THE MARVEL KNIGHTS GROUP
PROUDLY PRESENTS...
ISSUE #3 written by Dave Golightly
"Pariah: Part Three (conclusion)"
The
decrepit table once used to balance cocktails burst into pieces as Marc
Spector, the infamous Moon Knight, was thrown on top of it. He immediately
sprung back up into a defensive stance, gripping his truncheon tightly
as he kept a bead on the assailant stalking toward him. Gypsy Moth,
wearing little else than a sleek bikini top and skintight pants, cackled
as she walked over to the horned man. If he didn’t know of her
reputation Marc might have caught himself staring at her a little too
longingly. She had the appearance of a goddess, and nearly the power
of one to boot. She draped herself around the horned man’s torso,
seemingly glad to be so close to him. Despite the amount of grief he gave himself, it was nothing compared to the fear that Khonshu had placed in him over the last several weeks. He had made rash decisions, like the one he made tonight that landed him in this mess, that was likely the result of his godly benefactor forcing him to track down the horned man. He was being pushed, perhaps too far. “Could have been one of us, Knight,” Digger drawled in a deep, almost melodic voice. “The offer was there for the taking. Shroud held you in high regard.” “Sorry, Digger,” Moon Knight replied as he threw himself to the side to avoid being cut down by the zombie’s shovel. “But it’s never been to my taste to work with criminals. And Shroud is dead from what I hear.” Digger had been forcing Moon Knight back through the dance floor, housed within the decayed shell of a building once called After Hours. What had been a posh club was now vacated, its life sucked away by a spiraling local economy. “Our new leader has made promises,” Digger said, “promises that will bring the Night Shift out of the lower echelons and into the limelight where we belong.” “Looks like someone got a dictionary for Christmas.” Digger frowned as he swung once more with his shovel, putting all of his inhuman strength into the attack. Moon Knight sidestepped the clumsy swipe and narrowly dodged the spade of the shovel, remembering that even though it looked like a harmless tool, in the hands of a maniac like Digger it was a deadly weapon. The spade cut into the wooden door molding that Moon Knight had slipped behind, lodging deep enough to give Digger a moment’s pause. Even with his brute strength inertia still forced him to wait while he shifted his weight. Moon Knight, straddling the line between the main dance room and the side bar, took immediate advantage of the opportunity and struck with ferocity. Kicking one leg out, he clipped Digger’s knee and caused it to buckle. His past experiences with the Night Shift had taught him a thing or two about their members, currently notable was the fact that even though Digger was an intimidating bastard his knees would give out just like anyone else. He heard a distinctive pop and watched as Digger fell to one side, screaming from the agony of having his joint broken. Marc followed the strike up with a blow to Digger’s head, using as much force as he could put behind his gold truncheon. Given that Khonshu, the long thought dead Egyptian deity that empowered him, granted him with increased strength with the waxing and waning of the moon, the blow was a powerful one. Digger’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell to the floor with a resounding thud, leaving his shovel stuck into the wood of the door frame. Moon Knight checked on Jack again, noticing that he was barely able to keep one step ahead of the twins that had flanked him. The Brothers Grimm, for all their worth, were psychopathic lunatics that may or may not have been possessed by the tools of their trade. One was attempting to pelt Jack with a handful of beads that exploded on impact, and the other tried to lasso him with a long silver rope. Jack’s animalistic tendencies kept him one step ahead of the Brothers for now, which meant that Marc could turn his attention to the horned man. Before he could react, however, Marc felt his cloak tighten around his neck. The cape which typically hung behind his shoulders pulled back somehow, causing the cloth around his neck to strangle him. Had he been prepared he might have taken a deep breath, but as it was he hadn’t accounted for someone sneaking up behind him. “I’ll never understand what Jack sees in you,” Gypsy Moth said from across the dance floor. And that’s when Marc made the connection: Gypsy’s powers enabled her complete control over inanimate, organic material. Typically she used her powers to manipulate thread, meaning that even though there was no person physically behind Moon Knight strangling him, there might as well have been. As Marc gagged to pull in one more breath, he felt the telekinetic pull of Gypsy’s powers against his own costume. “Jack belongs with us,” Gypsy continued as she wrapped her leg around the horned man, who was apparently enjoying the scene unfolding before him. “We’re practically family. We stuck by him all those years while you merely sought to use him. He’s not your friend. He’s just another one of your tools.” The edges of Marc’s vision were beginning to darken, which meant he didn’t have long until he passed out completely. He tried to raise