CITY OF CHAOS #1
Written by D. Golightly
There is a house in Greenwich Village, a section of New York City populated by both the rich and the famous, but not entirely limited to their number, that few are able to see. It stands several floors tall and is entirely visible from even a block away, having nearly no foliage or other obstructions to hide it from view. However, hundreds of people walked by it day after day without so much a clue as to its existence. There was only one thing keeping the naked eye from seeing the old building, dubbed the Sanctum Sanctorum – magic.
177A Bleecker Street was not found on any mailing lists, nor was it known to exist by any agency of adequate standing. Its owner, a man that few could call a friend, rarely came outside its protective walls unless absolutely necessary. The same invisible veil covering the grounds of the Sanctum was also interwoven with delicate spells of protection, ensuring the safety of all who entered. Once a notable and skilled surgeon, the doctor who lived there passes his times by more innovational means these days.
Deep within the hallways of this massive mansion, that only those could see who had been granted permission, a pair heartily conversed while they walked. One, a lumbering green behemoth that many would deem a monster or demon, curled his upper lip, nearly covering his black snout.
"I struggle to comprehend this law you describe," the green-furred creature stated. "I have seen many things do what you say simply cannot happen. I concede that extraordinary forces sometimes bend such understandings, but would you use the word 'law' so innocently?"
His companion, a sleek woman with silvery white hair, cleared her throat before replying. "Rintrah, the laws of physics are different according to the dimension. Magic can transcend those borders, making it possible to not only bend those laws, but outright break them. Even still, there are some certainties and absolutes that I believe even people like us can't overlook."
"But you say that two things cannot occupy the same place," Rintrah commented. "Lady Clea, I have witnessed the acts of my master, your husband, and seen the impossible. To say that these laws are universal according to this plane of existence implies that the doctor has done something he shouldn't have been able to do. How would you explain that?"
Clea shrugged her shoulders slightly as the pair rounded a turn in the hallway. "Magic," she answered. "The Sorcerer Supreme has many tricks up his sleeve, least of all making the impossible seem easily accomplished."
"But what of things like spiritual possession? Surely you're not suggesting—"
"Rintrah," Clea said, cutting the much larger creature off with a slight wave of her hand. "You asked me, remember? I'm just explaining to you what I know about it. I'm not pretending to have all the answers. My husband would be much more suitable for that. Where did you even hear about the laws of physics anyway? Is that part of your studies now?"
The large creature, who closely resembled a mythical minotaur in that he was covered in fur, had hooves for feet, and horns atop his head, blew out a lungful of air through his large nostrils before replying. "No. I was watching an after-school special on public television. The master does not know that Wong gave me a TV for Christmas last year, and I would prefer he not find out. The new season of American Idol begins soon."
Clea stifled a laugh. Rintrah had delicate feelings for a beast of his size, a fact that often made him seem more human than those she met in the outside world. His appearance was also misleading, as one would never guess that the young Rintrah was actually the apprentice to the Sorcerer Supreme, and an accomplished magician in his own right. He had proven his mettle enough to earn the original cloak and amulet of his master, treasures that the young sorcerer kept close at hand in case a crisis arose.
Clea was a renowned sorceress in her own right, having attained the throne of the Dark Dimension, a realm filled with danger and magical creatures. It was in that realm she had first met the man she married, in which he rescued her in such a chivalrous manner that she often poked fun at him. Her silver hair was her trademark, as well as the pink and purple guise she had grown accustomed to wearing.
"Your secret is safe with me," she assured Rintrah. "Of course, since I don't even know where my husband is, it would be impossible for me to tattle."
"Wong made mention that the master was locked in his inner chamber, investigating something on the astral plane."
"Then it would be unwise for us to disturb the great Doctor Strange. The Sorcerer Supreme of Earth is a heavy mantle to bear, and I would hesitate to rap on that chamber door for most anything."
Rintrah let out a chortling noise from deep in his throat; his version of laughter. "These walls have seen 'most anything,' Lady Clea. In my short stay here even I realize that."
