Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 4:08:02 GMT
She didn’t look like a hag. A flesh eater with varying degrees of speed and power that mostly depended on when the last time she fed. No, she didn’t look like one at all. The flesh suit she wore was that of a Midwestern tourist, a girl who came to Sin City to try her luck at stardom and fame. They all had the same M.O. Young girls from some Podunk town where they were the most talented singers in their high school chorus group, or the star dancer at their local studio. They couldn’t be bothered with things like marriage or college, because the big city lights were beckoning them to come and make their claim for glory.
The problem was, that most of them ended up on a bus back to wherever they came from, or worse, in the streets. No money. No direction. Just scraping away to survive in one of the most predatory cities in the world.
Las Vegas. Where the hopeful came to turn dreams into reality, but mostly only found nightmares. Most of those nightmares were financial, or at least centered in the real world. But there are some nightmares that are real. They live in the shadows, nondescript, blending in with the bizarre and untamed patrons of a metropolis that thrives on chaos. In that chaos is where they make their feeding grounds. Open territory on the unsuspecting fragile minds and the weak wills of those who had already given up everything. Their hunts, their ‘accidents’, their crimes went mostly unnoticed by the authorities. Just another poor schmuck who couldn’t face his wife after his indiscretions. Just another suicide because she couldn’t face her kids after losing their college funds. Just another poor, unfortunate, lost soul who fell victim to the plague of greed.
The young woman, wearing a pink tank top, white skirt, and rainbow striped tennis shoes swayed back and forth, a distant smile splayed over her face as she waited with a line of people all wanting admission into the noisy club. Even though she looked normal enough, the people around her had given her a wide berth, making it appear as if she were covered in some sort of invisible force field. They didn’t appear to think much of it, just doing what came natural to them.
Humans had a latent affinity for danger, especially to that of the supernatural. Most usually just passed it off as nonsense, after all, monsters didn’t really exist. The hairs rising on your arm, the coldness that you feel in certain places, shadows dancing in strange ways that could only be a trick of the light. Those defense mechanisms, however, were as ancient as the creatures that caused need for them in the first place. They were the only reason we were able to evolve.
The line began to move, and she along with it, casually stretching her arms over her head in a care free fashion. When she got up to the door, she slipped her hand into her pocket, producing a five dollar bill, and passed it to the doorman to cover her admission. The door man, a bulk of humanity that gave everyone who saw him pause, reached out instead for the young woman’s wrist. The hag looked first to the iron grip now on her forearm, and then up at the face of the man who had dared. Her eyes went wide with recognition, and then filled with panic. Panic and the supernatural were never a good combination.
Quick as a cat, the frail, innocent, Midwestern tourist, twisted her confined arm to grip the bouncers wrist, and as easy as if he were a wadded up burger wrapper, lifted him clear off the ground and flung him away from the door and out into the pavement of the street. The throw sent him a good fifteen feet, and he landed with a thud on his back, but rolled with the throw to come up to one knee. Those still waiting in line took several steps back in unison, all staring at the girl in shock. Despite their astonishment a few of them still had presence of mind to reach for their phones, holding them up and absent mindedly hitting record as if it were second nature. Ahh, the digital age!
The girl didn’t waste any time for a photo-op as she turned away from the door and bolted down the sidewalk. The big man let out an audible curse as he hoisted his large frame back to his feet, and gave chase.
He was already slow, but she was unnaturally fast. Zooming down the pavement at breakneck speeds, and putting as much distance between herself and him as possible. A dark alley lay between two of the buildings on her path, and she changed directions on a dime, ducking into her domain….the darkness.
Or at least that was her plan before she ran face first into a swinging baseball bat.
Her head snapped around in a gruesome manner upon impact, and her feet flew completely out from under her as she skidded down the littered path of the alleyway to finally come to a crashing halt against a dumpster Bits of pink flesh hung loose around her face, spatters of green blood draining from the off center mouth and nose. A long gash in her legs revealed a sickly grey skin beneath the husk, and an animalistic hiss escaped lips that no longer matched her bone structure. . Her flesh mask was ruined as she pulled herself haphazardly back to her feet, whirling her head around to spy this new attacker.
