One's progress through the hours, days and years of life may dash, it may slow to a crawl, but ever forward it marches, never to revisit old haunts, never to call back decisions made. So said the natural philosophy of both man and squirrel, and even when implausible contrivance allowed the march of time to double back upon itself...it was never quite the same the second time around. We can only plod onward, then, and hope beyond hope that the mistakes of the past may be repaired where they cannot be undone. Nothing is irrevocable, or so they said, not even death itself. But what about death of the soul? Where in their natural philosophy was place for the soul? Eternal, and capable of being eternally damned by our choices. I have seen too many good squirrels cross that line that cannot be recrossed, trading their essential selves for power or knowledge or...most tragically...love. And all too often, they traded for time. More years of life. More hours of satisfaction and repose in the day. Less waiting. So often for less waiting. SHE certainly traded her soul for less waiting, hoping to leap ahead on time's road, impatient for a solution she feared would never come. Did she fear the cure would come so late she would forget what she had lost, be unable to truly return to herself? Or was it something shallower, a concern that the blush of youthful beauty would be lost to her while trapped in that ugly human form? But what use is beauty of body if you have shiveled your spirit into something small and ugly? Not that I have either beauty left to me. My red fur covers the scars to my body, my professional demeanor the scars to my soul. But I have borne all wounds for the sake of my people...who does Gwen kill her soul for the sake of? And will I have to kill her body as well, to keep her from providing a great evil with a way to enslave our people? If I must, then I shall. Another scar more or less will not be distinguishable on my battered soul. @>-`-,-`-,-`-,`-,-`-,-`-,-`- \\ // -'-.-'-.'-.-'-.-'-.-'-.-'-<@ .|,Coherent Comics Presents \\ // #18 - Sciuridae Sciurinae --X------------------------- E }X{ ARCHS copyright 2003 by the '|` A Superguy/LNH Tale // \\ Dvandroid (Dave Van Domelen) @>-`-,-`-,-`-,`-,-`-,-`-,-`- // \\ -'-.-'-.'-.-'-.-'-.-'-.-'-<@ It had many, many flaws, Gwen mused, but her ugly human body could at least run fairly quickly. The hideously long and all but hairless legs probably had something to do with it. Of course, with only a few isolated clumps of trees here and there, Kansas didn't really favor running through the branches, so the clumsy bulk of her human form didn't weigh in against it. At the moment. As she crossed the border back into the Darklands, Gwen felt a sense of dread and foreboding. The Gentle Gift of Crimson was not a vindictive mast...employer, and he didn't punish failure simply to enjoy the punishing. But they HAD screwed up twice in rapid succession. She was starting to wonder if they'd been sent in the second time AS punishment, that he knew they'd fail badly and take their licks from the Exarchs. It seemed needlessly byzantine, but that phrase described a lot of the things she'd witnessed since going to work for the Gentle Gift of Crimson. Hell, the surviving members of the Pentad would also feel even more hatred towards the Exarchs, motivating them to try even harder the next time. Perhaps tempting them...us...to accept more drastic measures to gain power. She was starting to ponder morbidly the ways in which her teammates could possibly get WORSE in the quest for more power, when she was distracted by a chitter from overhead. Someone was calling her name, and not in human tongue either. Gwen called upon the power of the amulet she wore and shrank to her proper, beautiful squirrel form so that she could respond in kind. Human mouths could speak squirrel, barely, but it was a total slaughtering of the nuances of the language, and she hated to hear it coming from her own mouth. "What do you want?" she demanded, focusing on the reddish brown form perched tentatively in the branches of the leafless maple. A cap of tinfoil sat on his head, making an otherwise rakishly handsome squirrel look ludicrous. "Me? Nothing in particular," he admitted. "But the Council insisted I make an attempt to rescue you, even after I argued until my tail went limp that it was pointless." [In the wake of Jack landing on the leaders of the Red Squirrel Nation back in Crazy Guy #14, the Reds adopted a more spread-out government that was less susceptible to impact. - Ed] "Damn right it's pointless," Gwen chittered angrily. "I don't need rescuing, at least not now that I broke out of that military outpost," she twitched her ears in the general direction of Paxico. He barked a harsh laugh, deliberately making a human sound. "Hardly. It's pointless because I can't rescue you from yourself, foolish little girl. You walked into the dog's mouth with eyes wide open and smiling, and if I try to pull you out, you'll just run back in." "Who are