In 1986, former police officer and current detective Arthur Nolan began investigating the disappearance of two newborn infants. One male, one female, from a hospital in the East Harlem district. Newborns going missing is just something that doesn't happen. Rarely are there cases where babies are given to the wrong mother, but modern catalogs tend to prevent that from happening. But this? This was an intentional kidnapping. Even worse, there were very few clues. Save for a disgusting greenish-black tar-like substance that was on the floor leading away from the crib and down the hallway. It suddenly vanished once it reached the corner of the hall, and no cameras were installed in that particular corridor. 

Arthur collected samples and brought them to countless resources for inspection. To absolutely no avail, and the inspection fell into a cold case. Though Arthur never really gave up on it, he kept it on the back shelf of his office. Pinned beneath a book about serial killers and the cases of false madness to get out of life sentencing. It collected dust for over a year, until another case that seemed entirely unrelated emerged.

It was a murder in East Harlem, pretty close to the hospital where a year ago the infants went missing. It wouldn't have been pertinent to him, and in fact, would have gone totally under his radar if he hadn't been told that a greenish-black tar had been found at the scene. With the memory of the stolen children still bothering him, this was startling news. Two seemingly unrelated crimes committed a year apart and within just a few miles of eachother, with some unworldly evidence left behind. Something like this didn't just 'happen' there are no coincidences when it comes to criminal cases. Not in Nolan's experience.

The scene had much more evidence this time around, though they couldn't identify what strange substances were left behind. The tar wasn't the only material, there were what looked to be chunks of flesh and holes blown through walls by shotgun and blunt object alike. Whatever had left the holes in the wall had been large, clearly not human sized. Though it seemed to be shaped human enough, so the supernatural size was largely perplexing. A few wrote it off as the work of a very large man, but Nolan wasn't so easy to pass off the supernatural. It was strange to say, but he had enough faith to believe that some things hide just beyond the corridors that we walk down to avoid the horrors just outside. 

The investigation was far more intensive than the kidnappings, much to the frustrations of Detective Nolan. He felt as though a murder was bad, but two infants [i]still[/i] missing to this day was so much more important in his mind. 

From the crime scene he noticed that the victim had been a middle aged man, roughly forty four or forty five, a man who had been once before admitted to an asylum for criminal insanity. He was only recently released, seeming to have been rehabilitated. It was a crying shame how soon after his release that he was murdered. Though he had an illegally obtained shotgun found on his property, it was used in defense of himself against whatever foreign entity assaulted him.

There were no footprints leading away from the crime scene, only that damnable tar leading away and into nothingness. With no living witnesses, and no other evidence, the case was doomed to fall cold once again. The detective's heart was deeply saddened, the only hope he had for solving this case was photographing everything. No slight disturbance was left uncatalogued. The poor madman had been beaten to death, obviously by whatever big beast had invaded his home. 

The Detective stumbled upon something during his photography. A dust-mark that was distinctly missing, like something had been on a shelf in his home and was gone now. He phoned the station and reported this, something like this couldn't be unrelated. Though the station brushed it off as a robbery gone wrong, and that's how the news reported it as well.

Even with everything logged and photographed, he was left with no real lead. It was another dead trail and he was forced to leave it on the shelf. Though with two cases, a kidnapping, a murder and theft. Somehow related by a trail of dark green slime. He wasn't sure he would be able to forget this case, something bizarre was happening and he was getting too old to deal with it.

It was another eighteen years before he was given any sort of hint towards that case. Detective Nolan was long past his prime, and was likely to retire soon enough. Grey had found its way into the corners of his hair, and his features were starting to sag from the stresses of dealing with criminals some twenty four years of his life. 

It was another strange case, a break-in at a museum in Norfolk, Virginia. Again, seemingly totally unrelated to the case. Why is this relevant? 

Because this time Arthur was involved.

He had been invited to the Museum just before the grand opening. It was a Museum of obscure oddities, a state funded Museum about the hidden history of the world. It was a cosmic level coincidence, the founder was an old friend of Arthur, and wanted him to be the first attendant.

The opening night was still five days away, and it was looking to be an immensely popular gathering. It was in every single paper, statewide and national. It was one of the biggest events announced in a long time. 

Arthur was invited long before the opening by his friend, and was being shown around at about 12 o'clock midnight. Weird hour, yeah, but nobody's gonna question the curator of an oddities museum about being weird. Y'know? 

During their tour, they went through numerous exhibits. Old simple machines that have features that predate the technological advances of that age. Ancient weapons with peculiarly pristine preservation. Among other things of similar caliber. Though one thing stood out among the rest. A totem, about one foot tall, five inches wide and long. It was a carving that seemed to writhe despite never actually moving. Recordings of the totem show no movement. It seems as though the strange carved patterns cause an optical illusion effect on human eyes. 

