Dusty Video Box Presents: Introducing Synderella Rose!

Introducing Synderella Rose!
By M. Hadley

The golden mask fell from my trembling hand and slowly fluttered to the floor beside my feet. The masked beauty I yearned for so long was finally revealed before me. Yet, my reaction was not that of pleasure or happiness. Instead, I felt my stomach twist in a Gordian knot, the feeling of nausea creeping inside me. My breath struggled for freedom in my lungs as the shock filtered through my very being.

With saucer-like eyes, I stared at the all-too familiar visage of the woman seductively straddled on my lap, frozen in the midst of her erotic performance. Recognizable brown eyes, thinly disguised by golden contacts, returned my gaze with a mischievous glint.

Well-known lips that brushed my cheek daily as a show of affection now were twisted into a small smirk. Arms that often comforted me in my home life were now encircled around my neck in a lover's embrace.

The only thing different was her aroma, a mixture of honey and chocolate that was her signature fragrance. I tried to convince my mind that this was the factor that separated the two women. But reality slammed into me with the force of a Mack truck. For days now, since I had first laid eyes on her dancing elegantly on stage, I fell in love with the masked exotic dancer known as Synderella Rose.

But under the mask, she was someone else very close and dear to me.

She was Chastity…my little sister.

My brain was still absorbing the shock as I resisted the urge to scream. We said nothing for minutes, only exchanging bewildered glances with each other. I tried to muster the strength to break the silence, but she did it first by grabbing my rapidly shrinking crotch.

"Whoa…" she giggled, which was somewhat forced. "Packing, aren't we?"

"This isn't funny!" I growled, shoving her arms away from my neck. "What the hell…Chastity…how?"

She said nothing, her brown eyes falling to the mask on the floor. She pushed off my lap, regaining her balance on the golden platform shoes she wore. She then knelt down, picked up her mask, and without much fanfare placed it over her eyes once again. I felt myself looking away, half in disgust, and half in guilt, as my pants were shrinking once again.

"Oh my God…" it was now Chastity's…or Synderella Rose's turn to gasp, spotting the reforming spire in my pants. "Nathan…I had no idea…no choice. I had to dance with you…"

Get away, my mind was screaming.

Quickly I obeyed with my feet, dashing out the room towards the exit. But my body forced me to take a detour, as the bile began to revolt in my throat. Into the deserted restroom I went, throwing open the door to the farthest stall. My head found the toilet basin, and I surrendered to my sudden sickness. After the last heave of my stomach, I slumped down on the grimy floor of the stall like a beaten soldier in a trench. I was definitely going to hell for this... and maybe the Jerry Springer show. If only I knew about my sister's secret life! But my ignorance did not steer me from the unsettling thought that was slowly becoming very prominent in my mind.

I was in love with my own sister.

This whole mess started a week ago. It was on a Friday, a sad one because of the dreary gray clouds that shrouded the sun and the pelting rain that came with them. As usual per rainy day, I lounged lazily on the couch, my head buried in a pillow, my finger flicking through the channels at the speed of sound. The television came to rest on a Baywatch movie, which only made me inwardly groan. Baywatch movies were for those men unfortunately forced into celibacy because of their undesirability with the opposite sex. Sadly, as of that Monday before, I was now a new recruit in the ranks. My girlfriend of 12 weeks dumped me, citing differences in preferred lifestyles, whatever that meant.

Personally, I enjoyed the prospect of my weekends being freed up and the company of my best friends once again.

The phone rang on cue. Before I could drag myself off the couch, my mama was already answering it.

"Hey, Nathan! Telephone!" she sang from the kitchen.

"Got it, Mama." I replied, picking up the phone by the couch.

"Whazzzup!!" the gravel-like voice of my best friend Victor leaped from the receiver. "Get up fool! It's the weekend, baby!! And y'know what happens on the weekend…"

"Football?" I said slyly, knowing where this was leading.

"Cute." He chuckled. "No, fool! It's…Booty Time!!"

"Booty Time?" I repeated, failing miserably to hide my excitement. Visions of half-naked women, empty bottles of beer, and booming music floated through my mind. When Victor declared Booty Time on a Friday, it meant only one thing: an all-night trip to that vice known as the strip club.

"Yeah." He said. "Don't tell me you're still shackled up to the warden?!"

"Don't worry, she got kicked to the curb." I said proudly. "Got my Fridays free once again! So, what time we start the party?"

"Same time as usual, partner." He answered. "You know the best booty shakin' starts at 10…or is your mind out of whack from all those months stuck in the house with that bossy girlfriend of yours?"

"Hilarious. So where're we going? I don't know about Princess of Diamonds or Perfect Passion…"

"Don't worry, my newly freed brother. I got the perfect place to celebrate your renewed lease on booty, I mean bachelorhood. Happy Knockers."

"Happy Knockers? The new club in town?"

"Yep, that's the one. Heard it's multicultural up in there. Also heard there's this bad ass stripper up there…fine as hell, thick in the right places, easy on the eyes…and wears this mask…"

"Mask? What is she, Phantom of the Strip Club? She must look like a hound in the face to wear something like that…"

I chuckled at my statement, but my interest was peaked. Over the last few weeks all over campus, I had heard stories about a masked stripper that was the main sensation of the club, and was probably the reason why the competitors were losing business.

"We'll see tonight about that." Victor said on the other end. "I've got to go get ready for the festivities. See ya later."

As I hung up the phone, I felt myself tingling with excitement. There was finally something to look forward to! Even though it was storming outside, it felt to me like the sun had just exploded from the clouds. Quick as lightning I was in my room, rummaging through my wardrobe for just the right outfit to wear. A silk shirt and some slacks were pieced together in my search. Like a child waiting for Christmas, I counted down the hours until it was 9:00 that night. The honk of Victor's car horn alerting me of his presence was one of the most joyous sounds I had heard in a while.

As I slid into the front seat of Victor's Oldsmobile, the blaring tenor vocals of Jay-Z hammered my eardrums like a meaty fist.

"Hey man, cut that down!" I yelled over the teeth-shaking bass.

"What? Kill the hound?" Victor leaned his ear closer, both hands on the steering wheel, his long dreads draping over the cup holders in-between the two seats.

"I said, TURN THAT DAMN MUSIC DOWN!" I nearly screamed into his ear.

"Chill, cuz!" Victor jumped back as if struck, and quickly complied. "Shit man, you nearly blew my ear off with your loud ass voice."

"Surprised the music hasn't done that already." Bryan said from the backseat. "And he wonders why he can't pass the hearing test at work."

Bryan was my other best friend, your average nice guy with glasses, a living stereotype. He and Victor were exact opposites. While Victor was a party animal, a devout womanizer, and part-time alcoholic, Bryan was a homebody whose strongest drink was Coke, hold the vanilla. Usually, he was the automatic designated driver in our late night ventures, since both Victor and I would have too high an alcohol level to legally drive.

"Shut up, fool." Victor snapped playfully, pulling into the street. "Anyway…hey, Nathan. Where's that bootylicious sister of yours? Ain't seen those two big round spheres of hers since some weeks back."

"That's because she's working nights now." I told him. "Remember I told ya about it? Real late shift at FedEx. She doesn't get off until early morning…then she sleeps most of the day and goes to school in the afternoons."

"Damn…" Victor marveled. "She's really trying to make that cheddar."

I nodded, somewhat proud of my sister's work ethnic. However, because of her success, I was often the target of my parents' scorn, a failure in their eyes. So what if I was a college dropout who lived at home and earned minimum wage? Not everyone could be the perfect son or daughter.

The ride stretched into infinity. Even with us jiving and talking about failed relationships and women, the streets crawled by at a slug's pace. I fiddled with the thick wad of cash in my pocket, knowing by midnight that the bulk of it would be in the G string of some luscious stripper.

Finally, we finally pulled up into the expansive parking lot of Happy Knockers. My eyes nearly fell out of my head at the exquisite design of the building. Hanging a few feet over the entrance was a huge multicolored neon sign with the glowing words "HAPPY KNOCKERS" prominently displayed in the night, accented by a neon drawing of a very well-endowed woman flaunting her assets. Two large spotlights, like the ones used in the state fairs, were on both sides of a red carpet that stretched to double golden doors.

Victor had never parked the car so fast.

Seconds later, we stood before the magnificent structure, trying our best to keep our composure despite the awe that pulsated inside us. After enjoying the sight for a few seconds, we then took a stroll down the red carpet and were stopped at the doors by two tall blonde women dressed in tuxedos. I found myself instinctively jumping back. Both women were massive, about 6 feet tall, with arms and legs as stout as tree trunks. They looked like participants in a Mr. Universe pageant.

"Well, well…" Victor gave them the look-over, shifting into his "playa" mode for getting the ladies. "Which one of you is Mrs. Charles Atlas?"

Both blondes glanced at each other and blushed.

"10 dollars." One of them said, her light female voice betraying her beefy form. Without looking directly at them, I quickly paid and entered the door with Bryan following close behind. The very thought of those budging biceps made me uneasy. Victor stayed behind, no doubt to see if he could obtain two additional numbers for his already overstocked black book.

The throbbing melodies of the 80s' hit "Maniac" reached my ears, and I knew I was home. We entered the spacious ballroom, dimly lit, with small tables surrounding a large hardwood platform. On the platform, a beautiful Asian woman twirled salaciously on a silver pole, her body bare for all the patrons to see.

Surrounding the platform was that selfsame clientele, their sweaty hands raised in the air displaying dollar bills, and their mouths urging her on. Cigarette smoke hung over most of the room like an English fog, burning my nostrils.

We took a table not to close to the stage, and watched the Asian dancer finish her performance and gather her tips. A redheaded waitress, wearing a tight skirt that did nothing to hide her curves, walked up and whipped out a pad.

"Welcome to Happy Knockers, where we'll satisfy you anyway possible." She recited with a falsely wide smile. "What will you have to drink?"

"Colt 45." I said automatically.

"A small Coke, please." Bryan said.

"And you sir?" she turned to Victor, sliding into his chair just in time.

"Courvoisier." He said. "The whole bottle."

As soon as the waitress disappeared to take care of our orders, we were besieged by a platoon of dancers, eager to earn their revenue. They circled us like vultures, ready to scavenge the contents of our pockets.

"How would you like me to dance?" an attractive Latino wearing some very formfitting hot pants cooed as she settled in my lap, rubbing her naked back gently against my chest. As she lean her head back on my shoulder, her long raven hair spilled close to my nose, the fresh scent of roses tickling my nostrils. She was tempting…but no.

It was too early in the night. Besides, my mind was on the masked stripper.

"Sorry, but maybe…later?" I said softly. She rose from her position, a mixture of disgust and disappointment flashing across her face. Quickly it changed to a smile as she approached Bryan.

"Later." He dismissed her before she could even get to his seat. Not deterred in her mission, the stripper continued at another table. Meanwhile, Victor had the Asian dancer from earlier on his lap, laughing with her on something, probably one of his stale jokes. She leaned over and whispered something in his ear, which quickly caused him to jump to his feet. Bryan and I exchanged glances, knowing that Victor was going for his first of many private lap dances that night.

"Be right back." He called over his shoulder. "Me and Miss Noi are going to have a little T and A…I mean Q and A."

"Have fun." I laughed as Miss Noi led him through the labyrinth of tables and chairs into the hidden private rooms beyond. Seconds later, our drinks arrived, and we reclined in our chairs to watch yet another dancer, this one a shapely brunette, shaking her moneymaker for us.

"So…when is she going to dance for us?" I asked excitedly, taking a sip of my liquor.

"Who?" Bryan mumbled, his eyes glued to the brunette's naked posterior.

"That masked stripper…the famous one I keep hearing about."

I suddenly saw Bryan's eyes widen behind his glasses, and suspicion arose in me. Being best friends with the guy for years, I always knew when he was hiding something from me, which was whenever he did that. I pretended not to notice his reaction.

"I…I don't know." He took a long swallow of his Coke. "M-Maybe she's already gone man…y'know, she's probably a dancer for the seven o' clock crowd…"

"Hope not." I said, almost on the verge of praying. I had no idea why, but I just had to see her for myself.

The brunette completed her strip routine, collected her money from the customers, and sauntered offstage. I sat up, hoping that the next act would be the mysterious woman.

"Gentlemen…and ladies…coming to the stage is the crowned jewel of our dancers…" the announcer's voice reverberated proudly from the speakers. "Words can't describe her magnificence. I only hope you guys out there don't go broke from tipping her. Without further adieu…introducing…Synderella Rose!!"

"Er…excuse me for a minute." Bryan practically hopped out of his seat and rushed off before I could ask him why. Now I knew something was up. But before I could pursue investigation, the room was plunged into darkness.

The opening overture of the 70s' Commodores' classic, "Brickhouse" came to life in the room. The first lights to illuminate the darkness were the ones surrounding the stage, slowly revealing a very feminine silhouette standing elegantly on it. The normal lights followed, finally displaying this enigmatic figure to the spectators.

I was at the edge of my seat, gripping the chair arms excitedly. It was her! The masked stripper!

As she began her seductive dance, I found myself entranced by the beautiful goddess before me. She had copper skin, covered with golden glitter that endowed her with a shimmer that rivaled the splendor of the ancient goddesses of mythological lore. Her well-developed form displayed the perfect physical traits I craved; it oozed with the sensuality of Halle Berry, blended with the shapeliness of Beyonce. She was clad in the standard clothing of an exotic stripper: a golden bra, a matching loincloth that barely clung to her thick hips, and twin golden bracelets that encircled her wrists. Yet, her greatest feature of all, her face…was hidden behind a golden mask that covered most of it, with the exception of her ruby lips and chin. Long curly golden hair spilled over her shoulders, bouncing with every graceful pivot and spin she took despite the golden platform heels she wore.