“Damn, you are one ugly bitch!” The young man wielding the bat said, nonchalantly throwing it up to rest on his shoulder. He looked to be in his late twenties, but he had aged well, a boyish grin splayed across his face. He wore a maroon colored t-shirt with black jeans held up by a belt that looked like something from the pages of Batman. His heavy biker boots echoed down the alley as he sauntered forwards, and the grim expression in his eyes didn’t match the grin that he still regarded her with.
Just then the big man bustled into the alley, blocking out the street lights that had provided the mood for the scene. Batman looked over his shoulder, momentarily distracted by the arrival, and that’s when the hag chose to strike.
She flew forward in a flash, thrashing wildly at the Batman with long, gnarled, fingernails that protruded through the human appendages. He turned just in time to bring the bat out in front of him, but not in enough time to keep her from bowling him over. Both went down in a heap, she pinning him down with unmatched power, using the bat to push down onto his chest and clamp his arms. The rest of her face began to melt down onto him, and he spat and sputtered as the ichor landed upon his face. The place where mouth used to be began to expand into a gaping maw that held the stench of death in its bowls. Her bloated eyes shone with hate and evil as the maw inched closer and closer to feed.
The Big man cursed again, reaching into his leather jacket and producing a pair of silver knuckles that had been engraved with tiny symbols of the cross on each indention. Slipping them on to his right hand, he rushed forward as quickly as he could, leaning his right shoulder down so that he would get a decent strike. Just as he made his final approach the Hag looked up reflexively from her prey, and screeched in his direction. Fear washed over him in waves, and he lost his footing, stumbling along and losing his momentum.
Most supernatural creatures had specific abilities tailored to whatever species or subcategory they belong to. Ghouls, or flesh feeders, which was the Hag’s subcategory, had the ability to produce a fear aura that helped incapacitate their victims before feeding. It was highly effective against people who were taken by surprise, or had a reputation for being weak willed. Unfortunately for her, the Big man was neither.
He had lost some momentum, but he was still stumbling in the right direction, and with a vicious snarl, he brought the lowered fist forward to explode against the Hag’s forehead. She snapped backwards in surprise, screeching in what could only be pain. The blow didn’t knock her off of Batman as he had planned, but it did allow his partner to get his arms free, and provided the distraction for what happened next.
With his arms now free, Batman brought the bat up so that the business end was now facing the creature that straddled his midsection. When her head came back around to him, he thrust forward with the handle, jamming the baseball bat into her open maw and right down her throat, driving her the rest of the way off of him.
The Hag recoiled, spitting and spatting around the lodged baseball bat. Reaching up with her grotesque hands, she fumbled with the handle to remove the obstruction. In the meantime, the Big man reached down to his partner, and helped him back up to his feet. The two men turned to the Hag just in time to see her yank the baseball bat from her dislocated jowls. She regarded the two men with a baleful glance, threw the baseball bat in their direction, and then turned and bolted further down the alley.
The Big man stepped out in front of the spinning baseball bat, bringing his arms up in front of him to block the blow. It struck, numbing his right forearm a bit, but not so much as to take him out of the fight. He turned to Batman, and regarded him with a rigid expression. “Do you need a starting flare or something, or are you going to let this bitch get away?”
Batman sighed, shaking his head. “Ever the critic,” he replied, before slipping around the Big man to make pursuit. He could see the Hag approximately forty feet ahead of him, when she darted to the left down an adjacent alley. When he reached the corner, he skidded to one side, and then pushed off with his other foot, pushing him down the corridor in blazing speed. His muscles were burning at this point, his arms still sore from the vice she had put him in, but still pumping at his side’s none-the-less.
Up ahead he could see a high chain link fence blocking the rest of the alleyway, and the hag made for it without stopping, probably to give herself a jumping head start. He had closed the gap between them to about fifteen feet, so when she made her leap, the distance grew shorter quickly. Instead of making a leap at the chain link of his own, he continued forward, producing an iron railroad spike from his utility belt. She was making her way over the side of the fence, when he brought the spike over his head, and drove it forward into her ankle. The speed and angle was perfect, and the Hag let out a shriek of agony before toppling over the fence to the opposite side in a heap.
