by Stuart Moore
Brother, we have always worked together. As Doctor Voodoo, we have fought as one. Why… How can you turn against me this way?
Daniel hesitated. When he spoke again, Jericho could hear the anger in his voice.
PERHAPS I NO LONGER WISH TO RIDE IN THE BACK SEAT.
Jericho watched as Natasha and Cap climbed to their feet, preparing for another assault. But it was hopeless. Their power was no match for Daniel’s – let alone for the weapon-suit of Tony Stark.
He decided to take another tack. Brother, he began, you still follow the ways of voodoo, do you not?
Daniel did not reply. Outside, Iron Man began to raise his glowing repulsor-hand.
This “Master” of yours…he is not Bondye, the good god. He is no god of ours, not even a loa. He is unworthy of your fealty!
HE IS A PLAYER IN THE GAME. ONE OF MANY.
You know he has hold of your mind, don’t you?
In the parking lot, Stark let loose a bolt of energy. His targets leaped away, Cap in one direction and Natasha in the other. The repulsor beam struck a bench, blasting it to rubble.
Your puppet’s moves are sluggish, Jericho observed. Your grip is fragile.
SO IT IS WITH DOLLS. BUT YOU KNOW THAT BETTER THAN MOST, EH? HOW MANY BODIES HAVE YOU DONNED LIKE FRESHLY LAUNDERED SHIRTS, ONLY TO DISCARD THEM WHEN THEY OUTLIVED THEIR USEFULNESS?
A short distance from the combat, James Rhodes lay still on the pavement. He was trying, Jericho knew, to activate a government protocol that would override Iron Man’s control of his armor. But that would take time.
I WISH I STILL HAD THAT PIZZA, Daniel said. WOULD YOU GET ME ANOTHER SLICE, BROTHER? OH, WAIT, YOU CAN’T.
Jericho clenched his fists. Ever since childhood, Daniel had known exactly how to anger him. But this was no time for games. He had to use every argument, every tool at his disposal, to stop this madness.
Stark took to the air, repulsors glowing.
What has your Master promised you? Jericho asked. A kingdom?
A long moment passed. Then, finally, Daniel spoke: HE HAS PROMISED TO END MY EXISTENCE.
The words struck Jericho like an arrow. He knew Daniel had died once, and been resurrected in spirit form. Now, for the first time, he realized how miserable his brother was in that half-life. Daniel’s pain, his misery, had given the Master an opening to worm his way into their shared mind and take possession.
YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND, Daniel continued. YOU LIVE IN THE CURRENT OF LIFE, BORNE FORWARD ON A TIDE OF MOTION. FOR ME THERE IS NO MOTION, NO FUTURE OR PAST. I DO NOT LIVE, BECAUSE I CANNOT DIE.
Daniel, he said. I’m sorry. I never thought–
NO. YOU DID NOT.
Tony Stark took to the air in a shaky, uneven flight. Captain America reached up, grabbed hold of his ankle, and swung hard, slamming Stark against a stone table. Stark rolled, dropped to the ground, and fired off a volley of repulsors.
But there is still an order to the world, Jericho said. A system of currents and energies that cannot be violated, even by adepts like ourselves.
Natasha let loose a bolt of electricity, which sizzled off the Shield of the Seraphim. SORRY, BROTHER, THAT TICKLED A LITTLE. WHAT WERE YOU SAYING?
Only that you risk violating the unspoken law of the universe. Remember what the Greeks called it? “The labyrinth that is a straight line.” The order that grants us power, that gives us life.
“THAT GIVES US LIFE”? DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF? I HAVE NO LIFE.
Natasha whirled back, somersaulted once, and landed next to Captain America. They conferred for a second, then turned to face Tony Stark.
HMM, Daniel said. I THINK OUR TIN FRIEND COULD USE A POWER BOOST.
Stark stiffened. Mystic flames rose up to fill his eye-lenses. The glow of his palm-repulsors deepened, darkened, and took on a distinctly magical quality.
Brother! Jericho rattled the bones of his cage. You must stop this! Your so-called Master – he has warped your mind!
For a moment, Jericho thought he sensed anger. Am I getting through? he wondered. Or is Daniel’s attention merely elsewhere, focused on charging up his puppet of meat and steel?
