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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

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Yet the Light Refused To Die

Whispers from the intersection between worlds are a strange thing. They are soft and enticing, yet alien, and quick to breed fear.

The fear of death.

The sun that mankind praises casts a long shadow. Most look to the bright light and the vibrant colors that it illuminates. And they turn their backs on the shadow, fearful of that which they cannot see. Like the air of a graveyard, and the dust that collects in abandoned places, such whispers are not death itself, but its quiet heralds.

Shouting and even thinking loudly works well enough to drown them out. To deny that creeping reminder of the inexorable cycle of life and death, the final destination of every mortal's road. The madness of life is filled with distractions, of fleeting moments that occupy human thought. As such, only rare individuals can hear whispers from beyond the grave. Among them, even fewer pause… and listen.

When most do hear the whispers, they question their sanity or close off their minds. Not so, a young girl aged merely fifteen winters. Magdalene heard those whispers and has always listened. Understood.

And sometimes, she even answered.

Connected to the essence of dust and shadow itself, death spoke only in those sibilant sighs.

Magdalene feared not death. Many she had known now gone, taken by age, disease, war, famine, and murder. From a young age on, the specters of death always haunted her.

So much so, that she never really questioned the strange or inexplicable. She never struggled to accept things that others would deny, even when only the implausible remained the alternative.

Where one might think they had displaced a trinket in an empty room that no other living soul had entered since, the girl already knew at a delicate age that something else had moved the trinket.

One year prior to the dire straits she now found herself in, a young man had threatened her life. With little understanding of such ephemeral forces as sorcery, she called upon the power of disembodied spirits that refused to move on. To help kill that man before he could kill her.

Not because she feared for her life. No, she had summoned those ghosts because she had feared that he would escape justice; the just desserts he should have faced for slaying so many before her. More importantly, because she felt guilty; she felt like his killings were her responsibility, as his obsession with her had led him to commit such atrocities.

As a wee girl, she had always found it confusing when others could not see those figures at which cats hissed, or hear their whispers where wind swept through cold and forgotten places. Sometimes, she would awaken, with blood lining her fingernails, and a shadow standing in the corner of her room, watching and looming.

Not all of them were evil. Not in the way most people meant it when they used that loaded word.

More than once, driven by a desire to punish the wicked and deserving, she had called upon the spirits of the lost. They always answered. As if they recognized and served anyone who could sense their presence—and pay them the proper amount of attention.

Undeterred by those chilling gasps that lingered like memories of lives lost, she would sometimes speak with them when not in the company of the living; when removed from the company of those who would question her sanity, if only they saw her speaking to empty corners and cold spots where common eyes could only perceive that dust and shadow.

She would ask them what they remembered.

Not all of them retained their memory. For some of them, the shreds of who they once were just made no sense; perhaps as misremembered identities bled into one another, leading to eternal confusion and endless, aimless wandering between the worlds.

Some of them got angry and blew out candles or slammed doors shut. One even cracked every mirror and window of a room after becoming enraged. Others bore dark obsession in their whispers, attempting to sway her with deception, hoping to merge with her and do unbelievable things if only they had a body once again.

Beyond death, they all shared one thing in common. All of them feared what lies beyond the thin veil between worlds. Though none of them ever answered:

Why?

Yes. Why, asked the necromancers of yore, were they so afraid of moving on?

A mystery that never concerned Magdalene. When it was finally her time to go there, she would find out herself. Exposure to death had inured her to the fears that it brought. She welcomed it, just like she did her best to warmly embrace the cold presence of the disembodied dead.

What curdled her blood now was something else entirely. A debilitating helplessness, spawned by her current predicament, and a crippling fear of failure.

More than that, though, Magdalene feared the absence of the whispers.

For the first time since she had noticed their presence, they were gone. Leaving only a deafening silence in their wake.

Rope chafed against her tied wrists, resting on the clothed tabletop in front of her. Her captors had made a mockery of setting the dinner table, haphazardly tossing cutlery and empty plates in front of them before going off to ransack Bennet mansion.

Her captors must have worked some sort of sorcery that she could no longer sense any phantoms. And likely, she feared, the things that dwelt in the intersection between worlds no longer heard her, either. Where her role model wielded sword and pistol to hunt and combat the evils of this world, Magdalene's communion with the spirits were her blade and bullet.

And as her frail body was weak, that absence rendered her more helpless and meeker than ever before.

Jenny Fisher's nostrils flared with a shuddering sigh. Her fellow captive—a thief and swindler, a grown woman she had met only this very day—sat to her left. Bound as she, mouth also crudely gagged with silk napkins from Lord Bennet's belongings.

Their eyes met.

Jenny's eyes glistened, wet and red, yet she had not succumbed to tears. Fear gripped her, perhaps, fears of fates worse than death, perhaps. A quiet despair, maybe. But no tears.

Their captors had left them alone. Not like there was much of anything they could do to get away with bound wrists and ankles and gagged thus.

The question of the absence occupied Magdalene most. A mystery that she wanted to solve. And its solution may yet prove key to their escape from this awful predicament. She would not leave Jenny Fisher alone or to any dread fate that may await her in the clutches of these scoundrels.

The whispers had told her that Jenny was important. The phantoms sometimes knew things that humans did not. Saw futures that had yet to unfold. Understanding why was never that interesting to Magdalene. Much more tantalizing was the lacking explanations as to why Jenny had a significant role to play in their conjoined fates. The spirits often would not—or could not—provide any conclusive answers.

Jenny's eyes now darted to and fro, the swindler's mind likely hatching one fruitless escape plan after another. Magdalene, on the other hand, harbored no hopes of escape. Not until she solved this mystery.

Boots thumped upstairs. The rogues searched, conversed, sometimes argued; always muffled through layers of carpet and floors and wallpaper and walls. Claws scraped against hardwood in Bennet's halls. Inhuman growls resounded from where those claws scratched and tore fabric, eerily twisting handles and opening doors with an intelligence that exceeded that of mere beasts.

Just like Magdalene conversed with spirits, the leader of these robbers consorted with unclean creatures. Fentin McLachlan, he had named himself. A name that sent chills running down Magdalene's spine, even just thinking about it.

Could he be her missing uncle? The one her mother had shied from ever speaking about after father's demise?

Did calling otherworldly powers simply run in their family's blood? More than anything, the prospect of damnation frightened Magdalene. She suspected dark things to be awaiting her at the end of her road, a balance for her meddling with these forces. And what might await one as this Fentin McLachlan, who summoned these awful creatures that manifested in flesh and blood, with bat wings and claws, and too many eyes, and slavering maws?

She had read of them in the book in Nora's cabin. Eerie sketches inked upon yellowed pages and documented in the occult writings of the Bestiarium Nox. As far as the long-dead authors were concerned, these things all shared a simple name.

Demons.

Jenny's breath shortened and she trained her eyes on the entrance to the opulent dining hall, past the chaos and disarray that the robbers had left in their hasty search.

Maggie followed her gaze. The thundering and thumping of boots neared. The men dragged something. Something that thudded against another something, cascading into something else—something ceramic, perhaps—shattering upon impact.

The three men entered. Two of them dragged the body of Lord Bennet. Blood stained the late lord's face, having flown from now emptied eye sockets. His corpse flopped against the end of the dinner table where they tossed him, breaking a wine glass under a lifeless arm smashing down.

Magdalene winced. The shrill sound of shattering rang almost as painfully as their blatant disregard for the dead.

Fentin grinned triumphantly, displaying a set of eerily white and perfect teeth. His eyes glinted with a fierce and cold air. Like staring into a shark's eyes.

He sauntered past the bound women, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand, and a large wheel of cheese in the other. The buckled boots on his feet, baggy pants, and dirty shirts underneath his wet long coat, altogether lent him the air of a pirate. A strange sight, so far inland, and so close to King Michael III's castle.

The other two men dressed in similar attires. A cutlass clattered on the table as one of them took a seat across from Magdalene, leering at her and Jenny until he cocked his head back, and chugged several greedy gulps from a bottle of hard liquor.

The third man slammed down a stack of old tomes, causing some of the nearby plates to bounce under the impact. The top books slid from the stack, fanning out. They all looked old and the leatherbound cover on one of them featured strange symbols.

Magick symbols.

Blood from Bennet's gouged eye sockets and other lacerations upon his person slowly seeped into the tablecloth. A deep crimson blot grew at a snail's pace, creeping down the length of the table as the dead lord's lifeblood drenched it.

When Magdalene met gazes with Jenny again, she read a mixture of despair and defiance in the woman's eyes. Her nostrils flared again, with a snort of frustration. And fury.

The pirate captain poured himself a glass of wine. Then he carved some cheese from the wheel, using a vicious-looking knife from his belt. Boots thumped again, glass clinked—he swung his feet up onto the table as he slouched into what was likely once Lord Bennet's chair, holding the wine glass in one hand, and a hunk of cheese in the other.

He sampled the creamy treat and shot Magdalene a smirk as he chewed, studying the faces of their two living captives, sloshing the wine around in his glass before taking a thirsty swig.

One of the other men guffawed, grabbing their attention.

"We keepin' them alive for some pleasure before the business?" the guffawing man asked. He sounded different from the leader. Like he had grown up in the city of Crimsonport.

"Keep it in yer pants," replied the captain in his thick northern accent. "These ladies are a little bit too interestin' to give them the usual rough treatment. Besides, Mister Witts. I don't like to damage the product, especially not when they can earn us some good coin overseas. Ya don't think very far do ya? S'that why they used ta call ya Witless Witts?"

Magdalene almost expected a retort. Even an angry glare. But "Witless" Mister Witts' face contorted to reflect the mien of a beaten dog.

The chair creaked underneath the pirate captain's weight as he shifted. He pointed the cheese in his hand at Maggie and said, "This one especially. You're a very interesting little lady, aren't ya?"

Magdalene offered no response. She just met his gaze. Studied his features. Every gesture carried an air of constant calculation. Everything he said aimed to provoke reactions, allowing him to probe the depths of the people in front of him.

And not a single trace of mercy or goodness lurked behind the mask of his eerily familiar visage. This she sensed.

He washed down the cheese with another sip of wine, then growled, "Remove their gags, Mister Hoskins. It's time for the ladies to talk."

The third pirate, Hoskins, had never sat down. He had been hovering behind Jenny and Magdalene, leaning against a cupboard in wait. First, he removed the cloth from Maggie's mouth, then from Jenny. Maggie made no sound, nor did she put up any fight. She simply welcomed the cool air upon her gums.

Jenny also displayed no resistance, but she rolled her jaw to stave off the ache of having the napkin stuffed in there for so long.

"Please, sir," Jenny immediately rattled away. "I'm sure we can work something out. I'm sure we—"

She stopped. The shark-eyed captain shushed her, tapping his lips with a finger.

"I'll admit," he said. "I didn't deem you very interesting at first, but you are a bit of an enigma, Miss—"

"Lady Amelia Hanbury," Jenny Fisher lied, correcting him. She spoke with such confidence and authority that Magdalene intuited how long she had been using this identity as a mask in front of Lord Bennet.

He asked her, "You don't really know what Bennet was up to, eh?"

This must have caught her off-guard. The fast-talking thief remained silent.

In lieu of any answer, the pirate captain's mouth twitched. His lips curled into a devious smile, and he pointed to the stack of books that Hoskins had dumped onto the table.

"Member of a little occult society that calls 'emselves the 'God's Hand'. Bunch o' mystics and mountebanks that dabble in the secret arts, practicing in the shadow of the aristocracy wherever the inquisition can't cast their prying gaze."

Nobody interrupted him when he paused, savoring his ruminations as much as the expensive import wine lingering on his tongue.

"Mighty close to the king's castle, don't ya think?"

He chuckled and sniffed his wine.

Witless Witts leaned over the table, closer to Magdalene. His lips smacked as he chewed on jerky, which took longer than usual, partly owed to some of his missing teeth. He radiated utter contempt.

Magdalene spoke, "So you sought Lord Bennet's library, for secrets it holds. Secrets common folk do not comprehend." She meant to ask, but it rolled out in her monotone. She, too, studied Fentin's face for a reaction.