Clea nodded in agreement. "Even still, it is the next great crisis he remains ever vigil for. I admire him for it, but it must be exhausting." The pair began to ascend a flight of stairs, their feet pushing into the red, thick carpet that lined the floorboards. "I wonder if he would take a break if we invited him to watch a bit of your TV."
"My lady, please!" Rintrah exclaimed, flustered.
The pair of friends continued their walk, exploring the ever-changing halls of the Sanctum Sanctorum, unaware of the veiled presence carefully watching their every move. For as great as their powers and senses were, even they could not tell of the lingering soul that had somehow pierced the masking spells that Doctor Strange himself had cast.
The presence, invisible in several senses of the word, followed Rintrah and Clea up the staircase, deeper inside the Sanctum. If its bodiless form had a face, it surely would have smiled.
"Iacio phasmatis ex somes!"
The ancient words escaped from the man's lips, instantly charged with an effort of will and borrowed power. The man felt the spell wind around his hovering body, which hung in the air effortlessly thanks to the cloak of levitation he wore, and dive into his inner consciousness.
The man's body seemed to go limp, but to the trained eye everything was not as it seemed. So was the norm for Doctor Stephan Strange, Sorcerer Supreme.
The spell, a rather simple improvement on the original that Strange had designed himself, wrapped around Strange's very soul and allowed it to float free of his mortal coil. What no one without magical awareness could see was Strange's astral form, the condensed essence of his inner being, slip out of his body and rise into to the ceiling. He had locked himself in his private chamber after mentally becoming aware of a powerful presence skating the astral plane, and his earliest investigations had ended with him being cast back to the earthly plane. Now that he had wound a spell of protection into the initial astral projection spell, whoever had shut him out before would find it much more difficult now.
His astral form still retained his physical characteristics; a goatee speckled with gray hair, dark eyes that were as deep as the night, his red and gold cloak, and his blue tunic with a black design across his chest. The only difference was that all color had been drained from his form and replaced with shades of white and gray, giving him the general appearance of a ghost.
Doctor Strange's stark white soul drifted through the ceiling, leaving behind the contents of his chamber, which included his physical body. Bookshelves filled with tomes gathered in his research lined the walls, no longer useful in learning the identity of the one he sensed. The physical world was unsuited for this journey and only personal exploration of the astral plane would give him the answers he sought.
He passed through the ceiling effortlessly, rising through the next and then the next just the same. Once he popped out of the roof of the Sanctum, the quite normal scene of Greenwich had been sprinkled with abnormal things. Things that should a regular citizen ever see, might run the risk of driving them mad.
Being conscious on the astral plane entitled a person to see things that only existed there, however still had an impact on the world. Lost spirits, hostile demons, and even jocular sprites lived in the astral plane, feeding off of the rampant energies that so often cascaded off of the doctor's place of residence. A nest of translucent leeches nibbled near the base of his home, consuming a bit of magic that had oozed out of the foundation. The very piece of land that the Sanctum had been built on had significance, having once been the location of arcane rituals.
Doctor Strange quickly glanced over the general scene of Bleecker Street, dismissing nearly everything there. It was at this point that something, a force powerful enough to disrupt his spell, had thrown him back into his body. The random paranormal parasites held no interest for him, but when he gazed upward toward the sky he saw something rather shocking.
A large white hole had formed a few hundred feet directly over the Sanctum, similar to tears in reality he had seen in the past. He sensed it more than saw it, as the power emanating in waves out of the portal nearly bowled him over.
"By the hoary hosts…" Strange muttered as he began to ascend toward the gaping portal.
He came within a few feet of the rift, close enough to let his ghostly hand touch its surface. A chill ran through him, generated from the outer rim of the white portal. The magic was familiar, but not wholly in tune with his home dimension. The iris was open, allowing him to see through the window in space and look on with fascination at what was on the other side.
The rooftops of a dark city looked back at him, illuminated by a cloudless night sky. The moon hung over the cityscape like a watching god, silently staring at the buildings it overlooked. Strange looked into his own sky and saw the sun just about to fall below the horizon, a time which normally meant that things powered by magic would feel a bit stronger.
