by Barry Reese
“You already heard the first part of it, Gideon... You knew that the Furies had escaped and, in the Book of Erebus, you found out that there are other family lines besides your own that bear curses. Turned out you knew the person that the Furies had set their eyes on. So you sent Retribution after ‘em while you tidied up in Hell and set Roxanne free. But when you made it to Earth, you were zonked out of your skull for a while... A whole year. A year in which the Furies found their host and became The Furious.”
“Who is it? Who is the host to the Furies?”
The immortal advisor to Babylon sighed and stepped back, allowing Babylon to stand on his own two feet. As protector of Gideon Black’s descendants, he had offered advice and counsel whenever they needed it. He had also been the bearer of terrible news from time to time and it never got any easier, not even after all these years. “Come away from here, Gideon, before the authorities come. I promise I’ll spill the beans but I gotta promise you—it ain’t gonna be pretty.”
Chapter IX Paint It Black
The being known as The Furious staggered into an alleyway, feeling a strange weariness overtaking it. It rested one gloved hand against the outside wall of a dormitory, a soft sigh escaping its lips.
After taking a moment to steady itself, The Furious raised its hands to the golden mask that hid its features. The mask seemed to resist being removed as it clung tenaciously to the soft flesh beneath, but it finally gave way with a sucking sound.
Soft brown curls fell forth, no longer bound behind the mask. Smooth brown skin and wide eyes greeted the world, basking in the cool air. The Furious moved further down the alley, hoping to avoid any pursuit that might have been coming from Babylon. There was no sign of him, however. The spear that had been the reason behind The Furious’s attack on the professor was nowhere to be seen, having been magically absorbed inside its owner’s body.
The young woman’s face was beaded with tiny droplets of sweat and her breath came in ragged gasps as she hurried away from the scene of battle. Without the mask in place, she was no longer the strangely androgynous Furious and her memories of recent events were blurred. She knew that she’d killed someone, though, and that thought made her heart pound harder in her chest.
Oh, God, what am I becoming? she wondered. Is this what it was like for you, Daniel? Changing into some kind of monster, doing things there were totally unlike you... ?
The woman’s thoughts scattered then as she sagged to her knees. Since bonding with the Furies, she’d become something more than human, but the eldritch forces exacted a heavy toll on her mortal form, often leaving it drained and unable to function after The Furious had completed one of its tasks.
“You okay?”
She looked up into the concerned face of a young man. He was dressed in a t-shirt depicting the pop group known as Little Mix, tight black slacks, and a pair of thick glasses. He smelled like cheap cigarettes and even cheaper beer, but he didn’t look any older than twenty.
He held something in his right hand: a small bag that he hurriedly shoved down into his pocket. She knew suddenly why he was lurking in this alley—he’d just bought drugs. From the color of the substance, she suspected it was Faerie Dust, made from capturing the cute little pixies and grinding them up in a blender.
Accepting his hand up, she rose to her feet and said, “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
“You look like ‘ell,” he laughed. He was staring blatantly at the tight bodysuit she wore as The Furious. When she tried to pull away, his grip tightened on her hand and he refused to release her. “’Ey, now, don’t be runnin’ off. I can help make you feel better.”
She narrowed her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her. The weariness was gone already, replaced by a kind of feral hunger that was oddly appealing to her. With a strength that surprised her attacker, she shoved him away and placed the golden mask once more upon her face. When she next spoke, her voice was calm and gender-neutral, containing hints of both masculine anger and feminine righteousness. “Poor, little man... Such a slave to his hungers. Drugs, alcohol, sex... all an excuse to blunt the pain.” In a parody of his own words, The Furious said, “I can help make you feel better.”
The addict stumbled back, tripping over an overturned trash canister. He fell to the ground and held up one hand to ward off The Furious. “I dinna mean anything by it!”
The Furious laughed softly, clenching both hands into fists. It struck with its left first, then alternated the blows until the young man was still and quiet. With blood dripping from its hands, The Furious stepped back and fled the alleyway.
Somewhere inside The Furious, the spirit of a frightened woman tried to find a corner of her mind where she could hide away from it all—hide from the pain and the horror of what she had become.
Oh, Daniel... I’m so sorry for standing by when you needed me. I’m so sorry. I had no idea what it was like for you.
The woman named Stacy Allen wished that she were back home, wrapped safely in the arms of her lover.
Those moments were in the past, never to be reclaimed.
Today and tomorrow belonged to The Furious.
***
Jennifer Black’s Flat, London—Two Hours Later
“Stacy Allen... ? That’s fucked up.” Jennifer drew her knees up, hugging them tight against her body. She was seated on her couch, dressed in a pair of warm pajamas. To her left, atop a small end table, sat a steaming cup of tea.
The man seated across from her was dressed in filthy clothing that smelled like it hadn’t been washed in years. Fisher’s past had never been fully explained but it was believed that he’d been alive even before Gideon Black’s transformation into Babylon... since the family line’s cursing, he’d become a de facto leader for them, guiding and protecting them, often serving as the source of important knowledge when Babylon would clash with the likes of Bloodshot or The Mother of Monsters.