He smirked again. Pointed two fingers at her. Kept his eyes locked onto hers. There was something magnetic about his gaze. Something unnatural. It slowly peeled away layers of the world around her and froze her into place. Some form of wicked sorcery.

"See, Miss Hanbury. That lass sittin' next to ya—she's a bright one. Quick on the uptake."

"Please, Mister McLachlan, I am begging you," Jenny-not-Hanbury said. "If you tell us what you want, I promise I will help you as long as you don't harm the girl—"

"Name," he said.

"What?"

He had never taken his eyes off Magdalene.

"Your name. Names hold power. And power is what I take. Give me your name."

Ignoring her bondage, Jenny leaned over and hissed at her, "You don't have to answer hi—"

"Magdalene," Magdalene said. "Magdalene McLachlan."

His lips parted and the air about him shifted. He masked a stronger reaction from surfacing.

"Little Maggie," the syllables playfully rolled out. He clicked his tongue. "You prolly don't remember me, but I remember seein' you as a wee lass."

He held out a hand flat by his side, low. Never breaking eye contact. Never blinking.

Shark eyes.

"About yea tall, you were. I knew I remembered your big brown doe eyes. Color me surprised that my useless fuck of a brother's loins produced such a clever girl. But you're not looking too healthy. All skin and bones. What is that prick been feedin' ya?"

He licked his lips, took his feet off the table, and downed the remaining contents of his wine glass in one shot.

"Father is dead," she said. The sentiment flashed in her eyes, finally eliciting a more tangible reaction from him: his eyes widened, even if only subtly so.

"Mister McLachlan, sir," Jenny interrupted them. "I do not mean to interrupt this, uh, touching family reunion of yours, but I would like to stress that there is no need to keep us helpless women tied up like this. It's barbaric, and I swear—upon all that is holy—that—"

"I don't give a rat's ass about anything holy. I commune with powers from beyond this world," Fentin "Shark-Eyes" McLachlan dismissed her, casting a sidelong glance at Jenny.

Witless Witts stifled an awkward giggle. It died in his throat, but he could barely contain his excitement. Hoskins also audibly shifted his weight again.

The rest of the mansion had fallen deathly silent. But the demons—the creatures they had seen earlier—they still lurked, somewhere out there, just out of sight. But far from being out of Magdalene's mind.

"I will not beat around the bush," Jenny said.

Hoskins repeated the last word and chortled behind them.

"We are at your mercy, and I don't care whom I have to swear any oaths to, I only vow to do as you tell me, as long as that guarantees that Maggie and I are not harmed."

She sighed deeply. Her words carved through the air with expertise, timed just before anybody could respond again.

"I will be absolutely honest with you," she said. The lies came so naturally from her mouth and felt like silk brushing softly over skin. The way she spoke transformed a bit more by the end of every sentence.

A different accent emerged. It sounded more like it stemmed from the fog-strangled streets of Crimsonport's lower city wards, blended with foreigners and sporting a hint of the northern accent to match Fentin McLachlan's own. For a split second, Maggie wondered if this was Jenny's real manner of speaking.

"My real name is Marie Cook. I am nobody of grand standing, I am merely someone who was lookin' to make some quick coin off o' Lord Bennet."

She shot a nervous glance in the round, met by arched brows and befuddlement all around, then she flashed an uncannily confident smile before she continued to keep the ball rolling.

"You gents seem to be working somethin'. Somethin' lucrative. I can smell good game seven miles 'gainst the wind, and I know that Lord Bennet's riches can't be the end-all be-all of it, yeah? It's gotta be a bigger score awaitin' you lot here in the Hold, innit?"

Witless Witts guffawed again and slapped the table.

"She's a smart one too, eh cap'n? Yeah, woman. We are gettin' mighty close to the king's—"

"Shut your stupid fuckin' hole," Shark-Eyes growled at Witts. He then sneered at Jenny. "And you must think I am balmy on the crumpet, ya thievin' strumpet. Fuck off."

Witts shrugged and shuddered, growing nervous, then he chugged more liquor.

"I am not stupid, woman. I know you're anglin' for somethin'. Your kind always does. No, we have no use for you and yer yappin'."

"I am also adept at forgin' papers and paintin's, and—oh, even blowin' glass," Jenny quipped, rounded off with a smirk and a playful wink that projected a growing air confidence, which stood in stark contrast with how they had bound her to a chair like Maggie.

The dread captain's lips were wet with wine and oozed a deviousness as they curled into a smirk of his own.

"Where we are headed, what we are doin'—you'd need a much stronger stomach than I fathom you've got, Miss Cook. If that's even your real name. You'd need to be willin' to pact with powers beyond ken. And I don't particularly sense a familiarity with the preternatural on you. How long have ya been here in Bennet's home, oblivious to the treasures he and his ilk are sittin' on?"

"I don't know, but I know enough to know that you are far more clever than you let on. You are far more educated than a man of your station ought to normally be. You are a man who defies conventions, and I am a woman who maneuvers outside of 'em."

The pirate captain awaited more.

He replied, "Unless you're willin' to sell your soul to strange powers, to commune with things from other worlds, Miss Cook, then I have no fuckin' use for ya."

Maggie's attention bounced back and forth between them, like watching a duel of wits. Jenny narrowed her eyes at Fentin.

"Aren't ya afraid of the wrath of God, toyin' with forces o' the devil like that?"

Another smirk from Shark-Eyes. Never blinking.

"In truth, there are no gods nor devils in this world. Those are words that small-minded men have used to make sense of things that resist definition."

A sweeping gesture between Witts and Hoskins segued to his next speech, "These fearless men here are willin' to do what it takes to grasp and embrace such power. They are not blinded by crusty old traditions."

"Hear hear," Witts said, raising his bottle in a crude toast.

"Which takes me to the most interestin' person sittin' at this very here table," Shark-Eyes concluded. Locking eyes with Maggie again. "My dear wee niece, hell forbid I would have expected to ever meet ya again, but here we are. And I want to know what you know. Where ya learned your sorcery from. You summoned a fuckin' psychopomp. I know some necromancy, but that shite is unheard of. Ripped ten sturdy men to pieces without so much as a fuckin' warnin'. If I hadn't had some sigil to deal with our fanged friends gettin' unruly, we would have had an even more serious problem on our hands."

Maggie took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat. Stayed calm. Nora had taught her to stay calm in the face of monsters. They always fed upon fear. No need to feed them. No need to lend them power.

"No need to share," she said. "You will kill me anyway—just sooner, if I tell you."

Fentin glowered at her. Struggled to conceal another sneer.

"I had a look at your bags, lass. Found some interestin' reagents in there. Satchels of dust, I'm guessin' from gravestone and bones and pig iron? No writin'. How long have you been practicing? You're so bloody young."

Maggie clenched her lips shut. They formed a thin white line upon her already pale face. Jenny's gaze burnt upon her, but she maintained eye contact with her evil uncle.

"Can't be too long that you're at it. I suspect you're a little bit more intuitive, aren't ya? Wouldn't be a surprise, it's gotta run in the family," he said.

Feeding the sinking feeling in Maggie's stomach, he might deduce more as time went on, even if she stayed silent.

"You and I are not that different, lass. People like us are like doorways. We are vessels for the darkness, as it slowly makes its way into this world. Takes root and grows. Now is the age of darkness, Maggie. The age for it to engulf the world—and transfigure it."

His gaze.

His gaze was truly paralyzing. Rooted in magick. Some power he worked; some demonic power, it suffused his gaze. Could he read surface thoughts? Could he corrupt minds and control weak minds? She dreaded all the possibilities.

"Things like vampyria, wolf-men, fiendish abominations—all real, as you well know if you're workin' necromancy. You should embrace it if you do have that preternatural awareness that so many people lack. Not resist."

Jenny scoffed. She interrupted him, earning a fiery glare from Shark-Eyes. "I know what I saw. Those—things. They were quite real, and if you had told me about 'em just a few days prior, I woulda laughed at ya and said you were out o' your bloody mind. But how much of this is superstition, how much is real?"

Everybody stared at the swindling thief. The confidence in her countenance crumbled.

"What?"

Shark-Eyes bared his teeth again in a hideous, wicked grin.

"All of it, woman. All of it. You're in the presence of experts, folk who have sliced through the shite of obliviousness with blades of knowin'."

Ignoring her again, he said to Maggie, "You and I could accomplish great things. You must hear whispers."

A shiver shook her spine and blood ran cold in her veins. Colder than Bennet's blood, still soaking the tablecloth beside them.

"I, too, hear whispers. They are probably different from the ones you heed. The ones you hear, they come from a place where our kind goes to rot and sleep forever."

Shark-Eyes lost his cool in that moment. The fervor gripped him; droplets of spittle sprayed from his mouth as he whipped himself up into a fevered frenzy with his own speech. He pointed to the ceiling, but all people present knew that he pointed to the stars.

"They are the opposite. The ones I hear, they come from a place between the celestial bodies in the heavens. They are not remembered by the livin', they are the forgotten ones. They have slept long enough, and they stir in their slumber. They ready to awaken. And we can be the heralds of the new age. God-kings that erect our own, new empires on top o' the ruins of an already forsaken world. Have you not felt how the nights grow longer each year? The winters colder? The fog thicker?"

The hairs upon Maggie's nape bristled. She knew what he said was true. Or at the very least, it was one of the few things he genuinely believed in.

"Yes," Maggie said. Nodding slowly. "I admit, our connection to such forces is not that different. But you and I are very different people. We may share blood, and perhaps even madness. Yet I would never join you in your pursuit. I have friends who hunt your kind—"

"My kind? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Monster."

Uncle and niece glared at each other. Murder in both their eyes.

His voice quaked with cold, seething anger, "And what fuckin' friends? Where are they now?"

She kept silent.

The glass in his hand cracked under the growing pressure of his fist clenching around it. Jenny gasped, and even as much as she pretended to stay calm, Maggie shuddered when the glass exploded into a rain of brilliant shards and wine. Fentin slammed his palm onto the tabletop, leaving a red handprint, where blood and wine admixed.

He spat, "It's those fuckin' hunters from the city, isn't it? It's that Merry fuckin' bandit ponce, Johnn Von Brandt. Isn't it?"

Then, with another, more violent slap that caused all cutlery and plates and glasses to rattle, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "I will kill 'em all!"

Jenny's nostrils flared again as she forced herself to display calm, and Maggie shared the same inner struggle.

"Mister McLachlan, sir," Jenny spoke up. Her voice trembled, likely more than she preferred to project. "I have a sudden and dire need to make use o' the restrooms. If you would be so kind to untie me now?"

He thrust out an index finger, pointing it at her face. Blood dripped from his hand.

"Aggressive mimicry, Miss Cook. I have sailed many seas and heard many tales of creatures strange and distant, from all around the world. I have heard of predators that pose as prey, of true wolves that don the sheep's wool and wait until the bigger wolf turns inattentive—then strikes."

"What?"

"I'm sayin' that you can soil your undergarments for all I care. Reckon I already told ya. I am not fuckin' stupid."

"Please, sir. I sense you are not that barbaric. Have one of your fuckin' men escort me, or both for all I care. Hell, I'll piss right in front of 'em, I swear. No funny business."

He began picking glass shards from his hand, not flinching even once. Displaying the same detached coldness that guised the fiery hot rage he had just displayed at his own mention of Johnn Von Brandt.

"Fine. You are right. I am no savage."

He smirked. Nodded at Hoskins.

The pirate standing behind Jenny stepped away from the wall and began working the knots to release her. He knelt to free her legs, then moved to release her hands from the simple bindings made of coarse rope.

"Thank you. Despite what you may be thinkin' right now, I believe we'll find a great way to cooperate in the future," Jenny said, rubbing her wrists as she rose.

She stifled a gasp as Hoskins forcefully grabbed her by the arm.

"Fuck off," Fentin said without looking up.

While Hoskins dragged Jenny out of the room, the captain continued plucking out piece by piece and dropping the bloodied little shards of glass onto the plate before him with soft little clinks.

Clink. Clink.

Several heartbeats after Jenny and Hoskins had left the dining room, and the muffled voices of them reached the chamber from a distance, Shark-Eyes said without looking up, "I have dabbled in necromancy myself, lass. I could learn a thing or two from ya. And you could learn a lot from me. We are not limited to crusty old traditions. We can walk as many roads as we please. How did you call upon a psychopomp, I wonder?"