"A doorway then," Strange commented as he pulled his attention back to the portal. "But to where? Another part of the globe, perhaps, where the sun has already set?"
He contorted his hand in such a way to signify a spell being cast, and the tips of his astral fingers began to glow with magical energy. Doctor Strange traced the rim of the portal, assessing its origins. It was definitely cast by a user he had never encountered, as its magical signature was foreign to him. Still, there were traces that seemed somehow homespun.
As he let his fingers dip into the ether of the rim, Strange blinked, sensing something specific about the spell. "Someone has passed through already," he murmured. "And not from this side."
Before the doctor's apparition could ponder the matter further, the images on the other side of the gateway began to spin and condense as if in a pool of water. The buildings blurred together, molding into a sheet of darkened night. Strange retracted his hand, but no sooner had he done so than another hand, dressed in a golden glove, shot out of the portal and latched onto his wrist.
Doctor Strange held back with all his might, but the leverage was not on his side. The hand pulled him forward and through the mystical doorway, forcing him to enter the dark void. His senses were bombarded with disorientation and the spell of protection he had blended with his astral form were nearly at their limit. The pressure of being forced through a dimensional rift was something he had not prepared for, but he remained fortified through the ordeal.
The noise of passing through the gate deafened him, shutting out all sound except for a sort of static that accompanied the journey. Whereas the other side of the portal had only seemed a few feet away, it was in actuality much further and the doctor was whirling through the distance at an alarming rate.
Then, just as suddenly as the teleportation had begun, it abruptly finished. The churning sensation in his stomach ceased, an odd occurrence since his actual stomach was back in the heart of the Sanctum. Doctor Strange, somewhat of an expert on interdimensional travel, gazed about the new place not with fear, but with wonder.
He had been brought to a large, circular room that was filled with magnificent artifacts such as skulls, books, battle axes, and other trophies that held some kind of significance. The rounded walls were made of brick and were devoid of any windows into the outside world. His gaze settled on the hand in the golden glove that had pulled him through, its owner now standing on the other side of the expansive room. It belonged to a man wearing a blue and gold uniform, with a gold cape reaching to the floor and a golden helmet atop his head. The helmet, shiny and gleaming, slightly surprised Strange from the amount of power it was giving off to his senses.
With the slightest of gestures, the man called up a containment spell that invoked several bands of white energy around Doctor Strange. The bands did not touch his astral form, but he felt a restriction placed on his movements that he attributed to the spell. He quickly looked over them before muttering a counter-spell, and then effortlessly used his hand to slice through the bands, breaking them.
"No one may think to bind me," Strange stated as he returned to staring his host, attempting to better asses him. "I am not your enemy…yet."
"Welcome to my home," the man said. "You weren't the one I was expecting to capture, but your aura being so close to the opening…I assumed you were someone else. I apologize, but given your current state perhaps you can be of assistance."
"Explain yourself," Strange demanded. "Are you the one who invaded my Sanctum Sanctorum?"
The golden helmet tilted to one side, signifying that the man was taken off-guard by the response. He lazily raised a hand and one of the massive books sitting on a table nearby rose into the air and flew over to him. It stopped in front of him and flipped open as the pages began to quickly turn themselves.
"Ah," the man finally said after he placed a finger on one of the pages. "Mordru breeched the boundaries of time and space it would seem. Unless I miss my guess, I would now be in the presence of the Sorcerer Supreme?"
Strange couldn't keep one of his eyebrows from rising slightly. "You would," he replied. "Who are you and where have you brought me?"
"He is the master of the magicks of Order," a feminine voice answered from somewhere to the side. Strange turned to see a beautiful woman enter the room with short, dark hair. Her simple dress only accentuated her charm, and she possessed an air of civility that for some reason reminded him of Clea. "He is Doctor Fate, lord of this tower, where I would remind you that you are a guest."
