NARCOLEPTIC DOGS PRESS, IN ASSOCIATION WITH COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED, PRESENTS... WARDEN: AN ASH UNIVERSE COMIC (ASH property of Dave Van Domelen. Warden property of Matt Rossi and Dave Van Domelen. All Rights Reserved. Issue 8 copyright Dave Van Domelen, Tony Pi and Matt Rossi.) ISSUE NUMBER 8: DEEP ARMAGEDDON - HUNTING THE HUNTER (Adult content, language and situations - Please be advised.) [Cover shows the Wergild, a hulking golden figure, reaching out towards the reader. The snapped-off tip of a sword is imbedded deeply in the soft gold.] RECAP What's Happened Since Last Issue in the DEEP ARMAGEDDON crossover In Conclave of Super-Villains #3, the Conclave set a trap for ASH member Peregryn and STRAFE agents Jen Kleinvogel and C.J. Brown, who were all apparently killed in an explosion atop Mount Placid, but in reality were set loose by one of the Conclave members to help advance her own agenda. The rest of the Conclave decided to pretend they had the heroes captive anyway. In Time Capsules #1, the future archeologists watched a copy of the "ransom tape" sent by the CSV (the same one which was on TV at the end of ASH #12), which outlined their powers and dropped clues as to their intentions. Finally, in CSV #4, ASH and STRAFE worked together to decipher a clue left on Mount Placid, while also anticipating the possible true goal of the Conclave...Haven, former domain of the original Conclave of Supervillains in the 1990s, an artificial island in the Mediterranean which sunk beneath the waves in the wake of the events of July 6, 1998. Meanwhile, Peregryn and the STRAFE agents traveled to Manhattan to find the Ankh Killer and walked in on a plot against Warden's life. On December 30 and 31, during the main action of Warden #8, the events of ASH #13 take place, with the members of the Academy of Super-Heroes chasing around the world to defuse bombs hidden in major casinos. At the same time, STRAFE and EUROPA worked together in an as-yet-unpublished STRAFE #5 to stop the CSV from looting Haven, a former city of supervillains described in Time Capsules #2. And now, on with our story.... ============================================================================= 24 December 2023 2:27 PM EST [Editor's Note: Watch the times carefully, this story does not flow smoothly from the past to the future, but hops around a bit.] "So...why did we need a tree in the dojo again?" "For the love of Tym...it's Christmas, Tommy!" Jimmy Willot hung the last strand of tinsel on the fake tree. "Wish we had some ornaments." "Christmas...that. I'd forgotten." Thomas suddenly stood up and threw off his T-Shirt. "I have to go, Jimmy." "Huh? Where?" "Out." As Jimmy watched, Thomas flung his shoes off and pulled on his tabi, then threw on his long leather duster and strapped the sheaths for his weapons under it. "What...now? It's Christmas Eve Day! And it's the middle of the day!" "I know. I have people to see. This is the time to see them. I will be back for dinner tonight. Say hello to Madalyne and Beth for me." He leapt up to the skylight and flipped out in a smooth motion. "Well, that was different...even for him." Warden, meanwhile, was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, heading downtown...to the hospital in which he'd spent seventeen years comatose. He wasn't proud of himself, but he'd somehow forgotten, between the Mentor and other concerns, to find his parents. He remembered now. A powerful leap carried him across a sixty foot jump, and he cut south, swinging from a flagpole and arching his back over some power lines. He could taste the ozone and feel the hum of power inside them, sheathed by black insulation but not quiescent. Dropping down onto an electric trolley bus, he held on and waited. Soon they were past Soho. He leapt off the bus and onto a nearby cornice, bouncing from there to the roof of the Nelson Rockefeller Memorial Hospital. Inside it swarmed with people. Warden could sense them, smell them, feel them, hear them, see through their eyes. He hung from the roof and waited until the Christmas party inside lured out the people from the Records Room. Then he dropped thirty feet and landed, catlike, on the ledge. A moment of work and he slid through the bars and into the room. He scanned his surroundings. Many file cabinets, five active computer terminals...for a moment, his eyelessness actually re-asserted itself as a handicap. How would he find them? He could read, because of the minds of others, but he couldn't _see_. Brushing his fingers across the surface of one of the cabinets, he learned happily that the labeling system was raised lettering on strips of plastic. "N-Q" took him a few seconds, but he found it. Each file continued the use of plastic labelling tabs, and he found "MALFEAS, THOMAS" after thirty seconds of searching. However, reading it was still impossible. He tucked the file into his jacket and closed the cabinet. Hopefully they would take a few days to notice...and by then he would know where his parents lived. Smiling, he jumped out the window. A moment later, a woman simply appeared in the records office, stepping out from behind a filing cabinet that could not possibly have hidden her from Warden's senses. She smiled and ran