Maggie squinted and refrained from admitting anything. Nor did she want to revisit the moments of desperation when she first called upon the messengers of death.

"The first necromancers spoke the language of the dead. And contrary to common misconception, they never commanded the dead directly. They bargained with 'em. Where man defies fear of death by embracing the illusion of life, the necromancers defy the illusion. They embrace their fears, and in doing so, understand."

Clink. Clink.

Maggie finally spoke up with a question of her own, "What have you done? Why can I not hear the whispers?"

Another cruel grin marked his face and rested there. He needed not even look up to instill dread upon Maggie in doing so, focused still on removing the last shards from his hand.

"Thorathoth. Zhaal," he hissed, maintaining that grin all the while.

Click. Scrape. Scratch. Click.

Things approached unseen, lurking in the corridors just outside the dining room. Witless Witts' face turned white as a sheet. Claws heralded the creatures nearing.

A set of sharp black talons slid around the corner of the doorway. A hideous head poked inside. Dozens of eyes, like those of an insect or a spider, stared empty into the chamber. The blood drained from Maggie's face as she saw herself reflected in those eyes—too many eyes—and not a shred of humanity, not an ounce of mercy in them.

As it prowled into the room, four bat-like wings furled closely around its lithe body, it made only few sounds. Even Witless Witts inhaled sharply, masking a gasp. Even the pirates in Shark-Eyes' company must have felt fear in the presence of these abominations.

Following the first, another crept inside, ducking through the doorway. Its two heads looked almost like pyramids, with no eyes to see but slavering maws. Its four equine legs stepped silently, and its claws rhythmically opened and closed, as if ready to slash necks and rend human flesh at the drop of a hat.

"I'm sure your moment of glory was born of desperation. My path was the same. I was willin' to sell my soul to survive in this dark world of man, this forsaken world. It is doomed, ya know? Whether we do anythin' about it or not. We can only choose to be the angels of its destruction and rebirth, or to perish alongside the rest of the apes. I chose to stand a cut above the rest of regular men. And they responded."

Clink. The last glass shard landed on the plate. Shark-Eyes folded his hands before him. His voice had fully calmed again.

"I believe not in God nor devil. The things here, the things I speak with—their whispers—I know they are not 'demons', but somethin' else entirely."

The creatures remained conspicuously silent.

Thumping. Footsteps neared. Witts arched a brow as they closed in on the dining room.

Hoskins shoved Jenny through the doorway. She stumbled, tripped, fell to the floor but caught herself. Looked up at the two creatures flanking the entrance as they studied her. One with too many eyes, the other somehow sensing her with no eyes whatsoever. Dark mucus dripped from its fangs and the lustful way it inhaled caused Maggie to shudder.

"The bitch was tryin' somethin' funny," Hoskins said.

"Funny what?" Shark-Eyes snarled.

Hoskins crouched down next to Jenny, grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, eliciting a sharp cry of pain.

"Talked me into closin' the door but a crack, then tried climbin' out the window. You are not as clever as ya think," he sneered into her ear. And with a wicked smile, looking up at Maggie to lock eyes with her. "And leavin' the girl to us, no less. What was it you were sayin', again?"

The creature with too many eyes hissed. Even though nothing about it looked even remotely serpentine, it emitted sounds like a rattlesnake. From where exactly on its horrendous form, Maggie could not discern.

"She might be cleverer yet than you think, ya dumb shit," Shark-Eyes said, tilting his head. The constant grins and smirks faded from his face, and he glowered at Hoskins with displeasure. "Zhaal here tells me that she set fire up there. And you are goin' to go right back up there and put it out now, aren't ya? Too many books in this fuckin' house that Bennet probably did not keep hidden in plain sight."

Everybody paused, frozen.

Eyes closed; Jenny smiled to herself. Maggie almost cracked a smile of her own.

"Go," Fentin growled at Hoskins.

His underling scrambled off.

The pirate captain sighed and nodded his head at the door, shooting Witts a glance.

"You too, help him. Prove to me you aren't as witless as the name, Witts. Earn your keep and earn that power ye've been promised."

Witts nodded slowly, then with more zest. He quickly got up and stormed out of the room. Leaving Jenny and Maggie alone with Shark-Eyes and the two demons.

Bound as her hands were in front of her, they allowed Maggie still to fold her hands. Like the legs of a spider, her thin fingers interlocked and clasped.

Like praying hands before her.

She focused and released the powers she had gathered in weeks past. Spells she had studied and meditated over for countless, sleepless hours, to the point of exhaustion. Unleashing forces that would fan the flames and feed them with pure essence.

Her own essence.

Maggie spoke, "Tell me, uncle dearest. You know as well as I that our kind can make fire—or make it grow. But do you know of any way for magick to put it out?"

She narrowed her eyes and could not help but smile at him like a cat. Like a cat playing with its food.

His face fell through various stages of frowning until it turned into a hideous grimace, contorting with boiling rage.

Maggie said, "Even if I cannot hear the whispers, I can still wield other forms of thaumaturgy."

"We truly are of the same blood," he snapped. "Are we not?"

The smile already gone, embracing the darkness she harbored in her heart, Maggie said, "Touched by shadow, and touching it." And in a whisper, "Always."

Shouts echoed from elsewhere in the mansion. Hoskins and Witts struggled to quench the growing fire. Jenny had started it, but Maggie's spell had rendered it unstoppable.

She almost jumped up in her chair—Fentin slammed the table with his bloodied fist, leaving another vermillion print. He thrust out another finger at her. Swallowed a remark.

The chair behind him went flying away as he flew into a rage, storming out of the dining room. His footsteps thudded, heavy with fury. He growled at the two demons.

"Watch them. If they run—kill 'em."

Maggie's chin crinkled. She refused to let him get away with this.

Undeterred by the looming threat, Jenny made her way to Maggie and started untying her.

The creatures did not leap. They started inching, creeping closer.

"I will distract them, and you make a run for it," Jenny whispered, so faint that a mouse would have sounded louder, so close that Maggie felt her breath upon her skin more than she heard her.

Her dainty and dexterous fingers trembled as they swiftly untied the knots binding Maggie's hands together—and froze in place.

"We hear you," said Zhaal. Its mouth did not move, but its voice sliced through the air, calm and menacing.

"We understand you," said Thorathoth. It had no eyes to watch, but Maggie felt watched by it.

Jenny started slipping the ropes out of the knots even faster. Clearly not her first time working with rope, but Maggie perished the thought.

The creatures crept closer, four clawed feet each that touched the ground and emitted only subtle little clicks and scraping sounds, drowned out by the rising cacophony outside, caused by three men struggling to put out a raging fire that now threatened to devour Bennet's mansion—and all his precious occult books.

"He is right, you know," said Zhaal. Its many eyes never blinked, like Fentin's. Cold, dark red. Evil.

"We are not so different," said Thorathoth. Its claws cut through the tablecloth as it took the long way round.

Maggie had no time to register the sensation of finally being released from her bonds. Jenny rose to her side and hugged the girl close to herself. More to comfort herself than protect her, probably, but a hint of selflessness hid beneath that cloak of self-preservation. The woman's head whipped back and forth, trying to keep eyes on both the creatures as they encircled them.

"The one you call God does not love you," said Zhaal.

Said Thorathoth, "He has abandoned you. Forsaken your world. But we—"

"We love you," whispered Zhaal.

"We love your world," breathed Thorathoth.

Maggie began whispering.

Incantations.

The occult words spilled out of her mouth. Jenny looked at her with growing dread.

Maggie knew the risks. If this went wrong, she would draw something far worse than these creatures into her world. Something ancient. Something beyond good and evil, something that could swallow thousands of souls in an instant and with little hesitation to annihilate another world in its wake.

But the monsters crept closer. And the whispers—they had told her that this Jenny was important. Even in their absence, she deigned to heed their warnings. Follow their prophetic call.

"We are but shadows of our true selves, stirring in our slumber," said Zhaal, having crept so close that the monster could pounce.

Its claws dug into the floor, like daggers piercing thick oriental carpets with ease and boring into the wooden boards underneath.

"We love your world so much, we wish to fully awaken in it," said Thorathoth, sounding raspier.

Hungrier.

The closer it got, the taller it looked. The greater the shadows it cast. As if it grew with each step, now towering over Jenny and Maggie.

"A valiant effort to banish us," said Zhaal.

"But we are not your enemy," said Thorathoth.

Their claws spread, poised to strike. Ready to slaughter.

"We are your salvation," said Zhaal.

The maws of its two heads opened wide, with spittle dripping from long, sharp fangs.

"We are the future," whispered Thorathoth.

"Inevitable," hissed both.

Inhuman, deafening shrieks left a ringing in Maggie's ears as both monstrosities lunged at them, then retreated several steps, hissing and snarling like feral beasts. The creatures reeled, as if having struck an invisible barrier.

All pretenses of playing nicely had dropped. The slavering beasts now growled and roared, staying just close enough that they could kill as soon as Maggie's spell even so much as waned.

She glowed. With an otherworldly light. Some would have called it a halo, but all definitions are cheap in the realm of the incomprehensible. Maggie could see her bright emanations in the reflections upon Zhaal's many horrid eyes.

"Stay close to me," she murmured, voice trembling.

She felt weak. It ate at away her very being. It taxed her so much. But it worked.

For now.

Jenny gripped the girl with great force, bracing her and keeping her from stumbling even as Maggie's knees buckled.

"Move," Maggie said. Then she shrieked at Zhaal, "Move!"

Jenny took the cue, stepping forward with Maggie, clutching the girl close to her bosom as they advanced. The creature retreated by the same measure. Defiant of abandoning its master's orders, but incapable of piercing that barrier, no matter how sharp its claws, no matter how deep it could cut into human flesh.

Jenny shuddered as Maggie uttered more words of power. They spilled forth from the girl's mouth—like pure instinct given sound. She did not even understand them, serving only as a conduit for something else.

The alien words stopped flowing from her mouth, followed by another shout, "Move!"

Jenny advanced with her, craning her neck to look behind them as Thorathoth followed, the two demonic predators staying as close as they could in defiance of whatever force kept them at bay.

The woman holding Maggie gritted her teeth and drew upon her final reserves of courage. Maggie felt it shining brightly, like a bonfire suddenly set ablaze. The light about her matched its incandescence.

They advanced more steps, and Zhaal shrieked again. Furiously.

Pained. It retreated more than an equal number of steps, suffering terrible agony. Its gnarled and blackened skin sizzled like drops of vitriolic acid landing on wood. The creature's form cringed, rearing back more and more and eventually—reluctantly—allowing them to pass.

The two backed out of the dining room, facing the two demons. The creatures followed every step. Both burned with malice.

"Whether or not you join us, we shall awaken," Zhaal snarled.

"Whether or not you live or perish, we shall outlast," Thorathoth growled.

"We shall rise," they hissed in unison.

Though fear still wracked her visage, Jenny barked at the creatures, "Fuck off!"

She backed away further with Maggie, cautious step by incredulous step, shoving the girl behind her but still holding her close, wary that the demons might tear them to shreds at any given moment. She understood not how any of this magick worked, acting purely on instinct.

Maggie clasped her hands together. Like praying hands. She had long stopped praying to the one the church called God, but now, more than ever, at the end of her wit, and possibly the end of their luck, they needed a miracle.

She needed the strength to work one last spell.

To break whatever kept the whispers at bay. The whispers—their only hope of egress from these monsters. And from the raging fire. The biting sting of smoke began to creep through the corridors, as Bennet mansion turned into a living hell, populated with monsters to match.

To escape from Shark-Eyes and his smoldering wrath.

"Every door your kind opens," said Zhaal, prowling after them like a wildcat.

"Every path your people pave," said Thorathoth, spreading its arms as if welcoming them for a deadly embrace.

"We come closer to our awakening," they said in unison.

And with that, the miracle happened. Coming from the most unlikely place. The creatures lent her the insight she needed.

Maggie imagined a corridor. A narrow, meandering hole. A place of fog and living darkness. Where the whispers reigned. Where the spirits swirled like mists. A place where the veil was weakest. A bridge between all worlds that ever were, and all worlds that ever would be.

