___ _____, ____ __ __ , ____ ____ ____ // ` / || /|| \\ /||\\ /||\\ | // \ // ` /|| \\ \\__ /|| /||__// /||_\\_ /|| \\| || ____ ||-- /||__// \\ || || \\ || \\ || \\ \\ || \\ || \\ `___// `--. `--. --. `--. `--. `--. --. `--|| `---' `--. --. || _____, __ __, ____ ___ `=/ / || /||\\ /|| // ` // ` .|. COHERENT /|| /||_\\_ /|| ||-- \\__ --X------------------ || || \\ ||____, \\ \\ '|` COMICS UNINC `--. `--. `--. `-----, `---' `___// #2 - Kyrie Eleison Copyright 1995 by Dave Van Domelen \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/////////////////////////////////// ///////////////////////////////////\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ [cover shows three crosses atop the hill at Golgotha. On the right-hand cross is hung Constellation's dark form, stars so dim as to almost be gone. On the left-hand cross hangs Lord Ebon, shrouded in shadow. In the center cross hangs Tim Bose, his eyes cast pleadingly towards the heavens. Cover is painted with an acetate overlay.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Greetings, readers and Writers alike. Once more, I, the Dvandom Stranger, have come to tell of what may have been. To weave the threads of an alternate reality together into a tapestry both strange and familiar. This day I shall complete the tale of how a reflection of Constellation came to face the dying of his adopted world. And in the grand tradition of such tales of what might have been, it is a far grimmer tale than the one you know. For with an ending such as that which has already been penned, can the path to it be any happier? Perhaps. But any joy this Constellation may have had was surely snuffed out the day his world died. Read now, and see how the tale could have unfolded.... ######################################################################### "No, wait!" cried Flood, but it was too late, and reality was already swirling around him. When it snapped back into focus, it was like he'd stepped back in time by centuries. The room he was in was decorated in an ornate style which he didn't recognize, but which was probably 15th Century or later. Ornate draperies clung to the cold walls...odd that he could feel the cold in this room when the winter's chill had no effect on him. The light and warmth of the candelabras was but a token effort against an overwhelming darkness. As his eyes adjusted, Flood saw that the room was packed with all manner of odd artifact. Religious icons, mystic talismen and technological wonders crammed the corners of the room and spilled out over the floor. ++Vaultofmuchglitterstuff!++ chirped Dot. "Lord Ebon's trophy room? This is where your friends are?" ++Yesyesyes!Inspiritcages!++ "If this is where he keeps his most prized possessions, why aren't there any alarms or anything?" ++Sneaksneakin...shhh.++ "Okay," Flood whispered. "What do these spirit cages look like?" ++Likespiritcagesdummy!++ Flood sighed. He was beginning to suspect that Dot sensed things in a way different from his own, and this was more evidence. If she could directly "see" spirits, then of course a spirit cage would have a very obvious and distinctive appearance. "Looks like we have to do this the hard way. Hope we have time. I'll *carefully* move this stuff around and you let me know if I'm getting closer to the spirit cages or farther, okay?" ++Coldcoldcold.++ "I haven't started yet. Anyway, as long as we have a moment's rest here, I've been meaning to ask more about you. Do you remember any of your life from before Lord Ebon captured you?" Flood moved towards a largish stack of gold-encrusted objects. ++Coldcold.Rememberonlyalittle.Rememberpowerandpainandlightandthendark. RememberpainpainpainfromLordEbon!PAIN!++ "Shh...you're giving me a headache like that. It's okay, you don't have to remember the pain. But was there anything before that? Were you always a little spark of light?" He lifted a large box from a stack, wincing as the ornate metalworking on it bit into his hand. ++ThinkIwashumanonce.Notsure.Nowsafewarmhappywithyou.Thenunhappy.++ "Am I getting closer to the spirit cages?" He lifted another box, a more modern-looking one this time, and almost dropped it as it passed through his blank, black hands. Hurriedly, he withdrew the blackness from around his hands and caught it before it could drop. "Cool, I can move you around on me." ++Cagesnotinthatstack.Ihearyouwantmetomove,Imove.Simpleyes?