her hands over the files Warden had searched, as if trying to absorb the aura of his passage. She was elegant and pale, with the bearing of one who felt herself to be a rightful ruler. Then, having accomplished her goal, she vanished into thin air, stepping back into the spacefold she had so carefully and laboriously constructed. * * * * 31 December 2023 8:34 AM EST Jen Kleinvogel, member of STRAFE and presumed hostage of the Conclave of Super-Villains, hovered near-invisibly outside a window in one of Manhattan's many semi-abandoned buildings. "Semi-" because the building had been co-opted by one of more people with authority in the city...authority not derived from any governmental agency. Several such people were meeting in this place, and according to one of the Conclave of Super-Villains members who was playing both ends against the middle, one of the people in the building was the Ankh Killer. Or *an* Ankh Killer. The circumstances were somewhat complicated. Four major players were in the room. An as-yet-unnamed woman with a Quebecois accent, who Jen presumed to be the Ankh Killer from context. General Kasca, who Jen had never heard of, and who had an accent she couldn't place [Editor's note - Jen was already imcommunicado when Kasca attacked ASH in ASH #12]. And finally, Lady Bathory and Cockatrice, major players in the paragang scene in Manhattan. Cockatrice was a secondary target of Jen's, since she and her companions-in-faked-captivity had agreed to find the paraganger and help one of Cockatrice's victims regain the use of her legs. There were others in the room, but none talked. The Ankh Killer seemed to be building to a crescendo. "I call it a Wergild, the price paid for the deaths of men. It is a golem of my design, and I have imbued it with much power. It is designed for one purpose: revenge. It draws to itself the spirits of those who died in violence and allows them a chance to take vengeance upon those that killed them. This Wergild is attuned to the Warden, and it has already begun to draw the victims of Warden to it. Look!" There was a pause, and Jen wished she could risk being seen long enough to see what it was that had these high-stakes players' rapt attention. She felt a chill across her whole body, one greater than caused by the winter winds. "Very well, Caryatid. If the Wergild destroys the Warden, then we will invest in the CSV. If not..." Bathory let the words trail off. "The Wergild does not know the meaning of failure!" the Quebecois woman, apparently named Caryatid, proclaimed. Jen could hear Scorch's voice in her mind chuckling, "There's a lot of things it doesn't know." He always was one for that sort of mood-countering humor. Before she could finish framing that thought, the window Jen had been eavesdropping at burst open as a giant statue of gold leapt into the wintry air, falling as it went. She couldn't contain a yelp of surprise, alerting those inside to her presence. "A spy!" shouted Bathory. "Eliminate her!" [Editor's note: the previous several paragraphs are reproduced from CSV #4.] Cockatrice was the first to spring into action, unleashing a blast of cold white light in Jen's direction, trusting a wide angle shot to hit the blurry flier. Part of the beam clipped Jen's ankle and she could feel ice water in her veins, but the amulet Peregryn had given her to wear worked. Warmth quickly flooded her, countering Cockatrice's ice-based powers. Without the amulet, she would have joined poor Tyra Dumont, whose legs were not merely frozen, but actually turned to ice. For its part, the golden behemoth that was the Wergild ignored Jen and landed at street level with a dull metallic thud. It started walking north. "There's more down there," Bathory said amusedly, leaning out the window to see Peregryn and C.J. Brown tossing aside heavy winter coats and rushing to help their teammate. There was a general scramble inside the room, and General Kasca shouted something about poor security. Caryatid stepped out the window and hovered there, smugly. "Calm yourself, General. This won't be but a minute, and you can see more of what you're investing in," she smiled coldly, pointing at Jen and hurling her back against a building with a wave of mystical force. Cockatrice snarled and leapt out the window, firing a barrage of ice blasts at Peregryn and C.J., but finding them equally protected. Bathory merely leaned against the windowsill as if enjoying a performance. * * * * 31 December 2023, 5:53 AM EST Dawn was still hours away, and Warden prowled the icy rooftops. He had yet to find his parents, and this was gnawing at him. But he had made no progress reading the documents himself by touch, and it hadn't felt...right asking Jimmy. After all, Jimmy Willot didn't have a very good relationship with his parents, and asking him to help Thomas find his own might force his friend to face some unpleasant memories. At least, that's what Warden told himself was the case. It had nothing to do with Jimmy's flowering relationship with Madalyne. Absolutely nothing at all. Warden didn't want to think about it. Warden wanted to find some heads to break, so he could do something besides think about it. Where was all the crime? Not even the supposed good cheer of Christmas had completely