2.
They were gathered in the trophy room of the Flying Fortress; Ultraman. Johnny Chambers. Jordan Harrolds. Strong contenders for the title of Amerika's gravest villains. In fact, you could even go so far as to say they were beyond the gravest; because they were the Vampire Syndicate of Amerika, as Owlman had so aptly named them, and the pun was completely intentional.
It had been Ultraman who had gathered them together during the storm of the previous night, raising them up from death, and near death; they had drunk from the poison cup of Mandrakk and so they were reborn into new life beyond death. They were his fellow Knights of Terror now, in service to an insane Vampire God.
He had offered the same cup to Superwoman, but she had rejected it, and in doing so, rejected him. It had been out of some kind of foolish sentiment that he had given her a choice in the first place, only to have it thrown back in his face.
She had hurt him, in the way that only a lover can.
But that was alright; that was part of the game they played. She had hurt him, so he in turn would hurt her back. Except this time, the consequences of her indiscretion would be far more final in nature. She had chosen life, and in doing so, she had chosen to die along with the rest of the Crime Syndicate of Amerika.
Before they could kill them, however, there were preparations to be made; with the rising of the sun over Centropolis, the newly created Vampire Syndicate had been forced to retreat to the safety of the Flying Fortress, closing its heavy metal shutters against the dawning of the light. For now, they had to hide themselves away from the terrible, terrible gaze of the sun… but even that wouldn't last forever; the dying of the light meant the rising of Mandrakk, forever and ever. Can I get an 'Amen'?
"Drink up, my Knights of Terror," the Vampire Ultraman announced, raising a glass; it contained a deep, red liquid that could have been wine, but wasn't. "I know how thirsty you must be after your long slumbers, how much the hunger burns within you…"
Instead of raising glasses of their own in acknowledgement Johnny Chambers and Jordan Harrolds were still a little less 'refined' in their culinary habits; before they had been forced to retire to the cavernous interior of the Flying Fortress to wait out the daylight hours, the Vampire Syndicate had made a quick stop-over to pick up some 'take-away' dinner, as it were. Now, that poor, unfortunate victim was stretched out spread-eagle on a table before them, his arms and legs strapped down while the two just-born Vampires greedily feasted on his life's blood, gorging themselves on the precious liquid. While Ultraman had slit the man's throat to fill his glass, they were content to drink it straight from the tap; sinking their teeth into the veins on his out-stretched arms.
"The hunger for destruction, the hunger… for revenge," the Vampire Ultraman continued, sipping from his glass as he watched his 'creations' drain their first victim dry; their first, but not their last. Not by far. This pathetic specimen was just an appetiser, a hors d'oeuvre to whet their palate for the real feast to come.
"Yesss," Chambers said, looking up from his feeding. His mouth was covered with blood, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. "Revenge… on that upstart piece of shit, Slipstream. I should have let him choke on his own vomit years ago, the pathetic junkie that he was. Instead he stabs me in the back and drains my blood like some kind of…."
"Vampire?" Harrods suggested, finishing his own meal.
"The irony isn't lost on me," Chambers replied, looking sideways at his teammate.
"And nor should it be," Ultraman said, striding around the table. "In fact, it's absolutely perfect. All the dirty little secrets that the Crime Syndicate had thought buried – literally – coming back to haunt them. Ghosts of the past, ushering in a new world order built on blood and terror."
"So… not much different to the old one," Harrolds suggested, watching as Ultraman circled them like a blue and red shark. "Except this time we drink the blood?"
Ultraman smiled. It was all teeth. "You wouldn't believe how much I've missed you, old friend," he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You really lost your way there, for a while… it's funny how it took dying and being brought back as a Vampire to help show you who you really are."
Harrolds held up the hand on which he still wore the Ring of Shadows. "Yes," he agreed, staring at the blue-black ring; its surface pulsed with a dark energy, flickering like flame. "I still can't believe those fools in the Justice Underground actually buried me with my ring and power battery."
"Heroes – much like villains – like to bury their mistakes, to hide their failures," Ultraman replied. "But nothing stays buried forever, as you both can no doubt attest too. Eventually, all will have their day in the sun."