"Inza," Doctor Fate said, "according to the Book he is our ally. Please, prepare for us some tea."
Inza slightly nodded her head and exited from whence she came in. "You'll have to excuse my wife," Fate said. "Ever since a man name Pariah came into our lives she does not take kindly to visitors."
"Where have you brought me?" Strange asked again.
"This tower is not only my home, but a place of sacred power that I am the keeper of. As my wife told you, I am Doctor Fate, vessel and avatar for one of the Lords of Order. Again, I apologize for dragging you here, but I assumed you were the villain I sought."
"This Mordru person you mentioned," Strange added. "I see. You've heard of my Sanctum before?"
Fate gestured to the open book hovering in front of him, causing it to snap shut and return to the table it had rested on. "Only in passing. The Book of Fate has information from all of the alternate worlds residing between the folds of space and time. Believe me, I am truly humbled to be in your presence and I again apologize for letting my problems spill into your realm."
"And what is it exactly that has stumbled onto my doorstep?"
"Just as I am a vessel for a Lord of Order, so too is Mordru for a Lord of Chaos. Our rivalry is a bitter one, lasting for centuries. He recently eluded me and escaped into a portal of his own creation. I tracked him to your world, however why he journeyed there I cannot fathom."
The Sorcerer Supreme allowed his magical senses to float back out into the rounded chamber, attempting to asses the validity of his host. There was a powerful entity behind Fate's words, an ancient spirit that nearly overran his senses. "And why would I trust you?" Strange inquired.
"Because Mordru will not rest until his mission is carried out. I could lock you away in my tower while I investigate—"
"You could try, but you would not succeed."
The portal behind Strange, still open, suddenly shimmered and its colors twisted once more. Doctor Strange spun around, ready to throw himself back through the portal incase it was some trick of his host to try and snare him again. The milky black background of the ethereal gateway had begun to swirl again, mixing with the outer white rim. Chunks of the rim were breaking off and swirling into the inky darkness at the center of the portal, slowly lightening its color.
"Send me back," Strange demanded. "The Earth plane is my realm to defend, and you cannot keep me here for much longer. Either return me or feel my wrath."
Doctor Fate was about to reply, but the portal exploded outward, bathing both of them in black and white light. The outer rim ruptured, releasing the liquid essence of the doorway out into the room, which quickly evaporated. In a fast display of noise and light, the portal blasted apart and died away, leaving the two doctors alone.
"That's it," Frank Castle whispered. "Just take one step to the left and it's all over."
The silhouettes in his sniper scope bobbed back and forth behind the fifth story window of a building across the street. He had been sitting there ever since the sun fell behind the horizon, waiting for darkness to blanket the city to hide his presence. He had been trained in the military to take advantage of his surroundings, and even in an urban area he could blend in with the shadows enough to appear invisible.
The two shades behind the window gently rocked to one side and then the next, the first between the window pane and the second. Frank had listening equipment down in his van, which was parked in the alley below for a quick escape, but he didn't need it to know what they were talking so animatedly about. The first silhouette was his contact, a snitch by the name of Lanky Bill. So named for his severe height and lack of proportional weight, Lanky Bill's blackened image stood out by comparison to Frank's mark.
Lanky Bill was also known for his mouth, and his inability to keep it shut. Right now Frank just wished that the snitch would stop talking for one second and step aside, giving Frank a clear line of sight to his target. The man he was after tonight was known as Felix Cahill, a man who made his living by trafficking young boys and girls to his clientele. Frank had worked his way down through those clients until he learned where Cahill brokered his deals, and then sent Lanky Bill in to set up the sleaze. So far things were fine, except that Bill couldn't seem to keep his lips from flapping.
The night was young and Frank Castle, known to the underworld as the Punisher, had more targets to find before he could retire for the evening. Aside from the blazing white skull across his chest, the Punisher was dressed entirely in black: black trenchcoat, black gloves, black boots, and black fatigue pants. He rarely accented his attire with anything that wasn't considered custom ordinance. His coat was lined with magazines for the 9mm handguns in a pair of shoulder holsters, around his hip was slung a Magnum that Dirty Harry would be proud of, and his left boot had a six inch bowie knife strapped to it. Resting beside him was a black gym bag that he had carried the broken down sniper rifle in, along with a few magazines for the rifle and a couple of shaped charges just in case things got out of control.