In her performance, she seemed to strike the perfect balance between unrefined and elegance. Beautiful ballerina twirls were correlated with floor leg splits. And the way she seemingly slid up the pole, legs spread so wide that it seemed she would break into two…I had never seen anything like it. Off came the loincloth, showing the matching G string underneath. The "Brickhouse" lyrics were so distant that they were barely registering in my brain. So were the cheers and voices of my fellow audience members.

At that moment there were only two people in that room: Synderella Rose and me.

The masked dancer made the motion to remove her top garment, her slender fingers playing alluringly with the straps. Suddenly she hesitated for a fraction of a second, her gaze falling on me. I felt a wave of nervousness. Was I that obvious? Did she know how quickly I had become so fond of her? Of course she does, I told myself. She clearly knew how potent her charms were.

Then, the unexpected happen. Still teasing us with her bra straps, Synderella danced off stage into the crowd. In droves, customers loaded her G string with dead presidents. She grinned at them mischievously, giving them tiny peeks under her bra, but just as quickly covering it up. She was closing in on my table, and I found myself panicking, worried that I would not be able to contain my excitement in a mature fashion.

In a New York minute, she stood arms' length before me. I gave her a feeble smile, the only response my face could manage at the moment. With delicate dominance, she shoved my legs opened and pressed her groin against mine, dancing in my very grasp. I felt as if I would melt from the heat of the passion. Her hands pushed on my shoulders, lifting her covered face to mine at eye level. For a moment I could see her eyes through the slits of her mask. They were gold, seemingly glowing in spite of the dim lighting of the room.

"Who…" I tried to force my mouth to utter, to ask who she was. But my tongue, like the rest of my body, lay suspended before the masked vixen.

She placed a silencing finger to my mouth. Then, without warning, she gave me a quick kiss on the lips.

To me, that kiss lasted an eternity. That was when I knew that Synderella Rose held my heart. There was no doubt in my mind that she was the woman I wanted to be with.

After the kiss, she slowly stood up and finally gave us a view of the goods with a showy flick of the wrist. The customers went wild. With a trembling hand, I reached out to her with a crisp fifty dollar bill, the highest I had ever tipped a stripper. But she pushed my hand back, refusing to take what she had very rightfully earned. As "Brickhouse" wounded down to its last note, she turned from me and made her way through the patrons of the surrounding tables. Before long, I saw her vanish into the dressing rooms, and I felt sad to see her go. However, the fragrance she had left behind, a unique blend of honey and chocolate, warmed my heart, and influenced even more images of her lovely form in my mind.

For the rest of that night, I had no interest in other strippers. I hoped that the masked one would have a return appearance, but it was not to be. On the way home in the early morning hours, I was silent, my mind swarming with only one name: Synderella Rose. She was there, in my head, smiling with those red lips, golden eyes twinkling behind that mask that successfully hid her.

Even in my dreams that night, I could not escape the mysterious dancer. In the week that followed, she haunted my thoughts daily, always bringing a sense of nirvana. I found myself smiling at nothing, a joyful spring in my step. It did not matter anymore about my old girlfriend or my burger joint employment. All I had to do was think about that Friday, about Synderella Rose dancing between my legs, about that delightful fragrance…and all my ills were no more.

I did not return to the club until Wednesday. Being in the middle of the week, it was not as packed as the Friday before last, which was a good thing. This was also bad, since with less tippers came more strippers in my direction. I was practically swarmed by them before the lights went off and the Isley Brothers' "Who's That Lady" boomed over the amplifiers.

As it had a few nights earlier, the lights did their sequence, once again showcasing my Synderella Rose. Instantly my attention was spellbound by the graceful motions of her body. When she finished and stepped off the platform, I decided to approach her, once again holding the fifty in my hand to give to her. As I drew near, her golden haired head turned to me and I saw those golden eyes widened behind the slits in her mask. She seemed startled to see me.

"Here." I handed her the bill. "Once again you've done another wonderful performance."

She nodded, gently taking the money from my hand and sticking it in her G-string. My heart went wild at the surge of her scent tickled my nose.

I reached into my pocket and withdrew another fifty. "I…I want a private dance…from you." I told her nervously.

She looked into my eyes, leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around my neck. "A dance only cost twenty." She said in a low tone. Her voice seemed strangely familiar to me, but I could not place it.

"F-for you, I'll pay anything…" I whispered.

She unwounded her arms and took a cautious step back.

"Don't worry!" I added quickly. "I'm not some sick perverted stalker or anything…I just find you…hell, I can't get you off of my mind. There, I said it."

I look away, ashamed of my admittance. I expected her to walk off, or call those muscle-bound blondes. But she did neither. Instead, I felt her hand on my face as she pulled it towards her lips.

"My shift is already over." She whispered in my ear. "How about Friday? I'll give you a very…very special dance…one that you will never forget. Don't worry about paying. You've given me enough already."

I nearly fainted when I heard those words. A private dance? Just her and me? In real life as opposed to daydreams? Why hadn't I done this sooner?

"Alright then." I grinned, trying to keep my composure. "Friday, it's a date then."

"If you say so…" she giggled. "I have to go. Be seeing you."

I watched as she walked away, her hips swaying to an unknown melody. Friday already seemed to be a years away, and I had to find someway to cope until then. When Thursday came, I distracted myself by hanging out with my friends and watching a movie with Chastity that night. It was rare for her to be at home that late, for she was usually rushing out for her FedEx job. But tonight, she decided to take a vacation. As we sat on the couch together, enjoying a film, I noticed the sad expression on her face. This was peculiar, since we were watching the latest Dave Chappelle movie.

"What's up?" I asked her.

"Hmmm?" she looked at me, sadness transforming into puzzlement.

"You look like you're a pallbearer for some funeral." I said. "Did somebody get shot?"

"No." she answered. "I'm just…just thinking about some stuff…"

"What?" I pressed, curious. "Is it about school? I thought you were making the 'A's."

"I am, trust me."

"Then what is it? Somebody got on your nerves at work?"

"What's it to you?" she was on the defensive.

"Big Bro, remember?" I pointed to myself. "I'm your in-house shrink. C'mon, tell me what's going on?"

"No." she said quietly, looking back at the television. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's just watch the movie."

"Alright, keep it bottled up inside…"

She glared at me with narrowed eyes before rising from her seat. "I'll see you in the morning." She said over her shoulder as she stalked to her room. Feeling guilty and confused at the same time, I returned my attention to the TV, but Chappelle was not funny anymore.

Friday finally came, and the hours drifted by. For the occasion, I selected my best silk shirt and pants combo, and drenched myself in cologne. After picking up a red rose from the florist shop, I drove to the club, whistling the "Brickhouse" tune. When I arrived in the crowded ballroom, I picked a table as close to the stage as I could possibly get without directly standing on it.

Synderella Rose made her usual entrance, and performed her number. Soon as she finished, she made a beeline directly to me.

"Ready for that date, er-"

"Nathan, Synderella." I grinned. "Are you kidding? I've been waiting all week for this!"

"Well, let's not keep you waiting any longer…" her ruby lips curled into a sexy smile. Gently, she grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. She then led me around the tables, people, and chairs to the section in the back where the private dance rooms were. My heart skipped a beat. My dreams were finally becoming reality.

We entered a small room, which smelled sterile. Flowery wallpaper was on the walls, clashing with the stark red carpet on the floor. A beige couch provided even more conflict to the setting. Of course, one did not come back here to give the room a critique…one comes here for sexual pleasure.

She shoved me on the couch, where I obediently sat still. She started her dance, tracing her hands up and down her body, and shaking her rounded posterior before me. With barely little control, I resisted the urge to grab her. My pants began to shrink as she mounted my rising crotch. She beamed wickedly as she pressed herself against me. Her scent taunted me, driving me mad with infatuation.

I felt my hand reaching up to her mask. No! I yelled at myself. You are not supposed to touch her!

Do it. Another voice was chanting in my mind. Unmask her.

No! I yelled back. It's wrong!

But temptation got the better of me. Before I realized what I had done, her mask was fluttering to the floor…

I heave into the toilet once again. I could hear her hitting on the door, yelling my name, but I didn't move. I heard the door creak on its hinges, and rapid footsteps to the stall where I lay. The door opened, and my sister stood over me. She was not Synderella Rose anymore. The mask was gone, and so was the golden hair, now uncolored into her normal black hair. Her lips weren't ruby red, but wiped clean of any lipstick. She now wore a "Happy Knockers" T-shirt and some leggings to cover Synderella Rose's beautiful legs.

"Oh God, Nat. I'm so sorry." She semi-sobbed. "I was so stupid…I thought it was a one night thing…"

"You led me on for days, didn't you?!" I accused angrily. "What kind of person would do that to their own brother? What possessed you to fuck with me like that?!"

"I had no choice, Nat." she replied sadly. "When I first saw you…I panicked. You probably didn't notice, but I did. I had to do something to throw off suspicion that you were linked to me-"

"You kissed me, damn it!" I screamed. "And the fucked up thing about it was I longed for those lips of yours, among other things! Don't you know what they do to people who want to fuck their own sisters?!"

"Nathan…please. I was…was wrong for doing what I did. But…I was someone else at the time. I was Synderella Rose. I had to maintain my identity, my disguise."

"Y'know, you're pretty twisted." I snapped. "Maybe it's not me wanting to fuck you, but the reverse. Isn't that right, 'Synderella Rose'?"

"Don't try to turn this sick crap on me, 'bro'."

"See! See what I'm talking about! So it is sick! It's not my fault! I had no idea that it was you-!"

Chastity opened her mouth to retort, but closed it. A chuckle escaped her lips, followed by another. Soon, she was laughing, steadying herself on the wall to maintain her balance.

"What's so damn funny?" I snarled, ready to leap up and choke her.
"You dumb ass." she gasped between peals. "You didn't fall in love with me. You fell in love with her, with Synderella Rose, the character. Don't you realize that?"

I considered for a moment. Her explanation ranged true. But yet, I should have recognized my sister behind that mask. I've lived with her for years, shared the same meal table, yet I did not recognize her body, posture, or voice. Was she that good at disguising herself in the persona of Synderella Rose…so good that even my parents would not recognize her? Or did I deliberately ignore the signs and symptoms? Maybe I did, on some subconscious level, loved my sister a little too much.


Maybe I was one of those sick individuals that Jerry Springer invited on his show.

"It's not that simple, Chastity." I said quietly, rising from my position on the nasty floor. "It's not that simple."

I pushed past her and exited the restroom, head bowed, and hands in pockets. My heart was shredded the pieces by the simultaneous loss of my love and the betrayal of my sister. I left the club, not looking back as my sister screamed for my return.

No. I was not going back. Not for Synderella Rose, not for Chastity. I was going to do the exact opposite. I was going to go far, far away.

Far away from the golden mask.

Far away from the scent of honey and chocolate.

The Dusty Video Library

I've decided to repost some of the stories on the blog in one place, so everyone can read them without scrolling about:

Wedding Blitz

Welcome To Earth

The Hook!

Introducing Synderella Rose!

Dusty Video Box Presents: Welcome To Earth!

Welcome To Earth
Written by M. Hadley


It came from amongst the stars, a hulking, massive thing that stalked its prey across innumerable parsecs. Sleek and spherical in design, the immense silver and red object slowly drew near the third planet of the Sol System ever so leisurely, ever so threateningly, ever so cautiously. From the front it resembled a human eye with a piercing laser-red iris and several rusty gray tentacles that dragged numerous miles behind it. Silent jets of white steam erupted around the iris, halting its momentum just above Earth’s highest orbit. It could progress no further.

Before it was a deadly cloud of discarded satellites, spent rocket stages, and other defunct pieces of human space technology, forming a makeshift barrier around the planet. If the artificial intelligence guiding the eye was advanced enough, it would have guffawed. This was a tapestry of how primitive the Earthlings really were. On the planet of its origin, Oya, rocket travel was literally ancient history, quickly replaced by zero energy-powered engines and warp gates that enabled interstellar travel. In fact, Oya’s orbit had been cleared of space debris many centuries before, and its natural resources replicated and replenished. This was in stark contrast to the human race, too busy opposing each other over such meaningless things as skin color to actually solve their problems.

Of course, that was the extent of what the intelligence could “think”; the rest of its duties relied solely on programming. With no sound, tiny portals slid open clockwise along the body of the “eye”, releasing fleets of miniscule duplicates. Like tiny tadpoles in a pond, the weightless eyes wiggled their way downward through layers of space debris, until they arrived near the various communication, weather, observation, and television satellites that orbited closer to Earth. Making straight beelines to them, the tiny eyes adhered to the assorted surfaces of the satellites, sprouting a vertical line of spikes to hold them in place. Like sentient marbles, the eyes rolled about the surfaces of the satellites until they found the various control centers of the devices. Suddenly, in unison, the tiny eyes began to pulse rhythmically, before thick infinitesimal tentacles erupt from their bodies, resembling black, uncontrollable plant growth. These bizarre living cords connected to and seized control of the command centers.