PERHAPS YOU’RE RIGHT, Daniel said. BUT REALLY, BROTHER…
Iron Man raised his repulsors, eyes glowing bright. Jericho raged, his ectoplasmic hands clutching at the ivory bones of his prison. The prison, he now knew, that Daniel had built to escape a cage of his own.
…DOES IT MATTER?
Chapter 43
“Come on, Tony,” Natasha said. “Remember all those training sessions? How many times have I kicked your ass?”
Tony Stark didn’t answer. He just stepped forward, weapons hot, flames burning in those eerie eye-slits. Then he fired both repulsors – a chaotic, living beam of energy, fueled by the demon inside him. Natasha leaped and tumbled, catching part of a shot on the arm.
Cap heard her swear, but he couldn’t spare the time to check on her; he had his hands full with Doctor Voodoo. The caped man advanced toward him, firing bolts of eldritch energy straight through that one-way mystic barrier. Cap held up his own shield, wincing at the unnatural vibrations.
“Jericho,” Cap called, “Jericho Drumm! You know me, right? We’ve fought together before.”
JERICHO? The voice seemed to echo in Cap’s brain. JERICHO’S NOT HOME RIGHT NOW.
“Who are you, then? Why are you doing this?” Cap circled around, searching for a way past Voodoo’s shield. “Am I speaking to the Hood? Have you taken control of Doctor Voodoo?”
Anger flashed in Voodoo’s eyes. NO MAN CONTROLS ME.
Cap braced himself for the next attack – but Voodoo just stood rigid and raised his staff. As mystic energy flared, Cap felt a strange tickling in his brain.
WHY DO YOU RESIST? the voice asked. ALL THIS FIGHTING… IT MEANS NOTHING. JUST ANOTHER SET OF RITUALS, IMPARTING THE ILLUSION OF CONTROL. ALL THEY HAVE EVER BROUGHT YOU IS PAIN.
At the word pain, Cap felt a twinge in his injured arm. A sliver of doubt ran through him.
GIVE UP YOUR ILLUSIONS…
Then he felt them: tendrils of energy, probing and prodding. Searching for weakness, for a way inside his mind. This, he remembered, was one of Doctor Voodoo’s powers: to possess other people’s bodies.
…YOUR FUTILE DREAMS OF FREEDOM.
He raised his head, forcing himself to stare Voodoo straight in the eye. Summoning all the will, all the strength of mind that had seen him through a thousand harrowing battles, from World War II to the present day.
“Sorry, Doc,” he said. “No one pulls Captain America’s strings, either.”
Doctor Voodoo glared back through the shield. Then, slowly, he began to smile. He turned his gaze up and to the side – where Natasha clung to the top of a lamppost, trading blasts with Iron Man.
“Natasha,” Cap called. “Tasha, watch out!”
She stiffened. He’s doing it, Cap thought – trying to take control of her!
Cap braced himself, raised his shield before him, and charged Voodoo head-on. The two shields met in an explosion of sparks, raising tendrils of dark energy into the air. Doctor Voodoo stepped back, holding his mystic barrier steady. Cap twisted his body, favoring his good arm, and tilted his shield at an angle.
Cap had seen the Shield of the Seraphim wielded before, by Doctor Strange; he didn’t understand its origins, but its power was undeniable. Cap’s own shield was forged of a nearly unbreakable Vibranium alloy. Slowly its edge began to pierce the mystic energy, slicing a sparkling gash in the shimmering barrier. Sweat beaded on Voodoo’s brow, betraying the strain on his system.
But Cap knew he was outgunned. Voodoo outpowered him by a huge margin. All he could hope to do was hold out until–
Natasha tumbled through the air, limbs spinning, and kicked both legs into Doctor Voodoo’s head. He cried out and fell backward, losing hi
s balance. Before he could recover, she jabbed a stinger-powered fist into his chest, sending an electrical charge sizzling through his body.
“Word of advice,” she hissed. “You don’t want to be in my head.”
Voodoo’s mystic shield flickered and winked out. Cap lunged forward, jabbing his shield into the sorcerer’s chest, knocking him to the ground.
“Cap!” Natasha called.
He spied a flash of red and gold a second too late. Tony Stark blasted him point-blank with a repulsor; Cap managed to raise his shield, but not quickly enough to block the full impact. He flew back, twisted as he fell, and landed – painfully – on his bad arm.
