DC/Marvel: Access Denied
Chapter 4
By Christopher W. Blaine
e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com
DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations contained in this story are ©2003 by either DC Comics Inc. or Marvel Entertainment Group and are used without permission for fan-related, non-profit entertainment purposes only. This original work of fiction is ©2003 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.
The Crossover Earth…"You killed the other members of my Savage Seven," Holocaust said. The creature was becoming accustomed to being worshipped and when he spoke, he expected a certain amount of fear to be radiated from his audience. Bullseye generated no such feelings; in fact his manner suggested boredom with the ceremony of the conversation. The villain pulled out a cigarette and lit it, demonstrating his contempt for life once again. "You choose not to answer me?"
"Our god is displeased!" an acolyte shouted before impaling herself on a set of spikes; several sets were arranged throughout the throne room of the Church of Blood and bodies in various state of decomposition were stuck to them. Flies buzzed around pools of blood and Bullseye noted that the air had taken on a coppery taste. The cigarette helped cleanse his mouth of it.
Over the past few days he had seen disciple after disciple willingly cause harm and death to themselves, all in an effort to please this new gods they had found. Attrition, he thought, should have slowed the process, but more and more people were joining up with the Church. Holocaust seemed to have an almost hypnotic effect on the weak-minded as was demonstrated by the types of people who wished to kneel before him. Hookers, whores, pimps, addicts, pedophiles, stockbrokers and attorneys came in literal droves. They surrendered themselves to any and all tortures the creature wanted to inflict on them.
Most pleaded for death, but some begged for pain. Bullseye didn't care; so long as he remained loyal to Holocaust, he got to live. As long as he was alive, he would have the time needed to put himself in charge. "I don't like competition. Why do you need seven when one can do the job?"
"You feel you are efficient?"
"No, I know that I'm the best and you know it as well," the villain said as two twin girls, no more than sixteen but with eyes that told of a longer life on the cold streets, began to stab each other with large daggers. They didn't cry out but instead stabbed harder. By the time one was dead and the other lay dying, Bullseye was beginning to feel sick.
"I would think my amusement would please you," Holocaust said, black teeth showing in a feral grin. His pink eyes were wide with anticipation. Of all of the humans he had encountered, Bullseye was the most intriguing. He was a natural predator, the top of the human food chain. Cold. Calculating. Something to be admired.
"Waste of time. Killing your enemies is one thing. Killing innocents is another. Killing for pleasure I can even understand. These people kill because they seek to please you and we both know that it doesn't even put a rise in your Levis." He threw down the cigarette and it extinguished in a puddle of blood. "It's a nice distraction, but you crave something more."
"Yes," Holocaust said. "I don't know what it is…what is it that a god craves?"
"Power."
"But I have power. I am the god of blood, pain and death; I have my faithful in which to control." Holocaust cast a glance at one of his personal guard and the man pulled a gun and shot himself in the chest.
"True power comes from ruling over those who don't want to be ruled," Bullseye said. "It's what makes murder so fun. People who don't want to die make the best victims and this," he indicated with his hand the piling bodies, "is useless slaughter."
"Yes," Holocaust said, nodding; Bullseye and he thought alike. Here was his chosen messenger, his harbinger of darkness, and his black angel of death. "I knew my faith in you was not misplaced."
Bullseye bowed his head. "I live only to serve."
"Yes, but whom do you serve? Do you serve your dark god or do your serve yourself?"
Bullseye laughed. "I don't believe in God, so that should tell you something."
The creature was about to respond when it sensed a change in the air. Something not tainted by death, something fully alive was quickly approaching. The creature stood and smoothed out the red suit it now sported. Bullseye could tell by the intensity in the pink eyes that his new master was preparing to fight. The villain moved slowly to a better position.
The forward wall of the chamber exploded, a cloud of plaster dust and sheet rock raining down on the occupants. Several acolytes were tossed aside, thrown like rag dolls. Out of the smoky haze two large figures emerged. "Verily, spawn of Hela, Thor, son of Odin and defender of Asgard doth come to bring about justice!"
Next to him stood a female brandishing a large morning star. "And know that Barda, mightiest of the Female Furies, stands by his side to fight for New Genesis!"
