DEFENDERS/TRANZ #2 Remus Sharptooth Regrets...! pt.1 (A weird modern heroic fantasy)

Within all things lies the information---other forms, willing generously into Intention, every necessity for realization! I feel like standing, trembling with control, extremities poised to the generation of powers, welling up inside my nature. What I knew as blood is called magma, roiling in patterns deeply, surging to declare the changes to the surface world.

To think is to shudder. Stability now in waves, while tremors in our darkness declare:
we do indeed, grow.
Prince Nicola, Dragonvayne, flows as a consciousness on the fifth dimension, coalescing into a form, an embodiment of the metaphor of his present existence, which seems ghost-like from our remove.

Emergence’s sea, drift in antipathy, the low end vibes, surrendering my good vessel to the urgencies at the shadowed heart of intentions, those seeming to fail misguided, interrupted---frustrated! Where in this lost land wait the creations of foreboding, haunting our tribes with fallen states?

Mark! Where stands the heaven that here will give me strength? We raid this dominating fortress, sack its gloom, we seek its prisoners, chained awaiting after life liberty!

Steady, my Kane---inspired by a moment, in the passion of long sacrifice, to provide a forgiving glimpse into the reaches of frightfulness.

Before the black hole fixed beyond Valhalla into Ragnarok, shines a sickening pale of the many fears of many deaths before the unreasoning slayers, in a shade that shuns life, rolling across the lightless heavens to contain the gait of my destroyer, the death angel graced with the visage of my beloved friend…

So, at last.

I tell myself, surrender to death: the gateway to an integrated understanding must lie here at the culmination---the termination---the harvest of my being. And because I choose not to fear the end of all I knew in this form, for this reason, I believe, is the grace: my executioner wears my friend’s face.

Rayford Awen Mycearyn---perhaps, you are not he, but some hooded shade of his essence---or perhaps, you are Ray, but only his urge to slay, or his merciful spirit’s duty-bound form, here to deliver me to the next plane.

I sit then upon the foot of the ebony bridge in the unlit heavens, facing away, blessing all, observing all, releasing all.



Remus: Snargh...woof! By the Zavox, what a dream! A wolf chases a cat...in my trance, I prepared to dispatch the male, alternate identity of the Viking witch...

Corpse Flower: Sharptooth! Rawr-rawrr! We are besieged! Snarrrll...!
We must dispatch these spirits attached to the Box...the time of the Five Dragons is upon this world, praise Sulinar Vix's name!

Explosion in a mountainous valley in Southern California exposes a great flaming beast. Bali, Hillie, Oakie and Teddy have rushed up in a 2004 Dodge Ram truck in time to see from about a quarter mile away. Concerned for their friends, they decide to get as close as possible to the conflagration, with a sinking feeling in general, but some optimism that Patsy and Val are capable of survival. Teddy turns to Oakie and tells him he has his feelings in check as though a cloud has lifted; the danger, and the bizarre happenings at the Castles Made of Sand Bar have sharpened his awareness, provided an opening to dispelling his remorse, his survivor’s guilt. Oakie is befuddled that his headache was somehow used to render everyone unconscious in the middle of psychological freak-out shared by the entirety of the bar’s patrons. Hillie cannot believe he’s looking at texts from his girlfriend at a time like this and hopes that Patsy and her friend are all right. Bali comments on attending a soap opera in the middle of an action movie; he is pleased his night has not been dull, and after such unsettling events, looks forward to curling up with a good read with no further complaint of boredom.

The soldiers have survived the explosion of the Gnoblin hutch; Holt looks on bruised but alive and rather excited from his perch in the tree, wondering if the beautiful woman who thrust him clear of the explosion is okay, and stumbles as quickly as possible closer to the site to see if he can help anyone.