At least that's what folks explained.

The official story behind it was that it was used to trick people into believing that the holder had some form of illusory magic. Though this is unconfirmed, as the totem predates modern prehistorical evidence. 

As the pair were looking at the object and even passing it back and forth, they heard a crashing from the southern corridor. They put the totem back and called the police on the cordless, telling them of a break in. Detective Nolan had his gun strapped to his chest and armed himself, readied for the worst, and was suddenly plowed over by some monstrously large entity. It looked like a man but so much larger, and with skin as black as pitch and as leathery as the hide of an elephant. The curator was not so lucky as to not catch a glimpse of its face. It was perhaps merciful that he was so suddenly struck down by a swing of its arm, death releasing him from the horror he had witnessed. 

Detective Nolan screamed in anger and panic before suddenly unloading his firearm into the backside of the behemoth. To little effect. The beast spun on its heel and the flat of its hand met the side of his face, then suddenly blackness. 

When the Detective Awoke, he was in some sort of holding cell. Dimly lit by some phosphorescent light fixture, a smell of copper and ammonia washed over him as consciousness worked its way into his head. The smells that assaulted his nostrils were at least merciful in one regard, they concealed a much more demoniac stench that surely would have driven him mad if it were the first smell that met him when he awoke.

His cell was locked, but by a very poor device. A slide lock, and his arms were just thin enough to reach through. Though he popped his wrist out of socket just to unlock the door. It was perhaps not his wisest decision to delve deeper into the structure, instead of going higher towards escape. But some deep primeval curiosity drove him down, down and further down. 

Depths like these were unnatural, he had climbed so far that he had begun to believe that he had descended at least the height of the Eiffel tower. For he felt that he had been climbing for hours. No sounds but a distant thrumming that felt as though a pressure were driving itself into his ears. The only smell was the gradually worsening copper/ammonia mixture. And he could see nothing but the dim phosphorescence of the strange light fixtures as he descended. 

What felt like an entire day's journey came to its zenith upon his descent's conclusion, he was met with a massive amphitheater. Innumerable figures loomed just beyond the gateway he had entered through, some as large as the one who had assaulted him. Others far greater and more horrifying. Their faces indescribable, they lacked every natural sensory organ that most everything alive on Earth bears. Instead they had strange star shaped faces, ropey protrusions adorned with strange feathery growths. Two horn-like structures that split down the middle and seemed to gyrate rhythmically, it seemed like these were the source of the thrumming. As their mouths moved in unison the deep booming roar finally clicked as a vocal sound, it was chanting. Though it reverberated up the winding staircase as a distant thumping, it was actually some sort of ritualistic chant in an unknown and unspeakable tongue.

The scene assaulted his senses in such a way to near drive him to madness. All of this had happened suddenly, Three humans stood among the beings, and one was lying prostrate on the ground. It was a blond haired, blue eyed, pale skinned and thin bodied woman. Heavily pregnant and actively in labor. The detective looked to draw his gun, but found the he had been disarmed. Looking around, he tried his damnedest to find a suitable weapon, but he could only find a long metal pipe that looked like the remnants of whatever old water system used to be in place here before it was converted into whatever kind of hellish ritual chamber it is now.

As he grabbed the pike, the droning chanting stopped. Two human voices touched his ears. Though they were somehow more horrifying than any of the noises of the abominable horrors around him. First was the woman, whining and bellowing as her labor was painful and arduous. The second? A man. An old man whose voice was raspy and dry with decades of age prying at his throat. His words? [color=bc8dbf]"Ah, we have a guest."[/color] The three men turned towards Detective Nolan as his heart stuck in his throat. Horror above horror, he had been caught. He hadn't noticed the altar behind the three men and one woman.

Again his grating voice spoke. [color=bc8dbf]"We know of you, you saw the trails. And you saw one of our children."[/color] The elder waved his hand in gesture to the circus of horrors around them, this old man had referred to them as children. It was as though he were mocking the detective by even referring to them as anywhere near human. [color=bc8dbf]"And now you get to bear witness to the end of all things."[/color]

If his heart wasn't racing before, it was without a doubt at this moment beating faster than even the fastest of drummers could even dream. 