his arm to tug at his cloak, but already the lack of oxygen to his brain was making it difficult to move. His arms felt like they were each tied down to a ton of bricks, and no amount of enhanced strength would help him lift them. Behind him he heard a snarl followed by a growling roar. Between the slits of his closing eyelids, he saw the furry shape of Jack Russell bound across the floor on all four legs, leaping onto the stage, and tackling Gypsy Moth around the waste. She shrieked in both surprise and fury, but Marc instantly felt her connection sever, freeing him. He gasped for fresh air, relishing the sweet taste of oxygen again. His training as a mercenary allowed him a certain awareness of his surroundings. He felt something move to his side, and lashed out with his open palm, slapping the air. A moment before he had removed a handful of darts from his back pouch, and the momentum of his movement sent the darts flying through the air toward the sudden motion he had sensed. Four darts embedded into one of the Brothers’ legs, causing him to scream and stumble into a pair of chairs. His brethren ally hopped over him, choosing to keep in the fight as opposed to helping out his other half. Marc hefted his truncheon and threw it at the still running Grimm, which sailed as truly as the darts. The weapon slammed into the back of the other Brothers’ head and he was instantly knocked out, as shown by the way he slumped to the floor. “You son of a bi—” screamed the still conscious Brother who gripped his bleeding leg, but Marc had already bounded across the room and silenced him with a swift punch to the bridge of his nose. Blood gushed out of his face as he too slumped to the ground, motionless. A lashing snarl assaulted Marc’s ears and he whirled around to see the werewolf that had been his ally for some time slowly revert to human form. Jack Russell howled in pain as the transformation reversed itself suddenly, and apparently against his wishes. The fur retracted back into his skin, leaving a pale, white, middle-aged man kneeling on the dirty dance floor. Sweat glistened on his body and he was breathing heavily, probably from the pain of the forced regression. Jack knelt, unmoving, but breathing. At his feet was Gypsy Moth, unconscious. “Jack!” Moon Knight called out. “He can’t hear you,” the horned man said through his full facemask. “He’s enthralled in my power. Gypsy was weak. So were the others. But you…you were magnificent. As I knew you would be.” “Who the hell are you?” “Someone who wishes to see your death before the next full moon.” The moon. That meant this horned man, whoever he was, knew about Marc’s connection to Khonshu. That indirectly verified the connection that the dormant Egyptian god had been making all this time. Was Marc the one in danger all this time instead of Khonshu? “You’re targeting me,” Marc muttered. “Why?” “Because of your status as an avatar of a dead god. Your birthright, as it would seem, should never have occurred. And now…I will take it from you.” The horned man leapt over both Jack and Gypsy and crossed the room, leaving the floor only once. Moon Knight was shocked by his speed and grace, even though he was a lithe man to begin with. There was something extraordinary about his movements, the way he casually vaulted as if it was as simple as taking one step forward. The grasp of the horned man around Marc’s throat locked into place almost immediately. Even though Moon Knight’s hood provided a certain amount of protection, he could still feel the hard fingers wrapped around his throat, choking him. And there was something else…cold. Deep, depressing, ancient cold. Shivers flooded down the horned man’s arms and mixed with Marc’s own temperature, making him shudder even as he struggled for air. He was beginning to lose focus, but not just because of his lack of oxygen. He was losing his strength as a whole. This mystery assailant was sapping it. That meant he was feeding off of Khonshu directly. Marc tried to pivot away and break the hold with a judo move, but he was beginning to get a little woozy. That, coupled with his sudden loss in strength, and Marc was close to panicking. He mentally reached out for the god’s help, but as always, Khonshu remained silent. He pictured the stone statue of the Egyptian god sitting back in his rented apartment, hidden in the closet, emotionless and uncaring. Hadn’t he proven himself to Khonshu yet? How could the god leave him in his time of need like this? Where was the god’s power when he absolutely needed it? Was this why Khonshu had feared this individual so much, because he was powerless against him? Moon Knight stumbled back, nearly tricking over one of the knocked-out Brothers Grimm. The Night Shift had been under his command, too. While they weren’t exactly the cream of the crop, they were still no pushovers. Had this horned man usurped control of the Shift by killing the Shroud months ago? No. This wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to die in a run down dance club. He had things to live for, like his daughter. Amanda was waiting for him back in New York City, with her mother, Marlene. Things had been difficult between him and Marlene recently, but he had hoped that they could reconcile, for Amanda’s sake. He had told her that he was