The Night The Devil Cried
Chapter 2: Best of Enemies
Barnabas Mandragore sat in his private study, alone for the first time since he had arrived home. With Lucretia downstairs he did not need to worry about any of the others doing something foolish.
In the large, dark room he and looked at the life sized three-dimensional picture of Baron Battle that he had created so long ago when both had just begun their careers. They had seemed to naturally gravitate towards each other as certain heroes and villains did.
He looked at the powerfully built, dark featured man standing tall and proud in his original silver and blue armor, holding his helmet in the crook of his arm. His dark hair hung to his shoulders, and his handsome, smiling face was filled with confidence and bravery…a true knight for the modern age.
That was not how he looked anymore. Now the man sat in a small, confining adamantine lined cell, his majestic body a beaten hulk. He had been shorn of his Samson like locks, and his eyes did not shine anymore. His handsome face was marred by a brutal scar on the left side of his face that traveled from his eye down to the jaw line; the brutal result of the Commander's last desperate blow, his vaunted "seismic punch", to end his former friend's madness. Baron's now black and red armor was in the Commander's custody.
Dr. Mandragore had not changed the picture of Baron. This was how he wanted to remember and think about him.
A snifter of brandy sat on the small table next to Dr. Mandragore's chair, but it was untouched. He wanted desperately to get drunk and try to wash away the memories of the past few days, but he did not dare. The life of his enemy's little boy was in the balance, and that was more important than anything else right now.
He smiled at the memories. He remembered the first time he and Baron had…battled.
It was his first outing, and he was piloting a giant robot he had constructed to rob several banks. He hadn't really needed the money even back then, but that was how one usually made their debut to the public. He had just started to break into the bank when Baron appeared and, after the usual back and forth banter that goes on between hero and villain, they fought.
It did not take very long. The robot may as well have been made out of cardboard the way Baron had torn through it after proving he could not be harmed by its arsenal of weaponry; tear gar, flame throwers, miniature missles, the usual stuff. He then tore open the cockpit and pulled out the snarling "Dr. Shocker" as Dr. Mandragore had called himself in the old days. The usual ending back and forth banter took place as Dr. Mandragore had been hauled away by the authorities and the hero Baron Battle received his accolades.
It went on like that for only a few years. The back and forths, the crazy schemes, the jailbreaks, the fights…it had been glorious.
At first Dr. Mandragore had thought Baron was the typical muscle-bound thick-head because of his strength, but he found that he was also a brilliant scientist as well when he figured out one of the doctor's elaborate death traps.
That had changed things. It made them even better.
What had started as a classic tale of good brawn vs. evil brain became a chess game between two great intellects that Dr. Mandragore had loved.
That was how he met Lucretia. It had started as a normal "super villain team-up" as he sought to combine his science with her magic to defeat their respective enemies Baron Battle and Angelica Peace. During the fight, as the heroes were defeating a group of cybernetically enhanced demons, the villains learn two things; Baron and Angelica were actually husband and wife, and the two villains had fallen in love with each other. When it was over Lucretia used her magic to help them escape, but it was really the last time they would fight anyone.
Dr. Mandragore stared at the picture. He would give anything and everything to have those days back. He would fall to his knees and thank God if the real Baron smashed through the wall to take him to prison for the seemingly thousandth time right now.
He never really hated Baron. There had been the usual tirades and rantings against him, the name-calling and threats, but deep in his heart he held no grudge, no real anger. The villains who actually did come to hate their heroic counterparts did not really last long in the business. They quickly became hollow mockeries of what they were, caricatures and stereotypes that went through the motions but achieved nothing from their encounters.
No, the villain that actually learned something about and from his hero was all the better for it. Hatred was counter-productive. While some claimed they thrived on it, in actuality they were eaten alive by it.
A strange buzzing disturbed his reminiscing. It was the alarm from the hospital.
"Speak," said Dr. Mandragore as the message was instantly relayed.
"Dr. Mandragore?"
"Yes man," snapped Dr. Mandragore, "quickly…what is it?"
"It's Warren, sir, his condition may be deteriorating."
"I shall be there in an instant," said Dr. Mandragore as he activated the teleportation device in his chair. It had originally been intended as a means for escape but now it was used as a means of rescue.
"I never hated you Baron," said Dr. Mandragore as he faded from his study still watching the picture, "and now I shall prove it."
Dr. Mandragore stood in the chilled, antiseptic room, breathing via his personal oxygen supply.
The room had been specially prepared, with nearly all the air kept pumped out in case Warren should ignite again. The near lack of oxygen would quickly smother out any flame before it became a danger.
The only sounds were of the numerous beeps and hums of the machines monitoring Warren's every vital sign. Heart rate, pulse, and blood pressure were closely scrutinized. The EKG machine droned on registering the barest of activity. The rhythm of the oxygen machine pumping vital air into the little boy's lungs was almost hypnotic, as was the drip of the intravenous tube feeding him vital nutrients.
Dr. Mandragore approached then stood beside the boy. He reached out and felt Warren's forehead, then ran his fingers through the sweat-soaked dark hair. Was it a trick of the light, or were there now streaks of red in the boy's black hair…possibly a result of the massive system shock he had undergone?
That did not matter. What did matter was saving him.
Dr. Mandragore had arrived mere moments after he had gotten the message, and it was not good news. Warren's body was in the grip of a massive fever as if his young body was trying to burn itself up. The room had been cooled down to the point that any exhaled breath would be a cloud of fog, but it barely did anything to slow down the deterioration.
There were no signs of infection, any viruses or bacteria causing it.
Warren was dying.
Dr. Mandragore swore silently to himself.
Why was this happening? This little boy should be out in the warm afternoon sunshine, playing with the likes of little Will Stronghold and his friend Zach or even his own sons Marduke and Balthazar.
No, this was not the time for pondering. This was the time for action.
But first, there had to be something else done. Something Dr. Mandragore had pondered on in the small hours when his castle had been silent, leaving him alone with his dark thoughts.
Dr. Mandragore pulled out two small, stoppered tubes he had brought with him. He had not feared being searched by the guards outside the room, as he was recognized as the boy's court appointed physician, allowed total access to him at any time.
The first tube was connected to the needle in Warren's arm that allowed blood to be drawn. In an instant it was full, and Dr. Mandragore expertly removed and sealed it, wiping away any trace of it having been used. He then gently plucked a few strands of hair from Warren's head. This part made him nervous, as he subconsciously feared waking the boy, but he chided himself for such foolishness. Or perhaps it was hope that Warren would react to the momentary pain…twitch an eye, flinch, make a sound.
But nothing happened.
Dr. Mandragore put the hairs in the second tube and sealed it. He paused and looked again at this little boy who had brought nearly the entire super world, both good and evil, to its collective knees.
"Who are you, little one," he asked as he again stroked the limp dark hair, "that you have stolen all our hearts this way? And what shall we do if you break them by dying?"
A strange chill ran up Dr. Mandragore's spine, something not a natural result of the room's environment. He slowly turned and there, in the corner, was what seemed to be a tall, black shadow that was not caused by the dim lighting in the room.
Dr. Mandragore held his breath. He knew what he was looking upon…who he was looking at.
"You shall not have him," he snarled at the shadow that towered over him, "I swear to God you won't."
The shadow seemed to withdraw back into the corner, but it did not leave.
Time was now the most precious commodity in existence, but Dr. Mandragore knew he did not have enough. Not on his own. As much as it galled his ego to admit it, he needed help.
And he knew exactly where to get it.
To be continued.