"And to think, I was so scared of this ring when I was still alive, and human," Harrolds continued his musings, as if Ultraman hadn't interrupted. "Scared I would be corrupted by its dark influence and fall back into old habits… Now I realise what I fool I was to resist it for so long, to resist my true nature…"
"Yes well, don't get used to it," Ultraman said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm afraid the Master has a greater need for the Ring of Shadows and its accompanying power battery than you do at the moment, Harrolds."
The other Vampire narrowed his eyes as he instinctively reached up to touch the precious ring on his finger; it was cold to the touch, cold and terrible. He found it very comforting. "You want my ring? My Shadow Lantern? You think you can bring me back from the dead and then take my greatest power away from me?"
"I don't… but Mandrakk does," Ultraman replied, meeting his gaze. There was a tense moment between the two as they sized each other up, holding each other's stare. Finally, it was Jordan Harrolds who blinked first. Not that there could be any other outcome.
"For Mandrakk," Harrolds said, lifting up his Shadow Lantern and placing his power ring against it. There was a momentary flash of blue-black fire and the Ring of Shadows disappeared, merging back into the strange, unnatural metal of the battery.
"Yes… for Mandrakk," Ultraman repeated, taking hold of the Lantern's handle. As he did so, he felt a short, sharp electric shock race up his arm, followed by a kind of exhilarating numbness. The Shadow Lantern was a powerful object, alive with dark energies; it would make a perfect offering for Mandrakk.
Watching intently as Ultraman handled the Shadow Lantern, Harrolds rubbed the empty space on his finger where the dark ring used to sit. "I feel… naked without a power ring," he said; there was a longing to his voice, a pathetic mewling that did not befit one of Mandrakk's Vampire Elite.
No wonder Harrolds could never handle true power, Ultraman mused. He was always too weak willed. Still, he can be useful… and he just needs to be keep being useful long enough to help get me what I desire. "Don't worry, you'll have a new ring soon enough," Ultraman grunted, striding past the complaining figure of Harrolds. "Or should I say… an old one."
"Volthoom," Harrolds smiled as realisation dawned on him. "I've almost missed that sanctimonious old ghost."
"Green always was more your colour," Johnny Chambers spoke up, so he wasn't completely left out of the conversation.
"My friends, you might want to avert your eyes," Ultraman announced, putting an end to their banter. As he spoke, he pressed a hidden button on one of the metal pods which adorned his bodysuit. "It's about to get a little bright in here…"
Literally on cue, the heavy shutters that had closed off the observation deck of the Flying Fortress slowly began to open; as they did so, Harrolds and Chambers drew back instinctively, hissing in pain and fear as sunlight – terrible, terrible sunlight – spilled into the cavernous interior of their Secret Sanctuary.
Ultraman, however, stood his ground. What was sunlight to a being such as him? Yes it hurt his eyes, yes it made even his invulnerable skin crawl, but he was made of sterner stuff than the crawling idiots he was always doomed to be surrounded by. Sunlight was a weakness, and he had no weaknesses. Or at least none that he would admit to. Not for the first time this day, he wished that Superwoman had taken him up on his offer, before quickly pushing those feelings aside.
He winced (only a little, but it was noticeable) as he stared into the sun, raising one arm to sight along it as he drew back with the other, readying to throw the Shadow Lantern he carried. He had always had a good throwing arm, going back to when he was a quarterback in high school and college. But that was a lifetime ago now – two lifetimes ago, depending on how you looked at it. Clark Kent had died on the operating tables of that sick butcher, Jor-El, and Ultraman had died giving his life-blood to Mandrakk at the end of the universes. He was someone different again now; something different, to be more precise. They all were; his Vampire Syndicate, his Knights of Terror.
And just as they had been remade, so too would they in turn remake the world. And then… why not other worlds beyond? In the name of the Vampire God they would sink their teeth into the entire universe and drink of the precious Bleed that flows through the veins of reality itself. But first, they needed to clear house…
"What are you doing with the Shadow Lantern?" Harrolds asked, interrupting the Vampire Ultraman's musings; he was watching the dark power battery with hungry eyes, no doubt wishing it was still in his possession. "Where are you sending it?"
"Home," the Vampire Ultraman replied, a slight smile creeping onto the corner of his lips as he remembered another lantern, on another world. With all his might, he threw the Shadow Lantern; up, up and away. "A home of a different colour…"
First, the Vampire Syndicate of Amerika would have their day in the sun.