She clutched at her obliterated ankle, her foot dangling loosely, being held together by only a few thin strips of sinew and grey skin. She scooted towards a trash can set outside an emergency exit door just past the fence, and used it to bring herself up on her one foot. She tested the wounded leg, and snarled in a mixture of rage and torment as she realized that it was useless. She spit a curse in a guttural language at the man on the other side of the fence, and turned towards the alley’s exit.
Creatures of the night were pretty good about sticking to the shadows, as it would be counterproductive to be seen out in the open, but sometimes, as in this case, there was no other way of escape. If she could get away, feed, she would be able to heal her wounds in time. To make it to the open street was her only option. She hopped along, hearing the chain link rattle as the Batman began his climb up the fence. She spared a glance over her shoulder, and could see that he was almost at the top, when screeching tires up ahead brought her eyes back front and center.
A 1966 Pontiac Tempest came to a stop at the alley’s end, blocking her exit out into the open street. A few pedestrians spared a glance as they passed, but went on about their business. Apathy was paramount in Sin City. The door of the vehicle swung open, and the springs gave a thankful sigh as the Big man from before stepped out. He had in his hand a .44 caliber Smith & Wesson Model 29 revolver, and he took long measured strides towards the Hag who was now caught between two assailants.
Her dislocated jaw twitched as she looked in both directions several times, trying to figure out which would be the easiest way out. Opting for the smaller opponent, she hobbled haphazardly on one foot back towards the fence just as Batman was dropping down. He turned around, and much to her dismay he held not a gun, but a cross with a long blade protruding from the end. She hissed in fury at the mere sight of the relic, her flesh tingling with an unpleasant sensation. Her fear aura radiated around her, consciously pushing out to try and dissuade one of the men, if not both, but they just kept coming. These wraiths, these hunters, these harbingers of order. She hated everything. It was just a part of being what she was. But she hated these two most of all. She had seen through the Big ones facade the minute she had cast eyes upon him. He was no mere man. An inquisitor, an executioner, a REDEEMER!
She let out a baleful roar before rushing at Batman with all the speed she could still muster. With precision movements he swung his body to the right, using the momentum and hers to swat her in the back with the cross blade. She slammed forward into the chain link fence, and rebounded only to be struck again from behind, and brought down to her knees. She slowly turned to find the cross blade held deftly at her throat with the Batman sneering down at her with his boyish grin.
The Big man stepped up, looked from the blade to his partner, and then shrugged pointing the gun down at the Hag’s sagging head. “Tell the denizens of Hell that Press and Youth send their regards.”
Her eyes flared with malevolence as her disfigured jaw spat out the guttural language. “Theldora Negoral magondal schaner realranga, Redeemer!” (‘You will soon tell them yourself, God Touched!’ *Translated From Abyssal*)
Press smirked, and then nodded to the hag. “Maybe so…” Then he pulled the trigger. Green blood splattered through and around the chain link fence along with bits of grey flesh and black ichor. The Hag’s headless body slumped lifelessly to the ground, and began to dissolve. A few moments later there was nothing but a gelatinous pile of goop to even indicate that anything might have been there. It was a mechanism built into the fabric of every supernatural being so as to keep themselves a secret from the world. Each sub-type had a different way of going. Some dissolved like acid. Others went up in flames till there was nothing else. Some exploded in a cloud of dust. Either way, no mess to clean up or have to explain later.
Press took in a deep sigh, and holstered the pistol in a sling under his jacket. Youth kicked at some of the goop, and then looked back to the big man with resolute eyes. “Wait a minute……was that one of the silver bullets?” Youth asked, his hands now finding their way onto his hips. His demeanor indicated that he wasn’t happy.
Press shrugged, and rolled his eyes. “What else was I supposed to use?”
Youth’s hands shot up into his long greasy hair, and yanked as if he were going to pull it out by its roots. “You could have used the silver knife on your hip. You could have let me dispatch her with my own. You didn’t have to go wasting our last silver bullet!” Youth stalked towards the alleyway where the car awaited them, still shaking his head.
Press followed with a sour expression. “I don’t know what you’re so pissy about. We killed the bitch, sent her back to hell, and all in enough time to still make it El Sombrero’s for the Mexican Buffet. All in all, I’d call that a successful evening. What’s it matter anyways? We’ll just buy more.”
Youth opened the passenger’s side door, and flopped down into the seat. “With what? We’re out of cash!”
