Byrd Man — Roleplayer Guild

The Surfer looked down at the palm of his right hand. There was some curious white substance upon it. It was tacky and he couldn't shake it off. A thread lead away from his hand to the one they called Spider-Woman. She swung around the battlefield with the other teenaged hero on her back as he took potshots at the Surfer. Another web struck his left hand as the other young hero, the one known as Blue Beetle, activated a jetpack on his back and grabbed ahold of Spider-Woman. The two heroes raced around the Surfer, the webbing still clinging to his hands. As they completed loop after loop, the webbing began to encase the Surfer into a cocoon.

He struggled to break free. Whatever this webbing was made of, it was strong stuff indeed. It would only be a few moments until his body heated up to the point to where it would melt away, but even a momentary delay of a being with the power cosmic was a great victory.

"Who are you?"

The Surfer blinked as she appeared in front of him. They had met before and not that long ago. Susan Richards stepped forward until she was just a few feet away. If she was afraid, she showed no signs of it at all. She had that same kind of boldness in their last meeting, but the circumstances were so vastly different. But still she acted as if he were still under lock and key. The Surfer was impressed by her courage.

"You have to be from the Fourth Dimension to handle Wonder Woman's weapon. I thought you were a new version of an old friend, but I was wrong. Who are you?"

The Surfer could feel some deep, distant memory calling to him. A face, a name, a woman with a broad smile. And then... fire and destruction and his deep, humorless chuckle as he sent the Surfer out in the cosmos to do his work. Whatever he had once been was dead, and now only the Surfer remained.

“I AM THE HERALD OF THE END TIMES FOR YOUR PLANET, CHAMPION OF ANTI-LIFE. I AM THE SILVER SURFER, AND I SERVE DARKSEID.”

Finale

“We’re closed!”

Ray Browder looked up from the book on the desk when he heard the front door open. He thought he locked it hours ago when the store closed. He froze in place when he saw the man at the door. Ray started to cast a spell, but stopped when he felt a powerful force crush his windpipe.

“Ggg--”

He flew backwards and crashed against a shelf of books. Heavy, leather bound books fell on his body as the shelves toppled down around him. His mind was a haze of pain and growing panic as he found he couldn’t breath. He started to thrash and claw as his throat as his oxygen supply began to run short.

“Raymond Jennings Browder,” the man said as he put a boot on Ray’s chest. Emerald colored magical energy danced between his fingertips as he leered down at Ray.

“The Mage Guild sends their regards.”

Ray tried to scream as the man brought down a bolt of energy on to his face.

---

Jack Hawksmoor crouched on one of the many cables strung across the Golden Gate Bridge and looked out across the city of San Francisco. He could feel the city calling to him with reports about everything ranging from the lateness of the trains (four minutes) to the fact that Guerrero Street was badly in need of repaving. 

Across the bay a storm was coming, rumbling somewhere south of Oakland and heading north. Jack could see shapes in the clouds, the flashes of lightning illuminating their movements before disappearing. They looked like deformed eels with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp teeth. He felt a prickle at the back of his neck at the sight. He knew those things hiding in the clouds were watching him.They were heralds for something that had not yet come, something that had the power to send this message across time and space.

He stood up while his bare feet remained stuck to the surface of the cable. The things in the clouds let out a roar that sounded like a thunderclap. Lightning flashed again and showed words written in the storm clouds.

HAWKSMOOR
YOUR NEXT

Just like that, the things disappeared and the storm continued unabated. Jack balled his fists as another thunderclap rolled across the bay. 

“Learn to spell,” Jack shouted above the noise. 

This was an open threat, a prelude to war. He had to let the other intangibles know. He had to call the meeting and prepare them for the fight. He leapt from the cable and dove towards the bridge. A portal opened up just as he was about to hit the ground. He disappeared through it on his way to the next city.

---

Chas Chandler gave the girl at the counter his best smile as he slid his boarding pass over. She scanned it and gave him a polite, but routine smile as she handed the slip of paper back.

“Have a nice flight.”

He nodded and made his way down to the plane. His seat was by the window with the other two seats empty. He’d went ahead and purchased all three, saying sod it to the cost of three tickets. He had more than enough money in savings to afford it. Besides, it was a long flight already and the last thing he needed was a crying baby or some fat wanker stuffed into the seat next to him. If that was the price for comfort then so be it. He settled into his seat and got comfortable.

