*****
In the midst of the lively competition, Tom went to the men’s room. Garbage cans overflowed and wads of crumpled paper towel littered the floor, and foul language clung to the walls like spit on a tongue; it was a real pigsty. “This place is a shambles of neglect,” he mumbled, stepping over a puddle of wetness in front of the sink. He cracked open the leaky tap and splashed some cool water on his face. “I feel like a wet dog,” he said, unable to escape his tired reflection, “that can’t shake its bones of trouble.” The mirror mocked his muscled clumsiness. “Things got to change for the better,” he murmured, “or I’ll be living in a pine box six feet under.” Then the door banged open and in walked Jant.
“Those muffin-heads dropped the hard one,” he said as he kicked open a stall door. Luckily, it was empty. He calmed his temper once he realized Bronze was watching him in the mirror.
“Having a bad night or what?” Tom asked.
“Yeah--and it’s getting worse by the hour,” he replied while relieving his urge in the pisser. “How’s your night going?”
“The same as yours--only it’s getting worse by the second,” Tom admitted.
Jant turned his eyes away from the wall--spit and cheeky-graffiti--and toward Tom. “Heard you’re working with that witch McBridle,” he inquired impolitely.
“A week or two--then I go back to my regular routine.”
“Then, you’re a lucky donkey.”
“Lucky! Why?” Tom seemed confused.
“I’ve worked with the ice-breathing, fire-spitting lady before; I know what that woman is like.”
His eyes narrowed. “When was that?” he asked, and ripped an extra length of paper from the wall dispenser.
“It was six months before you started here.”
“And what happened between you and her?” He tossed the towel into the trash; it fell on the floor.
“The absolute worst experience of my employment history; she was a lying, sneaky whore. She made me do every damn job imaginable except spit shine her tits,” he jerked his zipper closed like a crazy daredevil, “and even that pleasure would have turned my stomach inside out.”
“You’re exaggerating. It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“It was. She’ll eat you up and spit you out like a rotten cherry on a fast train to crap-land;” he stepped up to the sink and started to scrub his manicured hands.
“I think she’s changed since then, but I’ll keep a good eye on her.”
“I tell ya, buddy, she’s got zero, negative regard for anybody other than herself.”
Tom didn’t want to hear the truth but remained silent.
“Just don’t turn your back on her, and you’ll be okay, maybe,” he said, and wiped his hands dry.
“I’ll remember that,” Tom replied, and watched Jant comb his hair and attempted to cover up his quarter-size bald spot until he left.
The interdimensional cogs of the mind-crash churned. Tom pushed through the washroom door and walked into another world.
The dead sky was blackened with a distant orangey glow; the charred, defiled ground smouldered and discharged flaming bursts. The air was dense with ash that continuously fluttered down from above and begrimed the Nukyi Salient’s durable body suit. There, off in the far distance, Tom heard a faint echo and followed it.
His soles of his battle boots dug deep as he trucked through the smouldering cinders. He was at ease and in control, the duel-barrel equalizer was charged up and standby in the weapon holster power pack. He was mentally and physically prepared to confront this evildoer who summoned him. He gripped the gun handle and muscled onward.
There was an evil laugh that seemed to have come from the unsettled sky; then a thick voice rumbled from the darkness. “You will soon be empowered by my hatred,” the entity bellowed.
Tom swung around, hard. “If you want me, show yourself, you big, ugly bag of nails,” he shouted into the air as he moved in a defensive circle.
A ball of flaming energy shot from the dark clouds and crashed to the spent ground; a black, oily glob bubbled up and solidified into a gladiator-type battler. When it stepped forward, it divided; then there were two fighters. Their two‑handed swords hung from their girths with the steel dragging the smoky ground as they marched in cloned syncopation.
Tom aimed his weapon; the power indication meter read one-hundred-percent fully charged, but he was unable to activate the lock-fire triggering mechanism and holstered the weapon.
The gladiators stopped. They seemed to be awaiting the arrival of their king, and Tom knew their evil master was Ferronkus. Like a trapped animal, he had only one alternative: fight for his life.
The gladiators wove an attack and forced Tom in the direction where there was a cubicle prison cage that rose out of the baked crust. Cries of rage roared from inside the cell. Containment energy illuminated the confined space and exposed nine defeated heroes.
“Who in the blind-dog is that bunch of space-exploring wrist-benders?” Tom grunted while evading the gladiators’ blades, and moved swiftly to avoid being struck down. His fighting style was unrefined yet his strength and quick thinking seemed to have given him a definite advantage.
The gladiators manoeuvred their steel in striking motion. Their hard blades crashed against Tom’s torso without damage to the suit--the special active compound within the body shielding hardened like steel when struck, protecting him from mortal injury.
With his powerful, spry legs, Tom dodged the enemy’s razor edges by flipping back and over top of them; and with one front kick, bolted one clone to the ground; the second competitor retreated, regrouped, and then attacked.
