quadripedal limbs and prehensile tail. His head was still the same wolfish-bear-like combination. Cautiously he leaned in to examine his eyes. The same familiar slate colored eyes stared back at him. He breathed a sigh of relief and was about to turn away when his own eyes changed before him, the irises becoming the dreaded amber yellow color and his pupils becoming upward ovals.
_ Yes, Noah. We are here,_ the spirits seemed to say inside his head.
Primal did not panic or lament. He merely sighed and closed his eyes in acceptance. When he opened them they were his again.
He slowly made his way back to his room and crawled onto his mattress. He lay there in the dark for half an hour for a good fifteen minutes before he heard the team enter the compound. He tried to drown out their chatter and ignored them when they called out his name. He had not bothered to lock his door. When they came to look in on him, he feigned sleep.
"Let him rest," Jason said after the door to his room slid shut, his voice unmuffled by his helmet. "I'll check the police bans and call Lt. Shoemaker to find out what happened."
He heard them as they went about their business. Tyler, Erica and Natasha went to the showers while Jason busied himself with gathering information about the events of Primal's mission. It was some time later when his door opened yet again. He continued to feign sleep as Erica crawled into bed with him. He felt the warmth of her body as she snuggled close to him. He breathed deep, picking up the faint but comforting traces of her true scent beneath the soap and shampoo. She drifted off quickly, apparently as tired as he was but not quite as burdened. It was only when he was sure that she was soundly asleep that he draped his arm over her. Tears stung the corners of his eyes but he did not weep.
Fear and uncertainty haunted his thoughts. Exactly what had happened to him in the museum? What was he turning into? Would he someday change into the thing that he saw in his dream that wasn't a dream? Would he still love Erica if he did? The building mountain of questions crushed down upon him like the weight of an entire ocean.
He was distracted briefly as Erica murmured in her sleep, her face nuzzling gently against his chest. A sad smile pulled at the corners of his muzzle as he gently crushed her too him. He didn't want to think about such things anymore. Not now, not tonight. For now he just wanted to lay here beside her and forget about the rest of the world. He would never be able to give her what she deserved but as long as he was what she wanted he would gladly remain by her side.
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Elsewhere, in an unknown location.........
War-Monger strolled through his secret armament manufacturing facility, a heavy metal briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. He resisted the urge to sneer at the brainwashed members of the Church of Purity as they parted, allowing him to approach Anarchy and the white-robed man. Just in front of them Professor Langstrum and Simon were finishing the final preparations on the Red Sword, meticulously connecting the deadly machine to the coffin-like pod which housed its pilot.
"Professor, status report," War-Monger demanded as he drew alongside them his son.
"The interface is operating at its optimum level but the pilot is still unconscious. The life support's neural stimulation matrix should be able to compensate for the damaged pathways in the brain, assuming it has sufficient power," the imprisoned scientist said tersely. "That of course is your problem, not mine."
"Ask professor," War-Monger quipped without the slightest hint of humor. "And ye shall receive," he finished as he placed the metal case on a nearby table. Producing a key from his coat pocket he unlocked the handcuff that bound the case to his wrist and proceeded to input the necessary security code into the cases electronic lock. The case hiss as the vacuum sealed, temperature controlled interior was breached.
"As promised Langstrum, a titanium reinforced xynthium battery," War-Monger said as he hefted the shiny metallic cylinder in his hand. But Langstrum's eyes were drawn instead to what remained in the case: a much larger battery, easily four times larger than the one that War-Monger held.
"Impossible," Langstrum said barely above a whisper. "There's no way you could produce a xynthium battery that large. It's too unstable."
"I have a contact with plenty of experience handling xynthium. An expert if you will," War-Monger stated, aware of the robed man's probing gaze. "Let us leave it at that. Would you do the honors?" he asked as he handed the smaller cylinder to Langstrum.
The scientist took the battery reluctantly and approached the Red Sword. A ramp-like section hung down beneath the machine, cradling the life support pod and the pilot inside. A compartment directly in the center of the life-support pod's lid stood open, the two small panels to either sides opened like a book. Langstrum inserted the cylinder into the cavity and walked over to a nearby computer terminal which was connected to the red sword through a mass of cables.
"Red Sword activation commencing," he announced solemnly as he pressed a button upon the terminal. The panels of the power hub closed over the battery compartment with a mechanical hiss. The ramp-like section of the deadly machine then began to rise as it drew pod and pilot into its interior. Again there was clanking and whirring as more panels slid into place, sealing the pod inside, bonding machine and pilot into a deadly abomination. Systems hummed to life as the power of the xynthium core flooded its circuits.
"Where.....am.....I?" an uncertain voice rasped from the speakers of the computer terminal, an electronic crackle distorting the otherwise human voice.
Simon, the thin man who had cared for the mangled body of the pilot and served as Langstrum's assistant spoke up first.
"Master? Can you hear me?"
"Simon? What....happened...to me?"
"You died master. The G.D.F. defeated the Inhuman Corps. You were caught in the explosion but I found you. Your body was too damaged to save but I found someone who could save you," Simon explained as he shot War-Monger a look of profound gratitude.
"Inhuman Corps?" the being inside the Red Sword repeated.
"Don't you remember?" the white robed man spoke as he stepped forward.
"Who are you?" the voice asked, becoming more confident in its speech if not less confused.
"A kindred spirit," the robed man replied in a friendly tone. "Who knows of your sad tale. You had a wife and you loved her deeply. You were doctors, healers of the sick. You traveled the world trying to help those in need. You saw what humans did to each other, torturing, raping, and killing without end. You kept hope that you could make the world better because she believed it, but then they took her. They ravaged and tortured her and even ate the very flesh from her bones. It was then that you realized that was what humanity was in its purest form; a diseased and heartless creature not worth saving. You then dedicated your life to saving the world, to cleansing it of the stain of mankind."
"Yes," hissed the voice vehemently. "I remember now. I am the scourge of humanity."
"Yes," the robed man smiled. "And you almost succeeded but the G.D.F. interfered and you were nearly destroyed. Yet hope is not lost my friend. Like you I too long to see this world cleansed. I come from place where there is no war, no crime, no disease, no conflict, only perfection and peace. Help me crush the G.D.F. and bring tranquility at last to this ludicrous world. Be my sword and destroy all that would oppose me and I shall give you the perfect world that was your wife's dying wish."
There was a long silence as War-Monger and the others stared expectantly at the computer monitor.
"Yes," the voice finally whispered, the dark hatred in the word raising goosebumps on Professor Langstrums skin.
War-Monger watched as the robed man smiled sweetly and thought that he once again caught the tiniest flicker of red in the deepest reaches of the man's pupils.
"Welcome to my crusade, Alex Black," the robed man spoke in a calm yet triumphant tone.
He then locked eyes with War-Monger and although he spoke softly, the demand in his voice was as hard as steel.
"I have my sword. Now, make me an army."