Thor's muscles bulged as he brought up his arm and pointed his enchanted hammer towards Holocaust. "Devil! Mighty Mjolnir shall bring about thy reckoning!" The thunder god then began to spin the mystical uru hammer in a circle, whirling it faster and faster until it became a blur. Holocaust did not move, instead waiting for the toss; Bullseye doubted that even the impressive demon-creature could survive a direct hit.
The hammer raced across the distance between them and hit hard. The sound was akin to a mountain slamming into a steel planet and Holocaust was thrown back and through the far wall. Barda did not wait for the sound to dissipate; with a war cry she was off and running, leaping through the hole with her weapon held high.
Seconds later, Mjolnir, Thor's enchanted hammer, returned to his outstretched hand. The god looked at the depravity around him and shook his head. "Never has Thor seen such vileness! By my father's beard, a cleansing is required!"
A score of loyal Blood cultists rushed the son of Odin, many of them holding daggers and knifes encrusted with blood. Thor made no move to stop them, but instead let each and every one destroy their weapon against his hardened flesh. Some tried to punch him, only to break fingers and wrists on his body.
Bullseye watched all of this from the safety of his hiding place. He briefly wondered if he could possibly find a weak spot on the thunder god. Perhaps the eyes or the ears? It didn't matter; he wasn't about to tangle with the Avengers' main gun. It was time for him to make a hasty departure. After all, thanks to Holocaust, there were hardly any heroes left in New York. No more Daredevil. No more Booster Gold. No more Spider-Man. No more Green Lantern. The city would finally be his and his alone!
One of the acolytes, a small man with a grotesque face and purple cloak approached him. "They are no match for the godling," he whispered.
Bullseye thought about killing the man for speaking to him, but he sensed there was something different about this person. He noted the robes and remembered that nobody in the Church of Blood wore purple. "Who are you?" Bullseye asked as Thor dispatched five acolytes with a sweep of his hand.
"I am Desaad, a humble servant of Darkseid," he said with a small bow. "My master is disturbed by the recent events on Earth."
Bullseye snorted. Darkseid was the ruler of Apokolips, half a planet; the other half, the so-called "good half" was called New Genesis. "Doesn't like it when he's showed up, huh?"
Desaad reached into the folds of his robe and produced a dagger. It was designed for throwing. "A present. Designed by Thor's bother Loki, this dagger will absorb the life force of a god."
"I suppose he wants me to use it on Holocaust?"
"No. Use it on Thor."
"Why should I?"
"Why not?"
Bullseye thought about it for a moment and decided he had nothing to lose. There was no reason to think Darkseid would trick him; as far as Bullseye knew he was beneath the ruler of Apokolips' notion of being worthy to be acknowledged. Darkseid wanted Thor dead. Holocaust would want Thor dead.
"Hell, the whole freakin' world wants Thor dead!" he said as he grabbed the weapon. In one motion, he turned and let the dagger loose. His aim was true and his throw well timed. Thor's keen senses, honed after thousands of years of combat, picked up the flying dagger immediately. He brought the hammer up to block, but he was a millisecond too late. Strength, courage and speed were Thor's skills; being on target was Bullseye's.
The dagger went deep into Thor's chest, piercing his battle armor like it was nothing but mere paper. As he stumbled and then went down on one knee, a helmeted head came flying through the hole that Holocaust had made. Thor cried aloud as it rolled to him, revealing the face of Barda, a woman he had called friend and lover.
An arm, ragged pieces of meat stuck to it followed, and then a naked torso. The dagger in Thor's chest began to glow and Bullseye slowly approached the fallen god. Several of the acolytes were either beating on Thor or picking up the pieces of Barda. Some went so far as to drink the blood coming from the pieces of the heroine.
Thor grimaced and tried to stand, but the magic that Loki had placed on the dagger was too strong. When he raised his arms, the pain only got worse and he tumbled forward onto his face. Again, he struggled to get up, but it was to no avail.
