Note:
In this storyline a lot of lines from songs are woven throughout. I don't claim ownership of any of them and they are all the property of their respective writers/creators.
The villain "Rockabilly" is actually based upon a persona briefly used by then WWF/WWE wrestler Billy Gunn (now Kip James in TNA). I just liked the character so much and thought he would fit into the Sky High universe as a "second string" villain. His "sonic pulse guitar" and ability to sing beautifully are my personal touches.
The Night the Devil Cried Chapter 1The winds moaned and the skies wept outside the walls of Mandragore Castle. The torture of the elements perfectly matched what was going on in the hearts and souls of those now within the stone and steel structure.
The main hall had been prepared for a feast; a victory banquet celebrating the triumph of former enemies the Commander and Jetstream as they became the new parents of little Warren Peace.
Instead it was a wake.
At the head of the table in a high backed chair sat Dr. Barnabas Mandragore, master of the castle and organizer of the attempt by a group of super villains to lend their support to rescuing the boy from an uncertain future, staring off into space. He had foreseen every possible eventuality and prepared for it. How could he have overlooked what did happen?
How could anyone have possibly known the boy would go berserk and attack the man who wished to take him into his home, even bursting into flames and trying to burn him? Warren had then collapsed and went into a coma, nearly dying if not for the quick action of Dr. Mandragore, who had enough experience with super human physiology to stabilize the boy and oversee his medical treatment. Warren was now in a hospital under full monitoring and observation with Dr. Mandragore to be alerted the instant anything happened.
Off to one side sat Rockabilly in another high backed chair. The instant they had returned to the castle he had torn off his bolo tie like it was strangling him and ripped his shirt open to reveal his brawny chest as he finally took a deep breath. Now he idly strummed his sonic pulse guitar without invoking its devastating power, for he was still a musician at heart, and needed an outlet.
In a corner sat a trembling hulk of muscle and scales known as Tyrannosaur. Once a fierce monster whose very name would cause panic in the streets, the events of the past few hours had reduced him to a shell of a being. His deep, rattling breathing was the only sound he made, with an occasional sniffle as another thick tear traveled down his coarse, leathery cheek.
Around the room were scattered others; the Harpy, a winged woman who had removed her metal talons in favor of a business dress for the hearing, was perched in one of the high windows with her back to the glass. Blowhard, who had dressed in his clan tartan and kilt instead of the sea captain costume he usually wore, sat two chairs down from Dr. Mandragore and proceeded to finish off the second bottle of wine he had single-handedly drained after they had returned. Across from him sat Black Ice, a statuesque black woman with her frosted hair in cornrows and dressed in a conservative blue dress. She idly picked at a few morsels of food on her plate, but she hadn't eaten anything at all.
Anubis, who claimed to be the incarnate form of the Egyptian god of the dead, had returned to his pyramid fortress without a word. Dr. Skull, however, said he was going back and talk with his old enemy, the Commander's father Major Victory. He had said seeing his old foe after so many years and under those circumstances had made him start thinking about things in a new light. Dr. Mandragore's wife Lucretia had gone to take Stitches back to his home after he had talked with his enemy Josie Stronghold, aka Jetstream. The little man once known as the royal jester of the underworld certainly didn't seem happy anymore.
Down in one of the workout rooms were the final two members of the assemblage. Mr. Richter, a powerfully built man with close cut black hair and beard, was using his strength and seismic punch to pound boulders to pieces. So far he had reduced several chunks of granite to fine powder, and though he had sweated through his dark green bodysuit and was breathing heavily, he was still consumed with the need to smash and destroy. The same was true of the Demolisher, a massive brute in black leather pants with studded boots and gloves. His own long black hair was plastered down his neck and back with sweat, but he also needed to vent.
Rockabilly strummed his guitar and sang a few words:
"No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man…"
"Boss," he then said, "are we evah gonna win?"
"This was NEVER about us, Billy," replied Dr. Mandragore.
"No, ah know," said Rockabilly, sounding almost like the young Elvis he had emulated his entire criminal career, "ah mean…what if we…ah don't know…jinxed it somehow?"
"What do ye mean?" asked Blowhard, his being half-drunk and slurring his speech combined with his Scottish accent to make him nearly unable to be understood.
"What if," continued Rockabilly, "this is from all the bad stuff we've done ovah the years? Maybe it's all our chickens comin' home to roost. Maybe God's punishin' us."
"Billy," said Black Ice, "that's makes no sense. Why would God do that to a little boy?"
"Because he knows it would hurt us."
"How do you know?"
"Because it HAS!" Rockabilly stood up suddenly, throwing his chair backwards. The sound of it crashing to the floor echoed throughout the great hall.
There it was. It was finally out in the open.
All of these villains, criminals, malcontents, would-be tyrants and monsters had indeed been affected by this in ways no number of regular defeats at the hands of the world's heroes ever would have.
They had been hurt. To the depths of whatever black souls they may have possessed, it hurt worse than any fires of Hell.