you to judge me, and what the hell do you know anyway?" Gwen spat back. He cocked his head ironically to one side, and sneered. "I am Jonkatta of Virginia. Jonkatta who braved the red sands of Mars and saw a dying world and a dead dream. Jonkatta who traveled through Hell itself and witnessed the tormented howling out regret for their mistakes and sins. I've seen too damn many squirrels rush headlong into the fire and ice of eternal damnation to not recognize it in you, Gwen." "Well, I'm Gwen the abandoned! Gwen the betrayed! Left to rot in a prison of pink flesh by my own people because they found it convenient to do so!" she screeched back, her voice trembling with pain. "HE," she pointed at the Dark Spire, "gave me my SELF back, when all that YOU ALL could do was mutter about needing more TIME." Jonkatta's face softened [trust me, Gwen could tell. - Ed]. "Gwen, look around you. The Gentle Gift of Crimson wants to do this to the entire universe. Is that worth a few years of your life back? Can't you feel the death all around you?" Gwen shivered. She realized now that she *hadn't* felt it before, but now it was palpable. Had the Gentle Gift of Crimson been blocking her from feeling this? "It's not like there's a lot of years to work with," she weakly rejoined. Jonkatta looked like he wanted to spit. "Idiot child. Don't you think *anything* through? I suppose some of the blame lies with the Council, though. They should have told you, and not *assumed* you'd realized it. Gwen, you were turned into a human by demon blood. Even if there was no mystically extended lifespan resulting from the magical nature of the transformation, humans live ten times as long as squirrels! If it took a decade to cure you, you would have lost only a year of your life!" "How many years do you have left to lose, Jonkatta the hell-tripper?" hissed a new voice (voices?) from nearby. Jolted out of her stunned silence, Gwen turned to see a mob of a dozen or so Grays. Well, most of them were gray. Their fur had come out in huge patches, leaving a few almost hairless. The hide underneath had an unhealthy yellowish pallor to it, and their bodies were subtly twisted. As one, they raised their forepaws in strange gestures, whispering sounds-that-were-not-words in unison and creating a foul sussuration like wind through tattered flesh. Crimson bolts lanced out from their eyes and joined into a single snapping arc of energy that struck the tree where Jonkatta had stood an instant before. Her vision danced as bolt after bolt lit up the landscape, Jonkatta barely staying ahead of the attacks. The thirteen twisted mystics did not seem to be tiring, and Jonkatta soon would. As storied as his adventures had been, he was still just a mortal squirrel, and this coven had become something more...and something less. Was this the price they had paid for dealing with the Gentle Gift of Crimson? Would she pay a similar price? Had she already? Finally, it seemed to be over for the valiant Virginian. A blast had come close enough to shatter a stone, knocking him for a loop and stunning him. The cabal turned as one to savor the final strike. "Ratatosk, who runs 'tween the eagle and the drake, who tells the truths none wish to hear, give me discord!" shouted a new voice. All eyes swiveled around to see the newcomer, a squirrel black as night, an ebon orb chained to one paw and a black fedora perched impossibly over his ears. The cabal tried to redirect their attack at the black squirrel, but found they could no longer coordinate their spells. They whispered angrily amongst themselves for a moment. "Once I might have sat with you in discourse at a table of truce, a meeting of minds for the sharing of knowledge. But now I must kick your sorry, mutated tails, for I am a..." "STRANGER!" the Grays hissed in disunion, a strange hissing echo as the name bounced through the massed mystics. "I never get to finish," the black squirrel sighed. "You may have disrupted our link, Park Stranger," one of the Grays hissed. "But we are still thirteen, and you are but one. We shall have your tail for bedding!" Mystic energy crackled back and forth, and several of the Grays fell to argent bolts of lightning, but the Park Stranger was unable to block every one of their attacks. He was soon having trouble mustering the concentration needed to cast his own magicks. The Park Stranger was, as the humans put it, being nibbled to death by ducks. The expression used to confuse Gwen, since ducks tended to just beat you up and take your lunch, they didn't need to nibble. But she later realized that a human presented a more daunting target to your average duck. And she could end this pretty quickly by becoming human. Whichever side she supported would win the battle. But which side should she choose? Maybe she could wait and see who won, first? No, that didn't make it any better. Just going with the winner because it was the winner didn't sit well with her. And waiting to strike down a weakened winner was cowardly...and pointless, when