When each tiny eye succeeded, its iris changed from blood red to ice blue. Above the field of space debris, the giant eye loomed, its red iris mirroring its miniature counterparts. Thanks to the human satellites, it was able to create a net of information around the Earth, narrowing down its prey’s whereabouts. While absorbing various streams of data, the eyes simultaneously broadcasted false information and erased any indications of their arrival.

The last thing needed was human intervention.

Bizarre weather patterns. Strange calls to the local purveyors of the law. Military alarms of foul play. These were some of the signifiers the intelligence was searching for. Alien invasion. Spaceship. Female humanoids in strange costumes. These were some of the words that would initiate the second phase of the program.

A weather satellite above Tennessee picked up a strange phenomenon five minutes before the eye’s arrival.

The tiny “eye” controlling that satellite retroactively erased the data. Above the metal debris barrier, the icy blue iris of the giant eye turned black as void. Slowly it opened lengthwise, like a clamshell, revealing a silvery humanoid lying inside, curled in the fetal position. The figure was motionless, and only moved when it exploded forward towards the Earth’s surface in a blaze of silent blue fire. Projected onward with extraordinary speed, the silvery thing was a glittering bullet, carving a path through the space junkyard with the ease of a red-hot knife through butter. A floating old satellite was unfortunately rendered slivers as it strayed into the thing’s path. Likewise, a discarded rocket booster was punctured, engulfing the silvery egg in a terrific explosion. However, thanks to the near invisible force field protecting it, the silvery object continued undeterred on its voyage towards the blue planet.

The tiny “eyes” controlling Earth’s satellites retroactively erased the explosion from all databanks. While there was the idea that some humans could have witnessed it on the surface, the giant eye’s artificial intelligence did not foresee a problem. After all, besides their petty squabbles, humankind was among the most skeptical and self-centered people in the cosmos.

They still thought they were alone in the universe.



***********************************************************


They were alone in the universe.

It was that horrifying thought that brought her screaming back into consciousness. Or she would have screamed, if her vocal cords were not frozen from the shock of impact. As her turquoise eyes snapped opened, the first image that greeted her was a flickering, one-inch tall holographic woman on the white pilot console. Dressed only in elegant white robes, the beautiful ethereal creature was doubled over in pain, near collapse. A typical Viragon design aesthetic, she was the humanoid representation of the spacecraft; if she was dying, the ship was of no further use.

With a shake of her head, causing her long, shimmering silver ringlets to fly about, Oya Planetary Protector Crystal Century struggled to regain her bearings. Her body and mind seem to move on one accord, with one single word dominating their actions.

Escape.

Her body had been covered up to her neck in a thick clear gel, deployed by vents in the cramped oval chamber to protect her from the impact of the crash. Frantically, she tried moving her slender arms through the transparent muck as it leisurely drained. However, it was useless; it was as if her body was in freeze-frame, moving only half an inch at a time.

Time.

She did not know how much they had, because it all depended on their insignificance. Were she and her partner considered actual threats to her? Before their mission went south, before she even became a Planetary Protector, she, like all of her Viragon sisters, believed in two constants. The first was that the Viragon race was an invincible people, the warrior elite; the “Space Amazons” respected and feared by many a galactic civilization. The other was that she…the Chaos Queen, the Obsidian Curse, the Commander of the malevolent Silver Horde…was nothing more than myth, a boogeyman crafted by Viragon mothers to frighten wayward daughters.

Sadly, both firmly held beliefs were shattered in the span between heartbeats. Investigating a planetoid that had idly drifted into orbit around Oya, Crystal and her fellow Protectors expected to encounter anything, from the reptilian fighters of Zyr to the armored jellyfish of Dimension T. Never, in all the millennia, did they expect to find the denizens of their childhood nightmares onboard, with an all too- real vendetta against the Grandmother Council and the Queenmega, the ruler of the Viragon Empire.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the screams of her fallen comrades assaulting her mind mercilessly. They never stood a chance. The Silver Horde was just as terrible, swift, relentless, and vicious as their legends dictated. Even with all of the skills and talent at their command, the group crumbled and fell like old columns. While each of her teammates was dragged kicking and screaming into the darkness, she herself was drawn a little closer to the brink of madness. If it was not for Ishtar-

“Ishtar?” she croaked, her throat parched, her voice tinged with worry. The level of gel had gradually drained to her knees by this time, letting her quickly rise to her feet and stoop slightly below the low ceiling. The ship’s bridge, although very old, was like that of all other Viragon spacecraft, small and circular in design. The pilot’s chamber and the co-pilot’s chamber were each separate and self-contained. They sat back-to-back, each with their own instrumentation in glowing multi-colored consoles. As Crystal whirled behind to face her partner, the holographic woman on her console fell down dead, suddenly plunging the bridge into darkness.

“Ishtar?!” she cried out in the black, now very anxious. What if the gel had not been released in her chamber? The ship was very abandoned when they had found it in the lonely bowels of the planetoid. It was astounding (and Goddess-sent) that the rust-bucket worked, and even more astounding that it was space worthy. But what was most astounding was that it could transverse the warp gates; initially, archaic ships, not built for the stress of faster-than-light travel, would shatter into atoms at any attempt at entry. But thankfully, for some reason, they were still alive and even able to make it to the Earth’s surface in one piece.

In truth, the great risk would have been unwarranted if their homeworld would have simply listened. While escaping the horrid place, Crystal had sent simultaneous emergency transmissions to Protector’s Citadel (Planetary Protectors’ HQ), the Grandmother Council, and the Queenmega. She told them that their greatest enemy not only existed, but had returned to attack their beloved planet. She begged them to hold a crisis summit, and to assemble all the other Planetary Protectors as a first line of defense against the threat. She gave them the coordinates of the planetoid, and implored them to bomb it into oblivion.

The responding transmission was a jumbled collection of laughter, scolding, and threats of discharge from Protector duty.

Crystal and Ishtar could only listen in barely muted horror when they were told that the very maniac they had just escaped from… was simply a figment of their imagination.

They were also told that upon arrival on Oya, they would be escorted to the Psychiatric Temple for mental reprogramming.

“Ishtar…please…” Crystal said, her voice wavering. The very thought of being alone, the only Viragon on a barbaric frontier planet, frightened her even more than the Silver Horde. Blindly, she reached towards the co-pilot’s seat, groping about to touch her partner.

“Crystal, wait!” a tiny, high-pitched female voice suddenly shouted. A multi-colored orb suddenly lit up a few inches before Crystal’s eyes, washing the interior of the small bridge in dazzling colorful light. Upon closer inspection, the young warrior could make out a tiny, but well-developed female body with glowing butterfly-like wings.

“Neith!” the Protector squealed joyfully, leaning over to kiss the floating miniscule woman with her green-hued lips. How could she forget Neith? How could she forget the one person even more important than Ishtar? A Symbiotic Fairy from Oya, she and Crystal shared a very close bond, thanks to Crystal’s Orgone Factor. A unique genetic feature of most Viragons, the Orgone Factor bestowed strange talents and abilities to individuals. It once served as the greatest asset of the “Space Amazons”, in times past as galactic conquerors. But now, in modern society, Viragons with the Orgone Factor often joined the Planetary Protectors, their world’s champions of justice.

“Come on, I think she’s asleep!” Neith said shrilly, fluttering over to where Ishtar was. Quickly, Crystal scrambled over the pilot’s seat, and through the small bell-like opening between the two chambers. Cautiously, she stepped over Ishtar’s head, climbed down, and gently landed between her spread legs. For a minute, the Protector was paralyzed, spellbound by her partner’s beauty and serenity. Ishtar lay asleep in the co-pilot chair, oblivious to the dire situation. Her head was slightly tilted to the right with her shimmering purple domino mask skewed in the same direction, cushioned by her lengthily emerald tresses. Her well-defined bosom rose and fell gently, stretching the fabric of her skimpy purple halter top. The ubiquitous chain, made by Crystal from silver meteorites, glowed as it dangled above her undulating chest.

Crystal could do nothing but chuckle as she brushed a wayward green strand from Ishtar’s brown face. It was an uneasy chuckle, a titter of realization; she had been wired for so long that the present calmness was nearly disorienting.

“Crystal…we need to do something!” Neith startled her larger companion from her thoughts. “Someone native might come…and they might not be friendly.”

“Right.” Crystal agreed with a curt nod. She had forgotten that Neith had a huge stake in the present undertaking as well, if not greater. Just like the two Protectors, the fairy had abandoned her home, thrown caution to the wind, and embraced the idea of an archaic Earth’s assistance. However, unlike them, she was not human-looking, or even human-size; she could not eat any Earth material or exist for long in Earth’s atmosphere. Her entire survival depended on returning to Oya.

“Close your eyes.” Crystal ordered, her jade lips pressed in a grave line.

“Oh!” Neith exclaimed bashfully, covering her tiny eyes with her hands.

Placing her left hand on the co-pilot’s armrest to steady herself, Crystal took her right hand and grasped Ishtar’s chin tenderly, positioning her face forward. Then, she leaned forward to her partner’s face, initially brushing her inviting lips with her own, before enveloping them in a kiss. Ensnared in the pinnacle of romance’s touch, time lost meaning for the Protector. She did not know how long it took before Ishtar responded to it, or when their arms and bodies intertwined with each other. But soon, reality regained definition. Ishtar pulled back reluctantly from the kiss, licking her own ruby lips seductively, her light brown eyes a mixture of mirth and mischievousness.

“How can I deserve such splendor from the Goddess?” She said joyfully. “I wasn’t that good a Viragon…”

“What are you talking about?” Crystal whispered softly, sneaking another peck on her companion’s lips.

“The Celebration Realm of the Goddess?” Ishtar beamed. “Our Essences made it in.”

“Ishtar…” Crystal started.

“Can I open my eyes, now?” Neith asked warily.

“Aw! Little Neith made it in as well!” Ishtar grinned at the floating glowing fairy with a thumbs-up sign. “Even though I thought the Fairies had their own little Afterworld…”

“Ishtar, there-” Crystal started again.

“Actually, no.” Neith interrupted, still covering her eyes. “We are simply reborn in new bodies…we have forever souls…infinite as stars!”

“Alright, there’s-” Crystal tried again.

“That’s so propagandist, obviously!” Ishtar chuckled. “If you’re supposed to be all ‘infinite star forever souls’, then why are you here? Are you saying the ‘Afterlife Officials’ shuffled you off the mortal coil to the wrong address?”

“It’s not propaganda!” Neith squealed, peeking through her fingers cautiously. “It’s true…really, it’s in the Great Fairy Tomes!”

“Ishtar …you’re not-” Crystal tried to explain.

“Arguing is useless, fairy.” Ishtar shook her head firmly, her green bangs bouncing. “You are here. Your body is back on the other side. Your soul is here. End of story.”

Crystal opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. As Neith dropped her little arms to her sides, the two of them exchanged stunned glances in silence, not knowing what to do next.

After a few Earth minutes of uneasy quiet, Ishtar bowed her head with a defeated sigh, staring at her clasped hands in her lap.

“It wouldn’t last. Pretending.” She said quietly. “I’m not incompetent. I know where we are.”

As the admittance left her lips, the images flooded her mind’s eye frenziedly, horrible memories of color that would not stay buried. Blue was that of the Horde’s terrible weapon, the Neuro-Lancers, which stole the very control from your body. Gold was the villain’s gruesome throne room, with its crystal floor doubling as the ceiling to hundreds of defeated female warriors’ cells. Brown was the skin of the captured Viragon slaves that made up the Chaos Queen’s living, screaming, squirming throne. And Red? Red was the most haunting of them all.

Red was the talons that could easily shred Oya’s strongest metals. Red was the breastplate that could withstand the most potent of attacks. Red was the headdress that shielded ivory inhuman eyes of inescapable fury.

Red was the Nameless.

“Ishtar! Get a grip!”

Ishtar blinked her eyes frantically within the slits of her mask, not realizing where she was for a moment. “What?”

“You started trembling…and spaced out…” Crystal said calmly, kneeling between Ishtar’s legs and staring up into her eyes. “You’re still in shock. Calm down. Breathe. We’re going to get help. We’re on Earth. In the Sol System. Milkyway Galaxy.”

“Oh, Goddess!!” Ishtar gasped, tears suddenly overflowing her eyes. Relief of having escaped, survivor’s guilt, apprehension of new surroundings and culture shock…the concoction of emotions hit her like a colossal tidal wave. Gently squeezing Ishtar’s left gloved hand, Crystal kissed the back of it and caressed it gently. At this rubicon, she needed her partner more than anything.

“Look at me…crying like an Earth woman. How appropriate.” Ishtar tearfully reprimanded herself. “I’m so weak! Not fit to be a Protector…”

“It doesn’t matter-” Crystal wiped the tear streaks from her partner’s face with her thumbs.

“Curse it, Crystal! We have a reputation to uphold, to be proud Viragons…the Warrior Elite. Warriors…don’t cry! They don’t feel anything…”

“Sentient beings feel.” Crystal told her sympathetically. “Emotions mean we’re alive. Don’t believe in that traditionalist drivel.”

Ishtar parted her lips to reply, and then closed them. Wrapping her arms around Ishtar’s waist, the silver-haired Crystal laid her head in her partner’s lap, serenely closing her eyes. Fighting to contain her tears, Ishtar brushed Crystal’ hair away from her face, kissed her on the cheek, and laid her own forehead on that of her lover’s.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Neith.” Crystal said softly. “Come here.”