Fisher scratched the stubble on his chin and snorted. “I told you it wasn’t a happy story, so I don’t know what you were expecting. When have I ever told anybody anything that they were happy to hear?”
“You’ve never told me much of anything,” Jennifer pointed out.
“You’re the host for Babylon, aren’t you? I’ve told his previous hosts plenty—so it’s the same thing.”
“If you say so. Anyway, I’m pretty sure that Daniel and John were glad when you told them they were brothers.”
Fisher made a pained expression. “Yeah? Maybe they were. Too bad I wasn’t there for ‘em when it counted. Now we’ve got another member of the family line dead and buried.” He pointed at Jennifer. “You know what’ll happen if you bite it, sister? Gideon goes back to Galahad... and if he dies, it’s on to the oldest of Galahad’s kids.”
“I’m not planning to die anytime soon.” Jennifer shook her head and reached for her tea. She sipped it as she said, “I can’t stop thinking about Topaz... I know virtually nothing about her but she’s the one that rescued me from the void. Without her, I’d be dead like all those other wizards.”
Fisher watched her, saying nothing. He’d always thought that Daniel had been too weak for the job he’d been given... After all, the power and the responsibility should have gone to his sister Stella instead and she’d been perfectly suited for it... but a cruel twist of fate had given it to her bleeding-heart little brother.
Fisher had high hopes for Jennifer, however. She was an entirely different kind of beast—strong, with or without Gideon. That boded well for the future. “Some things can’t be helped, Jennifer,” he said. “You just gotta make sure her sacrifice was worth it.”
Jennifer ran a hand through her blonde hair, which she’d recently trimmed. It was shorter and spikier than she’d worn it in ears. “Okay,” she said as she set aside her tea once more. “Let’s get back on track. You said that Stacy is the host for the Furies and that when Gideon found out that the Furies were loose and headed to the Allen household, he sent Retribution after them.”
/>
“That’s about right. But when Bolan didn’t return, Gideon abandoned his post in Hell and came back himself. Good thing, too. The cosmic spirit of retribution is wasted in that job.”
Jennifer uncrossed her long legs and stood up. She moved over to the window, looking out at the setting sun. The moon would be up soon, and the nocturnal monsters would be out looking for blood. “Why Stacy? Is it because of her connection to Daniel?”
Fisher closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to other places and other times. “You could say that... The Allens and the Blacks go way back. That’s the way of the world sometimes—it’s all a big circle, a dance that never ends. That’s why you see families intermingled throughout history, always following the same paths... because sometimes debts have a way of living on, way past the ones that first cashed ‘em in...”
***
The Spring Offensive, 1918—The Great War
Corporal Eugene Allen struck his match again and again but with no success. The rain that fell had soaked through his pockets, ruining the precious matchsticks. Without them, his smokes were pretty much useless, and he was left alone and antsy in the darkness of his trench.
A flame suddenly materialized before him, causing him to jump. It took him a second to realize that it wasn’t floating there like some ghost but was rather being supported by a handsome young man—the reporter that had been hanging around a lot lately. Marcus Black.
Black looked to be of mixed heritage, with some characteristics that normally belonged both to Whites and Negroes. This had led some men to shun his company, but Eugene didn’t care—Black was an affable fellow.
Plus, he had a light.
Eugene leaned forward, pushing the tip of his cigarette into the offered flame. “Thanks, pal. I owe you.”
Black grinned, his dark eyes twinkling. The two men weren’t exactly close friends but during their brief interactions, they had gotten along well enough. “You’re up late tonight, Mr. Allen. Midnight shift?”
Taking a long drag before answering, Allen cocked an eye and responded, “Nah. I just couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d strap on my equipment and stand guard in the rain for a few hours.” He laughed. “Yeah. Midnight shift.”
Black took a moment to share in the chuckling and then he craned his head so he could see above the upper level of the trench. A small building could be seen off in No Man’s Land, the remnants of what had once been a university. He couldn’t make out any sign of the enemy but he knew they were out there, doing the same thing as the Allied troops: being exhausted and wondering which side would be the first to break the momentary peace.
Trying to sound blasé, Black asked, “That thing they found—anybody got a clue what it means?”
Allen exhaled, licking his lips nervously. “You know I can’t talk about that.”
“Off the record. I swear. I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Sure you are, pal. Look—you want us to win this war, right? So we gotta keep secrets.”
“Aha! So it is something important, right?”
“C’mon, don’t put me on the spot, okay? I got a wife waiting for me back home and I’d like to make it back in one piece. Talking to you is likely to get me thrown into the pokey!”
Black slapped the soldier on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I was just fishing, that’s all.”
Allen nodded, grateful for the respite. He didn’t mind the company one bit but he didn’t want to be grilled like he was on trial or something. “You got family?”
“Mostly cousins. Not too many on the Black side of things; my dad’s folks have mostly died out, sad to say. My mom was a Higgins, though, and there’s plenty of them to go around.”
Allen was about to respond when both men were suddenly thrown to the ground by a powerful explosion. Debris rained down upon them as they struggled to rise from the muddy ground.
Black looked at the officer’s hut behind them, hearing agonized screams from within. Whatever had just hit the camp had struck that structure and set it afire.
