by Sergio Black
“Thank you. Your weakness reassures me of how strong I am. You reinforce my mission; the fallen will have retribution.” Nefarious looks up to the mob of hiding spectators and feels a strong distaste for their love of drama and lack of morals, then trembles the earth beneath his feet, quaking everything in the vicinity. The crowds that squat behind signs look at their feet and flee in chaotic panic; they become black-cloaked phantoms as they scatter to the sky to alert other Gestapo units of his presence, no doubt. Satisfied, Nefarious twirls the Scythe with the technique of a Ninjutsu Master and removes the sticky crimson from the weapon’s blades, then holsters it on his back in one clean motion. Nefarious teleports toward the Casino entrance and begins his descent toward the recreational center.
Nefarious swipes his right hand outward and telekinetically blasts the doors from its hinges with the power of discharged C-4. He stands at the entrance of the game room floor like Achilles and thinks to himself with restless anticipation, “Vegas, of all places to hide. The crown utopia of self-righteous elites, hypokrites, and abettors.” The Casino is grossly over-decorated with bars on both sides, female waiters that are more than half naked with Swastikas painted on their bellies, and numerous slot machines dinging and ringing as well as an assortment of other games, all touched up with white and black flags that bear the fated Swastika, combined with cheesy disco music from the 80’s.
The loud explosion captures then captivates the sway of mingling invitees who are drinking expensive Chateau and eating overpriced caviar. The cloud of thick sediment clears the entrance while corrupt eyes fall on the one, the only, Nefarious Warstar. Nefarious perceives the distinct smell of cheap colognes coupled with decay, which can only signify one thing, the Devotees attempting to mask the smell of rotting flesh. Nefarious scans the curious bodies, using his X-ray vision to look beneath the assortment of colorful costumes, dresses, makeup, and Gladiator masks that glorifies their favored warrior. Satisfied he’s in the right place to sight deterioration coinciding with the smell, and those bearing the Mark of the Beast, he drops his head and shifts his eyes forward... “DIVIDE.”
The gravity in the Rec-hall grows dense and heavy, the momentum shifts and energy slices through the room, chairs slide on the marble floor and people are forcibly seated then hurriedly separated by gender on opposite sides of the Casino. The narrow land created serves as Nefarious’ stageway. Nefarious marches forward with an air of authority, scanning faces on both sides of the room with his ocular prowess until he stands in the middle of the Casino epicenter. Nefarious’ eyes brighten with the firestone of obsidian gold, the peppered rays spin and move, as he further taps into the power of the 16-pointed Star, easily gifting him the power of Olympus and its thousand creations. Nefarious’ pitch-black hair falls handsomely around his chiseled face, complimenting the stylish black cloaked uniform that bears a large crest of the Six-Eyed Raven emblazoned on the chest. The suit fits him like a second skin, creating an air of sinister awe and admiring appeal.
“Any of you try to escape and I’ll kill you all. Symone Santago, I’ve come for your soul; running would be in vain and hiding would be useless.” Symone Santago takes on Phantom Phorm and flies from behind a silver slot machine with sudden desperation. Standing at just 5’4” and 130 pounds, Symone’s black hair falls to her round butt, complimenting her one-piece silver dress that is scorched and dirty. On this day of October 31st, she blends in perfectly with the lifeless crowd of the NAZI’s devout devotees. Symone prods both arms forward and piercing black hell flames well at her palms, then screech forward with killing intent. Nefarious walks with dead mocking posture toward the violent eruption of scorching flames that are but a few inches from his face and whispers the word “DISAPPEAR.” Becoming invisible, he dematerializes into thin air, making himself completely transparent. The fervid firestorm sails right through Nefarious, the blaze combusts on the Casino’s farthest wall. Nefarious remains transpicuous and rapidly teleports with skilled movement, making himself visible every few seconds, exhausting Symone’s Superior stamina before going in for the kill. Nefarious is just but a few feet away from Symone’s face when he re-materializes through a volley of Raven’s feathers, his sun-colored eyes lock with Symone’s. He’s now in her psyche and able to manipulate her perception in any way he pleases. Nefarious casts a myriad of illusions that give him the appearance of attacking from everywhere in the casino, only to erupt into an unkindness of cawing Six-Eyed Ravens once he’s dealt a killing blow. Several minutes pass and Symone can no longer keep up the pace set by Nefarious, she realizes that all attempts at killing Nefarious are impossible, and so she ponders negotiation. Symone fights against her strained muscles and uncontrollable wincing, exasperation taking hold, she falls to both knees, resisting defeat, before pleading through tears of regret, shouting in desperation. She feels her life is all but over.