The glowing fairy solemnly obeyed, floating down and landing softly on Ishtar’s bare leg, before Crystal’s face.

“Our planet might have abandoned us, but the Goddess never will.” The silver-haired warrior told them. “So from here on out, we are in her care. She is our guiding star now. Agreed?”

“Yes.” Her companions said solemnly.

“Let’s meet the locals.” Crystal rose from Ishtar’s lap and stood to full height, blindly feeling about the ceiling for a switch to open the bridge’s ceiling exit.

“You’ll have to stay out of sight, Neith.” Ishtar said sadly. “We don’t know how the humans will react to you-”

“She doesn’t have to.” Crystal interjected. “She’ll be fine…it’s just what we need-”

“These…humans are dangerous creatures, Cry!” Ishtar argued. “They…they fear what they don’t understand. And this being a frontier world…they don’t understand a lot!”

“The stranger, the better is what I’m saying.” Crystal gritted her teeth in frustration, her search for the switch increasing in desperation.

“Are you…wait an Earth cycle…” Ishtar’s eyes widened in realization. “This old standby had shields on it when we left…there. So, how did we crash?”

“That damn button is somewhere…” Crystal growled impatiently. “Hey, Neith…light it up for me!”

“Alright.” The fairy replied, glowing brighter as she flew up to where Crystal’s hands were.

“You heard me, Century!” Ishtar snarled, furrowing her brow and pressing her lips tightly together. “How did we crash?”

“Ah! Thanks, Neith!” Crystal cheered, successful in her search. Pressing the tiny white button above her head, she waited. A loud hissing, followed by a deep mechanical whirring, heralded the opening of the escape portal. The entire roof was suddenly thrust upward, and slid to the side, giving the otherworldly visitors their first unforgettable Earthly sight.

“Goddess…” Ishtar halted in mid-rant, awestruck by the glowing silver orb in the inky night sky. “I…I can’t fathom the words to say right now…”

“So they have one moon.” Crystal waved her off. “Oya has eight…”

“We have to appreciate beauty…no matter where we are.” Ishtar said quietly.

“Even back in that hell we escaped?” Crystal’s nostrils flared. “Was there beauty there?”

“Stop being such a joy-stealer!” Ishtar snapped.

Crystal glared down at her partner before looking away, exhaling deeply. “I…I just don’t want you to be distracted, that’s all. This is a mission-”

“Ha!” Ishtar snapped sarcastically, crossing her arms over her bosom in the slivers of moonlight. “Mission. I don’t do missions for those old maids anymore. And the Queenmega…I hope she gets captured…I hope so much…”

“What happen to all that posturing about being ‘warrior elite’ and ‘Viragon’?” Crystal prodded, holding her index and thumb before her face in a pinching motion.

“I…I don’t know…” Ishtar admitted in a beaten tone, bowing her head sadly. “I mean…we’re ‘swordfighting by heart’ now, aren’t we? Making it up as we go along. How do we approach the leaders of this world? Are we representatives of the Viragon Empire…or simply refugees?”

“Come on, Neith.” Crystal said, calling her fairy partner, who had retreated to the lowest depths of the co-pilot chamber to escape the inflowing atmosphere. A pulsating glow erupted from around Ishtar’s feet as Neith quickly emerged, her hands tightly clasped over her little mouth. Rocketing to Crystal’s face, she waited anxiously as the warrior widened the gap between her finger and thumb, creating a transparent oval in the process. When it was Neith’s size, the tiny woman quickly stepped inside the orb, sighing in relief as a self-contained Oya-like atmosphere was created around her.

“Thank you!” she shrieked cheerfully, buzzing about Crystal’s head like an overeager firefly.

“Of course, little one.” Crystal smiled slightly, before outstretching a hand towards her sitting lover.

“I don’t appreciate being considered whimsical.” Ishtar sniffed haughtily, frowning and looking away.

“Excuse me?” Crystal raised a silver eyebrow.

“Even after all this time…” Ishtar sighed. “All the years we’ve been together…and you still consider me a spoiled princess. It will always be the inevitable clash of classes between us.”

“I don’t think this is the time…” Crystal trailed off, rapidly glancing up at the night sky and back down at Ishtar’s masked visage.

“All I said was ‘Earth’s moon was beautiful’-”

“You’re doing it now!” Crystal snapped mildly. “Being ‘whimsical’ in a time of action. To answer one of your questions…we are escapees from the Horde. No Viragon Empire, no Oya. We don’t want to look like an alien invasion, and the very fact we look like them would probably fuel their overwhelming paranoia even more. We’ll meet with the leaders of the Earth Council-”

“There is no ‘Earth Council’, remember?” Ishtar replied. “The humans are too immature for such a concept. They’re still too busy fighting over land boundaries and other crazy things…”

“Like?” Neith floated down to Ishtar’s eye level.

“Religion.” Ishtar counted on her gloved fingers. “Skin color. Politics. Leisure time. Monetary gain.”

“Goddess…” Crystal rubbed her forehead, visually irritated. “And we need a united planetary force to fight Her. So where in the Dark Realms are we, ‘Tar?”

“If I remember my Interplanetary Studies…” Ishtar solemnly closed her eyes behind the slits of her mask. “I…don’t know.”

“What?!” Crystal exclaimed.

“Well, if…I don’t know, the ship was working, it would’ve been a simple matter for the instrumentation to pinpoint our position. But, since someone crashed the thing-”

“I had good reasons to!” Crystal retorted. “One, I wanted to make as much ‘noise’ in the least amount of time as possib-”

“Wait, you want the humans to find out about us this way?!” Neith squealed fearfully. “You realize calling them barbarians is an intergalactic in-joke, right? These madmen specialize in creating weaponized doom!!”

“Yes, I’m with the fairy.” Ishtar shook her head shamefully at her partner. “We took the same classes in Academy…I’m sure we studied the concept of ‘Fatman and Little Boy’ many times.”

The Silver-Haired Warrior said nothing, fearing that the anger and irritation building within her would explode. Narrowing her eyes in a glare towards her lover, her glowing green platform sandal thundered as she slammed it down on the seat between Ishtar’s well-defined legs. The other Viragon instinctively let loose a startled gasp, returning Crystal’s glower with one of her own. Sniffing in annoyance, Crystal pushed off with her foot, leaping spectacularly in the air. For mere seconds, Earth’s gravity relinquished its hold on her lithe form, letting her rise from within the ship and land on one of the transparent wings with the grace of a feather.

“Crystal! I’m sorry!” Neith squealed, leaving a stream of multi-colored light as she flew out of the ship’s exit.

“Don’t you see I had no other choice?!” Crystal whirled around to face her, her voice echoing in the moonlit night. “Where were we to go? You think the Lagonians, or the Plethors…you think ANY of our neighbors would help US?! We’re the Viragons, the ‘Space Amazons’…the most hated race in all the known galaxies. Except here. Except here, where they don’t know us. They don’t know anyone. Here…where ‘aliens’ don’t even exist…”

She trailed off, staring at the massive path of destruction wrought by her crashed interstellar vehicle. It stretched behind for miles into the darkened horizon, highlighted by large columns of black smoke that billowed into the starlit night sky, and waves of giant trees that lay on their sides. The length of the crash had escaped her memories. She could only remember the one sensation of being tossed about the pilot seat, and then blackness.

She felt lean, dark-skinned arms wrap around her waist, and a head, cushioned by soft, long tresses, lay against her bare upper back.

“Go on.” Ishtar whispered, her hands gradually sliding up and down Crystal’s toned abdomen.

“‘Go on’?” Crystal spat softly, resisting the urge to shrug her partner off.

“You damn fool.” Ishtar chuckled. “I’ve followed you from the courts of my kingdom, through the Academy, into the duties of a Planetary Protector. I took up this identity, this mask, for you. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

“You sounded pretty damn convincing.”

“I want you unshakable in your beliefs.” Ishtar pressed her lips to her lover’s shoulder. “When you’re indomitable, I am. Neith is. So continue. What is the other reasons you-”

Before she could finish, Crystal sprung forward elegantly, her lengthily silver tresses fluttering behind her like a small cape. She landed neatly a few feet away from the ship, and suddenly took off in a dead run into the darkened forest.

“Cry!” Ishtar and Neith screamed in unison. Leaping after her, the emerald-haired Viragon raced after her comrade, with Neith fluttering directly behind. After a few minutes of silent darkness, the two Earth newcomers found themselves lost within the forest. Even the moonlight was not allowed to venture here, blocked by numerous thick clusters of twisted branches that hung overhead.

“Goddess!” Ishtar hissed, trying to regain her bearings. Had Crystal Century abandoned them on this desolate border world? She stymied the very thought out of sheer desperation. No. She could not fall apart now. For her sake, for precious Neith’s sake…she had to remain strong, to continue the mission.

“Neith-” she began, before she heard a whisper, someone calling her name. A few feet from her, she saw a pair of neon green wristbands sparkle in the darkness, followed by a pair of glowing green platform sandals.

“We had to get away from the ship before I could continue.” Floating green glowing lips told them. “I’m sorry.”

“Crystal!” Neith growled, zooming about Crystal’s head, illuminating her gorgeous face. “I should pound you into the-”

“She said she was sorry, little one.” Ishtar dashed zealously up to Crystal, staring into her eyes. “So? What’s the rest of the plan?”

“The second reason I crashed the ship…” Crystal bowed her head slightly. “I…I wanted to make it look as if we did not make it. As if we perished in the crash.”

“But wouldn’t our bodies need to be in the ship for that to work?” Ishtar pointed out anxiously.

“I was hoping it did not get that far.” Crystal turned and walked a few steps, nervously fidgeting with her thumbs. “If the Nameless had sent something after us…the crashed vessel should’ve been enough to avert her search. I mean, we’re just two…lowly Viragons, right? And a Symbiotic Fairy. On an isolated frontier world. Too much effort, right?”

“I tried that earlier, remember?!” Ishtar strode over and whirled Crystal around to face her. “Deluding yourself isn’t going to work! You’re one of, if not the highest ranking Protector on Oya, remember? And me? Secretly Princess of the Anansi Kingdom! Any of our enemies would want a piece of us…we’re living symbols of Oya’s prosperity… pieces of Oya’s heart and soul! One of us go, and it’s a major blow to Viragon morale!”

“She’s not going to send anything.” Crystal waved her off, biting on her thumb anxiously as she paced around.

“But, you know what’s the real gist of the tale is?” Ishtar kept in step with her, her apprehensive gaze unwavering. “The Nameless and her Silver Horde…they don’t care about our ranks. They want us. They want Viragons…any Viragon. Just like in the damn legends. They want to punish us, to make us suffer…for something we had nothing to do with! Do you know what this means? The legends and folklore…they weren’t just stories for entertainment-”

“They were instruction manuals. Warnings.” Crystal finished, her lower lip trembling as she halted in her tracks. “History. So. You’ve just added a countdown to our mission.”

“I’m hoping to add some confidence to you.” Ishtar placed her hands on Crystal’s shoulders. “There are cracks in my boulder, and I don’t need it crumbling to pieces.”

“That’s what I love about you.” Crystal sighed softly, staring longingly into her partner’s eyes. “I don’t have to wear the ‘Oya’s Greatest Warrior’ face. You’ve never came to me with your hands outstretched for anything.”

“My silver spoon has never left me.” Ishtar shrugged.

“Meaning?” Crystal cocked her head to the side, a bewildered look on her face.

“Meaning I’ve worn silk slippers since I was an infant, slept in the softest beds, and have had former bodyguards of the Queenmega herself as my babysitters. Even on our evolved planet, I am…was one of the social elite-”

“There’s a point in there?” Neith asked.

“What I mean to say, little one…” the masked Viragon threw her a dangerous glare. “Is that I’m no typical Viragon. Until I left those polish floors, the nightly feasts, and the limitless credits, I was ignorant of the average life…the life of wanting…of need. Those words did not enter my vocabulary until my twenty-fourth Oya cycle.”

“So you’re saying that credits can buy everything?” Neith’s tiny face fixed on Ishtar’s with a blank stare.

“She’s saying that being rich, she’s not all awestruck like the rest by me being ‘Oya’s Greatest Warrior’.” Crystal interjected, her attention intensely focused on her left emerald wrist bracelet. A holographic, three-dimensional map of the wooded area slowly materialized before her glistening eyes. Scarcely seconds later, a road appeared on the map, with an audible bleep announcing a representation of a long Earth vehicle traveling down it.

“Thank the Goddess…” the Silver-Haired Warrior wiped her eyes with her right arm and barely hid a smile. “I knew it.”

“Cry…” Ishtar trailed off, exchanging confused glances with the Symbiotic Fairy.

“We have sisters here.” Crystal could contain her excitement no longer. “Don’t you see? I just sent out a Savior Pulse with my bracelet, and someone responded! Someone very close!”

“No. No.” Ishtar shook her head. “How can there be Viragons on this planet, Cry?! So far away from the Empire-”

“Did you bump your head in the crash, Princess?” Crystal snapped. “They’re obviously Seedlings! It’s not like the Empire retrieved all of their agents back in the Expansion Era!”

The thought of encountering Seedlings, fanatical throwbacks to the time when the “Space Amazons” desired to conquer all of space, made the masked Viragon even more nervous. “Wouldn’t this warrior be nearly one hundred and fifty Oya cycles?” she asked anxiously. “How can one whose age rivals that of a Grandmother help us in this endeavor?”