A burning man burst out of the building, waving his limbs in a futile attempt to extinguish the flames dancing all over his body. It was too late for that poor soul, Black knew, but there might be others he could still help.
He started toward the officer’s hut when Allen grabbed his arm, holding tight. “You can’t go in there, Black! That place is hotter than hell!”
Black pulled himself free, his visage beginning to shift and change. His skin color darkened and became that of a brown-skinned man and his clothing became some kind of silver armor, highlighted by glowing trails of blue.
“Innocent lives are at risk,” Black said. With that simple statement, he moved away from the gawking soldier, closing the distance between him and the burning building in seconds. “Stay back here, Allen.”
Allen’s mouth dropped open with a gasp. He watched as Black rushed into the burning building, seemingly oblivious to the roaring flames. “God in heaven! What are you, Black?”
The answer to that question would have been nebulous, at best. Marcus Black had stumbled upon the strange suit of armor less than two years before, when he’d been on the run from mobsters that were less than happy with his attempts to expose their crimes in the papers. Upon touching the metal, he’d become a powerful force for good in a world that sorely needed him. Dubbing himself The Silver Knight, he’d battled criminals in Manhattan before opting to cover the war overseas.
Though he himself didn’t know it, Black was part of a long-standing family curse that the oldest member of every generation experienced: becoming blessed, or cursed, with the armor and powers of their ancestor Gideon Black.
In the case of Marcus, the merging was far less taxing than for many of those that would come later. Gideon’s personality was negligible at this time, allowing Marcus to control their merged form almost completely, though it also meant that he lacked the full range of powers that would have been his otherwise.
The Silver Knight vanished into the burning interior of the structure. His armor would protect him from the flames, but his eyes and lungs burned from the smoke and he knew that he would have only a few moments to rescue anyone still alive inside.
He suddenly realized that the inferno might be the least of his concerns.
In the center of the burning room stood a trio of women, dressed in ancient battle armor. One of them, a tall and somewhat cruelly beautiful figure, held aloft a strange, glowing spear. The spear had been found by soldiers a few weeks before and stories about its odd properties to burn the palm of any man that touched had reached Black’s ears, leading him to request a position within the Allied forces.
The spear-wielder looked about her, smiling. “We are reborn on the world of man, sisters. There is so much for us to punish here, can you not sense it?”
“That I can,” one of the others purred. Their features seemed to shift and shimmer with every passing second. At times they were achingly beautiful and tantalizing... at other moments they were shriveled and horrible to behold. “And it appears that one of our old compatriots has come to welcome us back to the world.”
As one, the trio turned to face The Silver Knight. Somewhat unnerved, Black had almost forgotten his purpose for entering but he quickly scanned for any survivors that might need his aid.
There were none.
Focusing his attention back on the strange trio. The Silver Knight moved forward cautiously. “Do I know you girls? You remind me of these triplets I met once back in Boston but I can’t be sure. I was three sheets to the wind at the time!”
The one with the spear sneered at him. “You taunt us, Gideon? That is not wise. You above all others should know that.” Energy lashed out from the spear, slamming into The Silver Knight and causing him to scream in agony.
“How intriguing, Tisiphone,” one of the women said. “He appears weaker than I remember.”
Tisiphone gripped the spear tighter and shrugged. “That is the way of men. Strong an
d vigorous when you first encounter them, but they grow weary with time.”
“Care to fill me in on the what the hell you ladies want?” Black asked, trying to shake off the effects of the magic burst. A section of the roof chose that moment to collapse, sending up a plume of smoke between him and his opponents. Coughing, Black added, “I don’t want to fight any dames if I don’t have to. What say we leave this place and go someplace where we can hash it out like grownups?
“Dames... ?” Tisiphone whispered. “He refers to us by native slang. I... don’t think I like the word. Do you, sister Furies?”
“Not I,” purred the first.
“Nor I,” murmured the second.
The Silver Knight saw the three rushing toward him at inhuman speed. He barely managed to blurt out “Uh... I’m sorry?” before the first of the Furies struck him a backhanded blow to the chin. The other two followed suit, with Tisiphone slashing deep with the spear. The blade cut right through his armored form and Marcus experienced pain like nothing he’d felt before. He saw things on the periphery of his mind’s eye: a woman in flames; a crazed old man holding a cursed book high above his head; a man torn between heaven and hell, belonging to neither; and he saw a black man’s face disappearing beneath the armor that Marcus now wore.
To his own surprise, Marcus darted his hand out and grabbed Tisiphone’s spear. He felt its searing touch but held on anyway, wrenching it free from the Fury’s grasp. He tossed it away, eager to disarm her.
The Silver Knight felt himself fighting on automatic now and it seemed as if another entity was briefly in control of his form, for the words that came from his mouth were not his own. “Damnable witches! You will not wreak your havoc on this world—not now! It has problem enough without your curses!”
The Fury known as Megaera spat out something resembling blood as The Silver Knight slammed a fist into her midsection. Her sister Alecto raged against the cosmic spirit of retribution, slamming her clenched hands into his back. “Foolish Black! We will destroy you! It is within our power!”