Press slid into the driver’s seat, putting the key into the ignition, and cocked his head to the side casually. “What do you mean we’re out of cash? We still got the Memphis money.”
“Dude! The Memphis money was gone the minute we got it. Between rent, the new front bumper and grill for the Pontiac, a new nail gun, and our travel out to Tennessee and back, that money’s gone.” Youth folded his arms over his chest in irritation as the car pulled away from the alley and out into traffic.
Press shook his head in disbelief, and eased back into his seat in contemplation. This was the story of their lives now. It wasn’t always like this. At one point he and Youth had been pretty decent wrestlers. They weren’t great, they weren’t superstars, but they made due. They had both worked the independents before finally getting a chance to work on a bigger stage. Unfortunately, that stage proved difficult, and the promoter thought that the two might work well as a tag team since they couldn’t seem to find momentum in singles competition. He was right. The Bombtrax, as a duo, worked for many places in the early days, scraping up spots and opportunities with whomever had the best offers. By the time they made it to a national position they had found their stride as competitors.
This was also around the same time that they met a man by the name of Johnny Storm, billionaire playboy who played wrestler as a hobby. He didn’t need the money, didn’t need the fame. He was a man who took a sick satisfaction in making everyone else look like a moron, and was really good at selling his own bullshit. The most infuriating part about him was the fact that he was good. Damn good. One of the best that the industry had ever seen. So when he came calling, asking for the Bombtrax to play the part of hired muscle, they accepted.
It was also around this time that Press met the love of his life, Tammy Lynn. He, Youth, and Tammy were inseparable. They traveled the roads together, shared accommodations, and even pooled their money together. But the ride couldn’t last. Storm was notorious for becoming bored with his new toys, and when he decided he was done with the Bombtrax he didn’t just let them go, he sent them to the hospital. The two were out of action for months, Press with a bum hip, and Youth with a severe concussion.
They were still convalescing at home, discussing their revenge on Johnny Storm, when they met Redemption. Long and short, Redemption was an angel, the seventh trumpet bearer, the redeeming angel. He was the keeper of Purgatory where the Beast slumbered until it’s awakening in the end of times. Most people read their bible, and they lent it’s scriptures to interpretation and real world application. Fact is, it’s meant to be read exactly how it is. And in Revelations, John spoke of a man of Western European ancestry who would eventually become the Anti-Christ. He would administer the mark of Cain, otherwise known as the beast, and would unleash that horror upon mankind as the seventh seal. In order for all of this to work, the Anti-Christ would need to be a direct descendant from the line of David, which would mean he would be the Great infinity grandson of Jesus Christ. Later on they would learn that this descendant was none other than Johnny Storm.
Press, Youth, and Tammy were lured into Redemption’s services, transformed for said purpose. They were healed of all their wounds, and given special powers and new motivations. Press possessed super strength, while Youth developed super speed. Tammy went through the most vivid transformation, becoming something that bordered on beast and woman. With the help of oracle, a scribe who had once been a television news anchor, the Frayed Ends of Sanity made war on Johnny Storm. Their objective was to bring about the prophecy set forth in the bible, and prepare the world for Armageddon. This drama unfolded over the span of four years, finally culminating with a truce between Johnny Storm and Redemption that sent the angel back to Purgatory, and freed the Bombtrax form his services.
There was one exception. Tammy Lynn didn’t revert back to normal. It was later revealed to Press by Oracle that she had chosen that life for herself. Her faith and her belief was what kept her in her transformed state, that she awaited her calling from on high. Press was reluctant to accept this fate, but seeing no alternative, allowed Oracle to lead Tammy back to Purgatory to serve Redemption. Oracle also left the Bombtrax with new instructions. Despite the loss of their powers, it didn’t change the fact that they had been touched by God. They could still see the horrors of the world, and more than likely those horrors would be drawn to them. They could still have a mission if they chose to accept it.
They had been fighting the supernatural ever since. They had learned over time, usually the hard way, how to kill these creatures. They developed an arsenal, acquired manuscripts, traveled from place to place where they heard about unnatural events. For awhile, they even used wrestling as a backdrop to fund their endeavors, taking them from town to town to face whatever new villain awaited them. But they hadn’t seen a national wrestling broadcast in over eight years, and with the exception of the occasional mark, they were mostly forgotten. They still did independent shows, like the aforementioned Memphis trip, but those were beginning to become few and far between. Their mission wasn't cheap, and neither was Las Vegas. They needed a regular gig, and soon, or they were going to be out on their ass again with no way of defending themselves.