Defeat and humiliation was one thing, but this…this was the true face of pain and sadness, loneliness and hostility that they only thought they knew.
Black Ice was the first to break down. Tears flowed only to freeze on her cheeks in streaks of crystal sadness. Blowhard lowered his head to the table and started outright bawling. His sentimental Scottish nature had finally overtaken him.
Rockabilly again strummed his guitar
"Wise men say only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you…"
Another truth exposed.
"I…canna do it anymore," sobbed Blowhard, the slur totally gone from his speech as he raised his head to face the others. "All I ever wanted was ta get rich…but now when I close muh eyes all I see is that wee boy…and all the others I may have hurt over the years. I just…I just canna do it anymore."
High in the window the Harpy pulled her black wings close about her and remained quiet as tears also trickled down her raptor-like face. She and Jetstream had been enemies for years, but the look in Josie Stronghold's eyes when Warren had collapsed was a pain she had never wanted to see. She did not hate Josie anymore. She pitied her.
"Doc?"
They all turned and looked. It was Tyrannosaur. He had been silent the entire time.
"Doc, can you fix him?"
Dr. Mandragore rose from his chair to stand before the quivering beast, a sad smile on his face.
"I don't know," he said honestly, "certainly his condition is stable. It will take time before we know anything else."
"Please fix him."
"I…I…"
"Please Doc. Fix him. Then…then we can take him to the Commander to play with his little boy…and when Christmas comes we can get them each a puppy…and you can dress up like Santa…and…and…
"Please."
"I…I…can't…"
"Please…"
"I CAN'T!" Dr. Mandragore screamed at the top of his lungs into the monster's face.
"DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND, YOU ABOMINATION, I CAN'T!" He held his hands in front of him.
"I COULDN'T HELP HIS FATHER! I CAN'T DO ANYTHING FOR HIS MOTHER!
I CAN'T "FIX" HIM! I…I…"
Dr. Mandragore looked at his hands as he held them up for all to see.
"I…can't."
The tears began to flow, as Dr. Mandragore now understood the totality of his powerlessness. For all his genius, all his understanding of mechanical wonders and weapons of destruction, for all his knowledge of medicine and genetic manipulation, he could do nothing for one little boy or his family.
A pair of hands literally materialized from the shadows, and his wife Lucretia fully appeared to hold him in her arms. She herself was a powerful witch, but what had happened was something all her magic was useless against. There were simply some things that could neither science nor magic could do.
"I know, my love," said Lucretia, whose own eyes were red from crying.
"All I have been able to think about are our own little ones upstairs. What would happen to Marduke, Balthazar and little Victoria if something happened to us? I know we have been semi-retired since we learned Baron and Angelica were married, but I want to make it full and complete.
"Of course," said Dr. Mandragore as he composed himself, "but first I must see this through with Warren to the end."
He kissed his wife on the cheek, and turned to the others.
"My friends," he held his arms open to them, "stay as long as you wish. My home is now yours. I doubt any of you would leave without knowing about Warren anyway, and for that I commend you."
A roguish smile flashed across his face, "I wonder how the world would look upon this sorry lot now, eh? Reduced to blubbering idiots by a child's plight.
"I, for one, am proud."
As Dr. Mandragore proceeded out of the hall and up a flight of stairs to his study, Lucretia turned to Rockabilly, who had righted his chair and was sitting and strumming away again.
"Do you do requests, Billy?"
"Ah am at your disposal, Mrs. M.," smiled Billy.
"I believe you were reciting a few lines from one of my favorite songs written by the King…"
Billy smiled, cleared his throat, and quietly began the full song.
Unseen and unknown by anyone, a small figure in silk pajamas and a dark red robe sat in the shadows of the set of stairs Dr. Mandragore had just used.
His name was Marduke Mandragore, the firstborn son of Barnabas and Lucretia. He was only a few months older than Warren, yet he had been studying everything about him since he learned of his existence. After all, they were destined to continue on their fathers' works, so that had meant they were supposed to be future enemies.
But that had all changed in the past few months. Baron Battle was now in prison, judged a criminal, so where did that put Warren in the scheme of things? Sure, his mother was still a heroine, the arch foe of his own mother, so they still had that to fall back on, but that didn't seem to work as well.
Would Warren be a villain too? Would they be friends? Marduke found he liked that idea. The other villain kids he associated with were okay, if somewhat like weasels, but Warren had a princely quality to him that Marduke liked.
But now his new friend to be was in the hospital, badly sick. He didn't understand the full scope of it, but it had to be bad to make his parents and all their friends cry like it did. He had even found himself tearing up at times as he overheard bits and pieces of the conversation. He had been encouraged by both his parents to revel in his emotions as they made great fuel for the fires that burn within, and right now the only fires he had were ones of sadness for another child he had never even spoken to.
"Please Dad," Marduke whispered, echoing the words of Tyrannosaur, "please fix him."
To be continued