“You don’t have to do this! Please! I wanna live! I can help you!” Nefarious’ voice seems to emanate from all directions of the room like he’s speaking from within the walls.
“Symone. You’re a fool and a traitor to all Superior kind. My Instrument has deemed you guilty. But don’t worry, your soul will live on with mine in the afterlife.” Nefarious reappears several feet from where Symone kneels. He walks forward and teleports with every other step until he stands directly over Symone. Drawing the menacing Reaper Scythe from his back, Nefarious looks down through condemning eyes. “For you, there’s only redemption in death.” Symone attempts to crawl away on her hands and knees but is stopped short as Nefarious lifts the heavy Reaper Scythe high above his head. The Scythe lingers before decapitating Symone with one backswing, the recurved blades slice through her vertebrae with listless effort. The headless body of Symone falls belly down to the white stone floor, blood spurting between hemorrhaging convulsions. Symone’s round head bounces like a soccer ball, mouth gaping with a fixed expression of anticipated death. The black and red multi-colored soul lingering from Symone’s headless body spirals around Nefarious’ feet, then rotates upward like a tornado before separating into two auroras, the blue forcing its way into Nefarious’ eyes and the red forcing its way into his mouth. Nefarious staggers to one knee while the glitzy energy dissipates and he grabs his chest which contorts with excruciation at the small war for dominance raging within. Symone’s Superior soul tears at Nefarious’ own from the inside out, battling the other entities within, only for her soul to be ripped to shreds and eaten by his own essence, then forced into submission by the monstrous Deadeyes standing guard like British sentries, completing the painful transversion that grants Nefarious Symone’s Superior-Ability.
Kneeling on his right knee, feeling exhausted, Nefarious winces hard between heavy breaths and wet trickling sweat. Nefarious firmly grasps the Reaper Scythe by his side, steadying his balance. Nefarious’ 9th sense tingles to life and activates the Eye of Vergina which now livens and spins with absolute perception. Nefarious directs his gaze forward toward the twin doors that lead to the city streets, and behind the set of doors, a Gestapo team is ready to swarm the Casino. Moments later, the street doors burst open with a loud crash. Dozens of soldiers in Phantom Phorm fly through the Casino entrance armed to the teeth with automatic weaponry.
“Put the scythe down. Or we will kill you!” yells Eddie Brock, Captain of the Gestapo. Nefarious, still feeling weak, puts his weight on the Reaper Scythe and uses it as a crutch to help him stand before the opposing force.
Nefarious speaks through faint breaths, “Fools, you’re too late… But if you want her so bad, you can have her, and burn with the rest!” Nefarious raises his left palm to his mouth, letting everyone’s last moments expire, staring into the faces of the petrified, he blows black hellsparks into his palm and tosses it up like a baseball, the sparks coasting forward. The black orb levitates to the center of the Casino and lands on the floor before separating, and one by one, the flames morph into several replicas of Symone Santago that aggressively march forward, enclosing more than
100 people into a tight circle.