emptied Manhattan's streets of scum...in fact, those who would still victimize their fellow man on that day were even more reprehensible than most, and Warden had felt no pity when he left them screaming in their own piss and vomit. But tonight there had been almost nothing. A few minor property crimes, one attempted mugging by normal human criminals, but nothing else. It was as if the major players had called a halt to operations just to leave Warden alone with his own thoughts. It was so cruel, it might almost have been true. * * * * 31 December 2023, 8:42 AM EST "Jen, follow the Wergild," Peregryn whispered over the communication charm he had ensorcelled from a set of ear-bud headphones. "We may need to hunt it down before it can kill anyone, and you're just an extra target here. C.J., keep Caryatid busy for a moment, I need to do something about Cockatrice." "Roger," Jen said somewhat weakly before rocketing into the air and heading north. Caryatid sent a desultory mystic bolt after her, but it missed its mark. "Hey, Frenchie! Is Paris burning?" C.J. mocked as she ignited the flamethrower she had cobbled together from parts she got at a hardware store the night before. The flame grew and formed rings around Caryatid. Caryatid sneered. "I am not French, I am Quebecois. As if a crude anglo such as yourself would know the difference," she replied, dissipating the flames with a burst of willpower. Cockatrice, meanwhile, changed tactics and turned the ground under Peregryn's feet to ice. He merely stood there, unperturbed. "If I didn't know any better, Trish, I'd say these people were ready for you," Bathory purred from her windowsill perch. Peregryn touched the index and middle fingers of his right hand to his forehead and whispered an incantation. A spark formed where the fingers touched his brow, and when he then pointed at Cockatrice, the spark leapt to her, shocking her and making what hair wasn't in a tight braid stand on end. "Switch targets," Peregryn whispered. "Fine, be that way," C.J. sniffed at Caryatid, turning her flamethrower on Cockatrice. "I think I'll melt this ice maiden instead." Flames shot out and started to wrap around Cockatrice. With a wave of her hand, the paraganger turned the flames into solid ice, which then fell around her and shattered. Peregryn raised an eyebrow. "That's it, there's no profit in staying here. You can call me if you survive, bitch," Cockatrice spat at Caryatid. "Come on, Bathory, let's go." "Oh, I'll be along. I want to see how this turns out," Bathory smiled, showing a bit of fang. * * * * 31 December 2023, 6:10 AM EST Times Square. Memories taken from others told Warden that this had once been the heart of Manhattan, first a bustling center of vice and then a more family-friendly place just before Odin called in his troops in 1998. A generation ago, it would have been filled with people even at this time of day, and more so on this particular day. It was one of many things Thomas knew about society but didn't really understand. Why celebrate the simple act of changing an arbitrary number on the calendar? There was no religious significance he had been able to determine, no great event to commemorate...it was simply the first day of the year, as picked for reasons that seemed almost capricious to Thomas. Why not pick a date with astronomical significance, such as the equinoxes or solstices? Or one with more religious portent, like Christmas or Easter or one of the many religious calendar firstdays, such as the Jewish New Year? Still, Times Square was quiet now, a good place to be alone with one's thoughts. And thus a place Thomas did not want to be. Wait, someone skulking in the shadows...with thoughts of larceny on his mind, to judge from the psychic "taste." Definitely not someone come to set up a revival of the New Year's celebration custom here. Ah, a familiar mind. So, not *all* the paragangers were lying low. Warden landed behind the man and drew his bundi with as audible a hiss as he could manage, enhancing his subject's hearing so that it practically roared like a jet engine. "YAH!" the man cried out, leaping around and clutching his ears in pain as his own shout felt like a rifle shot. Warden released his hold on the man. He wanted information at the moment, not just the cheap gratification of fist slamming into stomach. "So, Hooks, what's a paragang inforunner like you doing out on a cold morning like this?" * * * * 31 December 2023, 8:46 AM EST Peregryn looked carefully at Caryatid, focusing beyond simple vision and looking with faerie eyes...looking at the magical world that underlay the physical one wherever mages went. The woman was a bright and blazing bonfire of power, raw and untrained, unfocused and brute. The tang of alchemy floated about her, but only a slight flavoring. She was not an adept, but rather the rankest of amateurs. But with the power she had at her command, she didn't need a great deal of skill to accomplish something like the creation of a revenant golem. He stole a glance at the golem as Caryatid gathered her energies and prepared to fight unaided. It was moving slowly, sluggishly, as if it weren't truly motivated to find its target. The spells were in place, but... aha. Caryatid had equated a fearful reputation