He looked up through a haze of pain to see Tony advancing, repulsors glowing hot. Iron Man was a formidable opponent under any circumstances, and the agony shooting through Cap’s arm put him at a further disadvantage. But Tony’s movements seemed stiff, uncertain. The possession, Cap thought – is he fighting it?
“Hey, Tony,” he said. “Rough day at work, huh?”
He struggled to rise.
“We’ve had our differences,” he continued. “Hell, that’s an understatement. Remember Geffen-Meyers?”
At the reference to the super hero Civil War, Tony stopped. He looked down to study Cap, head cocked at an unnatural angle. But his weapons still glowed bright.
“You’re an arrogant child, sometimes,” Cap said, “but you’re nobody’s fool. I know how strong you are, Tony, and I know this isn’t you. Whoever… Whatever’s inside your head, you’ve gotta fight it!”
Tony’s lenses blinked on and off. When they came back on again, flames rose within them. He raised his repulsors and fired.
Cap ducked, raised his shield – then scurried backward, fleeing from a burst of machine-gun fire. He backed up into a corner where two intact benches met, with the stump of a stone table before them. He peered up, over the shield, and gasped.
Tony danced jaggedly side to side, bullets bouncing off him in all directions. He dropped to one knee, aimed himself at the sky, and took off shakily into the air.
James Rhodes, War Machine, stood revealed on the pavement, the machine gun mounted on his arm still smoking. He turned, aimed upward, and fired off another volley at Tony’s low-flying, wobbling figure.
“You heard the man, Tony!” Rhodey yelled. “This is not you. Now get down here and stand down, so I can stop denting that pretty armor of yours!”
Tony cocked his head, as if listening to instructions.
“And don’t try to get back into my system,” Rhodey said. “I got that covered.”
Tony pivoted in midair, dove straight into the stream of bullets, and reached for Rhodey’s arm. With a hideous crunch, he ripped the machine gun clean off Rhodey’s armor and tossed it aside.
“Hey!” Rhodey yelled, staring at his own exposed arm. “You know you’re the one’s gonna have to fix that, right?”
Natasha stumbled toward the benches, dropping down to wedge herself in next to Cap. “How you doing?” he asked.
“Still me,” she replied. “But whoever’s inside those guys really did a number on me.”
“Me too,” Cap said, wincing at the pain in his arm.
“OK,” she said, pulling him back into the crook between the stone benches. “What we need to do is, we draw on our ‘inner determination’ and ‘dogged resolve’ to–”
“Will you please lay off the tabletop gaming?”
Rhodes limped toward them, his armor sparking. Rocket was nowhere to be seen.
“Voodoo’s back on his feet,” Natasha said. “Whatever’s got hold of these guys, it’s not going to go down easily.”
They watched together as Tony dropped down to a shaky landing next to Doctor Voodoo. The two men turned toward each other, heads bobbing up and down. As if they were conferring, Cap thought, without words.
“You know,” he said to Natasha, “this’d be a real good time for your ‘big gun’ to…”
A grinding clatter pierced the New Jersey night. They looked up to see a dark birdlike shape, soaring into view over the housing project.
“Huh,” Natasha said. “Not the gun I was expecting.”
James Rhodes crouched down next to them, eyeing the sky. “Is that…?”
“Yep,” Cap said. “The Guardians of the Galaxy.”
Tony Stark and Doctor Voodoo turned to watch as the Guardians’ ship drew closer, clattering and wobbling in the sky. Its surface was covered with patches; something that looked like a huge Band-Aid had been pasted over the cockpit. As it dropped down toward the parking lot, one wing dipped too low and sliced the top off an abandoned shopping-cart station.
“Yikes,” Rhodey said.
The ship righted itself, bounced, and came to rest. Its exterior lights briefly illuminated the neglected parking lot, the toppled shopping carts, the bullet-riddled pavements. Then the lights winked off as the ship’s hatch began to slide open.
“Well,” Natasha said, “this should tip the odds in our favor.”
“Yeah,” Cap said, eyeing Stark and Voodoo. “So why don’t I feel better about this?”