He could see Lanky Bill's arms flapping about as they conversed. "Dammit," the Punisher whispered. "Just shut the hell up so I can take the shot and get the hell out of here."
Something that mimicked a sonic boom caught Frank's attention, coming from the East. He ripped his eye away from the scope, looking in the general direction of the noise, but couldn't see anything that outright deserved his attention. New York City rarely quieted down after sundown, and with the plethora of costumed creeps that plagued the roofs he doubted anything short of Armageddon would matter to him. The Punisher worked on a different level than the high and mighty caped windbags that lumped him in with the same scum he fought to take down. Whatever the noise was, it didn't concern him and someone else could fix it.
Settling back down into position, the Punisher gazed back through the scope and became alarmed. The fifth story window was no longer centered in his sights. Thinking at first that he simply knocked the scope out of alignment when he turned, he carefully adjusted the settings and tried to find the silhouettes again. To his surprise the wall he was facing was now devoid of all openings and the only thing he saw were bricks covered in graffiti.
"What the holy fuck is going on?" Frank muttered.
He jumped up and raced to the edge of the roof, balancing the bulky rifle and scope in one arm against his hip. It was impossible. Either he was going mad or that wasn't the same building he had been looking at for the last forty-five minutes.
He looked down to the street below, eyeing up the front fender of his van, which was barely visible from his perch. It was still there, silently waiting for him to climb aboard and move on to the next mark.
When he had pulled into the alley, however, he had initially noticed a burned out streetlamp at the mouth that overhung like a sleepy night watchman. It was mainly there for show, and the neighborhood he was in didn't have the kind of tax rates to fix it. Now the lamp was gone, just like the window.
"This better not be some damn caped pajama boy messing with me," the Punisher said as he pondered the situation.
He looked up at the sky and felt his mouth drop open. The clouds had parted, but instead of moonlight peaking through it was streaks of shadow. The streaks swept down into the city, breaking away from each other like snaking tendrils, and choosing certain areas to land in. It was like a dark blanket was sweeping over the city, moving east, and sporadically touching down here and there.
The Punisher, forgetting the missing window and streetlamp, stared in awe as he traced one of the tendrils down to the earth, where it struck the top of a building several blocks away. What happened next he wasn't sure he understood, and as idiotic as it looked, he found himself rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.
The shadow overtook the building, a landmark he recognized as an old Catholic church that he had walked passed on occasion. Darkness slithered over the bricks and mortar like a disparaging sickness, seeping into the cracks. Within a split second the building was engulfed by the dark ooze, completely cutting it off from sight. After a pair of heartbeats, the shadowy substance began to evaporate off the outer walls, leaving behind something different than what it had covered.
In place of the church was a building of similar size and shape, yet distinctly different. Gone were the crucifixes and holy symbols, now replaced by boarded up windows and graffiti. The spire at the top of the church had vanished, leaving empty space in its wake.
"Mother of God…"
More and more tendrils were dropping out of the sky, swamping buildings and entire street sections with their inky blackness. Frank watched in horror as entire city blocks were swarmed and then seemingly changed. People were beginning to spill into the streets, screaming and creating a general panic about the predicament.
The Punisher had no idea what was going on, and worse, he had no idea if it could be stopped. There was one thing that he had learned throughout the years of working within an environment that was beyond your control – when disorder led to panicking, people started to do bad things. All the scum of the city would come out of the woodwork, taking advantage of the chaos to do whatever it was their hearts desired.
A small crowd had gathered under a bus terminal at the end of the block, huddling together under the thin roof for whatever protection it might offer. The raging storm of darkness continued overhead, lashing out randomly with pillars of mysterious purpose.