“I don’t have all the answers, love.” Crystal admitted in a frustrated tone. “But we can’t squander options. Oya is being besieged by the Silver Horde. We have little time to waste in gathering allies and returning to free our sisters.”

“Besides, maybe the Seedling has an offspring-” Neith interjected before Ishtar whirled around and cut her off with a harsh stare.

“Inconceivable!” the masked Viragon snarled shrilly, her eyes blazing fire. “If she was true Viragon, she cannot reproduce without approval from the Matriarchs! And how can something be born from a union of Viragon and Earther…what a horrible, nightmarish creature that would be!”

So frightened was the little fairy at her companion’s reaction that she flew behind Crystal and hid trembling in her silvery locks. The multi-colored glow from her tiny trembling body caused a rainbow halo to radiate from her larger friend’s head.

“Be that as it may…” Crystal turned and began to walk deeper into the forest. “I welcome the help of monsters right now…human, half-breed, or otherwise.”

“Cry…” Ishtar’s gaze lingered for seconds on her lover’s retreating form before she followed. “Hold on. Where are we going?”

“Following the signal.” Crystal called over her shoulder. “If the Seedling followed her duties, she would have infiltrated some high position in the Earth Council-”

“You mean one of the Earth governments.” Ishtar corrected her.

Crystal nodded, pressing her lips tightly together in a line. “There will be a lot of lying involved.”

“How?” Neith flew out of Crystal’s hair and hovered around her left ear.

“We will have to convince her to reveal herself to her Earth compatriots, without revealing to her that…that the Empire had moved on, and had forgotten about her. That her mission, possibly the reason for her whole existence…was for nothing. Then…we have to convince the Earth to help us somehow…without them knowing that we were originally going to invade it.”

The extraterrestrial trio was silent as they continued to trudge through the shadow-drenched forest, each mentally lamenting the present uncertainty of their situation. None wanted to admit the seemingly pointlessness of their actions. Even if they managed the insurmountable odds of winning Earth to their side in the conflict, and even free Oya from the clutches of the Nameless, would they be accepted as Viragons once again? Would they even see their friends and family one more time?

Crystal Century mentally wrestled these thoughts into submission, and regained the single-mindedness that had served her well as Oya’s supreme Protector. Even without the support of the Queenmega and the Grandmother Council, this was a mission…a mission to regain her home from living nightmares.

Of course, the single-mindedness was a double-edged sword. She cursed herself for not realizing sooner.

From her academic studies, she had some working knowledge on Earth, including the strange animals that lived in the various “wilds” across the planet.

The forest was too quiet.

She came to a stop and glanced about frantically, her enhanced Viragon senses searching for anything out of the ordinary.

“Cry?” Ishtar whispered, whirling around back-to-back with her lover and mirroring her, inspecting where they had came from.

The Silver-Haired Warrior suddenly twirled around and shoved Ishtar, causing the emerald-tressed Viragon to fall to the ground. As the masked female landed in the dirt, her head snapped towards Crystal, her eyes wide in astonishment, her lips parting in the throes of protest. But her angry words stuck fast in her throat.

Crystal stood over her, her body limp, her arms dangling loosely at her sides, and her turquoise eyes glazed over. Her silvery head bobbed lifelessly from side to side, her brown face twitching uncontrollably. Ishtar’s eyes glistened with tears as they locked on to the reason for her lover’s bizarre state. It projected from her chest, a glowing, four-foot long laser blade colored dark blue.

Blue. Blue was the color of the Neuro-Lancer…the weapon of the Silver Horde.

Time and space seemingly froze as the jade-haired fighter leaped to her feet with blinding speed, dual kunai knives drawn from her purple utility belt. Her body reacted on instinct, the knives in both of her closed fists glistening in the weak moonlight as she lurched forward towards Crystal. The glowing blue blade was suddenly pulled from between Crystal’s cleavage, causing her flaccid, lifeless body to pitch forward. As Ishtar quickly returned the knives to her belt, in order to free her hands to catch her partner, she heard Neith’s tiny voice reach her ear.

“Watch out!” the tiny woman screamed.

The Masked Princess only had mere seconds to look over her shoulder, before an invisible wall of force slammed into her, taking her off of her feet. She smashed into a tree, steadfast and unyielding, and slumped droopily to its base, her body surging with agony.

Crystal’s own body thundered with pain as it hit the ground, unmoving. She tried to scream, but her lips would not quiver, her vocal cords would not vibrate. Her mind desperately sent commands to her various body parts, but nothing would obey. She was completely paralyzed, imprisoned within her own body. Still, somehow, when she landed, her head managed to face the direction where Ishtar had been thrown.

That was when her eyes met their worst nightmare once again.

It had a transparent silvery skeletal form, at least as far as its arms and legs were concerned. Its body was undeniably female and nude, with a glowing blue node on each metal breast. Shimmering wires of blue raced about its translucent form, mimicking the blood vessels of a living being. A hairless, fleshless skull head, affixed with a permanent grin of malevolence, projected blinding ruby spotlights from empty eye sockets. In its cold metal hands, a Neuro-Lancer, its’ ends blades of sapphire energy, was twirled expertly as the monster of myth stalked the unsteady Ishtar.

They are mockeries of us, child. Her mother’s voice abruptly returned to her thoughts, relating the horrifying legend of the Horde. They were created by Nameless to be Viragon warriors like us…but better. She…that creature…wanted to prove to the Goddess herself that she could build a better Viragon…

“Gbbbbb…” her throat creaked. Thirty seconds had past, and she could at least make sounds now. It would be a few more minutes before her whole body returned under her control.


TO BE CONTINUED!

Dusty Video Box Presents: Wedding Blitz

Wedding Blitz:
Part One
By Melvin .L. Hadley

Before the delicate softness of the prized ivory cloth touched her caramel skin, Mariah Grey was ensnared in a thick web of apprehension. Everything was running together. Something old, borrowed, new and blue went on the ring finger. She would kiss the preacher after being pronounced husband and wife. She would toss the bouquet to her husband afterward, and drive their wedding limo over the threshold of their hotel room.

“Girl, don’t put the veil on yet!” the voice of her best friend and matron of honor, Io, hissed. No doubt the statement was aimed at Janet, another friend and bridesmaid, assisting her into the dress. Mariah had closed her eyes, partially to calm her nerves, and partially because she wanted her reflection in the full-length mirror to be a surprise. She had relinquished full-control of her bridal image to her friends.

“Did you know that the word ‘honeymoon’ came from the idea that sweetness of marriage, like the full moon, fades?”

Mariah suppressed a chuckle. The voice belonged to Christina, Io’s cousin and the third bridesmaid. She was lazily reclining on one of the wooden tables, reading a book about bizarre marriage facts. The quartet was stationed in the small Fellowship Hall of their town’s main church, temporarily converted into a bridal chamber. The tables, usually reserved to serve meals to church members, had all been pushed in various directions to clear room for the mirror, a raised wooden platform to stand on, and make-up cases.

“Aw shut up, Chris.” Io growled. “You just hatin’ on her ‘cause you ain’t got a man crazy enough to marry you.”

Mariah parted her lips to reply, but hesitated. Christina certainly did not deserve such a sour response, as it was she who had put her up to the task in the first place. The subtle irritation was revenge on Io for the dastardly prank she had pulled at the bachelorette party. In truth, it was feeble compared to Io’s extensive trick, but a little satisfaction was better than none at all. The icing on the cake, of course, was that Io thought her cousin was simply pestering Mariah.

“Really?” the table creaked as Christina sat up, baiting her cousin. “Well, here’s another one for you, tailor-made: just two years after marriage, twenty percent of couples have sex fewer than what? Ten times a year!”

“There’s a big difference ‘tween ‘makin’ love’ and having sex, darlin’.” Mariah sensed Io stomping towards Christina behind her. “See, that’s what being a one-man woman gets you, but ya wouldn’t know nothin’ ‘bout that.”

“Can there be peace in the Middle East for just one damn day?!” Janet bellowed, ever the averter of conflict. “I mean, good lord! You’re ruining the mood for our lady in white here! Isn’t that right, Mariah?”

Mariah stammered, reluctant to reveal her co-conspirator status. “Well, I-”

“Look at her, the girl’s already a nervous wreck…she can’t even get her words out right!” Janet continued in a concerned tone, gently rubbing Mariah’s bare back.

Silence blanketed the Fellowship Hall for a long stretch of minutes before Io’s high heels clicked against the marble-like floor, returning to Mariah’s side. The bride could easily visualize the venomous glare the matron was shooting at her cousin as she returned, as Io was never one to lose a war of words. She hoped that Christina had taken the hint to salvage the prank for another time.

She felt Io’s hands quickly perform a last minute adjustment on her hair before gushing excitedly, “Okay, open your eyes!”

Mariah obeyed slowly, and her heart literally skipped a beat. She had to remember to keep breathing.

The bespectacled woman staring back at her was a goddess… the epitome of beauty, gracefulness, and exquisiteness. Suddenly, she was ten years old again, watching her favorite magical girl heroine descend the stairs of her galactic palace and stride into a multi-colored reality in regal form. Her dark brown ringletted hair had been shaped in an elegant bun atop her head, adorned by a shimmering crystal tiara. From the tiara flowed the white veil, mistlike and ethereal, drifting across her bare shoulders and to the back of her ankles. A stunning white sleeveless wedding gown conformed perfectly to her small frame, wrapping her in otherworldly splendor. The blinding gleam of her diamond rose earrings could only be rivaled by the rhinestone bracelet on her right wrist and matching high heeled sandals on her feet.

For this one magical day, she had become the very being that had dominated her childhood daydreams. She was the Queen of the Universe.

But, there was only one thing that would send her realized dream image off-kilter. Her hands lingered over it for mere seconds around her neck, as she decided whether to keep it on or remove it. It was a chocker…a glossy red choker, the color of shimmering ruby, with a shining gold medallion in the center. Etched on the medallion was a butterfly, frozen in mid-flight.

It was a gift from her father.

It was clashing noticeably with her wedding gown.

Her eyes somberly returned to the mirror, to the gown. Her gaze then went to Io, and afterward to Janet and Christina, all in matching sky-blue bridesmaid dresses. This perfect memorable scene, soon to be immortalized in her memories, became blurry. She could not resist the urge to cry. However, she quickly realized that it was not because of the ecstasy of the moment, but a disorienting sadness rising from the depths of her heart.

“Demitria.” She said quietly, her eyes blinking back tears from behind her glasses. “Demitria...she should’ve been here.”

“He’s laughing up there in heaven, Lil’Bit.” Io replied soothingly, hugging her with one arm while gazing into the mirror. “You probably got him and your Mama looking down at ya and saying ‘damn, she is fine!!’.”

This earned a hearty group laugh from the foursome, replenishing joy to the occasion.

“This is going on Youtube!” Janet’s grin stretched across her thin light-brown face as she aimed her cellphone at Mariah. “Get out the way, Yo! Mariah, do something! Dance around or something!”

Mariah twirled around playfully while inspecting herself at various points in the mirror and grinning with childlike exuberance.

“Girl, you put everything on Youtube!” Christina laughed, brandishing a cheap camera from her own purse and quickly snapping a flurry of pictures.

As the bride posed excitedly for the cameras, her eyes fell on Io. The matron of honor was brushing the bangs of her bob-cut from rapidly blinking eyes with one hand, while covering her mouth with the other.

“Yo…” Mariah said softly, brushing the back of her finger against her best friend’s cheek. “I’m supposed to be the one crying…”

“You treat that man right, hear?” Io sniffed, choking back tears. “Y’all…y’all been through too much to just throw this away. Too much. Don’t make this a joke, hear?”

“Yo…” Mariah bowed low, wrapping her arms around her and drew her close in a tight embrace. “You’d be there to tan my hide if I act up. I got nothing to worry about.”

“This bet not end up on Youtube…” Io’s watery eyes stared daggers at Janet over Mariah’s bare shoulder.

“Of course, your reputation as a ghetto brawler is paramount.” Janet snickered, replacing her phone in her purse.

“Here’s somethin’ else to think about.” Christina chimed in. “It costs more to divorce than marry.”

“Ooooo, now I really have a reason to stay with him!” Mariah giggled vigorously. “Is that in that book?”

Christina shook her head solemnly, holding the closed yellow book up as proof. “I thought everybody knew that.”

“Just one more thing you gotta do.” Io slowly withdrew her arms from around Mariah’s neck and wiped her eyes with a finger. “Now that the easy part is over… now comes the hard part.”

She turned to one of the tables near her and picked up a small blue and white box about the size of her palm. Behind her glasses, Mariah’s dark brown eyes widen in stark fear. The moment she had dreaded the most was finally here. She fumbled with her fingers nervously, interlocking them over and over again. Suddenly, she felt another hand settle over hers. Janet was staring up into her eyes, her own look of compassion projecting a calming effect.

“You can do it, Lil Bit.” She whispered. “You’ll get used to them in no time.”

Mariah swallowed audibly. Io held the box of eye contacts in both hands, presenting them to her like a sacrificial offering.

It was the last obstacle for her to overcome as the perfect bride.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


The bride’s Wilhelm scream could be clearly heard in the pastor’s cluttered study on the opposite side of the church. The groom, Elijah Robinson, had to pin the arms of his best man, Flynn Jefferson, in full-nelson to prevent him from mounting a rescue.

“C’mon man, stop playin’!” Flynn growled, struggling in Elijah’s wrestling hold. “She could be in some trouble or somethin’! You know your folks’ into that bridal kidnapping stuff!”