with being a murderer. Peregryn knew about Warden from reading the files Contact had been provided, and very few actual deaths could be laid at Warden's door. So the Wergild had to subsist on few spirits, and try to draw in those of people who had died at other hands, but died hating Warden. Weaker gruel for such as the golem to sup on. Then Caryatid's moment of hesitation was over. * * * * 31 December 2023, 6:12 AM EST "Come on, Hooks...you know what's going on. Your whole ego is tied up in knowing the scoop," Warden rasped. "By hook or by crook you get your information, and I want some of it." "You won't get it," the paraganger stammered. His talent was an unerring instinct at digging up information, both from machines and people. He could get people to tell him things they wouldn't tell God. Needless to say, this made him very unpopular in certain circles and very popular in others. Spilling the beans to Warden could make him very unpopular in ALL circles. "Awww," Warden mocked. "I haven't even told you what I want to know yet. Who knows, it may be something I'm supposed to find out, so I'll be lured into a trap?" "No, man. You can only kill me once," he tried to put up a macho front. "True, but I can do other things beyond imagination to you," Warden said, his voice calm and even. He tuned in on Hooks's senses, noticing a slight burning feeling in the man's urinary tract. He must have been careless while "pumping" a source for information. Warden reached out with his power and removed the paraganger's ability to control his bladder. "Oh, shit," Hooks hissed as a warm stain spread over his pants. At first he thought his nerves had betrayed him, then his eyes grew wide as he realized what was happening. Just then, the burning pain turned into a napalm charge dropped in his lap. He howled like one of the damned, dropping to the ground and trying to shovel Manhattan's dirty snow into his pants. And as quickly as it had come, the pain receded. "So, Hooks, why is it so quiet tonight? Where did everyone go?" * * * * 31 December 2023, 8:48 AM EST C.J. slammed against the wall, dropping her flamethrower as the mystic bolt made her senses swim. The flames guttered out as the weapon fell into a patch of slush. Caryatid turned to face Peregryn, who was still standing stock still in the middle of an ice patch. "So, now it is just you and just me, mage against mage," she said confidently, her accent thick and arrogant. "Not correct," Peregryn said calmly. "It is true that I am a mage, but you are not. You are merely a sorceror's apprentice, with great power but no idea what to do with it." It was risky to goad her like this, he knew, but better than letting her calmly apply her meager skills. Rattled, she might fall for a trap a novice would sidestep. Caryatid's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "For years my true power, my birthright, was stolen from me. I may not have your experience, 'hero,' but I command forces greater than any you will ever know!" "Power is nothing without skill, neophyte," Peregryn calmly taunted. "I've skill enough, and power to make up the difference!" Caryatid shouted, angrily hurling her most potent war magicks against Peregryn. He merely held up a hand like a knife edge and the blast split in two, coursing to either side of him and devastating the surroundings. "The sword can cleave even a mighty river," was his calm response. Caryatid failed to notice the subtle gestures he made with his other hand. "And if the pillars of heaven fall on the sword, it's still crushed," she countered, continuing to blast at the building behind him. "The earth accepts its own," was his gentle reply, and the building slowly rocked back and sank into the ground as Peregryn asked the earth spirits to help him. They hungrily agreed to blot out the artificial spike which had been driven into their island. Fortunately, the few squatters normally in residence on that block had been cleared out by Cockatrice's paragangers, the Snow Leopards, to help make the meeting more secure. And he continued his hidden gestures. "Fine. Can your elegance protect your friend?" she sneered, launching another attack at C.J.'s prone form. The blast passed through C.J.'s image, which then vanished, revealing the real hero to have staggered away under a cloak of illusion. Then it rebounded from the spell Peregryn had been constructing, arcing back towards its caster. Caryatid had just enough time to look surprised before her own unfocused blast was focused onto her by the mystic parabola Peregryn had constructed during the duel. She slammed against the space between windows and slid to the ground, unmoving and unconscious. For her part, Bathory had vanished from the windowsill moments before her erstwhile investment struck the wall next to it. * * * * 31 December 2023, 8:25 AM EST Hooks knew surprisingly little, although it made sense that he wouldn't be able to get much directly from Bathory or Cockatrice. He didn't want to get on their bad side. He did know one thing of import. The paragangers *had* revived the Times Square custom, and planned to get roaring drunk in celebration. This was why things were so quiet...they were out in Jersey buying booze or back in their lairs planning the party. It