Like these demons somehow entered the human world, so did the spirits somehow. And now, she needed to use that same road to escape.

"There," Maggie gasped.

She unclasped her hands and tugged at Jenny's arm. Pointed to a nearby door.

Jenny must have recognized it, confused over how such a useless room may grant them escape. But she trusted Maggie's directions, left with no other options in the face of such deadly horrors.

The woman ripped the door to the kitchen open but froze upon seeing what lay beyond it.

Went slack jawed.

There was no kitchen there, but a yawning darkness. A narrow corridor, roughly hewn into stone. Mists roiled in a deep and infinite, coiling passageway. Inhuman shrieks of spirits reached them from deep within.

And whispers.

The hair on Maggie's nape bristled once more. Not with fear, but an excited solace.

This—this was their salvation. A dark embrace that would grant them escape. Yet a pit of great peril itself.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, worried more about Jenny than herself.

"We must enter," she told the woman.

"What? No. What is that?"

"We must enter," Maggie sighed, growing weak, slumping against Jenny's grip.

Darkness encroached from all sides upon the field of her vision. A deep sleep threatened to overwhelm her. And she dreaded the thought of losing consciousness, of this spell of hers ending, and exposing them to the mercy of the claws and fangs of Zhaal and Thorathoth, the demons that still followed, only two steps away at bay. Or worse: to the mercy of Fentin "Shark-Eyes" McLachlan.

The swindler propped her up and groaned, "No! Alright. Fuck!"

Jenny clamped her eyes shut and plunged the two of them into the depths of that corridor.

Light engulfed them.

The demons refused to follow. Consciousness slipped further and further away from Maggie. The deeper Jenny carried her—eventually truly carrying the anemic girl in her surprisingly strong arms—the mists of this impossible corridor swallowed all sounds. Jenny's shoes created no echoes, as if she walked upon thin air.

And perhaps she did.

Even as the whispers gave Maggie comfort, the spirits here were anything but benevolent. The terror in Jenny's face justified, for if the spell ended prematurely, the entities here would claim them. Swallow them whole. Sever their ghosts from their bodies, making them disappear from their world in an instant, never to be seen again.

Only the light that shone from Maggie, mysterious, and bright, and warm, guided the way. Allowed Jenny to carry her deeper and deeper down the corridor.

A speck of light appeared at the end of this infinite and reality-defying hallway. Bennet's mansion had long disappeared behind them, molten into the pool of darkness, taking with it the dread pirate and his demons—Maggie glimpsed as much as she fought to keep her eyelids open.

Spirits all around them yearned to feast on their life force.

To drink their memories and fool themselves into thinking these were the lives they had lost, distorted through the confusion that grew with each passing moment in the intersection between worlds. More afraid than living mortals of the afterlife, whatever it truly was.

A place that bled outwards, seeping, and soaking the fabric of what humanity considered to be… reality. A growing wound.

Only the faerie light that shone from Maggie kept all these hungry, angry, confused spirits at bay.

Eventually, the girl fully slipped from consciousness, long before Jenny even reached the end of the corridor.

Yet the light refused to die.

—Submitted by Wratts

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theeboyracer · 3 years

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2021, a year in records - April 26th

#goon sax #we’re not talking #dear nora #we’ll have a time #morrissey #maladjusted #galaxie 500 #on fire #chapter music #magic marker records #island records #20 20 20

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normalbeast-downformaintenance · 3 years

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I got myself an old ipod from 2007 and there were six folders of music in it when I went to add my songs

The folders are not sorted by genre, although they contain mostly rock and grunge, I find a lot of Red Hot Chili Peppers, Metallica, Nirvana, and Morrissey, but then I get punched in the face by some jazz or soul when I don’t expect it.

Here’s a list of stuff I have found so far:

- Well known rock and grunge bands

- Nora Jones who is sad

- Black Eyed Peas’ The E.N.D I GOT A FEELING WOOOHOO

- The same Duran Duran song twice

- A song that I recognize but was downloaded from an Absolute Music compilation so the title isn’t displayed

- AY OH LET’S GO AY OH LET’S GO RAMONES

- Buddha Bar

- Sad androgynous voiced man is sad. His piano is also sad

- A swing song

- Something a lounge singer in a tropical resort would sing in a spy drama

- Three Metallica songs in a row, is this consistency at last? Haha, no

- Spanish dance music

- A Danish guy yelling something to the sound of a phone’s dial tone for three seconds maximum

- David Bowie! Hello you!

- A string quartet

- Brazilian heavy metal band Sepultura

- The Internationale, Russian version

- James Brown

- Neil young my country man what are you doing here?

- A funky electronic backed song in Danish that is actually pretty good

- Several Aretha Franklin songs, maybe two per folder

- Tom Waits yelling real good

- The Danish band again, what genre is this even

- RELAX,,,DON’T DO IT

- Manu Chao singing in at least five different languages

- Rammstein my beloved from when I was 14

- Good Vibrations but not the Good Vibrations you’re thinking of

- A different Danish band

#music #low key curious about this Danish band

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sunnyrea · 4 years

Note

If Duty and Inclination were to become a movie/TV show, who would be in the cast?

It is funny you should ask this, because I have already cast it. I like to have visuals in my head a lot of time for the people I write about. So I will sometimes make my own fancast to help with that when needed.

I will say right off the bat, Turn: Washington’s Spies did an amazing job of casting, so I have a few stolen from there. Why rework a good thing? I will also say that I will often only cast people if I can find them in some sort of ‘close enough’ time period attire. Which is not as hard as you would think.

Ta da:

Alexander Hamilton - Sean Haggerty (This man looks perfect and I am so glad he pushed himself into the role on Turn in pure Hamilton style)

John Laurens - Seth Numrich (Listen, he can never be Tallamadge for me again because he has SO MUCH Laurens energy and you just can’t go back after that)

George Washington - Ian Kahn (Duh, he is perfect)

Elizabeth Schuyler - Maddison Jaizani

Marquis de Lafayette - Brian Wiles

Robert Hanson Harrison - David Morrissey

Tench Tilghman - Crispin Bonham-Carter (but this version, from the 90s and all the sass of that face, not his Bingley sweet)

Richard Kidder Meade - Edward hogg

John Fitzgerald - Matthew Goode

Joseph Reed - Bertie Carvel

James McHenry - Kyle Soller

Nora Bailey - Gugu Mbatha-Raw

And some further from the main bunch casting as well!

Baron von Steuben - Ciarán Hinds (I only have a tiny photo of it but uniform!)

Jean Baptiste Ternant - Michael Sheen (but a younger him)

Henry Laurens - Alun Armstrong

Kitty Livingston - Kate Beckinsale

Benjamin Walker - Ed Speleers

Stephen Du Ponceau - Timothee Chalamet

And, spoiler alert, the plot line relating to these two have been cut for the book due to time and focus but I still had them cast, so:

William North - Josh Whitehouse

Francis Kinloch - Rupert Evans

AND THERE YOU ARE. Yes, I am just as obsessed as you.

#ask #duty and inclination #casting

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hellyeahheroes · 5 years

Link

You probably have heard by now that DC has killed DC Zoom, DC Ink and Vertigo imprints to consolidate publishing and replace imprints with separate age categories - DC Young Adult and DC Middle Grade being apparently just name changes for Ink and Zoom respectively, with Black Label remaining as their adult-oriented line and DC Universe being the main line still.

Some of things it means:

NO BOOK IS BEING CANCELLED

All Sandman Universe titles will continue under DC Black Label line. The Dreaming, House of Whispers, Books of Magic and Lucifer will keep going, just not under Vertigo label.

Creator-owned titles will be assigned to specific age groups but will also continue.

DC ink and Zoom books that have already been solicited will be published, other titles have been restructured to specific age group.

DC Middle Grade will still publishBatman: Overdrive, Batman Tales: Once Upon a Crime, Diana: Princess of the Amazins and Green Lantern: Legacy in 2020 and will publish Superman Smashes the Klan in future

In fact, they have announced more titles for Middle-Grade books, including:

Anti/Hero – Written by Kate Karyus Quinn and Demitria Lunetta and illustrated by Maca Gil (April 2020)

Amethyst: Princess of Gemworld – Written by Shannon and Dean Hale

ArkhaManiacs – Written by Art Baltazar and Franco and illustrated by Art Baltazar (April 2020)

Batman and Robin…and Howard – Written and illustrated by Jeffrey Brown

DC Super Hero Girls: Powerless – Written by Amy Wolfram and illustrated by Agnes Garbowska (March 2020)

Green Arrow: Stranded – Written by Brendan Deneen and illustrated by Caleb Hosalla

Indestructibles Book 1—Written by Ridley Pearson

Lois Lane – Written by Grace Ellis and illustrated by Brittney Williams

Metropolis Grove – Written and illustrated by Drew Brockington

The Mystery of the Meanest Teacher: A Johnny Constantine Graphic Novel – Written by Ryan North and illustrated by Derek Charm

My Video Game Ate My Homework – Written and illustrated by Dustin Hansen (May 2020)

Primer – Written by Thomas Krajewski and Jennifer Muro and illustrated by Gretel Lusky

Super Sons Book 3: Escape to Landis – Written by Ridley Pearson and illustrated by Ile Gonzalez

Teen Titans Go! to Camp – Written by Sholly Fisch

Teen Titans Go! Roll with It – Written by Heather Nuhfer and P.C. Morrissey -Zatanna & the House of Secrets – Written by Matthew Cody and illustrated by Yoshi Yoshitani (February 2020)

Future DC Young Adult titles include books announced for 2020 - Gotham High, The Oracle Code, Shadow of the Batgirl, Lost Carnival: a Dick Grayson Graphic Novel and Wonder Woman: Warbringer - as well as already announced Teen Titans: Beast Boy and Wonder Woman: Tempest Tossed.

There is also a large number of NEW books in Young Adult line, including:

Catwoman: Soulstealer – Adapted by Louise Simonson from Sarah J. Maas’ DC Icon prose novel and illustrated by Samantha Dodge

Galaxy: The Prettiest Star – Written by Jadzia Axelrod and illustrated by Cait Zellers

House of El Book 1 – Written by Claudia Gray and illustrated by Eric Zawadzki

I Am Not Starfire—Written by Mariko Tamaki

Mister Miracle – Written by Varian Johnson

Nubia – Written by L.L. McKinney and illustrated by Robyn Smith

Swamp Thing – Written by Maggie Stiefvater and illustrated by Morgan Beem

Victor & Nora: A Mr. Freeze Story – Written by Lauren Myracle and illustrated by Isaac Goodhart

Whistle – Written by E. Lockhart and illustrated by Manuel Preitano

You Brought Me the Ocean – Written by Alex Sanchez and illustrated by Julie Maroh

Zatanna: The Jewel of Gravesend – Written by Alys Arden and illustrated by Jacquelin De Leon

Now, another matter entirely is what it means for Vertigo books. Black Label is a good initiative even if so far it has produced BatPenis and Republican Superman. However, the line was advertised as “ biggest creators and biggest characters” for adult-oriented stories. This is not what Vertigo was. Vertigo was always a publisher who was not afraid of taking risks and pushing the envelope, it changed comics in ways we still feel and changed them for the better. Books like Sandman, Hellblazer, Lucifer, Transmetropolitan, Fables, Shade the Changing Man are among the greatest titles of American comics and left a huge mark on the millions of fans and creators. Black Label is right now criticized for being too Batman-centric for its own good.

It is an end of an era but not one we didn’t see coming. The writing was on the wall since DC fired Karen Beger and took classic Vertigo characters like John Constantine and Swamp Thing and forced them back into the main DC line as a part of New 52. Vertigo never recovered from that hit. Ironically I suspect now Young Animal books will fall under Black Label. Including Doom Patrol, one of titles DC took away from Vertigo in the first place.

- Admin

#DC Young Adult #DC Middle Grade #DC Black Label #DC #Vertigo #DC Zoom #DC Ink

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heroicadventurists · 5 years

Text

New titles and new details on upcoming titles from DC's Young Adult and Middle Grade

Source: Newsarama

The offerings were revealed at the American Library Association (ALA)'s annual convention. During the "Book Buzz" panel Saturday in Washington, D.C., the publisher outlined their 2020-2021 releases for these two age groups.