Whatever this demonic catastrophe was, Frank wasn't going to worry about it. There were enough spandex-wearing fruitcakes slinging their shields to do the worrying for him. Whenever the cosmic powers-that-be felt the need to shit on the city, it was usually the regular folks who got lost in the shuffle, and the lower street thugs that were left to their vices. That was how the Punisher fit into the mix.
He snatched up his rifle and checked his munitions. Everything was in place, he just had to grab his bag and make it down to the street. He knew it wouldn't take long for the looting and pillaging to begin; the trash had a way of working its way to the surface just as soon as things got bad.
He had only taken two steps toward the stairwell door when he heard a high-pitched, whistling noise, quickly followed by a thick chunk! of something hitting the brick wall. He paused, looking to his left to see the object that had been thrown his way. A piece of black metal, oddly shaped, almost like a crescent moon with points jutting out of the inner curve, had embedded itself into the brick and mortar.
"Don't move," someone from behind him said.
The voice was foreign to him, but he could feel a certain presence in it. Frank Castle continued to pause as he fingered the butt of the handgun inside his shoulder holster. The rounded object had been thrown into the brick, meaning it was incredibly sharp and would have certainly killed the Punisher if that had been the intent. But obviously the man that had thrown it had only meant it as a warning.
Being attacked without probable cause wasn't something that alarmed the one time Navy SEAL; Frank had been the mindless, random target of more thugs than he could remember. What unnerved him was the simple fact that this mystery man had managed to sneak up on him.
"Didn't plan on it," Frank replied as he thumbed back the hammer on his weapon.
"Good. Turn around, nice and slow. Leave the gun in its place or we'll have a problem."
Since Frank's back was to this mystery man there was no way he could have seen his right arm cross over his chest and reach for his gun. Whoever his assailant was, he was no dirtbag simpleton. This guy was a pro, like Frank.
Frank let the satchel with his sniper rifle in his left hand fall to the roof. He slowly raised both his hands and turned around, facing his attacker for the first time. The shrouded darkness almost molded around the mystery man, seemingly adhering to the solid black costume covering him. In the center of his chest Frank could see a shape outlined against the darker chestplate, something rounded and distinct. Frank looked out of the corner of his eye at the thing lodged into the brick wall beside him and realized what the shape was. It wasn't a moon, or a half circle.
It was a bat.
"I'm not in the mood for games," the man told Frank. His voice was gritty and scraped over the Punisher's ears. "And I don't care why you're in my city. Keep your hands behind your head. The GCPD will sort this out."
GCPD? Frank had never heard of them and wasn't entirely sure what the acronym stood for. Whoever they were, they didn't sound like the kind of guys that would understand what Frank had to say. Neither did this caped freak. So far the only thing he acknowledged him saying was that he didn't care why this bat weirdo was in his city.
"You guys should be required to register or something," Frank said as he slowly slipped his hands behind his head. "Does Moon Knight know you're biting off his routine?"
The Punisher didn't wait for a response. He slipped his hand behind his neck and snagged the butt end of the sawed-off shotgun he had strapped to his back. He yanked it out of the sheath and flipped off the safety, twirling it around toward the caped man as he dove to the side. He pulled the trigger and the shotgun barked just before he slammed onto the roof.
To his credit, the bat freak was fast. Real fast. No sooner had Frank slipped his fingers around the stock of the shotgun then the guy had reacted. The buckshot of his blast sliced into an old chimney stack, shredding the bricks and making it look more like Swiss cheese than an out of date household necessity.
Frank rolled, tucking his weapon up to his chest, and fell to one knee. He looked up and leveled his gun back at the caped stranger, but was surprised to see that he had completely vanished. There was nothing but the perforated stack of bricks. "Son of a—" Frank managed to say before he felt something stab into his wrist.
He dropped the shotgun reflexively and yelped. The skin hadn't been broken but whatever had been thrown at him made his wrist felt like it might be broken, or at least sprained. He shook his hand to try and toss away the pain, when suddenly a fist erupted from the darkness and slammed against his jaw.