The Gestapo rush forward, forming a perimeter around the civilians and fire armor-piercing rounds into the replicas. The clones hit by the gunfire multiply, continuing to parade forward like mindless soldiers, they stop, awaiting Nefarious’ command, who swipes his left hand and yells deeply, “Burn it! Burn down everything”! Nefarious telekinetically pulls all doors close, and seals them shut to prevent anyone from taking Phantom Phorm and escaping a righteous death. The look-alikes sprint into the masses, attacking residents, setting torch to everything, they burn everyone to ash. Nefarious teleports to the center of the Casino, watching mass abolishing unfold, while the remaining Casino dwellers scream and claw for dear life. Nefarious silently revels in the prickling sensations that ravish his skin, feeling invigorated by the brief devastation, he takes satisfaction knowing he dealt a major blow to the Neu Regime. He gazes around at the inflamed establishments and in a matter of minutes the pleas die down and everything is silent. The former Casino no longer stands and is nothing more than tasteless fragments of its former prestige. Nefarious stands at the center of the burnt foundation, while ashes of the dead and particles of black Nazi flags shuffle around his black boots. Dozens of SS helicopters whir loudly and hundreds of law enforcement officials descend from the sky to the ground in Phantom Phorm, to create a battle formation opposing Nefarious. The white megaphone held by SS Lieutenant Paul Lewis gives off crisp static as he lifts it to his lips and speaks through it.
“Nefarious Warstar! This is SS Lieutenant Paul Lewis. Put down the scythe and surrender peacefully! You have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide!” Nefarious looks onward with burning hatred and speaks, his deep voice booming with intense conviction.
“Fools, do I look like the type to run!? I bring the wrath of Heaven with me!” Nefarious lifts the Reaper Scythe several inches off the ground and twirls it, then tosses it to his right hand, he holds it out to his side, then simultaneously jumps to a single knee and slams the Scythe to the Casino’s foundation. Imitating a deep growl like Benjamin Burnley, he breathes in deep then lets out a long roar “FALLEN UTOPIA!” Nefarious’ sparking voice carries on for miles, echoing throughout the ears of the Neu Americans everywhere who suddenly stop their daily activities and look toward the west. The power of Helios forces the sun to solar flare and slightly combust, a couple dozen boulder-sized pieces tear away from the brightest star. Immediately following, the clouds dissipate and the sky shatters, Nefarious’ hair soars in front of his face, as great balls of fire fall from space, ripping aerial crafts from the sky. The trail of smoke emitted from the stars blots out the Sun in what is Vegas’s Armageddon. Paul Lewis drops the blow horn from his hand and sinks to both knees, he and his men are in awe. Paul Lewis swallows hard. Is this real? Is this truly the will of a God? And before anyone can take Phantom Phorm, the rogue meteors smash into the ground with violent explosions that rock the planet, leaving millions dead and all of Vegas leveled, broken, annihilated as though it were toppled by the right hand of God.
Nefarious is lost in admiration of the mayhem he has wrought when his androgenic hair stands on end and starts to tingle. Nefarious’ 9th sense snaps him out of reality’s quick detachment, showing him glimpses of the Einsatzkommando that are inbound to Vegas. Nefarious sees the red uniforms with bold numbering and from what Old Man Winsor has told him, the Red Teams specialize in melee tactics and fall at the bottom of the roster when it comes to the N.S.W.T. Special Forces. The hierarchy list created by Winsor ranks the NAZI Commando Units from weakest to strongest in the order of: RED- Einsatzkommando, WHITE- Ordnungspolizei, SILVER- Sicherheitspolizei, and BLACK- Einsatzgruppen, with numbers on the chest classifying the members in numerical order, starting with 1 being the strongest and 5 being the weakest.
The Apache helicopter approaching from the north soars through the muggy air, making its way to Vegas. The Einsatzkommandos riding in the chopper is intent on capturing Nefarious and transporting him back to the N.S.W.P. Dissection Prison on orders handed down from the Mad Doctor himself. The Dissection Prison is located on the outskirts of Waco, Texas and serves as the biggest most heavily guarded Dissection Prison in the whole system, while also doubling as N.S.W.P.’s headquarters. The Death Squad sits in the back of the Apache’s cabin with wracked nerves and racing thoughts, panicky beads of sweat trickle underneath their Skull Death Mask, and not because they are shy with introverted personalities. The same thought infects everyone’s mind. They know they’re about to face off against one of the Neu World Leaders Most Wanted, the infamous Notoriously Nefarious.