[color=bc8dbf]"With the sacrifice of a child so pure, I shall be given infinite power. I shall destroy this world and build anew, in the image of our myriad gods."[/color] The old man raised his hands overhead and a strange luminescence erupted from his fingertips, a beam of light fell down upon where he stood and statues of indescribable horror loomed behind him. Now faintly illuminated by the pillar of light. [color=bc8dbf]"In a few moments, the child will be born. By the blood of the child born of pure souls, I will be granted power unattainable. For the gods have accepted me as one of their own!"[/color] He held aloft two statues, one he had seen before. The strange statue that had been in the museum, and another similar statue. Shaped more as a cube than the previous rectangular one. It was the source of the light, and seemed to be some sort of conduit. 

What he was saying was madness, nobody was inherently pure. Even the Detective had his vices, how could someone give birth and yet be pure? He had to ask, though his throat felt so dry and ached painfully out of fear. He choked the words out breathlessly, but managed to get the question through. [color=f26522]"How? How is this baby different from just a normal baby?"[/color]

The old man gave pause, the only sounds in the air during this haunting silence were the woman's birthing cries. [color=f26522]"Because, Detective, the infants grew up alone. Away from all vices."[/color] It clicked. The theft, the kidnapping. It was all part of this, one of the three men standing there? Was one of the infants stolen eighteen years ago, and so was the woman lying on the floor in labor. The detective hadn't noticed the other two men holding one man's arms behind his back, nor did he notice his legs chained together and his mouth bound by rag and rope. 

[color=f26522]"You! You monster you forced them to breed!?"[/color] The old man only cackled at the detective, the mob of beasts seemed to join in on his laughter. With the whole audience of laughter echoing through the air, it was a wonder that the detective even heard the baby's first cries. It was swiftly grabbed by one of the men standing beside her, and brought to the altar where the old man stood. 

The detective's feet felt like cement blocks, his arms ragged and his breathing stunted. But he moved. Time seemed to slow for him, the old man was handed the infant and with one swift motion, he struck it dead with the square statue. The beam of light suddenly grew brighter, but somehow Arthur was already up the stairs leading to the altar. The old man's face grew in horror as Arthur leaped into him, clubbing him with the Pipe and frantically grabbing for the infant. 

The statues fell beside his feet, somehow landing perfectly upright. The beam of light shone down upon him and the baby died in his arms, its early death brought him to frantic tears. The detective fell to his knees with the infant held tight against his chest, when suddenly he was seized by what felt like an enormous unseen hand. He was raised upwards and his vision faded to blackness before being replaced with a cyclopian beast of unimaginable horror. 

Arthur screamed and cried, his powerlessness was tangible. Behind the beast that held him aloft were countless other beings. All with ropes of light thrust towards the hand that grasped him. They spoke unintelligible babbling words through their mouths, seeming to deliberate among themselves. Though Arthur remembers none of this, his mind mercifully drifted him into madness for the time he was away from his own world. With a short time of nodding and babbling, they seemed to have come to a conclusion. 

With a moment of absolute blindness and madness, the ropes of light flooded past the hand of the leviathan beast and down Arthur's throat. Flooding him with power unimaginable and nigh-infinite, blackness overtook him and he awoke shortly in the room where the ritual had taken place. His body felt youthful, more youthful than it ever had in his entire life, before he had time to take stock in his appearance, he was assaulted by the numerous abominable horrors that awaited him in the ritual chamber.

It was like a dream, suddenly he was strong enough to cast them aside like they were down pillows. They splattered here and there, their flesh surrendered to his strikes. Eventually, he had cut down every single one of them. Refusing to allow them to retreat, and eventually he felt tired. As though his power was waning,  but he was still able to trade blows with the horrors. It was hours till he had finished them off, and found that he two other men had been trampled, with the woman and man still unharmed. 

Arthur had killed the old man with his swing, and he felt no regret for what he had done, it might have saved the world as we know it. But what he did feel regret for, was not having found the kidnapped boy and girl sooner. Whatever horrors he had been chronicler to were now over, but they would be deeply scarred by this nightmare.

When he managed to get them to the surface, he was loathe to find out that he had become someone else. Someone who looked perfect in every regard. Though he was thankful that he was at least handsome, nobody would believe him if he said that he was the fifty three year old detective in a new body. On the nearest payphone, he called up the station and reported anonymously that he had found the two missing children from eighteen years ago. He told them to do blood-work on them to see the proof they needed. 

The detective fell into a miasma of depression. He left behind his wife of twenty years, his family and friends, and even his job. Now broke, homeless, and under an entirely new identity. He was lost, without purpose.

Till, at least, he found a comic book on the sidewalk. Abandoned by some hapless child.

The rest of the story isn't important, you can imagine what happened after his discovery of the comic. Though he was forced to commit to some odd jobs to earn himself a living for a while. (And to afford his costume of choice.) He eventually became a career hero under the name Might.