The Punisher leaned away from the punch, rolling with it. The knuckles still clipped the tip of his chin and there would be a bruise formed there in the morning, but otherwise he was fine. He stood up and backpedaled, seeing now that the bat freak had somehow flanked him. Frank realized that he had been right in his original assessment and that this guy was good.
Before he could throw a punch of his own, the bat freak kicked his knee out, bringing Frank down hard. The hard roof slammed into his kneecap, shunting pain up through his entire side. The masked man cocked back for another punch, but Frank was ready for it this time.
The Punisher, while kneeling, ducked to one side and caught his attacker's wrist as the punch flew. He stayed with the momentum, pulling on the arm he had snagged and upset the man's balance enough for Frank to bring him close for a jab of his own. He caught the side of the freak's face with his punch, hitting more of the facemask than the face. He felt his knuckles crack, harder than when he was hitting normal skin. The facemask was made of something hard, possibly Kevlar.
The guy didn't even let out a soft oof! as they tussled. He was tough. His breathing was steady. His movements were precise. He must have had training, possibly similar to the Punisher's. He flipped Frank over with some sort of judo maneuver that Frank had no way of avoiding. The Punisher flopped down on the rooftop, flat on his back.
The longer this fight went on, the worse it could get. So far the only weapon the bat freak had used was some type of throwing star, meaning he kept with his motif. Frank doubted he had any guns or heavier ordinance. The bat freak was back on his feet again and moving over top of Frank, so if he was going to make a move to finish this fight, the time was now.
He reached into his boot where he had a seven inch blade strapped, fingered the handle, and yanked it out. The caped man must have heard the knife slip out of its sheath; there was no other way he could have dodged the strike so fast. Frank hopped back to his feet and pointed the knife at his opponent, reaching into his trenchcoat with his free hand to grab one of his 9mm handguns. The freak had let his cape flutter shut, covering the entire front of his body and masking him once more in darkness.
"Stop!" an echoing voice sung out from above them.
The Punisher paused with his hand resting on the butt of his gun. He looked up, making sure to keep the freak in the corner of his eye. Frank noticed that he didn't move at the sound of the voice, not one twitch. It was a little startling to think of how collected he seemed to be given the circumstances.
When Frank looked up he almost wished he hadn't. "Son of a—"
"Frank Castle," Doctor Strange said as he descended to the roof. His red cloak billowed out behind him, kicked up by a small wind that rustled over the roof. "I have need of your service."
Another flying man gently touched down to the roof between Frank and the bat freak. He wore a helmet that looked to be made of solid gold, with a matching cape and gloves. He moved to whisper something to the freak, who still stood stoically.
"Whenever weird shit turns up, so do you," the Punisher said as he pulled his hand out of his coat, sans handgun. He nodded to the pair of capes quietly talking a few yards away. "I take it these yahoos are with you?"
"They are," Strange replied, "as are you now. The city is in grave danger and we must—"
"End of the world garbage, right? Forget it, not interested."
Strange began to float back up into the air, waving his hands in an arcane manner as he did so. "It was not an invitation, Frank," was all he said as streaks of energy hung in front of him, forming a circle in midair.
"Dammit…" Frank muttered as the transportation spell overtook him and the others on the roof.
In a bright flash of yellow light, the four of them were gone, leaving nothing but a satchel full of munitions and shaped charges behind. The frantic storm of darkness continued to overtake the city, building by building, slowly making its way through the streets. The chaos would soon overwhelm any who neared it, even though the black spirals that somehow changed the environment only hit roughly half of the targets.
People continued to clog the streets as cars crashed into each other, contributing to the increasing anarchy throughout the city. Their cries fell on deaf ears as a single entity hovered over the bedlam, chuckling to himself at the sight of the distraught populace.
"Soon," he said to himself. "Soon the merge will be complete, and with its condensing my power will be great enough to rid me of these shackles."
His subtle laughter grew steadily until it could be heard by a number of the rampaging citizens below. Despite its eeriness, it was nothing compared to the destruction and mayhem happening all around them.
TO BE CONTINUED…