Chapter 44
Kir-ra shrank back against the wall, shielding her eyes. Her grandmother, Ann-ya – or whatever was left of the old woman – knelt down in the center of the room, mouth wide open, energy flaring from every pore in her body. The Hood braced himself against the sofa, holding up a bizarre device shaped like a skull with a maze of circuitry at its neck. He reached inside the skull, wrenched free a candle, and tossed it aside.
The blank socket-eyes of the skull began to glow. Lights flashed across the base. All around the room, the swirling energy redirected itself toward the Hood. It narrowed to a thin, intense stream, flowing from Ann-ya’s shrunken form into the skull-thing’s gaping, hungry mouth.
The Hood. Staring at him now, Kir-ra wondered how she’d been so taken in by a man she barely knew. She could feel the alcohol buzz, along with… whatever else had been affecting her, back in Staryymir. But that was no excuse. Was I that lonely? she thought. So tired of carrying all the weight, so desperate to make a connection on this sad, hostile world?
Whatever the reason, she’d brought him here of her own free will. Here, to this apartment she’d sought out with great effort, the safe space she’d struggled to carve out for her family.
And even here, she’d acted like a fool. When he vanished on the sofa, she’d just thought he’d stepped out to the bathroom or something. Stupid, stupid!
She thrust those thoughts aside; this was no time for guilt, or self-pity either. She’d been trained in Sen-Zha techniques, but she’d never had a war to fight in, never had a time or place to use those skills. Maybe this was the time. Maybe she could still make things right.
The unearthly radiance made it hard to see, so she cast her awareness outward. The assassin, Gamora, lay on the other side of the room, unconscious but alive. A moment of panic: where was Halla-ar? Ah, there – on the far side of the sofa, moving slowly. His heartbeat was strong, his blood pressure elevated. And behind the sofa, the costumed Terran– Ms Marvel – was creeping toward Halla-ar, stretching those unnaturally long legs to cover the distance quickly.
Oh no, Kir-ra realized. They’re trying to sneak up on–
Grinning, the Hood reached out with his free hand and backhanded Halla-ar across the face. Then he tossed the skull-device up in the air, slapped Ms Marvel away, and caught it with his other hand. The girl bounced off the wall and dropped down behind the sofa.
Halla-ar was down too. Kir-ra reached out again, feeling his heartbeat – and something else, too. A residue of eldritch energy, in his and Ms Marvel’s bodies. The same energy that filled the room, flowing in a steady stream from Ann-ya into that eerie skull-thing.
“Oh,” the Hood said. His eyes burned bright, his hands trembled as he clutched the skull. “Oh my.”
/> Once again, despair washed over Kir-ra like a deadly tide – just like that time, mere hours ago, when she’d felt the pull of the deep ocean waters. She shook her head, forced herself to confront the stew of emotions roiling within her. Guilt: how could she have trusted the Hood? Self-loathing: she’d allowed him to hold her hostage, to intimidate her family. Finally, shock and grief for her grandfather. Grandpa who was dead and gone, whose death she hadn’t even had time to mourn.
It all added up to one dark, overwhelming feeling: rage. The same rage, she realized with a shock, that her grandmother had felt when the love of her life was taken from her by the winds of war.
Now Ann-ya raised glowing hands to her eyes, as if trying to block the blazing energy flowing out of her. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Grandpa might be dead, Kir-ra realized. But her grandmother was still alive – for now, anyway. And so was Halla-ar. Her brother, the boy she’d vowed to protect.
The tide of despair receded. Kir-ra reached behind the sofa, her hand brushing against Ms Marvel’s unconscious form before settling on a thin metal object. The spare rod-weapon she’d stashed there, in case of… well, an attack on her family.
This definitely qualified.
She whipped the rod around, thumbing it to full power. Current crackled across its surface; the Hood turned, surprised – a moment too late. The rod slashed across his face, burning into his cheek. He cried out and shrank away.
“Stop this,” she said. “Stop it now!”
He edged sideways along the sofa, keeping hold of the skull. Energy still pouring into it, filling it with power.
“So fierce,” the Hood said, grinning. “Oh, you were worth the chase.”
Enraged, she swung the rod again. Still smiling, he lifted the skull higher, shifting the energy stream toward her–
–into the path of the rod. Kir-ra cried out as the flaring energies, the stored power of a world-shattering gamma reaction, sliced her weapon neatly in half. She let go and scrambled away, watching as the two halves of the rod sparked, went dark, and clattered to the floor.