was a party Warden decided he'd crash that night. The other information was hazy at best. Some new player had come to town and asked for a meeting with Bathory and Cockatrice on the south side. Hooks didn't know who or why or exactly where and when, but there was sure to be enough stink of Snow Leopards around that if he kept looking he'd find something interesting. After several minutes of searching, he sensed something...unnatural... off in the distance. About two miles. Shouldn't take too long to find. Especially since he couldn't help but feel it was looking for him.... * * * * 31 December 2023, 8:53 AM EST "Are you okay?" Peregryn asked C.J., who was shaking off the effects of Caryatid's earlier mystic blast. "Okay enough to keep an eye on Carrie here," she said, cleaning the slush out of her flamethrower. "I can hear the cops coming, I'll run interference and hand her over to them for safekeeping. You take care of that rollin' golem." Peregryn nodded and called up an air elemental to whisk him along the streets. "Kleinvogel, do you still have the golem in sight?" "Affirmative, and he seems to have found something, he's changed directions. Wait...someone's moving across the rooftops!" "That would be Warden. I'll be there in a moment," Peregryn promised, and he was good on it, arriving seconds later. The Wergild was picking up speed and awareness, lurching towards its target. The Wergild had too much power invested in it for Peregryn to simply shut it off, but it had to have a "loose thread" he could tug at, some bit of sloppy construction that had been papered over with the application of power. Ah, there it was. Caryatid had not used true gold in its construction, which made sense, as it would represent millions of dollars' worth. Instead, she had used alchemical gold, and a fairly crude form at that. Mercury for ductility and conductivity, sulphur for color. The old formula, which had killed many a genius who spent too much time playing with mercury vapors. Peregryn drifted up to the Wergild. Its rudimentary senses perceived him as a threat, and it started to turn towards him, but then he touched it and it split into two figures, one of sulphur and one of mercury. For a moment, both raised their fists as if to smash him. Peregryn stood his ground. The figures burst apart into powder and fluid, the base elements unable to hold the power Caryatid had infused the Wergild with. A few hungry souls streamed into the night, leaving emptiness in their wake. * * * * 31 December 2023, 9:00 AM EST Warden listened carefully. Police sirens. There must have been a fight, perhaps between Bathory and the people who wished a meeting with her. It was not unlike her to attack anyone who would not serve her, after all. Suddenly, a stench of brimstone assailed his senses, and he had to dampen his own ability to smell, or risk being overcome by nausea. The sense of wrongness faded, however. The sense that something was hunting him. He would have to ask Bathory what had happened this morning when he next met her. Perhaps at the New Year's Eve party.... * * * * 31 December 2023, 12:00 noon EST Vengeance rarely rests easily, and power is not so quickly dispersed as one might think. While its body was destroyed, the Weregild lived on, stronger than its creator or its would-be destroyer would give it credit for. But it would not be able to hold together forever as a wandering emotion, it needed form, substance. And it had now found a new form. The body was bronze instead of gold, but that was sufficient. And it was far larger and stronger than the body of alchemical gold. Perhaps the Weregild's power would shatter this statue before too long, but it would last long enough for Warden to be shattered first. Then...Atlas shrugged. ============================================================================ Author's Notes (Dave Van Domelen): Originally, the Big Crossover was going to center on Warden, as promised in the "next issue box" of Warden #7. ASH and CSV would converge on Manhattan, with Warden caught in the middle. Badger even wrote about 150 lines of Warden Annual #1 before losing his net access (and phone access, apparently). Time passed. Tony and I bounced around ideas for the crossover. It changed direction, incorporated the Haven storyline Marc had proposed a couple years ago for STRAFE. I finally looked at the draft of Warden Annual #1 and realized it was almost completely out of continuity by that point. ASH would be too busy with the bombs around the world to chase Warden down. The CSV was going after Haven, not Cockatrice. And Mr. Strings had sent her own team into Manhattan for other purposes. The final scene of the draft could still be used, and with a little modification at the end formed the first scene of the issue you just read. But I didn't want to get too much into Warden himself this issue, because I didn't want to mess with development ideas Badger has for the character. Hence the idea of Warden never actually getting involved with the fight. Late addendum: I kept forgetting to post this, and just as I was about to get around to it, Badger returned to the land of the net.connected, yay! There's a couple additions and subtractions he asked to be made, mostly to set up the next issue.