The loud chopper descends low enough to the rubble city, just 100 yards from where Nefarious brazenly stands. The members of The Red Team are mesmerized that the once thriving city of Sin, now resembles a desolate wasteland like a scene from Mad Max. One by one, each team member jumps from the camo colored chopper, landing on demolished building foundations with faint thuds. They stand upon what were once skyscrapers, casinos and Cat houses, the dwellings that had minutes before thrived with immoral hypokrisy. Nefarious pays no mind to the whirring chopper, continuing to remain transfixed on his current would be opposers if any of them actually stood a chance.
Nefarious taps into his 8th sense and the 16-pointed rays rotate and whir to life, deciphering everyone’s analytical abilities, followed by their skillset. He finds No.1’s Superior-Ability will aide him well. Nefarious casually dismisses the Kill Squad as any life threat. The SS chopper pilot pulls away and attempts to fly off under the setting Vegas sun. Nefarious’ cloak blows in the wind as he reaches out and seizes the helicopter like Darth Vader; the chopper hums loudly in place on strained engines, unable to move. Nefarious squeezes his gloved hand into a fist and violently rips the aircraft out of the sky and down to earth. The chopper crashes to earth with a deafening roar followed by a stark explosion. The blowback parts Nefarious’ hair from his face, better revealing his almond-eyes.
“Beautiful isn’t it?... The downfall of the Neu Regimocracy. If you want to live to see another day, you should leave, assuming I let you,” Nefarious says in a monotone, his x-ray vision piercing through the N.S.W.T.’s black skull face-forming masks. Nefarious activates his killing glare that infects their body. Nefarious pictures the Einsatzkommando being plagued by a series of prolonged terminal illnesses and says, “DEGENERATION.” Nefarious’ eye flashes in their minds like a strobe light. Wasting no time, the Death Team rushes Nefarious, working together to attack Nefarious with a speed and strength that rocks the earth. Nefarious dashes back several hundred feet and is blitzed, but easily dodges a barrage of well-aimed punches and kicks. Nefarious times a fleeting roundhouse thrown by No.4 and hunches close to the ground, extending his foot; he sweeps No.4 from his feet, suspending him in midair, Nefarious halts the seconds to mere fractions. Nefarious is hunched tight to the ground then leaps and spirals upward like a rotating rocket, defying the laws of physics, he rotates twice with such rapidity he is a mere blur, then he throws a spinning back kick. Nefarious’ left foot is solidly planted on No.4’s chest, the force of the pummeling sends him whirring and shatters his sternum, sending shards of bone through his lungs, strangling on his own bile in mere seconds. Nefarious lands with grace and is immediately bombarded, he sidesteps and counters oncoming attacks with such style it looks like an art form.
The team begins to greatly fatigue then slow down, they become unable to move efficiently, their limbs becoming heavy, painful and weak. Sinking to the Vegas concrete in mid-motion, they look up at Nefarious who prevails over them. He pleasurably listens to the Einsatzkommando unit hack in violent unison. Nefarious stares down on the Red Team with overpowering eye prowess. “The coughing fits are just the beginning; excruciating cramping will be followed by bloody vision. Your breathing will become shallow and stifled as you fight for air. This. This is how you die. I am surprised none of you have taken Phantom Phorm. Unless you can’t because you have yet to take your vows of perpetual devotion. In which case, not even you be
lieve in your own crusade.” Each member struggles and stands, only for their knees to snap like brittle twigs. Falling to their backs, they find themselves laying belly up in the Vegas streets, dying of various evolved plagues. The large clots of blood hacked from their lungs into their masks smell of decaying flesh.
“Fuck you! What did you- What did you do to us?!” the hulking Superior yells between coughing fits.
Nefarious stares through vacant unempathetic eyes. “You’ve been touched by my Killing Glare, and shown the definition of true power. The moment my eyes bore through your masks and we locked pupils, I had already sealed your fates. You fools were just too naive to know it. Your bodies are degrading from the inside out. You have two options. You can either die slow, unhonorable deaths or I’ll let you fall on your own sword. Defeat by Seppuku, the Samurai say, is the most legendary way a warrior can die. You only have this choice under one condition, I want the location of the Mad Doctor, Andrew Rush. I intend on giving him the grievous death he deserves before sending him to the afterlife.” No.1 leans his head forward, staring at Nefarious like his resentful glare would somehow terrify him into submission.