coming home soon. He had to keep that promise. With a grunt, Marc shifted his weight and lowered his center of gravity. He had trained extensively as a mercenary for years to handle opponents that had an obvious upper hand. This was no different, ethereal powers or otherwise. All that was needed was momentum. By placing his one knee between them and pushing out with his leg, he gained that momentum. The move forced the horned man to stretch out his arms, but the hold wasn’t breaking, which was why it was conceivable. Using the bit of gained leverage, Marc swung to his left, dragging the horned man with him, and with the added momentum from their separation, Marc kicked out again with his other leg and finally severed the connection. The horned man slid back a few feet, jolted by the sudden break. Moon Knight took a deep breath, grabbed his truncheon, and lunged forward, intent on finishing this fight before any more damage could be done. But again his enemy was too quick. The horned man slipped his arm underneath Marc’s as it came in for a strike and flipped Moon Knight over on his back. The Fist of Khonshu felt a disc in his spine slip out of place as a bolt of lightning quick pain stabbed into him. The horned man was on top of him in a second, barely breathing heavily at all. “Your feeble attempts at fighting back are useless. I will steal your power and use it to squash the moon god like he should have been centuries ago.” The tight fingers returned to Marc’s throat and the cold sensation of his power leaving him swept over him again. His eyes began to close somewhat and he was unsure if he would be able to stay awake this time. With his positioning on the floor, he doubt he could gain enough leverage again to get up and get away. As his eye lids began to slide shut, he remembered the face of Amanda one last time. So beautiful and still so young. She had a lot to live for. So did he, once upon a time. The door to the club blasted upon in a gulf of fire and smoke, rocking the horned man off of him. Marc gasped in another breath of air, grateful to feel it’s cool touch in his lungs. He rolled onto his hands and pushed himself up, taking advantage of whatever he just blown the holy hell out of the building’s entrance. That was when he noticed the whooping sound of helicopter blades coming from outside. He looked through the smoke that was parting in front of the freshly blown hole in the front wall and was amazed to see the helicopter that he owned hovering a few yards off the street. The small wings on the sides of the chopper, used for angling tight turns, had their bottom canopies open, which meant that the armaments had just been used to blast the front of the club. What shocked him more was the face of the man he had sent away, Frenchie. Jean-Paul, from behind the protective glass of the helicopter’s cockpit, saluted Marc as he kept the chopper steady. Marc nodded before turning back around to face the horned man again. “You’re finished,” he stated. “Never!” The horned man charged again, using his great speed, but this time Marc was prepared for him. He ducked under his lunge and kicked his midsection, following up the hit with a roundhouse punch that sent the horned man sprawling to the ground. Moon Knight jumped on his back and pinned him to the floor with one knee, effectively kneeling on his back. Marc reached around to the front of the horned man’s mask and yanked back, desiring to see just who the hell had been trying to kill him the last few nights. That was when he received the second shock of the night. “Shroud…” The face of the career criminal and sometimes hero called Shroud, the supposedly dead leader of the Night Shift, looked into the distance with a strange look over his face. His eyes were rolled back into his head, but his arms were flailing at his side as he screamed for his mask. “Give it back to me! The Word of Menthu cannot be denied!” “Menthu?” And with the uttering of that name, another life flashed before Marc’s eyes. He felt Khonshu’s presence in his head and knew that the images that he now saw were being placed there by the god. He saw an unending desert, with hills of sand that stretched for miles and miles. He saw a setting sun and a rising moon in the distance, each edging to be in the air. And in the foreground he saw two beings of immense power struggling. One looked exactly as the stature in his closet did, and the other was one he had never seen before. Thanks to the connection with Khonshu, however, he knew exactly who this awesome being was: Menthu, a god of war. The titans stood twelve feet high each and when they struck each other the power of their blows raked over the sands and shifted the dunes. Menthu, seeking to replace the moon god in the forgotten Egyptian pantheon, sliced away at Khonshu with a slender golden sword. Khonshu blocked it with an oval shield and struck with his own weapon, a large axe that was easily as big as a car. He chopped the head clean off of Menthu, spilling out awesome light from the gaping wound. There was a deafening shriek, and then nothing. Silence filled his ears and he was back in the room, straddling the back of Shroud. “Give me the mask!” Shroud demanded. “Return the head of Menthu to his Word! Disgusting filth! You are unworthy to touch the sacred