Episode 4: Hungers: Part 6

THE HOUSE BETWEEN THE WORLDS, FAERIE?

July 17 2010: 11:00PM

"So the creep with the two mouths bring me in this room where three of his friends are waiting. There was a giant and ogre made of rusted metal, bleeding oil all over the place, with eyes shining like diamonds. And a monk." A monk? What would a monk… Ah the monk of the Children's Crusade! Why have only one despicable defiler of children when you can have three. Actually that's probably what saved poor Tim. "And they begin to fight with each other on what they'd do with me. The creep wanted to eat me, the giant to break me, the monk to sell me to the highest bidder." Yep. This is the guy I thought of. "The teen with the cat was laughing his ass off at each sentence." No idea what or who this one is. Tim described it as a guest who was trying to recruit the three others.

"And all at a sudden, they are looking beyond the room and smiling and telling about how an "unexpected luck" had served them. I ran as fast as I could when they were distracted planning." That is very disquieting. I doubt whatever these monsters are, would consider Robin and Kid Flash an "unexpected chance". They had to be speaking about me. I wonder what would happen if they tried to eat my soul or what remains of it. Would the gods sense their nibbling? I think yes. That could be a good strategy in a desperate situation.

Unfortunately, we are in a bit of one. Tim can confirm by his explorations and the page he holds dear we are in the presence of the Manticore. Which means I can't let any of these three fight it as they would automatically die even if we managed to kill the thrice damned beast. I have no idea of the capabilities of the two other creatures or that teen with the cat but I must trust my comrades to prevail if that's the case. In the best case, they won't have to fight.

To be fair, as soon as Batman said "covert operations" in the forming of the Team, I knew it was a call I would have to make, a role I would have to play. I'm the most resistant and potentially the most visible of the company. I think Tim doesn't register yet as an Opener for I doubt even the gods' power could compare to one who can create worlds at will.

I will thus be the perfect bait. Especially when I'll begin to actively empty these monsters' larder. I address Robin and Kid Flash with what could well be my final orders/recommendations."

"My powers detect gates leading out of here near the dwellings of these demons. You shall lead Tim through one of them. Now I don't know wherever the gates lead but Tim has visited his share of worlds already, he should be able to recognize the place. If you find yourself in Faerie" I glare at Wallace "don't eat or drink or accept any gifts. Don't break a promise."

The rest I don't say. How could I say this boy is perhaps the most important person alive in this world and that if he dies the world's magic will suffer a heavy blow? How can I explain to Tim what I'm not sure myself, that he's the Merlin, embodiment of magic and, I have no doubt, the whole reason the Fates led me to this place of torment? That will have to wait.

They leave and keep to the shadows. I feel fear as they disappear from view. No not fear. Terror. I remember how the Manticore's venom is described, I remember the state of Tamlin's corpse when he took it into himself. Perhaps I'm mistaken and the gods won't care or notice their champion being encased in amber for eternity, an endless spring of power for ancient monsters to consume while children's flesh becomes anew their sweetmeat to feast upon. What if all my efforts end in me being stuffed in a grotesque display, spending millennia wishing I could scream?

The answer is simple: They won't result only in that. I will consign their previous preys to oblivion rather to let them being bound again. They can feed on me and they will appreciate it as the only meal they can feed on until new prey comes here.

I'm terrified but what I feel has no importance compared at what I can do. I cast my perceptions around, beyond this room to embrace most of the manor, most of this putrid lair. When I'm sure to perceive most of these horrid sculptures, most of these traps, I inhale deeply. There was a reason I couldn't bring myself to do that while the others were present. I begin to intone, my voice echoing in the hallways and the room to each and each desiccated corpse, in the tongue ghosts whisper their messages to each other. I say only a word, enough to damn myself in the eyes of the Team and the League if they come to know.

"Die!"

And so it is done. My order reverberates, echo with their own desire to be free, and one after the other, from the closest to the farthest, their souls escape from their moorings and come toward their murderer, toward me.

They coil around me and from those destroyed beyond repair, those who are reduced to only one of their fivefold parts, I forge an armor of ghostly white for myself. From their suffering and passions and desires cut short I draw an ornate axe. The rest of the wraith's host, understanding I won't devour them wait around me like ghostly mist.

I warn them. I warn them what will come will perhaps force them into second death. After so much time spent in the darkness they don't seem to care. Their only wish is pain for their murderers. Well that is a task I will be happy to oblige. Now what are they waiting for…?

"Young man! Hasn't anyone ever told you it's impolite to eat the food of other without permission"

"Or trash their possessions."

I turn and can't believe my luck. The three are there, ready to be kept busy while my comrades scurry away with the real prize. The first must be the Manticore. He looks like it anyway. Impeccable clothes, black smoking and white shirt. Minus the red skin, the shaggy red hair and the three rows of teeth, you would think he's preparing to hunt with Victorian noblemen. Still as the clothing is good, the general imitation is not. Nobody would take him for human and even children would sense something foul in him. Is that a deliberate choice or simply an impossibility to disguise his nature.

To his left, the monk seems the more human of the trio, while staying the more abhorrent. Grey frock, tonsured skull, emaciated features hiding his excesses. I smell the stench of brimstone and rotten eggs from him. I hear the shuffling of chains and the moans of the slaves. Was he human once or was that always a mask put on a concept. I hope it's the latter. I don't even want to begin to think about what a mortal can do to being elevated to patron saint of those who drive wealth from children. He shall die today, even the Manticore fills me with less hatred than this thin.

To the right of the Manticore, stands one with no intention to seem human except in the roughest sense. He's an idol of broken bones and teeth clad in burnished steel covered with obscene rune and a helm fixed in an eternal scream. The air around him is thick with the threat of violence. Not fight but violence. Chaplets of skulls hang from his belt and as I look at him, I hear the melody of broken bones and whipped backs, I smell cordite and burning oil. What are you representing exactly creature? What concept will, perhaps, lose its representative this day. I decide to provoke them.

"Excuse me misters" I say with the most un-sorry tone I ever had: "I just wanted to know what would happen if I brought all these children to their proper destinations."

"This was their proper destination" roar the Manticore "they bargained with us and were ours by right"

"I'm sorry sir Core." I continue "but the gods are very cross with all your thieving and feeding on the gardens of the dead and sent me put things in order" Beat. "I hope you will be very good little monsters and help me dismantle the rest of the thing."

For a moment fear fight with greed in their eyes. For a moment they fear the gods' revenge upon them and think to cut their losses. I back away in a patch of shadows, ready to mantle Anpu as soon as they make a move. I don't have to wait long for they quickly decide they are man, or monsters I suppose, enough to take the gods if they come from me.

The Manticore takes its true form. A great lion with blood-red fur and paler skin with a human face and the tail of a great scorpion waving in the air. Its teeth break bones; none has ever healed of its venom. It lies with the whole of its being while its jaws close on your soul. In the shadows I'm still smiling while I uncrumple a sheet of paper in my hands.

It has its portrait, its description and its title on it.