First he sees Hellcat (Patsy) and Valkyrie emerge from the smoke alive. However, shadowy beings, called Voidons, also emerge; at their touch, their emotional attacks weaken and slow the heroines. Fortunately, Machine Man, though somewhat charred, also emerges and begins to battle the barely substantial beings, who seem to have no effect on his mechanical, rather than biological, body.

Pvt. Holt then sees the Hulk thrust aside debris from the hutch, with his friend Mountie Dave Blanc alive and laughing nervously beneath him. The man the mountie had been checking for injury had been Doctor Banner, whose change into the Hulk began as soon as the sargeant on patrol had pistol whipped him for disobeying his order to clear the area. The flaming dragon flies over head, seeming to dissipate into thin air, but its flames have begun spreading through the woods. Holt, Blanc, and Corporal Dayly together convince the Hulk to act to arresting the spread of the flames.

From his stronghold nearby in a cave, Remus Sharptooth upon his makeshift throne watches the mystically conjured tableau of Prince Nicola Dragonvayne, believing his conscious, sentient existence in his present ghost form to be drawn to an end, preparing to surrender to his symbolic execution at the hands of his old friend, Captain Awen.

The semblance of this viking wizard, from the perspective of Remus, is merely a facade for himself, the same disguise he used previously to capture the prince’s mystic consort and partner, the Marc Kane, who is apparently held in stasis in an adjoining extra-dimensional plane. This execution is not administered with much intentional benevolence, but rather, is the magical method for doing away with the two magical beings whose intentions and knowledge might lead to his plans thwarted.

Narr, the known surviving Gnomlin from the hutch, plays foolishly, for his own amusement as much as that of the “court.” As he dances and sings about the impending change of the world, the she-wolf that speaks telepathically and calls herself Corpse Flower ignores him. She concentrates instead upon messages in an alien tongue from a futuristic science sorcerer she calls Sulinar Vix. She calls upon the power of the Zavox, a mighty entity that drains the energies of a futuristic utopian planet Earth called Kolpar.

The emergence of the Zavox Force transformed the life of Sulinar Vix of Kolpar. He was the first soul denied the Ascendancy, the transformation which marks the point in Kolparian evolution where a person can change their body into an energy form capable of interstellar travel, as well access to other dimensions. Vix now provides power to his agents on present Earth, who use the Slave Box to conjure the transformation of the world, its conversion driven by the Five Dragons, great elemental forces.

Massive terraformation and the dissolution of psychic barriers that shape individuals are the mark of this Trans-Rupture. The walls between individuals’ conscious minds are already permeating with the thoughts of one another, as well as their subconscious fears and desires.

The shadowy beings conveyed here by the Zavox, the Voidons, already work to siphon vibrational energies from the people of Earth. The other agents, the gnomlins and the Trome, were provided through the agency of Sulinar Vix; their machinations served as a distraction to prevent the discovery of the actual emanation point of this extra-dimensional invasion.

Meanwhile Remus praises the better world soon to be wrought by his magics; he relishes, he says, the challenge of conquering this strange new plane, and unleashing inherent forces. He then calls for the Four Armed Men, whose silhouettes dreadfully fill the glare flooding from the next room, and sends them to patrol the area and crush unwanted visitors near the site of the exploded hutch. Then the wolf man resumes his merged control with his bizarre astral projection’s execution of Prince Nicola, kneeling in meditation, awaiting his transformation to the next plane of existence, trusting his friend.

Prince Nicola Dragonavayne:
(I continue integrating impressions, concepts come to aid the basis of my analytical facilities) Through Song’s power---song, keeping together the material of myself---an aperture appears, creating a heavenly border of transfiguration upon the mountain, emanating like a gate made of stars (superimposed?) with runes, within Ray as he stands vigilant. I am reminded for a second how our brother dear did deride us in the scornful morning after his sister and I were subsumed in magic love making with the priestess Wanda. Wanda had travelled with us as we escorted the exiled Christians from the village where we last set eyes upon the Temple of Inguz, slaying its intruders.