“Good afternoon,” the flight attendant announced once everyone was in their seats. “Thank you for flying Virgin Atlantic and our non-stop service from London-Heathrow to LAX. Flight time to Los Angeles is going to be about ten hours and twenty-five minutes from wheels up to wheels down. So make yourself comfortable and prepare for the in-flight safety demonstration.”

Chas leaned back and looked out the window. It was overcast at Heathrow. Of course it was, thought Chas. It was always drab and dreary in old England. But he was leaving that behind for bright and sunny California and what was waiting there for him. 

---

Pearl Jones watched curiously from the corner of the study while painters worked on the walls. The woman watched from the doorway, a hand on her pregnant stomach. She and her husband bought the home after Mark Preston’s things were cleaned out. They were young and happy and seemed to be in love. The woman was some kind of actress, her husband some kind of businessman. For them to afford the house she had to be a pretty big one. She was cute, Pearl thought, in a sweet All-American way. It reminded Pearl of her favorite actress growing up, Mary Pickford. 

Workers had ripped out the bookshelves of the study and carpeted the hardwood floors. They were now in the process of painting the walls blue. Pearl stepped around them and focused on the woman. She was only a few months from giving birth.

“This will be your room,” she said softly to her stomach. “Hayden’s room.”

“Hayden,” Pearl said as she crouched and brought her face up to the woman’s stomach, her eyes wide with insanity as she spoke. “I wonder what it would be like…. To be a little boy.”

---

Charlie Rembrandt surveyed the crime scene inside the little bungalow. While the rest of the cops and crims were focusing on the dead female body in the room, Charlie’s eyes drifted towards the wall. Written in glowing red blood were the words PRESCOTT.

He stepped towards the wall and gingerly put his gloved hand against the words.

“You see something?” Bonnie Young asked from behind him.

“Thought I saw a spatter,” Charlie said as he came away with dry hands. The words remained unphased by his scrutiny. “I saw something in her pile of mail about someone called Prescott. That name ring a bell to anyone?”

“That’s her manager’s name,” Bonnie said after consulting her notepad. “I called him and he said he’s been on the east coast the past two weeks. Why?”

“Just a hunch,” Rembrandt said with a smirk. “Maybe we should look into him?"

---

John Constantine came out of the convenience store with a fresh pack of cigarettes. He stuck one in his mouth and was in the process of lighting it up when he stopped short with the tip of the flame just centimeters from the tip of the cigarette. The streetlights facing the road had started to flicker before the bulbs burst in a shattering of glass. More lights flickered and burst across the parking lot as something came closer and closer.

With the unlit cigarette still firmly in his mouth, John dropped the lighter and the pack and began to conjure up a curse for whatever was coming. He could feel it just out of reach, invisible but very very powerful. He wasn’t expecting what he finally got.

“John Constantine,” the man said as he appeared out of a portal of amber energy. “You’re a hard man to find.”

John shot his hands forward with the curse. As expected, the man easily slapped the basic spell away with a counter curse. 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said with his palms raised. It was then that John noticed he was wearing a… cape?

“My name is Strange.”

“Matches your bloody outfit,” John said. He was quietly preparing another curse. This one more loaded.

“I’m the Sorcerer Supreme,” said Strange. “Now I know you know what that is.”

“Yeah,” said John. “Lot of pomp and frills and capes. Just a title.”

“That’s a Hannigan’s Egg you’re preparing in your palm,right?” Strange asked with an eyebrow raised. “I’d counter with a Wall of Jungta.”

“Then I’d do a Mordru Bleeding Spell.”

“Counter with a Paul’s Cross.”

“Then I’d--”

“Enough,” a gruff voice said from behind John.

He turned and didn’t see anything. Then he looked down. A chimp in a t-shirt, jacket, and deerstalker hat was looking up at him with a scowl.

“We don’t have time for the pissing contest," said the chimp. "John Constantine, the Mage Guild have marked you for death and we’re here to save you.”

“Jimmy the Saint, getting his revenge," John muttered to himself before looking at the chimp. "May I ask why I've earned your protection, Bubbles.”

“Because,” the chimp said slowly, showing off his sharp teeth as he enunciated the words. “You are the only hope we have of saving this dimension.”

“That’s the only reason why I haven’t set your blood on fire,” said Strange.

“Or I haven’t ripped your face off,” said the Chimp.

John chuckled before reaching down to pick his lighter and pack back up. He took his time lighting up the cigarette, looking back and forth between the chimp and Strange. When he was done, he expelled a column of smoke from his mouth.

“Well,” he finally said. “Let’s get to work.”

To Be Continued?

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