DC has stressed that these are standalone stories, and not part of "DC's ongoing comic book continuity".

DC Kids' 2020 - 2021 line-up for Middle Grade readers are:

Diana: Princess of the Amazons Written by Shannon and Dean Hale and illustrated by Victoria Ying (January 2020)

Green Lantern: Legacy Written by Minh Lê and illustrated by Andie Tong (January 2020)

Batman Tales: Once Upon a Crime Written by Derek Fridolfs and illustrated by Dustin Nguyen (February 2020)

Zatanna & the House of Secrets Written by Matthew Cody and illustrated by Yoshi Yoshitani (February 2020)

Batman: Overdrive Written by Shea Fontana and illustrated by Marcelo DiChiara (March 2020)

DC Super Hero Girls: Powerless Written by Amy Wolfram and illustrated by Agnes Garbowska (March 2020)

Anti/Hero Written by Kate Karyus Quinn and Demitria Lunetta and illustrated by Maca Gil (April 2020)

ArkhaManiacs Written by Art Baltazar and Franco and illustrated by Art Baltazar (April 2020)

My Video Game Ate My Homework Written and illustrated by Dustin Hansen (May 2020)

Amethyst: Princess of Gemworld Written by Shannon and Dean Hale

Batman and Robin…and Howard Written and illustrated by Jeffrey Brown

DC Super Hero Girls – Written by Amy Wolfram

Dear Super-Villains Written by Michael Northrop and illustrated by Gustavo Duarte

Green Arrow: Stranded Written by Brendan Deneen and illustrated by Caleb Hosalla

Indestructibles Book 1 Written by Ridley Pearson

Lois Lane Written by Grace Ellis and illustrated by Brittney Williams

Metropolis Grove Written and illustrated by Drew Brockington

Primer Written by Thomas Krajewski and Jennifer Muro and illustrated by Gretel Lusky

Superman Smashes the Klan Written by Gene Luen Yang and illustrated by Gurihiru

Super Sons Book 3: Escape to Landis Written by Ridley Pearson and illustrated by Ile Gonzalez

Teen Titans Go! to Camp Written by Sholly Fisch

Teen Titans Go! Roll with It Written by Heather Nuhfer and P.C. Morrissey

The Mystery of the Meanest Teacher: A Johnny Constantine Graphic Novel Written by Ryan North and illustrated by Derek Charm

Coming from the main DC line, here are the Young Adult titles through 2021:

Wonder Woman: Warbringer Adapted by Louise Simonson from Leigh Bardugo’s DC Icon prose novel and illustrated by Kit Seaton (January 2020)

Gotham High Written by Melissa de la Cruz and illustrated by Thomas Pitilli (February 2020)

The Oracle Code Written by Marieke Nijkamp and illustrated by Manuel Preitano (March 2020)

Shadow of the Batgirl Written by Sarah Kuhn and illustrated by Nicole Goux (April 2020)

Lost Carnival: A Dick Grayson Graphic Novel Written by Michael Moreci and illustrated by Sas Milledge (May 2020)

Catwoman: Soulstealer Adapted by Louise Simonson from Sarah J. Maas’ DC Icon prose novel and illustrated by Samantha Dodge

Galaxy: The Prettiest Star Written by Jadzia Axelrod and illustrated by Cait Zellers

House of El Book 1 Written by Claudia Gray and illustrated by Eric Zawadzki

I Am Not Starfire Written by Mariko Tamaki

Mister Miracle – Written by Varian Johnson

Nubia Written by L.L. McKinney and illustrated by Robyn Smith

Swamp Thing Written by Maggie Stiefvater and illustrated by Morgan Beem

Teen Titans: Beast Boy Written by Kami Garcia and illustrated by Gabriel Picolo

Victor & Nora: A Mr. Freeze Story Written by Lauren Myracle and illustrated by Isaac Goodhart

Whistle Written by E. Lockhart and illustrated by Manuel Preitano

Wonder Woman: Tempest Tossed Written by Laurie Halse Anderson and illustrated by Leila del Duca

You Brought Me the Ocean Written by Alex Sanchez and illustrated by Julie Maroh

Zatanna: The Jewel of Gravesend Written by Alys Arden and illustrated by Jacquelin De Leon

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geekcavepodcast · 5 years

Text

DC Announces New YA and Middle Grade Graphic Novels

At the American Library Association convention DC announced new titles for its Books for Young Readers program focusing on young adults aged 13+ and middle grader readers aged 8-12. These graphic novels will be stand-alone stories.

Young Adult titles for Spring 2020 include:

Wonder Woman: Warbringer, by writer Leigh Bardugo and artist Kit Seaton,coming in January 2020,

Gotham High, by writer Melissa de la Cruz and artist Thomas Pitilli, coming in February 2020,

The Oracle Code, by writer Marieke Nijkamp and artist Manuel Preitano, coming in March 2020,

Shadow of the Batgirl, by writer Sarah Kuhn and artist Nicole Goux, coming in April 2020, and

The Lost Carnival: A Dick Grayson Graphic Novel, by Michael Moreci and artist Sas Milledge, coming in May 2020.

Middle Grade titles for Spring 2020 include:

Diana: Princess of the Amazons, by writers Shannon and Dean Hale and artist Victoria Ying, coming in January 2020,

Green Lantern: Legacy, by writer Minh Lê and artist Andie Tong, coming in January 2020,

Batman Tales: Once Upon a Crime, by writer Derek Fridolfs and artist Dustin Nguyen, coming in February 2020,

Zatanna & the House of Secrets, by writer Matthew Cody and artist Yoshi Yoshitani, coming in February 2020,

Batman: Overdrive, by writer Shea Fontana and artist Marcelo DiChiara, coming in March 2020,

DC Super Hero Girls: Powerless, by writer Amy Wolfram and artist Agnes Garbowska, coming in March 2020,

Anti/Hero, by writers Kate Karyus Quinn and Demitria Lunetta and artist Maca Gil, coming in April 2020,

ArkhaManiacs, by writers Art Baltazar and Franco and artist Art Baltazar, coming in April 2020, and

My Video Game Ate My Homework, by writer and artist Dustin Hansen, coming in May 2020.

Upcoming Young Adult titles (not all titles are final) for 2020 and 2021 include:

Catwoman: Soulstealer based on Sarah J. Maas’ prose novel and adapted by writer Louise Simonson and artist Samantha Dodge,

Galaxy: The Prettiest Star by writer Jadzia Axelrod and artist Cait Zellers,

House of El Book 1 by writer Claudia Gray and artist Eric Zawadzki,

I Am Not Starfire by writer Mariko Tamaki,

Mister Miracle by writer Varian Johnson,

Nubia by writer L.L. McKinney and artist Robyn Smith,

Swamp Thing by writer Maggie Stiefvater and artist Morgan Beem,

Teen Titans: Beast Boy by writer Kami Garcia and illustrated by Gabriel Picolo,

Victor & Nora: A Mr. Freeze Story by writer Lauren Myracle and artist Isaac Goodhart,

Whistle by writer E. Lockhart and artist Manuel Preitano,

Wonder Woman: Tempest Tossed by writer Laurie Halse Anderson and artist Leila del Duca,

You Brought Me the Ocean by writer Alex Sanchez and artist Julie Maroh, and

Zatanna: The Jewel of Gravesend by writer Alys Arden and artist Jacquelin De Leon.

Upcoming Middle Grade titles (not all titles are final) for 2020 and 2021 include:

Amethyst: Princess of Gemworld by writers Shannon and Dean Hale,

Batman and Robin…and Howard by writer/artist Jeffrey Brown,

DC Super Hero Girls by writer Amy Wolfram,

Dear Super-Villains by writer Michael Northrop and artist Gustavo Duarte,

Green Arrow: Stranded by writer Brendan Deneen and artist Caleb Hosalla,

Indestructibles Book 1 by writer Ridley Pearson,

Lois Lane by writer Grace Ellis and artist Brittney Williams,

Metropolis Grove by writer/artist Drew Brockington,

Primer by writers Thomas Krajewski and Jennifer Muro and artist Gretel Lusky,

Superman Smashes the Klan by writer Gene Luen Yang and artist Gurihiru,

Super Sons Book 3: Escape to Landis by writer Ridley Pearson and artist Ile Gonzalez,

Teen Titans Go! to Camp by writer Sholly Fisch,

Teen Titans Go! Roll with It by writers Heather Nuhfer and P.C. Morrissey, and

The Mystery of the Meanest Teacher: A Johnny Constantine Graphic Novel by writer Ryan North and artist Derek Charm.

These comics and more will presumable launch under DC Comics’ new DC Kids and DC labels.

(Images via DC Comics)

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cooncel · 4 years

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Pilot TV Podcast #102: High Fidelity, The Duchess, Awkwafina Is Nora From Queens, And The Singapore Grip. Ft David Morrissey

David Morrissey is our guest on this week’s show, talking about his new series, The Singapore Grip, which we also review.

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comicsxaminer · 5 years

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Robust Young Reader Lineup Slated to Debut through 2021 Includes New Stories from Acclaimed Authors and Artists Jeffrey Brown, Claudia Gray, Julie Maroh, and E. Lockhart, Among Others

First Looks at On-Sale Dates, Synopses, and Covers for Spring 2020 Titles Revealed

During today’s Book Buzz panel at the American Library Association’s (ALA) annual convention in Washington D.C., DC announced plans to expand its Books for Young Readers program with an extensive new graphic novel slate geared toward young adults and middle grade readers. The new titles revealed today are scheduled to debut from 2020 through 2021 and feature stories starring Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and more of DC’s most iconic characters, written and illustrated by some of the biggest names in the young adult (YA) and middle grade publishing space.

As standalone stories, DC’s YA and middle grade graphic novels are not part of DC’s ongoing comic book continuity and completely accessible to new fans. DC’s YA titles feature thought-provoking stories for readers ages 13 and up that focus on everyday aspirations, struggles, and triumphs. DC’s middle grade graphic novels are geared toward readers ages 8-12 and tell stories focused on friends, family, and growing up.

DC also announced on-sale dates and gave panel attendees a first look at covers and synopses for several middle grade and YA titles debuting in spring 2020. The above image gallery features artwork for spring 2020 middle grade titles by artists Dustin Nguyen (BATMAN TALES: ONCE UPON A CRIME), Yoshi Yoshitani (ZATANNA & THE HOUSE OF SECRETS), Marcelo DiChiara (BATMAN: OVERDRIVE), Agnes Garbowska (DC SUPER HERO GIRLS: POWERLESS), Art Baltazar (ARKHAMANIACS), and Dustin Hansen (MY VIDEO GAME ATE MY HOMEWORK).

For a current list of titles and creative teams slated to hit stores in 2020 and 2021, see below.