The problem was, that most of them ended up on a bus back to wherever they came from, or worse, in the streets. No money. No direction. Just scraping away to survive in one of the most predatory cities in the world.
Las Vegas. Where the hopeful came to turn dreams into reality, but mostly only found nightmares. Most of those nightmares were financial, or at least centered in the real world. But there are some nightmares that are real. They live in the shadows, nondescript, blending in with the bizarre and untamed patrons of a metropolis that thrives on chaos. In that chaos is where they make their feeding grounds. Open territory on the unsuspecting fragile minds and the weak wills of those who had already given up everything. Their hunts, their ‘accidents’, their crimes went mostly unnoticed by the authorities. Just another poor schmuck who couldn’t face his wife after his indiscretions. Just another suicide because she couldn’t face her kids after losing their college funds. Just another poor, unfortunate, lost soul who fell victim to the plague of greed.
The young woman, wearing a pink tank top, white skirt, and rainbow striped tennis shoes swayed back and forth, a distant smile splayed over her face as she waited with a line of people all wanting admission into the noisy club. Even though she looked normal enough, the people around her had given her a wide berth, making it appear as if she were covered in some sort of invisible force field. They didn’t appear to think much of it, just doing what came natural to them.
Humans had a latent affinity for danger, especially to that of the supernatural. Most usually just passed it off as nonsense, after all, monsters didn’t really exist. The hairs rising on your arm, the coldness that you feel in certain places, shadows dancing in strange ways that could only be a trick of the light. Those defense mechanisms, however, were as ancient as the creatures that caused need for them in the first place. They were the only reason we were able to evolve.
The line began to move, and she along with it, casually stretching her arms over her head in a care free fashion. When she got up to the door, she slipped her hand into her pocket, producing a five dollar bill, and passed it to the doorman to cover her admission. The door man, a bulk of humanity that gave everyone who saw him pause, reached out instead for the young woman’s wrist. The hag looked first to the iron grip now on her forearm, and then up at the face of the man who had dared. Her eyes went wide with recognition, and then filled with panic. Panic and the supernatural were never a good combination.
Quick as a cat, the frail, innocent, Midwestern tourist, twisted her confined arm to grip the bouncers wrist, and as easy as if he were a wadded up burger wrapper, lifted him clear off the ground and flung him away from the door and out into the pavement of the street. The throw sent him a good fifteen feet, and he landed with a thud on his back, but rolled with the throw to come up to one knee. Those still waiting in line took several steps back in unison, all staring at the girl in shock. Despite their astonishment a few of them still had presence of mind to reach for their phones, holding them up and absent mindedly hitting record as if it were second nature. Ahh, the digital age!
The girl didn’t waste any time for a photo-op as she turned away from the door and bolted down the sidewalk. The big man let out an audible curse as he hoisted his large frame back to his feet, and gave chase.
He was already slow, but she was unnaturally fast. Zooming down the pavement at breakneck speeds, and putting as much distance between herself and him as possible. A dark alley lay between two of the buildings on her path, and she changed directions on a dime, ducking into her domain….the darkness.
Or at least that was her plan before she ran face first into a swinging baseball bat.
Her head snapped around in a gruesome manner upon impact, and her feet flew completely out from under her as she skidded down the littered path of the alleyway to finally come to a crashing halt against a dumpster Bits of pink flesh hung loose around her face, spatters of green blood draining from the off center mouth and nose. A long gash in her legs revealed a sickly grey skin beneath the husk, and an animalistic hiss escaped lips that no longer matched her bone structure. . Her flesh mask was ruined as she pulled herself haphazardly back to her feet, whirling her head around to spy this new attacker.
“Damn, you are one ugly bitch!” The young man wielding the bat said, nonchalantly throwing it up to rest on his shoulder. He looked to be in his late twenties, but he had aged well, a boyish grin splayed across his face. He wore a maroon colored t-shirt with black jeans held up by a belt that looked like something from the pages of Batman. His heavy biker boots echoed down the alley as he sauntered forwards, and the grim expression in his eyes didn’t match the grin that he still regarded her with.