“Calm down, dude!” Elijah barked in an annoyed tone. “You’re wrinkling my tux!”

“Some husband you are.” Flynn sniffed as Elijah released him from the hold. “Wife-to-be already screaming for her life, and you just all ‘it’s cool, dude’. Ain’t ya going to check on her?”

“Hey, I don’t appreciate what you implying about my family, man.” Elijah returned to the large rectangular mirror that hung behind the pastor’s oak desk, straightening his black bow tie.

“Your aunt practices voodoo, dude!” Flynn stated the fact in a grim tone. “And your mama’s all into those Ms. Cleo-cards-”

“It’s called embracing culture…of some kind, in their case.” Elijah set a foot on the pastor’s throne-like desk chair, wiping down his shiny black patent leather shoe with a worn rag. “But you’d know that if you went beyond the block once in a-”

There was another horrifying shriek from Mariah, but it was silenced midstream. Flynn recoiled as if he had been struck, while Elijah nonchalantly finished wiping his other shoe.

“That was the other one.” He said with a smirk.

“The other what, college boy?” Flynn asked timidly.

“Eye contact. ‘Riah doesn’t like things around her eyes.” Elijah answered, returning his attention to the mirror while running a brush through his tiny afro.

“Since when?”

“Since forever.” Elijah chuckled slightly. “There was like this time, when she woke up with this giant eye booger…nasty thing. I told her about it, but she was too scare to touch it, ‘cause it was close to her eye. When I tried to help her out with it, she nearly broke my arm. You should see her at the optometrist…”

“She’s that bad?”

“Ever heard of this movie called ‘Zombie’?” Elijah straightened the coat of his tuxedo and modeled in the mirror. “It’s one of those old scary films. There’s this scene in the movie, where this white girl’s captured by one of the zombies, and has her eye impaled. It’s on Youtube, if you want to see it…I’m sure somebody uploaded it.”

“I don’t know ‘bout that…” Flynn cringed.

“A big football star like you, scared of little stuff like that?” Elijah teased.

“I’m just not into scary flicks, man.” Flynn snarled, desperately trying to regain his manliness. “Anyway, what that got to do with Lil ‘Bit?”

“Mariah saw that…dude, she freaked out.” Elijah told him, a note of regret trickling into his voice. “She couldn’t sleep for nearly a week, and she went and bought these thick goggles, to protect her in case her eyeballs accidently would get impaled. She went crazy…”

His voice trailed off as his fingers lingered on the surface of the pastor’s desk. Sensing a change in mood, Flynn walked over and placed a comforting arm around the bridegroom.

“You alright, college boy?” he said, concerned etched on his face.

“Just having a moment of clarity…” Elijah said distantly. “Wait a minute…I think that’s the wrong word or context…”

“Ain’t that for alcoholics?”

Elijah nodded, stepping back with his arms outstretched at his sides, presenting himself. “How do I look?”

Flynn smirked, thoughtfully rubbing his thumb and forefinger across his small beard. “Like you about to marry Halle Berry and Oprah at the same time.”

“I am.” Elijah grinned, placing his hands on Flynn’s broad shoulders. “She’s like a Suicide, man…y’know, when you were a kid, and you’d get a fountain drink with all the different flavors mixed together? That’s her. All the things I love about a woman, in one package.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Flynn pressed his lips tightly together and rolled his eyes, failing to hide his irritation.

“Thank you for being my best man, Flynn.” Elijah said solemnly, starring him straight in the eye while squeezing his shoulders for emphasis. “You could’ve turned me down…me and you, we were like the heads of the Capulets and the Montagues, fighting over her-“

“And the best man won.” Flynn interrupted. “I’m not goin’ to lie…I did this for her. But…I know she’s in good hands. After all, you left college for her…”

Just as Elijah was about to respond, a knock thundered on the study door. Elijah’s hands drifted slowly down to his sides as Flynn turned to open it. A large purple hat, decorated with a plethora of flowers, seemed to envelop half of the doorway as a tall female body, clad in a purple skirt suit and matching pumps, entered into the crowded study. The hat-headed being was followed by a middle-aged, slightly rotund, African-American gentleman in a blue and white pinstriped suit and a white bowler hat.

“Everyone’s almost ready, Eli!” a wizened, Southern female voice drawled from beneath the great hat. “Look at you…so handsome!”

“Boy, you got tested like I told you? Sure that child’s yours?” the man guffawed, slapping Elijah good-naturedly on the back. “I’m just messin’ with ya, stepson!”

“Mama…SD…” Elijah smiled weakly. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Look like these two were makin’ out!” the older man laughed heartily, wrapping his arm around Flynn’s neck and rubbing his bald head playfully. “Don’t Malachi know about you tw-”

“Mariah, Trevon.” Elijah’s mother removed her giant hat, revealing her gracefully-aged features. “Get her name right, you have to dance at the reception with her.”

“I’m not gay, Mr. Harris.” Flynn muttered through clenched teeth. “I’m looking for a girl right now, but I’m not gay.”

“I was just foolin’ with ya, boy.” Trevon slapped Flynn on the back. “Good natured ribbin’, that’s all-”

“So, how do you like the new Harpercrest?” Elijah asked the newcomers, hoping to diffuse Flynn’s rising temper.

“The amusement park construction, the coming attractions…they’re all nice.” His mother replied. “But the fact that I can walk around here…in broad daylight…without being mugged or molested …that’s the best thing. To enjoy sweet country air, to see walls with no graffiti…I take comfort in knowing that my son is in a safe place now.”

“Hey, whatever happened to that girl?” Trevon interjected, a serious expression on his face for the first time. “What’s her name…the one that chased off the gangbangers?”

“Gossamer, SD.” Elijah answered with an air of wonder. “Her name was Gossamer.”

“How do ya spell that?” Trevon asked curiously.

“Don’t worry about it, knucklehead.” Elijah’s mother patted her husband’s face as if he was a child that did not know any better. “It’s on the building Elijah owns now…the ‘Gossamer Museum’, right?”

Elijah nodded proudly. “We would’ve held the reception there, but the mayor suggested we use the new Ballroom Center instead.”

“As long as that child gets something.” His mother said gravely. “Yeah, you built the museum…but you’d think the mayor would’ve given her a medal or something, for standing up to those criminals…like that miserable Soddom fella …”

She shivered visually, while a look of horror flashed across Trevon’s round face for mere seconds.

Both Elijah and Flynn chuckled weakly, exchanging guilty glances. “I’m sure wherever she retired to, the chick got a huge reward.” Flynn quickly suggested.

“What you know about ‘chicks’, boy?!” Trevon said seriously, before cackling shrilly and adding, “I’m just playin’ with ya, boy!”

“God bless you, baby.” Elijah’s mother leaned over and kissed her son on the cheek. “And Flynn? Keep him in line while you’re up there. I want him making his vows, not making out.”

“I will, Mrs. Robin- I mean, Mrs. Harris.” Flynn smiled, elbowing Elijah teasingly in the ribs.

“I’m gonna steal your woman tonight, stepson!” Trevon teased as he practiced a few line-dance steps, shuffling behind his wife out the door. “You youngblood don’t know nothin’ about charmin’ a woman…don’t know nothin’ about sweepin’ her off her feet!”

As the door slammed shut behind them, best man and groom exchanged baffled glances in silence.

“Suffocation.” Flynn said at last. “I’m goin’ to suffocate that man in his sleep if he calls me ‘gay’ one more time.”

“Stepdad was just ‘foolin with ya’.” Elijah chuckled, imitating Trevon’s gruff voice as he leaned on the pastor’s desk. Closing his eyes, he inhaled and exhaled rapidly several times while slowly waving his hands up and down before his chest, mentally centering himself. Then, he opened them and looked directly at Flynn once again.

“I’m ready to join hands and hearts with her.” He said in a resolute tone.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


“Girl, calm down-!”

“-Smudging her makeup, damn! Gotta put it on again!”

“-Don’t get the dress dirty! White can pick up anythi-”

Mariah’s brain was incapable of processing full sentences at the moment. She was in full panic mode, and it was taking all of Christina and Io’s strength just to hold her down on one of the wooden tables. Each cousin held a struggling arm, while Io’s other hand was clamped down on Mariah’s lips to stifle her scream. Janet had quickly mounted the bride, and with surgical precision, had removed her glasses and placed a contact in her left eye. The right eye, however, was proving to be more elusive.

“Open your eye, girl!” Io’s bark rivaled that of any drill sergeant.

“Almost got it opened…” Janet licked her bottom lip. “C’mon, Lil Bit…its okay…it won’t hurt…”

“You want to get married, don’t you?” Christina said compassionately, rubbing Mariah’s left arm.

Mariah’s rhinestone sandals flashed as she kicked furiously in space. She could not help the intense fear that gripped her. Her ultimate nightmare had been brought screaming to life. To poke and prod her very eyeballs…the very thought of such a thing usually sent an arctic chill creeping down her spine.

“Got it!” Janet declared triumphantly with a mild victory whoop.

“God…!” Io sighed as she and Christina released Mariah and backed away a few steps. It took a minute for the bride to regain her bearings, and sit up. It took another to realize that she was seeing clearly, without the ubiquitous frames around her eyes.

“Mariah!” Io snarled with a thunderous clap of her hands. “We practiced this last weekend! What the hell-”

“I was drunk then.” Mariah shrugged weakly, re-positioning her tiara on her hairbun. “Easier, I guess-”

“-Got those people out there thinkin’ we tormentin’ you or somethin’…” Io continued her rant, pacing back and forward nervously. “What’s wrong with you-”

“-like nails on a chalkboard to me.” Mariah shamefully inspected her hands with her new eyesight. “I just don’t like things on my eyeball…I don’t like to even think about that…poking…sticking…slicing…”

“What’s the deal with that, anyway?” Christina piped up. “I thought Eli always thought you were cute with your glasses?”

“It’s a symbolism thing, right Lil’ Bit?” Janet interjected. “She’s comin’ out of her shell, so to speak…she’s ‘naked’ now, without her glasses…”

“Naked?” Christina cocked an eyebrow, visually puzzled.

“Not like literally, genius.” Janet chuckled, holding up Mariah’s eyeglasses. “But like a turtle without a shell…these are a shell to her, see?”

Io grabbed one of the many folding chairs spread about the Fellowship Hall, and placed it on the raised platform in front of the full-length mirror. Turning to face the other three with her arms crossed, she said in a reconciled tone, “Come on. Let’s finish the mission, wife-to-be.”

Mariah could not help but grin at the statement. Helped along by the other two bridesmaids, she walked carefully to the chair, gathered her gown underneath her, and sat down. Immediately, her three friends went to work, reapplying lipstick and other make-up essentials smudged in her earlier struggle. The session only lasted mere minutes. But, as it was about to draw to a close, Janet leaned over before Mariah, dangling a shimmering something before her eyes.

“I thought you’re going to wear this…” she said matter-of-factly.

It was a golden necklace, with a small golden infinity sign pendent. It was a gift from Elijah, on their third date, when they formally establish a romantic relationship. She treasured it, even more than the engagement ring, and wanted to wear it to complete her dream wedding ensemble.

But it had competition.

Her left hand instinctively reached to caress the blood red chocker around her slender neck, ever-present since her last days at Harpercrest High School. Its history was not as rosy as the Infinity Pendent of her lover. In fact, she found herself retracting an earlier thought…it was not so much a gift from her father. He had given it to her days after Demitria’s funeral. Back then, she was lying around the house, teeming with depression and cynicism, and alternating between watching old home videos of her deceased friend and subtitled magical girl anime. The world had become black without the white…bleakness spawned from helplessness. Their originally tight-knitted community had become infected by the societal virus known as crime.

The Disciples, gangbangers…long the scourge of the urban landscape…had descended on Harpercrest as human locusts.

The limited staffing of the local Sheriff Department were no match for the well-armed thugs, and thanks to gaining the support of the corrupt County Commissioner, they had the protection of the law as well. Almost overnight, the secluded country town was transformed into a drug trafficking and distribution center. Like a long, thick dark cloud with no end, fear dominated the townspeople’s lives. Children could not play on the playgrounds, because they had become littered with the gyrating bodies of strung-out junkies, benefiting from successful drug product. The Disciple soldiers enforced curfews, their show of might being the glistening muzzles of their guns. The families that tried to escape the madness would be forced to return under threats of torture and violence.

It only worsened when the civil wars erupted.

When her dad had sat down beside her on her bed that day, she was watching Pretty Sammy. She was trying to lose herself in the colorful world presented, a fantasy world…a world where her best friend was still alive, and the monsters were far from human…they were robotic, alien, demonic. She was only half paying attention, however…she was too busy sobbing quietly to really care.

His coarse hand, the hand of a craftsman, touched her leg gently. After she did not immediately respond, he touched it again.

She had lethargically looked over to him. His usually joyous wide eyes were now lifeless, drained from grieving and the lack of rest; he had been up the many nights that Mariah had cried herself to sleep. In his right hand, he held a shiny red choker, with the golden medallion decorated with an etched butterfly in midflight.

“You were right, baby.” He cautiously held out the choker for her to take.

“Daddy?” she had whispered, confused as she inspected the fashion accessory in his hand.

“I got a plan, Mariah.” Her father had nodded towards the television. “A plan to lift this horror from our town. From our lives. And it is all thanks to you.”