Spring 2020 Lineup

Young Adult Titles

Wonder Woman: Warbringer – Written by Leigh Bardugo and illustrated by Kit Seaton (January 2020)

Gotham High – Written by Melissa de la Cruz and illustrated by Thomas Pitilli (February 2020)

The Oracle Code – Written by Marieke Nijkamp and illustrated by Manuel Preitano (March 2020)

Shadow of the Batgirl – Written by Sarah Kuhn and illustrated by Nicole Goux (April 2020)

Lost Carnival: A Dick Grayson Graphic Novel – Written by Michael Moreci and illustrated by Sas Milledge (May 2020)

Middle Grade Titles

Diana: Princess of the Amazons – Written by Shannon and Dean Hale and illustrated by Victoria Ying (January 2020)

Green Lantern: Legacy – Written by Minh Lê and illustrated by Andie Tong (January 2020)

Batman Tales: Once Upon a Crime—Written by Derek Fridolfs and illustrated by Dustin Nguyen (February 2020)

Zatanna & the House of Secrets – Written by Matthew Cody and illustrated by Yoshi Yoshitani (February 2020)

Batman: Overdrive – Written by Shea Fontana and illustrated by Marcelo DiChiara (March 2020)

DC Super Hero Girls: Powerless – Written by Amy Wolfram and illustrated by Agnes Garbowska (March 2020)

Anti/Hero – Written by Kate Karyus Quinn and Demitria Lunetta and illustrated by Maca Gil (April 2020)

ArkhaManiacs – Written by Art Baltazar and Franco and illustrated by Art Baltazar (April 2020)

My Video Game Ate My Homework – Written and illustrated by Dustin Hansen (May 2020)

Upcoming Titles Debuting in 2020 and 2021

Upcoming Young Adult Titles (Not all titles are final)

Catwoman: Soulstealer – Adapted by Louise Simonson from Sarah J. Maas’ DC Icon prose novel and illustrated by Samantha Dodge

Galaxy: The Prettiest Star – Written by Jadzia Axelrod and illustrated by Cait Zellers

House of El Book 1 – Written by Claudia Gray and illustrated by Eric Zawadzki

I Am Not Starfire—Written by Mariko Tamaki

Mister Miracle – Written by Varian Johnson

Nubia – Written by L.L. McKinney and illustrated by Robyn Smith

Swamp Thing – Written by Maggie Stiefvater and illustrated by Morgan Beem

Teen Titans: Beast Boy – Written by Kami Garcia and illustrated by Gabriel Picolo

Victor & Nora: A Mr. Freeze Story – Written by Lauren Myracle and illustrated by Isaac Goodhart

Whistle – Written by E. Lockhart and illustrated by Manuel Preitano

Wonder Woman: Tempest Tossed – Written by Laurie Halse Anderson and illustrated by Leila del Duca

You Brought Me the Ocean – Written by Alex Sanchez and illustrated by Julie Maroh

Zatanna: The Jewel of Gravesend – Written by Alys Arden and illustrated by Jacquelin De Leon

Upcoming Middle Grade Titles (Not all titles are final)

Amethyst: Princess of Gemworld – Written by Shannon and Dean Hale

Batman and Robin…and Howard – Written and illustrated by Jeffrey Brown

DC Super Hero Girls – Written by Amy Wolfram

Dear Super-Villains – Written by Michael Northrop and illustrated by Gustavo Duarte

Green Arrow: Stranded – Written by Brendan Deneen and illustrated by Caleb Hosalla

Indestructibles Book 1—Written by Ridley Pearson

Lois Lane – Written by Grace Ellis and illustrated by Brittney Williams

Metropolis Grove – Written and illustrated by Drew Brockington

Primer – Written by Thomas Krajewski and Jennifer Muro and illustrated by Gretel Lusky

Superman Smashes the Klan – Written by Gene Luen Yang and illustrated by Gurihiru

Super Sons Book 3: Escape to Landis – Written by Ridley Pearson and illustrated by Ile Gonzalez

Teen Titans Go! to Camp – Written by Sholly Fisch

Teen Titans Go! Roll with It – Written by Heather Nuhfer and P.C. Morrissey

The Mystery of the Meanest Teacher: A Johnny Constantine Graphic Novel – Written by Ryan North and illustrated by Derek Charm

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DC ANNOUNCES NEW YOUNG ADULT AND MIDDLE GRADE GRAPHIC NOVELS AT ALA ANNUAL Robust Young Reader Lineup Slated to Debut through 2021 Includes New Stories from Acclaimed Authors and Artists Jeffrey Brown, Claudia Gray, Julie Maroh, and E.

#Batman\Lois Lane #dc comics #teen titans

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italianaradio · 5 years

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9 nuovi trailer che dovresti vedere questa settimana

Nuovo post su italianaradio http://www.italianaradio.it/index.php/9-nuovi-trailer-che-dovresti-vedere-questa-settimana/

9 nuovi trailer che dovresti vedere questa settimana

I trailer non sono altro che brevi filmati promozionali di film che a breve saranno nelle sale di tutte le regioni italiane.

Il loro compito è quello di creare attesa, di dare vita ad una certa dose di hype del film che viene promosso, affinchè si corra subito a vederlo già nei primi giorni di uscita.

Ma quali sono i trailer da vedere, usciti questa settimana? Scopriamo insieme!

Fast & Furious – Hobbs & Shaw

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La serie di Fast & Furious sembra non arrestarsi mai, tanto che dopo aver incassato qualcosa come quasi 5 miliardi di dollari in tutto il mondo, ritorna con un film che sarà una storia indipendente e non vero e proprio capitolo della serie. Questo, dal titolo Fast & Furious – Hobbs & Shaw vedrà protagonisti i già visti Luke Hobbs e Deckard Shaw, interpretati da Dwayne Johnson e Jason Statham.

Dal primo affronto in Fast & Furious 7 (2015), in cui il corpulento veterano del dipartimento di polizia Hobbs (Johnson), fedele agente del Diplomatic Security Service americano e il fuorilegge Shaw (Statham), ex membro delle forze speciali britanniche, entrambi non si sono risparmi dei colpi bassi nel tentativo di annientarsi a vicenda, scambiandosi battute.

Tuttavia, quando l’anarchico Brixton (Idris Elba), cyber-geneticamente potenziato, riesce ad ottenere il controllo di un’insidiosa arma biologica che potrebbe modificare per sempre l’umanità – riuscendo a surclassare un’agente del MI& brillante e indomita (interpretata da Vanessa Kirby) che risulta essere anche sorella di Shaw – i due nemici giurati saranno costretti a collaborare insieme e ad allearsi per poter annientare l’unico cattivo che potrebbe essere peggio di loro.

Diretto da David Leitch (Deadpool 2), Fast & Furious – Hobbs & Shaw apre direttamente la porta verso quello che potrebbe essere l’universo di Fast & Furious, propagando l’azione tipica che ha contraddistinto tutti i film della serie. La sceneggiatura del film è di Chris Morgan, mentre è prodotto dagli stessi Morgan, Johnson, Statham e Hiram Garcia. I produttori esecutivi solo Dany Garcia, Kelly McCormick, Steven hasman, Ethan Smith e Ainsley Davies.

Avengers: Endgame

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Dopo averci accompagnato per più di dieci anni e dopo Avengers: Infinity War, l’Infinity Saga si avvierà alla propria conclusione con Avengers: Endgame, film che promette di districare tutte le trame costruite fino ad ora dal MCU.

Al fine di celebrare l’evento e le tappe che hanno contribuito a far uscire il quarto film dedicato ai Vendicatori, i Marvel Studios hanno rilasciato un trailer finale che ripercorre tutti i film che hanno fatto parte di questa decade, a partire da Iron Man (2008) per arrivare a Infinity War (2018), mostrando gli eventi più memorabili e anche quelli più toccanti.

Dopo i devastanti eventi di Avengers: Infinity War , l’universo si trova in rovina a causa degli sforzi di Thanos. Con l’aiuto degli alleati rimasti in vita dopo il portentoso schiocco, i Vendicatori dovranno riunirsi ancora una volta per annullare le azione compiute da Titano Pazzo e ripristinare l’ordine dell’universo una volta per tutte, indipendentemente dalle possibili conseguenze.

Nel cast del film vi saranno filmRobert Downey Jr., Chris Hemsworth, Mark Ruffalo, Chris Evans, Scarlett Johansson, Benedict Cumberbatch, Don Cheadle, Tom Holland, Chadwick Boseman, Paul Bettany, Elizabeth Olsen, Anthony Mackie, Sebastian Stan, Letitia Wright, Dave Bautista, Zoe Saldana, Josh Brolin, Chris Pratt, Jeremy Renner, Evangeline Lilly, Jon Favreau, Paul Rudd eBrie Larson.

X-Men: Dark Phoenix

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Non manca molto all’arrivo al cinema di X-Men: Dark Phoenix, tanto che la 20th Century Fox ha deciso di rilasciare il final trailer del nuovo e atteso film dedicato ai mutanti Marvel e targato Fox.

Questo film narrerà la storia di Jean Grey, uno dei personaggi più amati della saga degli X-Men, che si evolve nell’iconica Dark Phoenix. Durante una pericolosa missiosne nello spazio, Jean viene colpita da una potente forza cosmica che la trasforma inuno dei mutanti più potenti di tutti i tempi.

La ragazza si troverà sempre a lottare contro questo potere che sembra essere sempre più instabile e anche con i suoi demoni personali: Jean perde il controllo e chiude qualsiasi legame con la famiglia degli X-Men, minacciando di distruggere il pianeta. Questo film promette di essere il culmine dei vent’anni dedicati agli X-Men, la famiglia unita e molto amata che si trova a combattere contro uno di loro.

Scritto e diretto da Simon Kinberg, questo nuovo episodio è interpretato da Sophie Turner, James McAvoy, Michael Fassbender, Jennifer Lawrence, Nicholas Hoult, Tye Sheridan, Alexandra Shipp e Jessica Chastain.

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

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La Star Wars Celebration in quel di Chicago aveva promesso grandi emozioni e così è stato con la diffusione del primo teaser trailer di Star Wars Episodio IX, intitolato Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, capitolo ultimo della terza trilogia della saga diretto da J. J. Abrams.

La trama non è ancora proprio chiara, ma quello che è certo è che tornerà Leia Organa, che sarà interpretata nuovamente dalla compianta Carrie Fisher, grazie a del materiale girato mai visto prima e ricavato da Star Wars: Il risveglio della Forza: “Tutti noi amiamo disperatamente Carrie Fisher – ha dichiarato Abrams – Abbiamo cercato una perfetta conclusione alla saga degli Skywalker nonostante la sua assenza.

Non sceglieremo mai un altra attrice per il ruolo, né mai potremmo usare la computer grafica. Con il supporto e la benedizione della figlia, Billie, abbiamo trovato il modo di onorare l’eredità di Carrie e il ruolo di Leia in Episodio IX, usando del girato mai visto che abbiamo girato insieme per Episodio VII.”

Nel cast Daisy Ridley, Oscar Isaac, John Boyega, Kelly Marie Tran, Naomi Ackie, Joonas Suotamo, Adam Driver, Anthony Daniels, Billy Dee Williams, Lupita Nyong’o, Domhnall Gleeson, Billie Lourd e il veterano del franchise Mark Hamill. Tra le new entry c’è Richard E. Grant.

Annabelle Comes Home

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Il terzo capitolo della saga horror di Annabelle, prodotta da James Wan, è finalmente in arrivo e già solo il titolo, Annabelle Comes Home, la dice lunga. La protagonista è ancora la ormai celebre bambola demoniaca e questa terza pellicola è diretta dallo sceneggiatore Gary Dauberman (The Nun – La Vocazione del Male, IT, Annabelle) ed è pronta a raccontare una storia terrificante.

I Demonologi Ed e Lorraine Warren vogliono impedire che Annabelle continui a seminare il caos e la portano nella stanza dei manufatti, chiusa a chiave nella loro casa, mettendola al sicuro dietro un vetro consacrato e ottenendo la santa benedizione di un sacerdote. Ma ciò che li attende non è altro che una notte di orrore puro, che inizia quando la bambola risveglia gli spiriti maligni nella stanza, pronti a mettere gli occhi su un nuovo bersaglio, ovvero Judy, la figlia di dieci anni dei Warren, e sulle sue amiche.

In Annabelle Comes Home recitano McKenna Grace (Captain Marvel) nel ruolo di Judy; Madison Iseman (Jumanji: Benvenuti nella Giungla) è la sua babysitter, Mary Ellen; e Katie Sarife nei panni dell’amica tormentata Daniela, mentre Patrick Wilso e Vera Farmiga riprendono rispettivamente i loro ruoli di Ed e Lorraine Warren.

Dauberman ne ha anche scritto la sceneggiatura da una storia di Wan e Dauberman. I produttori esecutivi del film sono Michael Clear e Michelle Morrissey, mentre la squadra creativa di Dauberman che ha lavorato dietro le quinte include il direttore della fotografia Michael Burgess (La Llorona – Le Lacrime del Male), la scenografa Jennifer Spence (Annabelle: Creation) e la costumista Leah Butler (Annabelle: Creation).

Dolor Y Gloria

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Dolor Y Gloria è il nuovo e atteso film di Pedro Almodovar che arriverà nei cinema italiani dopo essere passato al Festival di Cannes. Questo film, che vede la presenza di Antonio Banderas, Asier Etxeandia, Leonardo Sbaraglia, Nora Navas e Penélope Cruz, narra di una serie di ricongiungimenti di Salvador Mallo, un regista cinematografico ormai sul viale del tramonto.