Just then the big man bustled into the alley, blocking out the street lights that had provided the mood for the scene. Batman looked over his shoulder, momentarily distracted by the arrival, and that’s when the hag chose to strike.
She flew forward in a flash, thrashing wildly at the Batman with long, gnarled, fingernails that protruded through the human appendages. He turned just in time to bring the bat out in front of him, but not in enough time to keep her from bowling him over. Both went down in a heap, she pinning him down with unmatched power, using the bat to push down onto his chest and clamp his arms. The rest of her face began to melt down onto him, and he spat and sputtered as the ichor landed upon his face. The place where mouth used to be began to expand into a gaping maw that held the stench of death in its bowls. Her bloated eyes shone with hate and evil as the maw inched closer and closer to feed.
The Big man cursed again, reaching into his leather jacket and producing a pair of silver knuckles that had been engraved with tiny symbols of the cross on each indention. Slipping them on to his right hand, he rushed forward as quickly as he could, leaning his right shoulder down so that he would get a decent strike. Just as he made his final approach the Hag looked up reflexively from her prey, and screeched in his direction. Fear washed over him in waves, and he lost his footing, stumbling along and losing his momentum.
Most supernatural creatures had specific abilities tailored to whatever species or subcategory they belong to. Ghouls, or flesh feeders, which was the Hag’s subcategory, had the ability to produce a fear aura that helped incapacitate their victims before feeding. It was highly effective against people who were taken by surprise, or had a reputation for being weak willed. Unfortunately for her, the Big man was neither.
He had lost some momentum, but he was still stumbling in the right direction, and with a vicious snarl, he brought the lowered fist forward to explode against the Hag’s forehead. She snapped backwards in surprise, screeching in what could only be pain. The blow didn’t knock her off of Batman as he had planned, but it did allow his partner to get his arms free, and provided the distraction for what happened next.
With his arms now free, Batman brought the bat up so that the business end was now facing the creature that straddled his midsection. When her head came back around to him, he thrust forward with the handle, jamming the baseball bat into her open maw and right down her throat, driving her the rest of the way off of him.
The Hag recoiled, spitting and spatting around the lodged baseball bat. Reaching up with her grotesque hands, she fumbled with the handle to remove the obstruction. In the meantime, the Big man reached down to his partner, and helped him back up to his feet. The two men turned to the Hag just in time to see her yank the baseball bat from her dislocated jowls. She regarded the two men with a baleful glance, threw the baseball bat in their direction, and then turned and bolted further down the alley.
The Big man stepped out in front of the spinning baseball bat, bringing his arms up in front of him to block the blow. It struck, numbing his right forearm a bit, but not so much as to take him out of the fight. He turned to Batman, and regarded him with a rigid expression. “Do you need a starting flare or something, or are you going to let this bitch get away?”
Batman sighed, shaking his head. “Ever the critic,” he replied, before slipping around the Big man to make pursuit. He could see the Hag approximately forty feet ahead of him, when she darted to the left down an adjacent alley. When he reached the corner, he skidded to one side, and then pushed off with his other foot, pushing him down the corridor in blazing speed. His muscles were burning at this point, his arms still sore from the vice she had put him in, but still pumping at his side’s none-the-less.
Up ahead he could see a high chain link fence blocking the rest of the alleyway, and the hag made for it without stopping, probably to give herself a jumping head start. He had closed the gap between them to about fifteen feet, so when she made her leap, the distance grew shorter quickly. Instead of making a leap at the chain link of his own, he continued forward, producing an iron railroad spike from his utility belt. She was making her way over the side of the fence, when he brought the spike over his head, and drove it forward into her ankle. The speed and angle was perfect, and the Hag let out a shriek of agony before toppling over the fence to the opposite side in a heap.
She clutched at her obliterated ankle, her foot dangling loosely, being held together by only a few thin strips of sinew and grey skin. She scooted towards a trash can set outside an emergency exit door just past the fence, and used it to bring herself up on her one foot. She tested the wounded leg, and snarled in a mixture of rage and torment as she realized that it was useless. She spit a curse in a guttural language at the man on the other side of the fence, and turned towards the alley’s exit.