A gurgling sound told Bullseye all he needed to know and he casually walked away from the body and looked for Desaad. There were now at least a hundred acolytes in the chamber now and the robed minion was able to disappear into the crowd. Bullseye wasn't worried about it, though. Obviously, Darkseid wanted to let Bullseye know he was watching and that meant the assassin was going to have to choose sides very soon.
He would have to play it very cool for now.
Earth-T…
Spider-Man sat ten feet below the rooftop, his back against the wall as his powers held him in place against gravity. He took a deep breath of the California air and sighed. He missed the smell of New York, his New York. He never had liked the West Coast. "Can't see why anyone would willingly live in an earthquake zone," he mused.
Hawkman sat above him, hacking spit at people as they passed below. When Spider-Man asked why he did it, the Winged Wonder just shrugged. "Just because I have wings don't mean I'm an angel."
The wall-crawler had been ready to go insane being cooped up inside the Warden's mansion and when Hawkman offered to supervise him on an outing, he accepted immediately. Once they had gotten far enough away, Spider-Man had called for a rest. "Why do we have to be watched?"
Again Hawkman had no real answer, most likely because he had never cared to find out. Spider-Man knew of a Hawkman that had once existed on his world, but that hero had become involved in what had been explained as a "space-time incident". Whatever it had been, Hawkman had disappeared.
"So, do you have a patrol route?" Spider-Man asked.
Hawkman looked down at him. "Do you ever shut up? Can't you enjoy the view?"
Spider-Man shook his head and pulled off a glove to examine his webshooter. "I have to keep busy, you know? I have a world in ruins; I have no idea if my family is even alive…"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't think that I'm a total jerk." He stood up and leaned his head forward. His sharp eyes detected something in the distance. "Do you like Mexican food?"
"What?"
"Tacos. Burritos. You know, south of the border cuisine. Don't you have a Mexico on your world?"
Spider-Man put his glove back on. "Yes, I know what Mexican food is; I was wondering why you were asking."
"A couple of teenagers are robbing a Taco Barfo a couple of blocks away. You want to stop them or would you rather sit up here an whine?"
Spider-Man was already swinging over to the next building.
One hour later, they were back in the same spot, Spider-Man slightly annoyed as hot sauce and cheese floated down from above. Hawkman stuffed another burrito in his mouth, chomping loudly, and the webslinger could not figure out how someone stayed in such great shape eating so much garbage.
"Isn't it great when you stop crime and the victim is grateful?" Hawkman asked as he stuck his hand deep into the grease-stained bag.
"Grateful? You demanded that the manager give you free food!" Spider-Man was still embarrassed over the whole incident. They had managed to grab the two thieves as they exited the restaurant, Spider-Man's sudden arrival stopping them in their tracks as Hawkman came up from behind. The police arrived in minutes and Spider-Man, for what was the first time in his life, had to stand around and help fill out the paperwork. Hawkman, in the other hand, growled at the male officers whenever they tried to talk to him.
"You know, it didn't help when you called asked that lady cop if she wanted to see your pecker," Spider-Man said in disgust.
Hawkman pointed to the beak on his helmet. "I was just being polite."
"Are all of the super-heroes on this world like you?"
Hawkman belched and grabbed a taco. "What's wrong with me? So I'm not Superman or your precious Captain America," he began as he rummaged through the bag for some sauce. "At least I'm not some sour puss like Johnny Storm."
"Hey! " Spider-Man said as he jumped up to the rooftop. Hawkman said nothing but was impressed with the other hero's agility. "Johnny Storm is my best friend and he's been through hell the past couple of days."
Hawkman responded by wadding up the taco's paper and throwing it down on the rooftop. Spider-Man continued, a finger stabbing Hawkman in the chest. "You don't have the first clue what it's like to watch all of the people you love and care about be slaughtered!"
Hawkman stopped chewing and looked down at the finger. He considered breaking it and didn't give a rat's ass about the "proportionate strength of a spider". Instead, he slowly reached for the cinnamon desert that would finish his meal. "It changes a man, gives him a new perspective. Maybe he isn't friendly, but that doesn't mean he isn't brave."
"What happened to his eye?"