she could smash both sides right now. She watched as the fight degenerated into a melee, with neither side having the time for spells anymore. Grays bit and clawed, while the Park Stranger laid about him with his Ebon Sphere. Jonkatta had recovered and was helping out, but it was starting to become clear who would win in the absence of interference. Gwen looked around, taking in the gray landscape of Topeka as if for the first time. It really was a sad and dark place. Was this what she had been fighting for? Was this what she would continue to fight for? And why had it not bothered her before? Of course. The Gentle Gift of Crimson had not lied when he said he would not compel her obedience. But that didn't mean he had done nothing to...adjust her attitude. He'd blinded her to the consequences of her service...well, reinforced the blindness she'd already imposed on herself in her fear and hate and desperation. He'd hidden away those things she'd once found important, like life, and hope...and her people. And the ceremony the Exarchs had performed had waken her up, it just took her a while to realize the dream of death was over. Gwen grabbed at the medallion around her neck, which had shrunken to match her proper size. "My heart beats Red, not Crimson!" she shouted, snapping the chain and hurling the amulet away. The pain came, clouding her senses as she grew into the monstrous human form, pain that the Gentle Gift of Crimson had shielded her from in recent transformations, but which she still remembered from that first horrible day in California. "This body may trap my soul, but you won't!" she screamed at the distant Dark Spire. "Not anymore!" Savagely, tears streaming from her eyes, Gwen stripped away the ornate armor she had been dressed in, hurling the pieces to the ground. "Now get away from my kinfolk, you damn dirty Grays!" she growled, throwing her sword at the massed mystics. They scattered, leaving behind their fallen comrades. Gwen angrily picked up the small, misshapen bodies and wrung their necks before tossing them contemptuously aside. Then, the heat of the moment past, she started to shiver uncontrollably from both the shock and the cold, for she wasn't wearing much anymore and it was still winter. "I couldn't suh-see," sobs wracked her body. "Huh-he used...used me! Twisted muh-my anger...so I couldn't, couldn't see whu...." Jonkatta limped over and tentatively laid a paw on her knee. "I'm sorry." "F-for what?" Gwen choked out. "I thought you were just a shortsighted kid, trying to take the easy way out of your problems, and to hell with the consequences," Jonkatta admitted. "And, well, you kinda were, at first. But once the Darklord got his claws in you, I guess he didn't want you to see those consequences...so you didn't. Until now." "Indeed," the Park Stranger agreed. "For his is an insidious, invidious evil. He would rather seduce than savage, trick you into making the wrong choice of your own free will, then make sure you never realize your mistake. I knew you were wrong to abandon her, Jonkatta of Virginia. This is why I convinced the Council to order your return...for while I am Black and not Red, the wise among the Council heed my advice." "Whu-what do we do now?" Gwen trembled, shivering more now from the cold outside than the cold in her heart. "We leave," Jonkatta insisted. "We go home." "We don't stay and fight?" Gwen looked at Jonkatta, then turned to the Park Stranger. The mystic shook his Ebon Sphere and consulted it. "'Ask Again Later.' Go home, young one. You are in need of healing, in spirit more than in body. Your part in this struggle may have yet to be played out, but for now you are allowed a respite." IS SHE ALLOWED A RESPITE? WILL THE SQUIRRELS RETURN TO THE STORY LATER? AND WHAT ABOUT THE HUMANS, UGLY AND UNGAINLY AS THEY MAY BE? Answers to some of these questions, and a return to confusing backstory stuff, in the next...SUPERGUY! ============================================================================= Author's Notes: This episode is a prime example of my "throw out a bunch of threads and worry about tying them together later" writing style. Until I sat down and wrote this episode, I didn't really know how I'd resolve Gwen's situation, except that it would involve the Park Stranger getting to hit things with his Magic 8-Ball keychain. And I didn't realize until proofreading this that I'd cribbed the solution from Silver Surfer's late 1980s/early 1990s series. The writer couldn't reconcile "Noble Silver Surfer" with "Guy who found Galactus planets full of people to eat", and decided that Galactus must have tampered with Norrin Radd's soul in order to block the more inconvenient aspects of his conscience, once the deal had been struck between the two of them. As a side note, while it's good to see activity coming back to Superguy, it'd be nice if there were more stories happening in this century. }-> Not that I have room for a crossover prior to resolving the Gentle Gift of Crimson plot, mind you.