Creatures of the night were pretty good about sticking to the shadows, as it would be counterproductive to be seen out in the open, but sometimes, as in this case, there was no other way of escape. If she could get away, feed, she would be able to heal her wounds in time. To make it to the open street was her only option. She hopped along, hearing the chain link rattle as the Batman began his climb up the fence. She spared a glance over her shoulder, and could see that he was almost at the top, when screeching tires up ahead brought her eyes back front and center.
A 1966 Pontiac Tempest came to a stop at the alley’s end, blocking her exit out into the open street. A few pedestrians spared a glance as they passed, but went on about their business. Apathy was paramount in Sin City. The door of the vehicle swung open, and the springs gave a thankful sigh as the Big man from before stepped out. He had in his hand a .44 caliber Smith & Wesson Model 29 revolver, and he took long measured strides towards the Hag who was now caught between two assailants.
Her dislocated jaw twitched as she looked in both directions several times, trying to figure out which would be the easiest way out. Opting for the smaller opponent, she hobbled haphazardly on one foot back towards the fence just as Batman was dropping down. He turned around, and much to her dismay he held not a gun, but a cross with a long blade protruding from the end. She hissed in fury at the mere sight of the relic, her flesh tingling with an unpleasant sensation. Her fear aura radiated around her, consciously pushing out to try and dissuade one of the men, if not both, but they just kept coming. These wraiths, these hunters, these harbingers of order. She hated everything. It was just a part of being what she was. But she hated these two most of all. She had seen through the Big ones facade the minute she had cast eyes upon him. He was no mere man. An inquisitor, an executioner, a REDEEMER!
She let out a baleful roar before rushing at Batman with all the speed she could still muster. With precision movements he swung his body to the right, using the momentum and hers to swat her in the back with the cross blade. She slammed forward into the chain link fence, and rebounded only to be struck again from behind, and brought down to her knees. She slowly turned to find the cross blade held deftly at her throat with the Batman sneering down at her with his boyish grin.
The Big man stepped up, looked from the blade to his partner, and then shrugged pointing the gun down at the Hag’s sagging head. “Tell the denizens of Hell that Press and Youth send their regards.”
Her eyes flared with malevolence as her disfigured jaw spat out the guttural language. “Theldora Negoral magondal schaner realranga, Redeemer!” (‘You will soon tell them yourself, God Touched!’ *Translated From Abyssal*)
Press smirked, and then nodded to the hag. “Maybe so…” Then he pulled the trigger. Green blood splattered through and around the chain link fence along with bits of grey flesh and black ichor. The Hag’s headless body slumped lifelessly to the ground, and began to dissolve. A few moments later there was nothing but a gelatinous pile of goop to even indicate that anything might have been there. It was a mechanism built into the fabric of every supernatural being so as to keep themselves a secret from the world. Each sub-type had a different way of going. Some dissolved like acid. Others went up in flames till there was nothing else. Some exploded in a cloud of dust. Either way, no mess to clean up or have to explain later.
Press took in a deep sigh, and holstered the pistol in a sling under his jacket. Youth kicked at some of the goop, and then looked back to the big man with resolute eyes. “Wait a minute……was that one of the silver bullets?” Youth asked, his hands now finding their way onto his hips. His demeanor indicated that he wasn’t happy.
Press shrugged, and rolled his eyes. “What else was I supposed to use?”
Youth’s hands shot up into his long greasy hair, and yanked as if he were going to pull it out by its roots. “You could have used the silver knife on your hip. You could have let me dispatch her with my own. You didn’t have to go wasting our last silver bullet!” Youth stalked towards the alleyway where the car awaited them, still shaking his head.
Press followed with a sour expression. “I don’t know what you’re so pissy about. We killed the bitch, sent her back to hell, and all in enough time to still make it El Sombrero’s for the Mexican Buffet. All in all, I’d call that a successful evening. What’s it matter anyways? We’ll just buy more.”
Youth opened the passenger’s side door, and flopped down into the seat. “With what? We’re out of cash!”
Press slid into the driver’s seat, putting the key into the ignition, and cocked his head to the side casually. “What do you mean we’re out of cash? We still got the Memphis money.”