Spider-Man backed up and his body language suggested that he finally understood that Hawkman simply didn't care. The Winged Wonder was a hero of a different sort; he did the right thing with brutal efficiency and demeanor. He didn't feel manners and subtlety were virtues and was, in fact, coldly honest. "Holocaust made him burn it out with his own powers in exchange for the life of Power Girl."
"So, where is she?"
"Plastic Man couldn't summon the same courage, so Holocaust killed her."
Hawkman finished his meal and rubbed his hands together. "That does suck, Webs; personally, I think we should all go and turn this Holocaust into paste. It's tough when a leader loses his team."
Spider-Man shook his head. "It was more than that. Power Girl and Johnny were an item; she was pregnant with his child."
The Crossover Earth…
"Leave your god!" Holocaust ordered and the acolytes obeyed quickly. One particularly zealous worshipped cut his own throat in response. Bullseye jumped back as the man's blood began to spurt. Holocaust laughed darkly and then coughed. The blow from Thor's hammer had hurt the creature, Bullseye noted.
He is vulnerable to magic! Bullseye filed that knowledge away, fully expecting that it would provide him with a way to gain Darkseid's favor if he hadn't already. Thor had always been a thorn in Darkseid's rear. The Asgardians and New Gods practically slept in the same bed.
They were in a special section of the new Church of Blood; it had formerly been a division of S.T.A.R. labs that had employed a super-hero named Bill Foster, a.k.a. Black Goliath. It was here that Holocaust indulged his love of pain and desecration. In several man-sized tubes were various super-heroes and villains, each being slowly killed by different methods.
The Hobgoblin and Black Lightning were each being slowly dissolved in acid, Holocaust wondering whether a white or black man would die first. In another, the Parasite was being exposed to persons with diseases such as AIDS, leprosy and cancer. The mutant Psylocke, her mind dominated by Holocaust, was hooked to various tubes and lines that penetrated her naked body at several points. Once, she had been a beautiful woman; now only the hint of the one breast that had not been burned away and the look of absolute terror in her blind eyes let Bullseye know she was even human.
In another section, Dr. Octopus and the Scarecrow were monitoring several Church of Blood physicians as they checked on several babies. Holocaust was very interested in human children because he had never been one. When he had found out that Power Girl had been pregnant, he had ordered the fetus removed.
"What is the progress of my children?" Holocaust asked.
Dr. Octopus turned around and pushed his glasses up. "I am Otto Octavius! I am no nursemaid."
Bullseye realized that Octopus was about to die. He had been spared because of his knowledge of radiation and Holocaust always wanted to learn new ways of killing. Bullseye barely picked up the move, the quick strike with the bloodstained claws, talons really. A small red line opened across Dr. Octopus's throat. The villain continued to talk for several seconds before he realized what was happening.
So outraged at his imminent death was Octopus that he was unable to maintain enough mental control over his four mechanical arms as he fell back. More blood now pooled on the floor and several of the physicians were coming over to see what the problem was. In his final death throes, Octopus struck out and clipped a doctor across the jaw, tearing the mandible from the skull.
The floor was no longer slick, but sticky with the large quantities of blood that were everywhere. Bullseye began to doubt that this was the way he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He noted that the Scarecrow was being the typical toady; he was practically in love with Holocaust.
Both the Scarecrow and the doctors then attended Holocaust and they started to move away to a section where several mutants were being cut up millimeter by millimeter in an effort to see how it affected their brain activity. Bullseye stepped over the dead Dr. Octopus, a man who might have been his employer in a different world, and peered into the infant tank.
There were several infants lying in a relatively clean area. The blankets and diapers had the symbol of the Church of Blood on them, but it otherwise looked like any other nursery in any metropolitan hospital. One, in particular, caught his attention. It was inside a special incubator, a child that barely looked human. It had many more weeks of development to undertake before it would be ready for the outside world.
The assassin stepped away from the tank and looked about him. This was worse than hell, it was a disgusting sausage factory and he hated pork products. The joke did little to ease his mind. There was no profit in this venture and he already knew what direction he was going to go. He was going to commit the ultimate hit under the ultimate contract. Holocaust was going to die and Darkseid was going to gain advantage.
Then, maybe, he could finally retire.