++ <> boomed a voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. A voice laden with the promise of a slow, lingering death. A voice like corruption itself given form. Flood whirled around, trying to see where the voice was coming from, but there was nothing. <> sneered the voice. "Perhaps this will suit your more pedestrian sensibilities better?" Flood blinked, and there before him stood another man swathed all in black as he was. Only this man didn't have the sprinking of stars to counter the bleak emptiness. "Greetings, I am Lord Ebon, somewhat less better known as Simon Filius, named by my parents Iago Montessi...although this body had a different name once. I gather from your shocked expression and general lack of comprehension that you were not the agent of your own arrival here, yes?" The words flowed from a tongue as dark and smooth as velvet. A strange mixture of accents flavored his speech, what seemed at one moment Italian and the next Slavic. Even given the focus of a body, it still seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. (Guess this is where I play the part of hero,) Flood thought. "I'm here to free your prisoners," he said with as much confidence as he could muster. So far, it seemed like little could hurt him while Dot surrounded him, but this guy was Major Bad News. "How noble. How heroic. How...futile," Ebon sighed, as inky tendrils snaked up from the floor to ensnare Flood. He struggled briefly before realizing that he couldn't simply pass through the bonds. --Dot!-- he mentally shouted, hoping she could hear it. --Sidewaysout!-- ++can'tnohopepainpainPAIN!++ was the reply. Flood could feel the slow smile spreading across Ebon's face, even though he could not see it. He shivered, not from cold as he had minutes before, but from fear. "Ah, such power, such ignorance. Far be it from me to let you die in ignorance. Oh, not out of mercy or anything remotely like it...you will certainly fear death at my hands far more intensely once you understand what I am and what I can do." He leaned in close, and Flood could feel the hot breath on his face despite Dot's protective sheath. "Do you believe in God?" Taken aback by what seemed like a shift in the subject, Flood stammered, "I...guess I do. Doesn't everybody, kinda?" Then he gained a little composure, and added, "Especially when they're about to be killed?" Ebon threw his head back and laughed, a harsh barking laugh. "Indeed, there are no atheists in foxholes...a rather insightful statement from after....or perhaps before...my time. Let me tell you, God is real. But he's nothing like the soft and merciful protector that human religions twisted him into being. Tell me, have you ever heard of Simon Magus?" Flood shook his head. "He was a contemporary of Jesus, and the true prophet. He performed his magics openly, rather than hide behind the smoke and mirrors of heavenly miracles. He was to show mankind the way to true salvation, that it lay through knowledge...that man could become like God now, that the apple of forbidden lore was no longer forbidden, should man just GRASP it. Jesus was but a temptation of God's, a false path for the weak." Ebon's shoulders seemed to slump slightly as he continued. "But Simon Magus was disgusted by what he saw, by the rabble's quick acceptance of Jesus over him. He was especially rankled by the false tales of his defeat by Jesus that were circulated by the Apostles of that weak prophet. In frustration, he threw his tomes into the sea and forsook mankind forever. His story was lost to history, mangled and watered down by Christians, until I found his tomes with the aid of my laboriously conjured water spirits." Flood interrupted, "But how did the books last for almost two thousand years in the sea?" "Things of supernatural might are far less susceptible to merely natural forces, boy. And it wasn't quite so long...a mere fourteen centuries or so. With the aid of the tomes, I discovered one of the paths to immortality, that eternal goal of alchemy. Unfortunately, the path I chose was a difficult one, saving my soul from Hell but barring it from Heaven. My spirit goes only where I wish it to. But my body did die, and was buried in holy ground before I could learn to control it with means necromantical rather than vital. There I lay, able only to observe the world for half a millenium, until the degradation of this world made it possible for me to influence a young man into desecrating my grave, freeing my body. Since then I have found the body of one who discovered another path to immortality, one of body but not soul. His soul is now dead, his indestructible body mine. "So, you see, even if you were free to act, you could not destroy me." "Someone will, eventually," Flood spat, more out of the need to act defiant than out of defiance itself. "No, I don't think so. Do you see this?" Ebon asked, pulling a sabre from the wall. "It was carried by Napoleon into Moscow. I acquired it to hold as a reminder to never let my reach exceed my grasp. I am immortal, I can work slowly enough that none move against me until I have rendered them unable to harm me." Suddenly, he thrust the sword into Flood's body! No pain. "Was that supposed to hurt?" taunted Flood, his blood still racing from the shock. "No, I doubted it would. This blade is merely metal, it shouldn't have done