It had taken the young woman only a few seconds to realize what he meant. No. He could not have been serious. It had been a childish suggestion, rising from the despair and desire for retribution for Demitria’s death. She could not believe what he was indicating was even remotely realistic. But yet, time and again over the course of her young life, she had come to believe that her father specialized in the impossible.

Io’s calling of her name snapped the bride out of her mental sojourn. Elijah’s cherished gift still dangled before her eyes, and now all three bridesmaids awaited her decision. Mariah’s golden brown eyes, sans glasses, stared at her mirror doppelganger, looking from the necklace to the choker and back again. After a minute of deliberation, she slowly reached to undo the choker around her neck.

“Your kingdom…is not secure, Princess…” a soft whisper tickled the inside of her left ear.

She froze, her fingers mere centimeters from the neck accessory. Her heart thundered in her chest as bile taunted the back of her throat. No. The cold, monotonous, mechanical resonance of the whisper had to be mistakable. He could not be here.

“Lil Bit…you okay?” Io leaned closer to Mariah’s worried face, her own expression mirroring the bride’s.

Just as the bride was about to respond, she felt something repulsively familiar glide tauntingly across the exposed area above her bosom. It was ice cold metal, traveling downward from the bottom of her neck to the top of her wedding gown. With tears of anger and fear racing out the corner of her eyes, the young woman’s eyes slowly locked on her reflection. It shocked her that she was not surprised by what she discovered next. It was a silvery skeletal metal hand, with dagger-like claws, held over her bosom. The hand was attached to a dark blue robed arm, a piece of midnight in human form.

Io’s lingering look of compassion warped into sheer terror as she learned of the newcomer as well. Before either woman could react, a thunderous crack of a whip deafened their senses. In the literal blink of Mariah’s watering eyes, a shimmering black coil snapped around Io’s neck and snatched her out of view. Mariah stood frozen, her body refusing to move. She listened tearfully as her matron of honor’s string of curses was mercilessly silenced by a horrendous splintering of a table.

With much mental effort, her glossy lips tensed and pulsed as she struggled to part them. Her vocal cords stretched, desperately trying to shake free paralyzing dread. But when her voice escaped, it was only as an insufficient whisper. “Gods bleed ichor.”

“Oh my God!” she heard Christina exclaim from behind. Suddenly, eight black coils, similar to the one that had snatched Io away, filled Mariah’s immediate field of vision, their tips slapping the mirror. Then, in a noise that resembled a roar, they all vanished behind the sitting bride with blinding speed, causing her gown to flutter. There were sounds of a violent struggle, as if someone was swinging something in the air, before a sickening crack of flesh-meet-metal filled the Hall. This was followed by something heavy being tossed in the air, and ending in a ghastly symphony of metal folding chairs falling down on one another.

Janet’s breathless exclamation of “I’ll kill you!” heralded the sounds of a handgun being fired twice. One bullet disappeared in the ceiling directly above Mariah, resulting in a small cloud of plaster falling in her lap. The other streaked past the bride’s right ear in a flash of sizzling heat and slammed through the mirror. Astonishingly, instead of shattering it, the bullet caused a series of large cracks to rip across the reflective surface.

“Gods bleed ichor!” Mariah sobbed louder, hugging herself and trembling. She wanted to save her friends terribly, but knew that she was too slow to do so.

The terrible crack of the coils echoed once again in the Fellowship Hall, this time followed by the sounds of choking. Mariah’s hands dropped to her lap, balling into little fists. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly as she bowed her head, fighting to center herself and regain courage.

“Gods bleed ichor!!” she finally screamed as she quickly rose out of her seat in a fury, her fists trembling at her sides.

The sounds of choking stopped, and something was thrown through the air, slamming into the far wall with a thunderous thud. She heard only two footsteps, and for the skill of her adversary, that was never purposeful; he was not called the Silent Sovereign for nothing. The ice cold metal of his horrible clawed hand caressed her neck and the chocker adorning it. His index finger traced the indented butterfly design as his harsh raspy breathing spawned chills throughout her smaller physique.

“I thought I should come along to witness this occasion.” His droning monotone, resembling that of a child’s Speak-and-Spell computer, taunted. “Apparently, denizens of the underworld don’t receive wedding invitations.”

“Gods bleed ichor.” Mariah said in a shaking voice, starring at the broken mirror. She could only see a mass of midnight blue tattered robes, shifting about as if a living organism, adding to the mystique of her great antagonist.

“That doesn’t work anymore.” he said with a nasty cackle. “But don’t worry; I’m not here to disrupt proceedings. I’m only here to make them much more memorable…”

The bride’s tearful eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

There was another wicked chortle. “You know the deal. This is the last episode. The final battle. The last conflict between the ultimate representations of order and chaos…of good and evil…of balance and unbalance. The culmination of your eternal struggle. The climax of act three.”

Mariah turned cautiously, not because of her opponent, but she feared the effect of the chaos revealed would have on her mental state. As her eyes fell on the disheveled Fellowship Hall behind her, she stifled a gasp. Her bridesmaids lay strewn about the overturned wooden tables and folding chairs like discarded trash, unconscious. Io had been thrown through a table like a pro wrestler, and laid on her stomach with her arms splayed above her head. Christina slumbered on her back a few feet from her in a pile of folding chairs, a small pool of blood forming around her upturned head. Janet lay the furthest distance than the others, having been thrown the full-length of the Hall. Her limp body was covered in wood and plaster, her jagged outline seemingly stamped into the wall.

The bride could not help to bare her teeth in trembling fury, a lioness in human form. Her towering adversary stood motionlessly in front of her like a ghost, remorseless of what he had done. A large white motorcyclist-styled helmet, adorned with long, elaborate bull-like horns, enclosed his head completely and hid his facial features. A blue circle was the visor; a black line, pointing up, originated from a dot in the center of the circle, symbolizing a clock at twelve o’clock. The rest of his massive body consisted of ragged dark blue robes that fully concealed the malevolent person within, with a white circle in the center of his chest that mirrored the insignia of his visor.

Mariah faced Harpercrest’s greatest nightmare made flesh and bone.

She stood before Soddom, the Boogey Man of Haywood County.



XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



The multi-colored mass of wedding guests, showcasing their Sunday best, streamed through the rickety swinging doors of the sanctuary to the rendition of “I Will Survive” on the organ. They were assisted to their seats by various male members of the Robinsons…uncles, nephews, cousins, and one black sheep who had decided to leave his female persona at home out of respect of the occasion. The family easily overflowed the groom’s side of the church, warranting a little block of pews set aside on the bride’s side. This was not much of a problem, as Mariah’s family was considerably small, consisting of only her mother’s mother and grandfather, aunt, uncle, and their three children. Her father had no relatives.

Still, the bride’s side managed to become full as well. Many of Harpercrest’s unrelated residents proudly took their seats there, demonstrating eternal gratitude for their shared open secret. They all knew that the young woman wore glasses of a different sort, becoming the sought after champion who rescued them from criminal tyranny. Of course, Elijah’s relatives were ignorant of this fact, and assumed that wedding invitations were distributed to the whole town per some country tradition.

Through this controlled chaos waded Harpercrest’s new mayor’s aide, Roxxy B. Dressed in a white halter-top, tight blue jeans, and sneakers despite the well-dressed proceedings, she searched through the noisy sea of dresses, hats, and suits for her employer. She found the short black man, dressed in his ever-present blue business suit and red tie, exiting the restroom.

“You know you’re wrong, right?” she shouted over the cacophony of voices in the hallway.

“They had the audacity to charge me! Me!” William S. Dutton, the first-ever elected mayor of Harpercrest, snarled with a tug of his suit coat’s lapels. “They thought they were slick, trying to sneak in here and then sneak in a charge!”

“Sir, they were invited!” Roxxy sighed, running her fingers through her dyed blond hair in mild exasperation. “With all due respect…its’ their wedding-”

“Who invites male strippers to their wedding, darling? That’s a tradition I never heard of!” Mayor Dutton sniffed, walking towards the sanctuary. The organist had switched to “Freakout”, with the audience joining in with lyrics. The initial herd of guests rushing the corridor had slowed to a sparse group of stragglers.

“Regardless of their occupation…” Roxxy trailed off, her tall willowy form staggering after him.

“On top of all the expenses for this thing, and both bachelor parties!” the mayor fumed. “I’m the one personally paying for that room those girls destroyed! I don’t see anybody volunteering to cover that!

“Sir, there should be more than enough in the money the town raised.” The aide noted.

The short man stopped before the double doors of the sanctuary, bowing his head. “Please don’t remind me.” He said in mock-weariness. “If only we could get such a response out of ‘em all the time…”

Roxxy grinned. “In this case, it’s well worth it… for all she’s done. You know it.”

Just then, the swinging door was shoved forward, roughly throttling the mayor against the wall. A small figure, clad in a white dress shirt and black slacks, dashed forward madly down the hallway, only to trip and fall full-length to the floor. A larger, adult-sized figure followed, jumping on top of the other and pinning him to the ground with his right knee.

“Don’t ever run from a quarterback, boy!” the larger figure, revealed to be Flynn Jefferson, boomed proudly. “Now, give me the ring back, punk!”

“I was playing, Uncle Flynn!” the smaller figure, revealed to be the young ring bearer, screeched. “I wasn’t goin’ to do nothin’!”

“I know Mr. Campbell! You can’t pawn these rings, anyway!” Flynn dug into the child’s pocket and pulled out the shimmering diamond wedding rings. “Grandma would’ve torn your butt up!”

“Are you alright, sir?” Roxxy asked, visually concerned, as the mayor stepped from the wall in a daze.

“There’s a special place in Hell for people who mess with weddings, darling.” Mayor Dutton, nursing his forehead, stumbled over to where the boy was pinned and stared down at him. “You’ll get a flaming hot throne right next to the one reserved for Elizabeth Taylor…”

“You got him?” Elijah exploded through the swinging doors and stopped, giving curt nods to Roxxy and the mayor.

“Yeah, got your entrepreneur right here.” Flynn tauntingly grinded his knee deeper into his nephew’s back, causing him to whine in agony.

“Got the rings?” the groom asked nervously.

Flynn nodded, rising up quickly and hoisting his nephew to his feet by his shirt tail. “In my pocket.”

Elijah nodded distantly, and turned towards the double doors. Then, as if an afterthought, he turned back to the mayor.

“Can’t believe I almost forgot.” He said. “I have a favor to ask, Mr. Dutton…on top of all you and the town has done for us…”

The mayor fought to hide his look of annoyance. “Well?”

“Give away Mariah at the altar.” Elijah said solemnly.

Mayor Dutton looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I…I’d be honored, darling! But…what happened? I…I thought…I thought her father…”

Elijah shook his head, a scowl on his face. “We thought…we thought he would…return. But …he disappeared. Left no contact numbers of any kind…”

“What about your dad? Is it alright with-”

“We…me and Mariah…thought it would be better if you did it.” Elijah smiled slightly. “WE would be honored if you did.”

“Well…I don’t know what to say, darling…” the mayor trailed off, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.

“It makes sense really.” Roxxy noted. “The mayor is essentially the father of the town, and for all the bride did for us…she’s like a favored daughter of sorts…”

“I think we need to be takin’ our places.” Flynn interjected. “Before the guy playin’ the piano gets into the Cameo collection…”

“Organ, man.” Elijah corrected as he opened one of the doors. He pointed in the opposite direction of the corridor, towards the double glass entrance doors. “The bridal party’s supposed to line up there.”

Beaming, Mayor Dutton pivoted on his heel towards the entrance doors. After taking a few steps, he turned with a wagging index finger.

“Oh, forgot to mention…tuxedos are for evening weddings.” He said solemnly, before turning and marching towards the church entrance.

“Oh damn…” Elijah looked down at his ensemble, terrified.

“He was just joking!” Roxxy waved him towards the sanctuary doors. “The mayor has a weird sense of humor-”

“No, he’s right.” Flynn chimed in. “I heard that-”

“Get up there!” Roxxy growled, ever the professional, as she shoved both men through the double doors. However, as the ringbearer tried to follow, he found a vise-like grip clamped on his little shoulder.

“Your services are no longer needed, you little sneak.” Roxxy snarled, pushing the squirming boy through the swinging doors. “You’re sitting with me.”



XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


As the bride stood face-to-face with her eternal adversary, she could not help to curse herself for her pessimism. She now realized why she had continued wearing the chocker. Deep down, she distrusted this bright, new world she had finally earned. The happy ending, a staple of most fairy tales, had now manifested in her reality, and she felt that it was much too convenient. Her underprivileged hometown was now being revitalized by the tourist trade. All the criminals had been captured or chased away, and all of Soddom’s metal monstrosities had been destroyed. She was about to marry the love of her life, and was soon planning to return to college next fall.

Essentially, all the checkboxes of her dream list had been filled. And yet, in a twisted way, she felt relief to find something out of place in her now perfect world. It made the rage she felt multi-faceted; while she was angry for Soddom’s horrendous attack, she was also secretly angry at herself for justifying it with doubt.

“I have violently disposed of your vapid friends, destroyed your bridal chamber, and stand to batter you senseless.” Soddom droned. “You have the motivation to challenge me, but yet you stand motionless.” Every time he spoke, the line on his helmet would light up in a multi-colored row, lengthening or shrinking per the duration of oral word.

“You’re dead.” Mariah said quietly, visually struggling to maintain her cool. “We agreed on that.”