Alcuni ricongiungimenti sono fisici e altri ricordati: la sua infanzia negli anni ’60, il primo desiderio, il primo amore negli anni ’80, il dolore della sua rottura e la scrittura come unica terapia per dimenticare l’indimenticabile, a cui si unisce la scoperta del cinema e il senso del vuoto causato dall’impossibilità di continuare a girare film.

Dolor y Gloria parla della creazione artistica, della difficoltà di separarla dalle passioni che le danno significato e speranza, e dalla propria vita.

Veronica Mars 4

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Veronica Mars è pronta a tornare con l’attesa quarta stagione della sereie, ed è stata la stessa attrice protagonista, Kristen Bell, ad annunciare le date di debutto.

La serie, che arriverà su HULU venerdì 26 Giugno, ruota attorno a Veronica Mars, una studentessa del liceo di Neptune, una cittadina immaginaria che si trova sulla costa della California e che si caratterizza per l’atmosfera particolarmente classista.

Figlia del rispettato sceriffo Keith Mars, quando la sua migliore amica Lilly Kare, sorella del suo fidanzato Duncan, viene uccisa, la sua vita cambia totalmente. Suo padre viene messo a capo delle indagini, che verranno interrotte quando un uomo, tale Abel Koontz, si costituisce dichiarandosi colpevole.

Keith Mars viene obbligato a dimessersi dalla sua carica per aver accusato di omicidio il padre della vittima, un milionario e presidente della Kane Software, mentre Veronica è si trova costretta a scegliere tra suo padre e i suoi amici, finendo ad essere emarginata dai suoi compagni di scuola. Mentre la madre di Veronica scappa, poichè non riesce a reggere la tensione, la ragazza e il padre aprono un’agenzia investigativa.

Veronica Mars 4 è una serie creata da Rob Thomas e nel cast torneranno i personaggi delle precedenti stagioni, ovvero Kristen Bell, Enrico Colantoni,Percy Daggs III, Jason Dohring, Francis Capra, Michael Muhney e Tina Majorino.

Il Grande Spirito

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Il Grande Spirito è la nuova commedia di Sergio Rubini che racconta l’incontro rocambolesco tra un rapinatore malmello e un eccentri infividuo che vede il mondo a suo modo, sui tetti della periferia di Taranto.

Dopo Dobbiamo parlare, Rubini si è impegnato a dirigere una action comedy originale in cui due anime molto diverse ed entrambe emarginate cercano una via di fuga, con i vecchi lavatoi e le terrazze dei palazzi di periferia a fare da cornice.

Nel cast, oltre a Sergio Rubini e Rocco Papaleo, vi sono anche Ivana Lotito, Bianca Guaccero e Geno Diana.

Glass: il trailer onesto

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Dopo tre mesi dall’uscita nei nostri cinema, più precisamente il 17 gennaio 2019, Screen Junkies ha dedicato un trailer onesto a Glass, l’ultimo film M. Night Shyamalan con Bruce Willis, James McAvoy e Samuel L. Jackson. Con questo film, il regista ha riportato sullo schermo i protagonisti di Unbreakable e Split, realizzando la sua trilogia supereroistica.

Non a caso, Glass, riporta alla luce le vicende narrate nei precedenti due film, con David Dunn all’inseguimento dell’identità sovraumana di Kevin Wendell Crumb, aka La Bestia, in un susseguirsi di incontri sempre più pericolosi. Elijah Price, noto anche con il nome di L’uomo di Vetro, emergerà dall’ombra con dei segreti decisivi per entrambi gli uomini.

Cinefilos.it – Da chi il cinema lo ama.

9 nuovi trailer che dovresti vedere questa settimana

I trailer non sono altro che brevi filmati promozionali di film che a breve saranno nelle sale di tutte le regioni italiane. Il loro compito è quello di creare attesa, di dare vita ad una certa dose di hype del film che viene promosso, affinchè si corra subito a vederlo già nei primi giorni di […]

Cinefilos.it – Da chi il cinema lo ama.

Mara Siviero

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

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The Crow or the Sparrow

Drops of blood and footprints marked the snow, visible in broad daylight for even the worst of hunters to follow with ease. But no sane hunter would dare pursue such a trail. Neither animal nor man had left these tracks.

Claws that had slain countless men and women and children. Walking upon two legs.

A slight limp, owed to injuries from which it had bled, pushing forward, ever forward, lurching, and shambling farther and farther away from the city.

Snow crunched under every light footstep taken by two shadowy figures. In pursuit of their inhuman quarry, they strode across uneven terrain, far away from man-made roads and paths. Garbed in heavy jackets, with trouser legs and boots and coattails caked in the white powder of snow, their slender silhouettes almost blended in with the forest around them when they came to a stop.

Even in broad daylight, the canopy of barren trees that made up the sprawling Blackwood sufficed to blanket it in a dreary, dreamy gloom. Little clouds of condensing air puffed away from the mouths of the two hunters, forming beyond the scarves and tricorne hats that covered their faces, then dissipating in the cold breeze.

One of them looked around, as if confused. The other stared at him, then followed his erratically wandering gaze.

Were they being followed by something else?

“You sense something?” asked the other in a hushed hiss. The sound of her voice sliced through the wintry air like a knife. “Is it here? Watching us?”

“No,” Johnn muttered. “It's—I’ve been here before.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed at him.

“What is that supposed to mean? You’re a bloody bandit that has been robbing the king’s men in this fucking forest for years. I’d be surprised if you hadn’t,” Nora said.

He almost swiveled, glared at her, then swallowed a response.

The two of them breathed heavily, using the brief respite to recover from their forced march through the layer of unforgiving snow.

He finally replied, with a voice that trembled, “The Blackwood is huge. There’re parts no man has ever stepped foot in. Parts no man should ever step foot in, what with the fair—”

“Shut up. Don’t waste breath on their wretched name. Is this their domain? Is that why we’re stopping?”

“No. Like I said—I’ve been here before,” Johnn repeated.

He pointed to a large boulder, now covered in snow, near a fallen tree, where a tangle of gnarled roots stood out from the ground, where a storm had uprooted the ancient tree. A natural landmark, no doubt.

“You can hear the ocean from here, yeah?”

Nora only nodded.

“And the trickle of a brook nearby?”

“No, what—”

“Well, I can, and I know this place. The brook leads to a cave. You have to dive through water for a bit, then you reach a larger cave, connecting to an even larger one. A cove where some slaver pirates used to hide out.”

“So what? Are you thinking he—”

“I don’t know. But it’s where Terry died, and where I killed their captain. And it is giving me the creeps just thinkin’ about it.”

“Then what in the hell is there to give you the creeps anymore? Thought you Merry Lot did all those windbags in,” Nora said, every word mumbled more than the last.

“I killed Shark-Eyes,” Johnn said, the sentence riding on a sigh. “Have the scars to always remind me and can’t taste sugar anymore where I bit my tongue to break his spell.”

“What—he some kind of warlock?”

“How should I know? The unnatural is your specialty,” he quipped.

Nora’s heartbeat picked up speed when she sensed Johnn smirk underneath his bandana.

“All I know is that he is dead, he used to work some sorta black magick, and his hideout used to be ‘round these parts. Now, what do you think the odds are, that—you know, possibly—the alchemist we’re chasin’ is a bit balmy on the crumpet—what are the odds his magick has got something to do with old dead Shark-Eyes and his warlock—warlockery? What do you even call that shite?”

“I call it bad news. Who cares what it’s called?” Nora said, ending her question on a sharp note that left no question.

Johnn pointed past the uprooted tree and the boulder sticking out of the pristine snow. Before he could say something, Nora said, “Fine, who knows—maybe there is a connection. Maybe not. What say you, though—hear me out—you stop being a poodle-faker, we ignore this for now, and we follow the fucking blood trail we’ve been following since bloody Lesterfield?”

She drew her flint-lock pistol for emphasis and tapped the brim of her hat with the weapon’s fine barrel—now adorned with intricate etchings of crucifixes and mystic seals used to exorcise demons. Johnn’s shoulders heaved and then slumped in a shrug, punctuated by another sigh.

“Fine,” he groaned. “But if we end up following this trail into that cave, then…”

“Then what?”

Johnn stammered several broken sentences that failed to connect, prompting Nora to tell him to shut up. She sprung into motion before he could protest, trudging through the snow. He followed.

Their breathing and the crunching of frosted grounds accompanied them for dozens of paces more, as they gained speed and vigor, staving off the cold. The rest of the forest stayed eerily silent. Not even the crows dared to caw that day.

Johnn murmured behind her, “You could wear a dress if—”

“Shut up.”

He did.

Dozens of paces more they followed the trail. Passing snapped branches, here; holes in the snow turned vermillion, where droplets of blood had fallen, there. And always those lurching motions, like the creature sometimes moved on all fours, then on his legs again. Claws had scarred a tree trunk in his path where the alchemist had braced himself and caught his breath. Now long gone—but the huntress could almost smell the ghost of his presence, only hours ahead of them passing through here.

The trickling sound of water grew louder as they hiked, loud enough that even Nora could hear it despite the noise of their march.

The red dots in the snow and the tracks spoke volumes: Nora read immediately how the transformed alchemist, Baxter Hanrahan, had trampled down the grounds around here, splashing himself with the cold and refreshing water. Cleansing his wound.

A singular bullet rested in the brook, water flowing around it where it jittered. The stream of water was not strong enough to carry it away. He must have extracted that from his injury.

Then he had followed the natural path leading down the flow of the brook. Because it had stopped snowing several hours ago, and these trails had been left after the snowfall, she knew they were gaining on the wounded monster.

Standing still and letting her gaze sweep in the direction in which the thin stream of water flowed, framed by the serene, shining and glistening teeth of ice that lined the brook’s edges, the tracks led right into a small, cavernous opening, yawning with a deep darkness that her eyes could not fathom.

Nora clicked her tongue and raised a hand to silence Johnn before he could utter any stupid remarks about having been right. She swallowed the urge to swear up a storm of profanities that could have made a sailor blush.

More than him having been right, she hated the idea that they had to go search a cave for the damned alchemist. More than that even, she hated the idea that this might somehow be connected to another damned sorcerer.

“We’re better off not going in that way,” Johnn said. “Unless you like your gunpowder wet, I suggest we climb down the smuggler’s cove, rather than crawling through the thief’s entrance.”

Clicking her tongue again, Nora shook her head.

Johnn pulled up his crossbow and she could hear the smugness riding on his voice as he added, “Of course, if you chose to use—”

Pointing a finger at his face and then turning her head to follow the gesture with a furious glare sufficed to shut him up again this time. Seeing only his gray eyes sparkle out from in between his hat and scarf sufficed to convey the smugness he found in his small victory. She knew his face too well.

Then that sparkle froze. His gaze hardened. Stared through her. Past her. At something that only now caught the corner of her eye, like the shadow she always spotted at the edge of her vision. Only tangible now.

Within a split second, they aimed their weapons at the third figure; bodily reactions and instincts that happened without thinking. Nora stared down the sights of her pistol and blinked once her gaze met that of yellow, strange eyes. Wide, with a strip of black glistening wet in them, like looking into the eyes of a goat.

Indeed, the two hunters stared into the eyes of a bestial man, whose face resembled a goat, crowned by a harmonious pair of winding horns, a lot like those of a ram. A figure that resembled a man in that it stood upright, though he stood upon hooves for feet. Garbed in layers of thick linen cloth and a dark red robe, frayed around the edges. His clawed hands clutched an old wooden staff, against which he leaned.

Like the two, this goat-man was frozen. In shock.

Nora recognized the sentiment. She recognized the goat-man.

“No,” she said, clipped.

Lowered her pistol and raised an open gloved palm towards Johnn, adding, “Lower your weapon, he is harmless. Well, maybe not harmless, but—not harmful.”

Johnn’s hesitation surfaced in form of the crack of his leather clad finger loosening from around the trigger of his crossbow, but the tension in his defensive posture remained.