headdress!” “You’re connected to this Menthu guy,” Moon Knight stated coldly. “Just like I’m connected to Khonshu. Only you’re being possessed and not used as a conduit.” Marc leaned into Shroud’s back, making sure he couldn’t move out from under him. “Menthu, if you’re in there, I want you to know that you’re about to lose your head. Again.” Reaching into the pack strapped to his lower back, Moon Knight grabbed a small cutting torch that was often useful for slicing through tricky locks. He slashed the flint across the nozzle and ignited the torch, setting its flame against the silky mask. It ignited almost instantly, at which Shroud began to scream and thrash wildly. Moon Knight tossed it away before it engulfed his own gloved hand. In a flash the mask was gone, devoured by the licks of hot flame that chewed away at the fabric. Once it eveaporated into smoke, a small pressure in the back of his head that he hadn’t noticed before disappeared. Khonshu, showing relief. “Where am I?” Shroud inquired as his eyes returned to normal. “Chicago.” Moon Knight, confident that the danger had passed, stood up and helped Shroud to his feet. The dark villain/hero looked over his strange clothing with a confused look. “What’s the last thing you remember?” “I was scouting artifacts concerning your heritage in an effort to rally your support,” Shroud said. “I…I remember finding this golden sword. It was huge, magnificent. I touched it…and then…I was here.” “Why did you go looking for them?” “I have been after your allegiance for years, Moon Knight.” He looked over the unconscious bodies of the Night Shift. “You belong with us. You always have. I thought if I learned more about you I would be able to understand you.” “It looks like you only succeeded in waking up an enemy of mine.” He didn’t add that it was an enemy he never knew he had, but he had his secrets to cherish. He had never trusted Shroud or any of the Night Shift except for Jack. “You’ll be fine now. Take your puppies and leave. I don’t ever want to run into you again.” A dark shadow appeared over Shroud’s face, marking that his natural powers, and by extension his control over himself, had returned. The enigmatic leader of the Night Shift only nodded and stretched out his shadows to cover the members of the Shift, including Jack. When the shadow lifted, they were gone. “Gone just like that, huh?” Moon Knight turned to see Frenchie standing in the blown out entrance to the club, cigarette already lit. “Nothing so much as an apology, eh, Marc?” “I told you to go back to New York City.” “I did. But then I came back. You need me.” Marc couldn’t help but smile, just slightly, at the comment. It was true. He did need Frenchie. He was a fool to think that he could have done all this alone. He wasn’t too proud to accept help, as long as his friend wasn’t too proud to offer it. “Thanks for the assist,” he said. “You Americans always think you’re a cowboy.” Frenchie stamped out the butt of his cigarette and reached for a second. Marc shut the door to the closet in his rented Chicago apartment, sealing off the stature of Khonshu once again. His costume, torn and sweaty from the night’s events, was concealed beside the statue. He was glad to be out of it. Symbolically, he felt like he never removed it, but physically it was nice to relax a bit. “We need to talk, Marc.” “I told you before,” Marc replied. “Just give me a damn minute to relax and collect my thoughts. I told you that I wanted to call Amanda before we got into any more business tonight.” “But, Marc—” Marc waved his hand to silence Frenchie. The fellow mercenary just shrugged and took another drag of his cigarette. The Fist of Khonshu picked up the phone when he noticed that the small red light in the corner of the casing was flashing, indicating that he had a message. He wrinkled his brow, but pressed the button that dialed into the phone’s voice mail. -Beep- Marc, it’s Marlene. I’m calling to…well, I just wanted to… Marc, I’m not waiting anymore. I’m not going to let Amanda go through what I have. I’m leaving you and I’m taking Amanda with me. We can’t have a normal life with you in it. I’m sorry. Don’t follow us. We’ll be gone from the mansion when you get back. –Click- Marc let the phone drop away from his head a bit, shocked at the message that had been left. He and Marlene had been having problems, but he hadn’t imagined that she would take Amanda away from him. “I wanted to warn you,” Frenchie said quietly behind him. “When I got to New York to check on Amanda, they were gone. Not a trace. I looked for awhile, but they made a clean move. No clue as to where they went.” “I’ll find them.” “Should you?” Frenchie said, a touch of arrogance in his voice. “Marlene makes a good case. Life isn’t normal around you. You proved that much tonight. I’m your best friend, Marc, and even I get antsy around you. Besides, you have no idea where they went, or how long it will take to find them.” “That
doesn’t matter.” Marc looked back toward the closet, eyeing
the spot where he knew the dormant statue sat. “I’ll find
them.” |
To Be Continued (but not by me!)
The next issue will kick off the republishing of Tom Moses’ excellent Moon Knight series! Moon Knight #4 will pick up six months from here, but where will that put Marc? Find out next reload!