harm to one wrapped as you in another's soul. I believe that soul belonged to a man named George, who I killed before he could learn to use his powers to manipulate spacetime. Now it's a blank slate, ready to be formed into whatever you wish of it. Not that I'll give you time to do so, of course." Lord Ebon picked up a pin from a small cushion. "This hairpin was worn by Marie Antoinette when more than her wig came loose. It contains her dying scream, and is an item of some power." With an almost nonchalant sweep, he raked the pin across Flood's cheek. Flood felt blood start to trickle down his face. Ebon cocked his head. "Hm. I sense my apprentice is about to attempt yet another tiresome bid to free himself of me. I suppose I should finish you off now." Darkness snaked out from Ebon's eyes and reached into Flood's heart, rending his spirit apart and devouring it. He screamed as loudly as his lungs could manage, but even so couldn't hear his own scream's over Dot's. ++PAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNN!!!!!++ "Stop," came the quietly spoken word as the pain shut off like a light being turned on. Through a haze of pain, Flood saw a young, bedraggled man standing between him and Ebon. "Apprentice, return to your studies," said Ebon with the calm, even tones you use on a small child who insists on being treated like an adult. "I've learned all I need to know," replied the young man. "You said that last time, Timothy. And it took you mere minutes to collapse in a fit of hallucinations and shivering. Be glad that you are useful enough that I let you live. Now go before I decide you are not that useful after all." "No, Simon *Filius*," Tim spat, making the title sound like an insult. "I know the truth now, and not surprisingly, it has set me free. I've heard your boasts many times about how Simon Magus was the true savior, but now I know you're simply deluding yourself. This book," Tim held up a leather-bound tome, "contains the true life story of Simon in his own words, hidden under an illusion like a masterpiece is hidden by another layer of paint. Your precious tomes only tell part of the story, the part before Simon truly did repent and see the light." "Bah, propaganda." "No, truth. It says quite a bit more beyond that, but I doubt you could read the words without them burning away your withered soul. Because they don't say what you want to hear." Ebon's veneer of arrogance was starting to crack, and he pointed a finger at Tim. "Die." A bolt of foulness lanced out and struck Tim, splashing off him like water from a roof. "It's not too late to ask Him for forgiveness. No one is so lost that he cannot be redeemed...I know that from personal experience, eh?" said Tim. Almost looking desperate now, Lord Ebon picked up Napoleon's sabre and drove it home into Tim's heart. Tim dropped, coughing up blood. "Let's see your Jesus save you from that," sneered Ebon. But in his struggle, he had forgotten Flood. And the longer Tim stood there, the better Flood felt. It was as if his spirit were meshing with Dot's, the two shattered halves forming a stronger whole. He stood. "Let's see your Magus save you from THIS!" Flood shouted, as he exploded like a fireworks, stars streaking from his body and into everything in the room. Ebon staggered back, blackness ripped from his body wherever a star struck him. "Heh," Ebon sneered. "Perhaps had I been weakened by the recent acquisition of a new host body, that might have been enough. But I am too strong in this form to be more than inconvenienced. Your gambit failed, boy." "Did it?" asked Flood. ++DEFILER++ ++EVIL++ ++APOSTATE++ ++DESTROYER++ ++ R E V E N G E ++ Sparks of pure soul streaked from the shattered spirit cages and whirled about Lord Ebon like angry gnats, only to far greater effect. He thrashed with his arms, trying to swat them, and howling in pain whenever they touched him. "NO! I AM LORD EBON! I AM IMMORTAL! I CANNOT DIIIIIIIIEEEEeeeee...!" And with that, Lord Ebon vanished. * * * * The pain receded, and Lord Ebon opened his eyes. Darkness all about. He felt that he was lying down on a hard surface. Had he survived? Of course he had, he could not die. He tried to sit up. His head cracked hollowly against the wood above him. He was in the grave. He was in his old body. He was in his own past. "NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!" * * * * Flood raced over to where Tim lay, putting his bared hands on the wound and trying to staunch the flow of blood. The souls Ebon had tortured and which had somehow banished him dispersed slowly, fading through the walls. "C'mon, kid, don't die! The good guys won...I don't know how, but we won." Tim coughed, a pink spittle at his lips. "Would that his cup pass from me, eh? Nah, I've lived long enough ta see him gone, that's as long a life as any could ask for, right?" "So...is everything going to