The feelings were too deep to quickly evaporate, and before we could talk, we were committed first to completing our doomed mission, the disposal of the Box before it fell into marauding hands. I wondered that dawn: by what chink in Ray’s armor, by what incivility in intimacy, did Slay Box inculcate its influence? We already understand the deranged manner of those who possessed the Box of Fafnir (as we also called it) We rejected superstitious folly, the skeptics who had seen objects of faith fall with their culture. We accelerated our efforts---there was danger from foes glimpsed, those unseen, and the ominous melting of the ice itself. Whatever fervent beliefs surrounded the object, we knew Nature would have its due course.
Before the break through…the shattered crystalline floor beneath our feet, the plummet into the dark.

Then, within the starry doorframe, I see a scene in the deeper past: Ray, much younger, frightened, worried by the immense occult forces threatening his …adolescent sister, Abril, upon the time of her initiation as the Marc Kane…

I touch the rage and confusion, as I peer into the deep recesses of his heart---for here, emotions and dreams reform the appearance of things, empathy becomes a tactile sense, much as we see through the eyes to a person, as they are fashioned from their source. He is that person inside, and he is like Death personified outside. He raises his weapon high, then brings forward a wicked arc; my face bashes the dirt beside its fall. A new instinct tells me to take the soil of the mountain and thrust it into his eyes, even as I deliver a kick inside his stride.
The earth…

I make myself one with the earth, the energetic communication inside the planet; a future self pours knowledge, nearly to overwhelm my understanding like a vessel’s mouth, with knowledge of chemicals, names from the Greeks, forms of bonds on a level too fine for the naked eye.

I reach into the cycling rage, I channel it downward along with my sinking consciousness, through the bonding point at which we two shadow men are the same. And now I understand that primal combative streak, a response from nature to defend, to attain his needs and those of his offspring. Children, it seems, he could never have now with Wanda. I share with him, too, the awful moment when he believed his sister’s salvation would depend on her sexual initiation, a moment buried until he was led to discover the Marc, Wanda and I.

Never had we been driven apart by such things before, yet under the subtle curse of the box, Ray decided to speak no more…

Or are there no curses, no blessings, from beyond our understanding? It is one thing to touch the minds of brightened modern man; but the shadows of the heart also must open, unfold, received before the torch of the Marc Kane, whose power inside me illuminates my perceptions in this lucid dream made real.

I see the quest for knowledge, to ferret out facts of the mechanisms of the natural world, by which I best knew Ray; his most hard-bitten battle savagery was behind him when he came to the court of my father, the Dragonvayne chieftain, and became my royal scout to explore the kingdom, rather than lord over the territory someday in ignorance; for leaders ever squander what is not personally their own.

“Before it ends,” says the ebon golem of Awen of Argos, Ray’s eyes seeming mostly human, with granite pupils of blindness. “Before it ends, will…I know…what we’ve managed…to do?”

The Hulk has begun smashing a fire break, crushing trees on the edges of the enormous wall of flame threatening to cause another Southern California wildfire catastrophe.

Suddenly two of the Four Armed Men are upon him, punching and grappling with him, while another opens fire with a type of bazooka. While they attempt to subdue him, the conflagration builds, as the regrouping soldiers prepare to fight the blaze until reinforcements arrive; fortunately they have been equipped for fire-fighting exercises, as they have been training to augment the efforts of the fire fighters.

However, the soldiers start to suffer phantasms: Trans Rupture is coming.

Remus Sharptooth’s form is translucently merged with the form of Captain Ray Awen on the ghostly plane, which is like a darkened stage transfixed with one spotlight. He stands poised with his huge battle-axe above the seated, meditating form of Prince Nicola.

“With this strike,” he thinks, “I herald a better world; a more magical world; a world where the feelings of these creatures shall shine without obscurity, revealed to one another!” By the power of Sulinar Vix, he gathers the power to create an essence of time upon that plane, so that he might achieve a medium for action: the act of execution.