“Dude! The Memphis money was gone the minute we got it. Between rent, the new front bumper and grill for the Pontiac, a new nail gun, and our travel out to Tennessee and back, that money’s gone.” Youth folded his arms over his chest in irritation as the car pulled away from the alley and out into traffic.
Press shook his head in disbelief, and eased back into his seat in contemplation. This was the story of their lives now. It wasn’t always like this. At one point he and Youth had been pretty decent wrestlers. They weren’t great, they weren’t superstars, but they made due. They had both worked the independents before finally getting a chance to work on a bigger stage. Unfortunately, that stage proved difficult, and the promoter thought that the two might work well as a tag team since they couldn’t seem to find momentum in singles competition. He was right. The Bombtrax, as a duo, worked for many places in the early days, scraping up spots and opportunities with whomever had the best offers. By the time they made it to a national position they had found their stride as competitors.
This was also around the same time that they met a man by the name of Johnny Storm, billionaire playboy who played wrestler as a hobby. He didn’t need the money, didn’t need the fame. He was a man who took a sick satisfaction in making everyone else look like a moron, and was really good at selling his own bullshit. The most infuriating part about him was the fact that he was good. Damn good. One of the best that the industry had ever seen. So when he came calling, asking for the Bombtrax to play the part of hired muscle, they accepted.
It was also around this time that Press met the love of his life, Tammy Lynn. He, Youth, and Tammy were inseparable. They traveled the roads together, shared accommodations, and even pooled their money together. But the ride couldn’t last. Storm was notorious for becoming bored with his new toys, and when he decided he was done with the Bombtrax he didn’t just let them go, he sent them to the hospital. The two were out of action for months, Press with a bum hip, and Youth with a severe concussion.
They were still convalescing at home, discussing their revenge on Johnny Storm, when they met Redemption. Long and short, Redemption was an angel, the seventh trumpet bearer, the redeeming angel. He was the keeper of Purgatory where the Beast slumbered until it’s awakening in the end of times. Most people read their bible, and they lent it’s scriptures to interpretation and real world application. Fact is, it’s meant to be read exactly how it is. And in Revelations, John spoke of a man of Western European ancestry who would eventually become the Anti-Christ. He would administer the mark of Cain, otherwise known as the beast, and would unleash that horror upon mankind as the seventh seal. In order for all of this to work, the Anti-Christ would need to be a direct descendant from the line of David, which would mean he would be the Great infinity grandson of Jesus Christ. Later on they would learn that this descendant was none other than Johnny Storm.
Press, Youth, and Tammy were lured into Redemption’s services, transformed for said purpose. They were healed of all their wounds, and given special powers and new motivations. Press possessed super strength, while Youth developed super speed. Tammy went through the most vivid transformation, becoming something that bordered on beast and woman. With the help of oracle, a scribe who had once been a television news anchor, the Frayed Ends of Sanity made war on Johnny Storm. Their objective was to bring about the prophecy set forth in the bible, and prepare the world for Armageddon. This drama unfolded over the span of four years, finally culminating with a truce between Johnny Storm and Redemption that sent the angel back to Purgatory, and freed the Bombtrax form his services.
There was one exception. Tammy Lynn didn’t revert back to normal. It was later revealed to Press by Oracle that she had chosen that life for herself. Her faith and her belief was what kept her in her transformed state, that she awaited her calling from on high. Press was reluctant to accept this fate, but seeing no alternative, allowed Oracle to lead Tammy back to Purgatory to serve Redemption. Oracle also left the Bombtrax with new instructions. Despite the loss of their powers, it didn’t change the fact that they had been touched by God. They could still see the horrors of the world, and more than likely those horrors would be drawn to them. They could still have a mission if they chose to accept it.
They had been fighting the supernatural ever since. They had learned over time, usually the hard way, how to kill these creatures. They developed an arsenal, acquired manuscripts, traveled from place to place where they heard about unnatural events. For awhile, they even used wrestling as a backdrop to fund their endeavors, taking them from town to town to face whatever new villain awaited them. But they hadn’t seen a national wrestling broadcast in over eight years, and with the exception of the occasional mark, they were mostly forgotten. They still did independent shows, like the aforementioned Memphis trip, but those were beginning to become few and far between. Their mission wasn't cheap, and neither was Las Vegas. They needed a regular gig, and soon, or they were going to be out on their ass again with no way of defending themselves.