“But I’ve been resurrected…by the Gods of Gomorrah, for one last shot.” The Silent Sovereign chuckled. “I have the essence of-”

“You’re lying!!” the bride stamped her foot, exploded in sobbing rage. “There was no such thing, you just made that up-”

Before the young woman could continue, the wraithlike robes of Soddom shifted forward. A horde of shimmering black coils erupted from within, slicing through the air towards her in the space of an eye blink. Before Mariah’s brain could even consider recoiling for protection, the coils retracted into the floating mass of ragged robes. As the bride exhaled a ragged gasp, a tiny piece of her beloved wedding gown silently fluttered to the floor.

As her weeping eyes locked on to the shredded piece of white, the young woman sobbed in horror, trembling helplessly before her assailant.

“If you interrupt me again, I will render your gown to shreds!” the ragged being boomed. “As I was saying…I am now empowered by the essence of my planet’s Gods of Evil! I am fifty times more powerful now, Gossamer…much more powerful than when I destroyed your beloved kingdom of Saint Haven, much more powerful than when we fought above the streets of your beloved town!”

“It’s not fair…” Mariah wailed. “We’ve already had the final battle, you’re already dead, Soddom Manor burned to the ground…”

“I’ve told you, my beautiful adversary, I was resurrected by the Gods of my dark planet! Now…I am here to finally put an end to our game!”

Game.

At that word, the bride’s lips parted then closed just as quickly. She had uttered the “safephrase” they both had agreed on several times in this encounter, and yet, it was having no effect. The monster had become complete, the sum total of its terrible parts. This “god” was refusing to “bleed ichor,” refusing to return to his normal human side.

With frightening realization, Mariah began to realize that the man in the midnight blue robes had become the mask.

“Daddy!!” she screamed tearfully. “Stop this! It’s over! Soddom’s dead! We accomplished what we set out to do!”

The helmeted head of Soddom cocked to the side for a second, as if considering the last statement. Then, with an audible sniff, he chuckled sinisterly. “You really think a game of mental chess will stave off the inevitable?”

“Daddy…why are you doing this?!” Mariah cried exasperatedly. “You hurt my friends! You’re ruining the ceremony!”

“Enough haggling.” Soddom snarled coldly, taking a silent step towards the disturbed bride. “Transform.”

“N-No!” the bride declared, instinctively taking a step back. Her mind mentally retreated, returning to the evening when she had first received the chocker. She had followed her father down to his basement workshop, so that he could elaborate on his massive plan. Waving away the smell of wood and other unknown chemicals from her nostrils, she watched him sit down at his work desk, and unfurl two poster-sized diagrams he had drawn.

“It’s really simple, Princess.” He had said, all seriousness, his voice devoid of his trademark joking. “You’ll be like Pretty Sammy and Sailor V…a magical girl…”

“Daddy, I know you’re good…but-” her voice had projected healthy skepticism.

“I got the technology, baby!” he had become excited. “Strength-enhancing technology that can tap into your nervous system, bullet-proof material built from nanotechnology, and weaponry…I can build that too.”

“The costume’s kind off skimpy…” she had noted, staring nervously at the diagram with her outfit on it.

“That’s the point, honey.” He had said. “Distraction. Those Disciples are hardened gangsters…but they’re horny young men as-”

“What’s this?” she had turned her attention to the second diagram, showcasing a menacing helmeted figure in ragged robes.

He had smiled slightly, before becoming solemn. “This is Soddom…leader of the Synful Syndicate, and your archenemy.”

Her mouth had dropped. Before she could say anything, he had interrupted. “See, the plan is this. The Disciples are at war, and one of the leaders is now dead. One constant in history is that people rally around icons…symbols. A person can become immortalized as an icon under the right circumstances.”

“Right circumstances?” she had repeated.

Her father had nodded. “Like…a vacuum in the leadership structure. But…that’s further along in the plan. First, we have to introduce an escalation factor-”

“Daddy, you’re talking in riddles here…”

“It’s one of those things I picked up on when I was really into Batman comics. Look, you got a man in a bat costume, fighting regular criminals, right? The deal is, Batman has all this power going for him because of mystique; without any powers whatsoever, he gains immortality and godlike abilities…because in costume, he become erased of mundane human characteristics. He becomes an icon. An icon, a symbol… can’t be erased, can’t be destroyed. Don’t believe me? Nazi Swastika. Hitler’s been dead for decades, and yet, the Swastika isn’t going anywhere.”

“But it’s a bastardization of someone else’s symbol.” She had protested.

“Maybe, but it’s now the Nazis’.” Her father had replied. “And I’m getting off point there. Point is…criminals started seeing the power that Batman the symbol, the icon, had gained, and thus tried to emulate it. So, they started wearing costumes. Joker. Scarecrow. Black Mask. Riddler. So you have icons versus icons, all immortalized. That’s what we’re going for, honey…icon versus icon. You will be the symbol that all those murdering sons of bitches have to rally against. And I…I will be the symbol that will unite them under one banner…to fight against you.”

She had become silent, mentally staggering as she let it all sink in. Her father had placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and stared up into her eyes.

“You will be on your own for just a little while, honey.” He had said softly. “But once I gain control of the Disciples…we will control all the factors. We will write the episodes of this ‘series’. It will be our own little game.”

“Game?” she had practically spat. “There is no game…in justice.”

A crack of a black coil returned her to reality. Soddom had closed the gap between them, his huge mass of thrashing ragged robes towering over her petite figure. She was now staring into the singular blue spot on the visor, the inhuman eye of Harpercrest’s living nightmare.

“Transform!” his modulated voice commanded in an almost pleading tone, as if a junkie seeking a fix.

“No!” she snarled adamantly.

“You little hussy!!” her enemy, formerly her father, growled. His cold, clawlike hand was around her throat before she could react. A mass of withering coils lashed out from the ragged robes, covering the entire Fellowship Hall area as one massive living shadow that consumed everything within.



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Upon the thousandth pace up the entrance staircase, Mayor Dutton found himself startled by the sudden silent entrance of the bridal party. Like ethereal phantoms, they seemed to appear from nowhere on the church lawn in single file, with the ringbearer at the head. Behind him were the flower girl (who was Janet’s daughter), Mariah’s three bridesmaids, and finally, the veiled bride herself in her stunning wedding gown.

“I heard of unfashionably late…if that was what you were going for?” the mayor said as he shuffled with wide strides to his place beside the bride. He tried to peer through the veil to see Mariah’s face, but was unsuccessful.

The bride said nothing, only staring straight ahead.

“It’s okay to be nervous, you know.” The mayor continued. “Hey, the bridesmaids are supposed to be in front of the flower girl.”

In eerie robotic unison, the three bridesmaids stepped out of line, stiffly walked ahead of the flower girl, and stood before her. Bewildered, the mayor stepped from his position and quickly walked up to where the matron of honor stood. She was staring straight ahead, a blank expression on her face.

“I said…’the bridesmaids are supposed to be in front of the flower girl’.” Mayor Dutton repeated, gauging Io’s reaction.

“I heard you.” Io said, her gaze unwavering.

A smile teased the corners of the mayor’s mouth. “You don’t understand, darling. I gave you a suggestion…and you didn’t sass me.”

“Okay.” Io replied in a bored monotone.

“Okay.” The mayor clapped his hands and rubbed them together in mild triumph. “Guess everybody’s nervous.”

As he returned to his position beside the bride, ushers opened the glass entrance doors of the church. The procession was ready. With inhuman precision, the bridal party began to march into the church. The matron of honor and the bridesmaids were first, followed by the flower girl tossing her pedals and the ringbearer. The organ music could be heard as soon as Mayor Dutton neared the sanctuary doors.

But it was not the traditional Bridal March.

“What the hell we marching to, darling?” he asked one of the ushers he passed.

“‘Can You Read My Mind’.” the usher responded, visually confused. “All I know is that Eli requested it…some song from that old Superman movie…the one from the seventies.”

“Superman movie?!” Mayor Dutton snarled, causing some of the wedding guests’ heads to snap towards his direction. “This a sacred occasion and he’s playing a damn cartoon song?!”

However, as he and the bride neared the altar, Mayor Dutton glimpsed Roxxy sitting a row behind the bride’s family. She made a silent motion of an index finger sliding across her throat, a look of astonishment on her face. Sighing quietly, Dutton embraced his role as the father stand-in, and with a toothy grin, gave the bride away to a beaming Elijah. That was what he had hired Roxxy for, anyway…to be his Jiminy Cricket in tight blue jeans.

However, had he continued to pay attention to his assistant, he would have realized that the true ringbearer had been stripped of his duties, and was sitting next to her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



Can you read my mind?
Do you know what you do to me?

She could hear the piercing growl of metal against metal, and see the blinding white hot sparks fly. She could see her father, in his black safety goggles and protective clothing, halting his grinding to refer to his diagram at periodic intervals. Meanwhile, as she watches, she forges the secret origin of Harpercrest’s greatest criminal mastermind simultaneously, literally the opposite of such mundane reality. His armor and weaponry were gifts from the Gods of Gomorrah, the doomed planetary empire he ruled. He had come to Earth to recruit minions to help him take it over. And those minions…were the Disciples.

Don’t know who you are,
Just a friend from another star.

She could see Eli stocking the school supplies at the University Bookstore, in his red and green clerk uniform. Having finished his task, he walks over to her, failing to hide his bashfulness. She was blushing deeply herself, having been caught red-handed; after all, this was the fifth time she had wandered the aisle that day. When he speaks, his voice squeaks slightly with nervousness. His warm brown eyes flicker slightly as he mentally searches for the perfect icebreaker. He then mentions the song playing on the store’s speaker system, noting that it originated from the first Superman movie.

Here I am like a kid in school,
Holding hands with a god, I’m a fool

She could see her father beaming proudly over their early morning breakfast of eggs and pancakes at the local diner. She, however, is extremely terrified and agonized. The former gangbangers, now members of the Synful Syndicate, had captured and tortured her…on his orders. Her father’s triumphant smile vanishes as his expression turns grim. He points out that both of their “roles” include some sacrifice, such as the “heroine” sometimes being captured. He adds that he cannot jeopardize his credibility with the Syndicate, not when the plan is bearing fruit. Choking back tears, she leaps up from the booth where they are sitting, and prepares to stomp off. He says nothing, but slides a folded sheet of notebook paper to her side of the table. Thinking of Darren, she reluctantly snatches and unfolds it. It reveals the next “episode” to be a scenario involving a drug factory on the edge of town, and a pre-planned battle with General Tuzok(formerly the hardcore Disciple lieutenant Little Crazy).

Will you look at me, quivering,
Like a little girl, shivering?

She could see Eli smiling down at her as they watch “Superman” at a get-together at the University Center. On screen, the Man of Steel was flying with Lois Lane as the orchestra swelled in a musical score. It was the same song that played over the store’s speakers when she and Eli first met. Unconsciously, she snuggles closer to him, her glasses bending slightly as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

You can see right through me…

It took Mariah a few minutes to realize that she was instinctively singing the words to the song being played on the organ. There was now sound from beyond the Fellowship Hall.

The bride was horrified, as it confirmed two things for her. The first was that her father had used a “sound bubble” around the Hall, to keep the noise from the attack muted. The second was that the ceremony had begun without its bride.

Her eyes snapped open to a world of slithering, squirming darkness. She could feel the coils slide about her limbs and body, and hold her aloft by her arms and legs. But they bestowed her with no sense of space, distance, or time. Was this a new technology her father had developed? Was she staring at the edge of a gaping black hole of some kind?

“Daddy!” she squealed. “Where are you?!”

A blue oval suddenly materialized before her, with a multi-colored line pointed upward. “Your life is in peril. You now lay suspended before my pocket black hole. Transform, and you can escape.”

“No!” Mariah snarled.

“How difficult are you going to make this?!” the blue oval vibrated with fury. “I have your friends ensnarled in my dastardly coils as well. Are you willing to sacrifice them to an extradimensional doom?!”

“Daddy…we grew up together!” Mariah screamed. “We’re best friends! Io’s like a sister…like a sister to me!”

“I am not your father!” the oval boomed. “I am your conqueror! The ruler of Gomorrah, I am-”

“Darren.” Mariah said quietly. “Demitra, Daddy. That was what this…all of this, was all about.”

Suddenly, the blue orb vanished into ether. The void shifted and bucked like a giant wave of black, before the shimmering black coils slowly began to withdraw. Within minutes, enough of them had recoiled to where the Fellowship Hall had come into view. Fearfully, Mariah watched as the coils retreated, uncovering the still slumbering bodies of Io, Christina, and Janet in their uncomfortable positions. Delicately, the four coils suspending her above the floor placed her on her feet. Then they, with the remaining mass of coils, vanished into the robes of Soddom in one giant wave.

Mariah blinked rapidly, at a loss for words. Soddom stood merely a few feet from her, in the center of the Fellowship Hall disaster, unmoving. It was as if he was a monstrous apparition, frozen in time to frighten infinite generations.

She took a shaky step forward, a confusing step; she did not know whether to react to him, or race to her friends’ aid.

The Boogeyman of Harpercrest bent slightly, the blue oval of his helmet locking on to her face. One sinisterly glinting claw reached up to his mask with a finger of silence, while his other hand waved towards the sanctuary next door. Mariah’s brown eyes grew wide as saucers as the sound next door increased in volume, like a radio being turned full blast. Her reaction, however, was not because of the wonder of her father’s sound manipulation.

It was because the marriage vows were being exchanged.