be okay now? He's gone, and that breaks the curse?" "N-no...he didn't make the curse, his death doesn't break it. The curse was the dying breath of someone who believed God...or the gods...had forsaken him." "Then that's it...Ebon's dead, but someone just as bad will rise eventually, things will only get worse?" Tim shook his head weakly, catching his breath in ragged gasps. "I understand now, like I said. Y'know, I used to think forgiving was something you did to be polite, to hide how pissed off you were. Just words, eh? Now I know that it's a LOT more than that. And I can understand the guy who cast the curse...I've lost a lot too, the world's treated me pretty bad. And I forgive him, for he did know what he did. Forgive them all, Father...." And with that, another soul left the room. ########################################################################### And so it came to pass, fate having its ironic way with things. Timothy Bose, who in another world would give his life to shut out the gods, saved this world by letting God in. The God whose followers would eventually destroy an entire universe in the name of righteousness. Destruction and creation, life and death, good and evil...all these things in the name of God. Some would say He does not exist...that is not within my power to say. But even should He not live, He is still powerful. For right or wrong, the power of faith is not to be scoffed at. For Flood, this was to be the only truly defining moment in his dual existence prior to his departure from the influence of Writers. He took his new name, reconciled with his former friends and destroyed the Evil Twin much as he did in our Looniverse, but without Lord Ebon to return for vengeance, there was not the horrible slaughter that so scarred our Constellation. And this rippled across the pond of reality, smoothing it out for him. With no great source of anguish tearing him apart, Constellation was able to swiftly and easily avert Acton Lord's subversion of the Multiversal Office Building, and the Sword of .Sig remained with Sig.Lad. Without Lord Ebon's exacerbating influence, Master Workload's assault on the Looniverse was far weaker, more quickly ended by the LNH under Israishus's guidance. Acton Lord never needed to seek sanctuary elsewhere, and thus the Robot Invasion which formed another turning point in Constellation's life never happened. Without these key events, painful as they were, Constellation never truly grew up. He was just another member of the LNH, going where Israishus felt he was needed and doing what needed to be done. Powerful, but never driven by despair to see what strength he truly possessed. And Dot, aka George Kallen? It was Constellation's need, his despair which shaped that spirit into a "better half" for him. This Constellation was less needy, and this Dot was more aware of his past...the link was not established in the same deep way it was in the Constellation you knew. The future, however, holds many things for Constellation, things which even I cannot tell you of. Perhaps he will finally reach the next stage of his evolution, perhaps he will stay blissfully unaware of his potential. Until such time as he chooses to let his fate be known, I must remain... A STRANGER. ============================================================================= Author's Notes: Well, the "What If" holds a strong lure over reader and writer alike. The story of what could have happened if what did happen...didn't. Stranger Tales will be my "What If" series, exploring alternatives to works of the past. It may become an Elsewhirls style title eventually, but for now I'd like to concentrate on "real" alternate PluRealities which have intersected with the main Looniverse. I might do an Earth-Goon story here, for example, or put more tales of Kopikat's home reality under this title. Next issue I figure I'll delve into the past of Fearless Leader and the events which led up to his arrival in the Looniverse. Regarding this issue, you'll note HEAVY religious themes. In case anyone is worried, I haven't been Born Again or anything, I simply felt that given the background of the characters (Lord Ebon's origin is almost 100% based on Christian Mysticism, for example) and the setup in issue 1 that a religious feel would give the ending more power. Writers in comics rarely touch upon issues of modern religions for the main reason that they *will* anger *someone* in the process. Make Thor a blonde who speaks in Shakespearean English and few people will find their beliefs deeply offended. But use Christianity in any context and someone will howl (especially the atheists, oddly enough). Think of this issue as my version of Warrior Nun Areala, without the huge breasts and computer coloring. Then again, if I were really worried about offending people, half of my stories wouldn't have been written, yes?