“Thrond, careful, behind you,” a caged soldier warned.
The fallen gladiator sprung to its feet and rejoined the other in battle.
Tom needed to destroy these ancient twins before they destroyed him. The gladiators’ blades chopped the burnt air, and their combat commotion disturbed the powdery grey trail. Tom seized the opportunity to strike. The first gladiator’s blade smashed against the bars of the cage and sprayed energy across the air. Tom’s torso was flexed strong, his hand hard like steel. With Nukyi precision, he hammered his fist on the blood gutter of the gladiator’s sword and snapped it in two. With beyond-mortal speed, he grabbed the two-foot extension of blade as it dropped to the surface and rammed it in and through the battler’s neck.
Its body dissolved into a pool of mucky coal tar. The remaining twin battled onward with eyes like fire and forward with determination blazing.
Tom had barely enough time to react as he delivered a flurry of pulverizing strikes and dropped the second fighter to the ground. Its facial wounds spurted a black, tar-like fluid. Tom staggered back. He wiped his grungy hair away from his disbelieving eyes and spit a mouthful of crud. “Stay down you bag of Texas sweet grass.” The gladiator melted into a sticky fluid that evaporated into the ground.
“Nothing like a goodnight kiss to wake the dead,” Tom joked to the soldiers who were held captive.
“Excellent display of skills my Nukyi brother,” a soldier commented.
“And you are?” Tom asked inquisitively.
The bearded soldier stepped forward. “You don’t know me?”
“I should, but I don’t remember my past.”
He raised a mighty fist. “Traymour - Battle Commander of this befallen space squad; you are like us.”
“A Nukyi Salient, a genetically created space soldier from the Voge Galaxy?” Tom fished for the truth.
“Yes, of course,” Traymour replied overjoyed.
“Then, you know I’ve changed--Classified: Earthling.”
“There is no change of status amongst our kind,” Traymour admitted.
Tom leaned closer to the cell, “Then, I guess I’m stuck with this odd life.”
“Thrond, quit messing around and get us out of here,” Gack snapped his energy whip at the energized bars; “We got galaxies to conquer and species to crack.”
“How and with what?” He tensed up his broad shoulders. “If I could get you guys out, I would.”
“Your fire-gun,” Zizzer indicated, “it’s powerful enough to blow this cage to space bits.”
“I would if I could, but it doesn’t work.”
“Then you aren’t Thrond,” Grom acknowledged.
“Silence,” Traymour snapped. He leaned closer to the suspected impostor. “That’s correct; the weapon is activated by the nerve signature of Thrond’s hand and can only be fired by him.”
Tom handled the gun for them to observe. “I am Thrond. You must believe me.”
“I believe we must be reunited,” D-Stock said, coming from the back of the cage to the front. “I’ve scanned Thrond’s matrix, and there are some biological alterations, which, even I cannot identify; but it is he, all one-hundred percent. I guarantee it.”
“If D-Stock says it’s Thrond; then it’s Thrond,” Thork acknowledged, backing up his friend’s lost identify. “The Nukyi has risen beyond a world of battle and force and has been chosen to revive our galactic dominance.”
“Thrond, do what you can. Our thoughts and wishes are behind you,” Minka encouraged with a saddened voice.
He reached out his hand and touched her arm. “I’ll do everything I possibly can; that’s all I can do. I’m not making any promises I can’t keep.”
The huge soldier who stood idle began grunting and snorting, ripping at the cage, but to no avail.
“What’s with the big-bang guy; did someone tie his shorts in a cranky-knot?” Tom asked.
Traymour turned, slightly. “As you should know, that’s Wahl; he’s a little rambunctious when he doesn’t get his own way. We’ve all been here a long time and we’re all getting peeved.”
Tom holstered the weapon. “The bleached Nukyi with the red eyes; he’s a tad bit quiet for being cooped up so long.”
“That’s Breedow. He’s a telepathic albino who seldom speaks; he saves his words for the fight,” Traymour admitted, “I sense he’s reading your mind right now.”
Tom peered deep into the space soldier’s mysterious ruby eyes. “So, why have I been sent here?” He refocused on Traymour.
“It is an evil challenge. You must unleash Thrond’s powers and exploit them like they’ve never been exploited before.”
He nodded reassuringly. “I’ll do my best to defend the Nukyis’ honour.”
“I’ve always known that one day our fallen ways would destroy us,” Zizzer admitted. “Now our strength is with you. You must escape the bite of evil, free yourself, and achieve victory. Your victory will be ours, and we shall be reunited in the galactic lands we helped destroy.”
“Thrond, watch your back and good luck,” Traymour said.
Tom eyed each Nukyi with a sense of commitment.
“Weak, young Nukyi, there is no escape for you,” Ferronkus bellowed. “You are doomed like your weak siblings.” The evil pest stretched his eight-foot-plus frame seemingly to the sky. His hand was extended forward, his forearm muscles popped with tension as he squeezed a hammer-like fist; a ball of energy shot out and bowled through the air. The force of impact thumped Tom back and mystically transported him to the demon’s nest.
Ferronkus’s lair was a vast cave deep in the hollow ground. Heated gases spewed from the splintered rock and heavy mist floated over the untidy floor. Tom stepped over the mounds of bones and rotten carcasses, holding his breath from the vile stench of filth and followed a tunnel, which led to a broad canyon. Lord of Figure materialized on the opposite side.
“There is no place to hide, foolish young Nukyi,” Ferronkus howled and laughed hideously.
“Give it up; release me from this mindless curse,” Tom ordered.
“If that is your wish, then it shall never be.” Ferronkus’s body armour glistened like highly polished chrome. Suddenly, he leaped across the bottomless mouth of the opening and was in Tom’s face. “You are in my world, and you will play by my forever-changing rules.” He circled Tom. His armour clanged as he moved. The master drew his two-handed longsword that was shoved inside his belt and drove the tip into the rock floor. He unhooked another weapon from his belt and held it up. “It’s my own devilish creation. I call it a power payly stick; it’s used to discipline and tenderize my prey before I consume them.”
Their eyes locked in a deadly showdown.
“You are in the middle of your preparation,” Ferronkus fanned the stick outward; “but I have no alternative; I must tame your powers. If you do not accept my offer, I shall eat your soul,” he admitted.
Tom pointed a commanding fist. “Tell me why I’m so important?”
“Your demands are of no concern,” as Ferronkus held his muscular hand out and a ball of blue energy sparked in his palm. “This evil gift could be your every desire. Wealth of kingly proportions, powers beyond immortality--yours, if you submit,” Ferronkus promised.
“That price is blackout death that I can’t accept,” Tom replied as he stood his ground.
Ferronkus removed his hood. He dragged his clawed finger the length of his thick leathery face. “If you wish to defy me, then it must begin.” With a strained breath, his body bulged with muscles. His ivory horn crowned his evil authority. “You are my last component,” he revealed. “Your powers will complete my objective. Then I will be able to harness,” he laughed, “eternity.”
“You know what? You’re full of the cow’s backend,” Tom shouted. “Just release me and give up; you can never tame me or control my Nukyi powers.”
The devil roared with laughter. “My truth is your reality and that cannot be concealed.”
“None of this is my reality.”
“It is as real as Exsorbo’s reality.”
Tom lashed out, “What do you know about him?”
“He has not told you.”
“Told me what?”
He encroached in Tom’s comfort zone. “That he’s my brother, my equal, and my opposite.”
“That’s a load of bull, and you know it.”
Ferronkus flexed his huge shoulders. “The Nukyi had one weakness.”
“And what would that be... your breath?”
He laughed even harder, “The sweet deadly kiss of a Verrisean Mistress.”
“What’s that - an alien blow-up gender toy?” Tom bellowed.
“To you the Nukyi they are a female breed who offers pleasure in exchange for riches. To me, they are beasts of temptation delicious to eat.”
“I don’t believe your foul-mouth lies and the deception you’re trying to inflict upon me.”
“I used the Nukyi’s addictions to my advantage and trapped all except you.” He fanned the stick with an innovative pride, “Now, you must come, take my hand, and live forever under my ever-changing, beyond-world law.”
“I could never submit to your insanity, allow you the opportunity to tramp all over me, or use my powers for your sick, parade of death.”
This disobedience infuriated Ferronkus. His teeth protruded inches sharper from his watery mouth, yet he backed away from the Nukyi while chanting a strange incantation before converting into a swirling blue light that travelled high into the darkness and disappeared.
A cold, mystic, wind swooped down. Tom felt his body being ripped apart, limb by limb, as he was kicked back from the mind-crash. The pain was almost unbearable as he fell on one knee.
“Tom, are you all right?” McBridle said while holding him upright.
“Yeah, I just lost my balance. I must have slipped on a sack of devil’s luck.”
“Next time, be careful; you could have injured yourself.”
“You’re right; but I’m okay now,” he indicated by rubbing the back of his neck, hoping that the pain would go away.
She helped him to a chair and got him a cold drink. “Just sit and relax, and don’t move from here. You got that?”
*****
Later in the evening, Tom observed McBridle. She sat next to Mackenzie. They both appeared to be h
aving a pleasant time. He always thought that they were more than just business partners. After a few minutes, he noticed their conversation turned inwards and serious. They conversed in a low suspicious tone that wasn’t noticed by anybody except for him.
*****
The still night air was damp. It appeared as if rain were in the immediate forecast. Tom looked into the cloudy, starless sky and wondered where this far-away world was that Exsorbo had unveiled? He would have only known the answer to that question had he allowed his impossible mission to run its unbelievable course.