“Isn’t it—isn’t he—”

“Not all fair—not all of them are bad, I suppose. Well, at least he isn’t,” she said, peeling her attention away from Johnn and looking back to the goat-man.

The beast-man tilted his head and his intelligent goat eyes betrayed a fearful intelligence as they darted back and forth in between Johnn and Nora. Cutlery and tiny wooden carvings, hanging from threads of twine attached to his belt, clacked, and jingled softly. How he had appeared out of nowhere, without a sound, such a thing only the fair folk could explain.

Goat-man not only leaned on his staff—he hugged it, as if it offered him protection, yet only rendered his appearance more vulnerable and innocent. Johnn finally, audibly, lowered his crossbow.

Nora had rescued the goat-man in this same forest. Slew a vicious witchcrafter who wanted to eviscerate the creature for his innards, for divining secrets or some nonsense.

Over a whole year prior to this day.

Understandably frightening in appearance to most, Nora still sensed the same softness in the fair creature as he stood before them. The bushy hair on his chin swayed gently in the breeze, almost underlining that notion.

He had helped her before—returned the favor—when she escaped from the penitentiary and almost perished in these same woods, injured and alone, at the mercy of autumn’s chill.

The goat-man nodded his head. Stayed silent, as he always did. A greeting, perhaps?

Nora suspected they spoke no common tongue that they could share. They had yet to exchange any words.

But the goat-man pointed to the cave entrance upon which he stood. To where the brook continued to trickle away, flowing into that gaping shadowy hole. Where a greater, more sinister darkness awaited them.

The goat-man shook his head. With purpose and deliberation, he shook his head back and forth, warning them of the danger below.

“We have no choice, friend,” she said, speaking those words with a softness that felt even alien to herself. She, too, shook her head.

They could not speak to one another in words they understood. Not like this. Yet they both understood.

The goat-man turned slowly, carefully, and raised a hand. He pointed one of his long, blackened claws to the trees behind him, following with his own eyes to draw all attention to it. To where the soothing sound of ocean waves lapped against jagged cliffs.

“Is he showing us where to go?” Johnn asked. “I mean, we would have gone there anyway.”

Nobody answered.

The goat-man turned to peer back at Nora. She nodded deeply at him in return.

“Thank you,” she said.

The goat-man tilted his head again and stood still. Watched.

Nora started in the direction he had pointed to. She shot a glance at Johnn and waved at him to follow.

She stopped again as the goat-man descended from the rocks above the cave entrance, approaching her. Not frozen in fear, but unsure what to expect, she studied the goat-man’s every motion until he halted in front of her, standing only one pace away. He looked so old. So ancient. His fur grayed and silvery. And he smelled of pine resin, and campfires, and a unique, strange musk.

From inside his tattered robes, he produced something, held caringly.

As his sharply clawed fingers unfurled, he presented a tiny object in his weathered palm. There rested a small bird, intricately carved from wood. Impossible to recognize what kind of bird it represented, she locked eyes with the goat-man to discern what this gesture meant.

He stretched his arm out further to her, splaying his fingers to the limit, motioning her to take the carved keepsake from him.

Nora took it and closed her gloved hand around it with the same loving care that he must have applied to craft it. She nodded again to express gratitude and the goat-man mimicked the motion.

They withdrew from him and walked on towards the bluffs, where the sound of the ocean’s upset waves beckoned them.

Looking over her shoulder, Nora found the goat-man to be watching them leave, observing their steadfast march to doom. She found herself studying the carved bird in her palm every few steps.

It reminded her of both of a sparrow and a crow. Which—was unclear.

It felt more like a symbol. Like a charm or talisman.

Spiraling, harmonic patterns, mirroring those upon the goat-man’s staff had been shaved into its surfaces and painted dark, also reminding her of the old ways, the old days of the kingdom that only survived in museums and ruins, driven into fading obscurity by the church’s relentless efforts to quell ancient evils.

She eventually shoved the tiny item into one of her coat pockets and when she looked back to where she expected to see the goat-man still watching them, she only saw the slender black trunks of cold and naked trees. He had vanished. As silently as he had appeared in the first place.

Johnn stared at her till she met his gaze.

“What was that about?”

“I don’t know,” Nora muttered.

She trained her eyes on the snowy grounds before her once again. The ocean grew louder with every step, heavier with every herald of the waves. More powerful. Foretelling the danger they knowingly approached. The crunching of snow underfoot ceased once they reached the edge and naked rocks and gravel crackled underneath the soles of their boots.

They overlooked a steep rocky drop to the crashing waves, reaching from one end of the Red Coast to the other as far as they could see. Fog and clouds swallowed the horizon beyond the sea.

Johnn nodded his head to indicate something on the cliff’s face beneath them. A shadow between the rocks. Likely hard to spot from the water, barely visible from their vantage point. Truly, a perfect location for dubious seafarers to hide out.

“Down there. Hard to spot, but that’s where they ran their boats into the cove. We climb down, there’s a natural ledge we can use to enter. Really—watch your step now,” he said.

They did as he foretold. Nora’s hand slipped once, her boot in a different instance, causing a chunk of rocky earth to plummet into the depths, bouncing down the unforgiving cliffs, and disappearing into the waves far down.

But they took their time. If the mad chemist, Hanrahan, was hiding in these caves, then they would execute him sooner or later. Better than tumbling down these jagged stones, breaking bones, and landing in the icy cold embrace of the sea.

Slowly, cautiously, they descended, bit by bit. As Johnn dropped down the final stretch of a few steps, he landed on a rough and natural surface, staggering as he regained his poise, then readying his crossbow and pointing it at something Nora could not yet see from where she clung to the cliff’s wall.

Nora waited before dropping down, ensuring that he had only drawn his weapon as a precaution. He looked up at her and then nodded to confirm she could safely follow. His stern gaze carried the same tension that she felt in her every joint.

Then she followed, descending with continuous caution, until she dropped down herself and landed on the natural ledge with a stifled grunt.

The darkness of the cave here felt far less foreboding and oppressive at first glance.

Broken and shrunken by the ridges that jotted out of the sea in clusters near the cliffs, the waves sloshed more gently at the edge where they stood. The gaping mouth of this hidden entrance overlooked a deep and wide cavern, large enough to house a significant sea vessel.

Standing in stark contrast to how hard it would be to spot the cave from afar, the natural structure opened to almost monolithic proportions. Stalactites hung from a high and vast ceiling like rows of teeth. Very deep inside, far from where they could see, the darkness swallowed the cavern’s depths.

Somewhere, even deeper inside, a small light glimmered. A torch, or a gas-lit lantern perhaps. Its tiny flame danced, distant and forlorn.

Nora’s hand crept to her pistol, then decided against it. Metal rustled against leather as she drew her cutlass instead.

Their quarry was here.

The two hunters exchanged glances and carefully traversed the grounds, weaving in between broken stalagmites and advancing only slowly to prevent any unwanted noise from announcing their arrival. The ocean swallowed the few sounds they made.

Rotten, old wooden planks creaked once Johnn left the rocky ledge and stepped foot onto the hidden pier. He froze in place and waited, as did Nora, both staring into the darkness, letting their aim travel back and forth, expecting their prey to be hiding anywhere where he could pounce from a place of hiding.

Something blotted out the tiny light in the distance for a split second. Just enough that untrained eyes may have missed it. But both Nora and Johnn had noticed. Not a word was exchanged.

The shadows were many. Many blind spots silently stared back at them, unblinking, unmoving. Testing their courage. Nora felt her scarf in between hat and hair growing damp with sweat, colder, and colder as they lurked deeper and deeper into the cavern, until the shadows engulfed them fully.

Hanrahan had ample space and opportunity to hide and hide well. To watch his hunters and gauge the appropriate reaction.

For as slowly as they progressed, their eyes adjusted to the dark. The gloomy twilight of the fog-covered ocean behind them, they crept closer and closer to the tiny light. Entering a meandering, narrow cave, with only the light of the lonesome lantern left as their guide. Just enough to see where they were going, but not enough to discern the depths of branching paths, through which a cold breeze softly whistled, and Nora’s tension grew, expecting the alchemist to attack from anywhere now.

Johnn had taken the lead, advancing with a certainty that reflected his claim of having been here before. He seemed to not notice a roiling fog or smoke that crawled across the well-treaded rock of the cave floors, coiling around their legs like a carpet of misty serpents.

Nora wanted to say something but refused to alert their monstrous quarry to their presence if she could.

As she reached out to grab Johnn’s shoulder, the unnatural fog expanded rapidly, filling the corridors with a thick soup of gray mist, drowning out that tiny light and delving everything into pitch-black. It strangely smelled like honey. Her gloved fingers connected to Johnn’s shoulder.

He slipped from her grip, jolting forward without a word. Tiny rocks crunched under pressure. Something stifled a gasp from her beloved, as if covering his own mouth.

But carrying his crossbow, he had no free hands to do so.

The leather of Nora’s glove cracked again as she clutched her cutlass tightly and withdrew it towards her own body, flipping it down just in case she bumped into Johnn.

In the ensuing silence that draped itself over her, she hissed like a snake, “You will pay.”

The mists swirled as if they obeyed unspoken commands. Unnatural as it was, commanded by sorcery, this fog dissipated, having served its purpose. A presence loomed above, standing atop an elevated platform. There stood Baxter Hanrahan. His humanity long gone, now an abominable creature of unholy proportions.

Hideous lips parted to display rows of crooked, jagged teeth, no longer a maw that resembled a human’s mouth. Garbed only in rags and torn remnants of fabric, most of the chemist’s mutated body stood exposed. In the faint glow of the gas-lit lantern, his skin looked pallid and deformed, thrumming as if disease wracked every limb or multiple heartbeats pulsed inside his chest, bulging with veins and pustules and patches of mangy hair. A third eye blinked upon his shoulder, making Nora’s stomach knot at the sight.

In the clawed clutches of the monstrous creature, Johnn trembled. He had lost his hat and scarf, which now rested together on the stone floor of the large chamber they all stood in. He did not squirm against the iron grip of his captor, whose massive hand clamped down tightly over the brigand’s mouth—the long, blackened claws twitched with dangerous closeness to the artery on his neck. Another hulking arm gripped Johnn tight, crushing his own arms against the creature as it held him, and leaving him no space to wiggle free or fight back.

And the monstrous Hanrahan just leered at Nora. The pistol hanging from her belt weighed heavy against her hip now, and she burned to sling it out. But the creature’s cruel smile said one thing, and one thing clearly: one wrong move, and he would rip Johnn’s throat right out.

Cages made of wrought iron lined the sides of this sprawling cave chamber, where old pirate pickaxes had roughly hewn its walls into shape. The cages all stood eerily empty, manacles dangling lifelessly from their top bars, their floors littered with old straw and stains of human blood and refuse.

Nora sensed the despair of those who had once been kept here and tasted the evil of those who kept them. She raised her blade, but held it sideways, raising her other, empty hand alongside in a clear gesture: to display surrender.

A throaty, baritone guffaw emerged from the monster’s bulging throat. Johnn squirmed now after all, provoking the creature to grip him more tightly. The tips of Hanrahan’s claws scraped against his captive’s exposed skin, drawing out thin rivulets of blood that quickly ran down Johnn’s neck.

Nora removed her hat and tossed it aside. She pulled her scarf down. The smell of sea salt and rust overwhelmed her senses and a quick scan of the room revealed only two exits. The one she had entered from, and one beneath the ledge upon which Hanrahan and Johnn stood, supported by old, wooden, rickety beams.

“I know what you did in the city, Baxter Hanrahan. I know all about you, Outer Wall Ripper,” she said. She clenched her teeth, holding back the anger that welled up from her gut. Good, she thought. It would mask all else. “Like I said—you will pay. If you think taking another hostage will help you, then you have made a grave mistake.”

The creature growled, “I can tell you what I told all before you.”

His voice sent shivers down Nora’s spine, defying her expectations as she had not anticipated such a creature to be so capable of complete and comprehensible speech.

“You will never stop me. You are just human,” he snickered. “You are just—beneath me in every way. Just a woman.”

Teeth still clenched, so hard they threatened to crack, Nora could only imagine how hideous her own grin must have looked now. She would spite this awful creature.

“I have slain ladies, high and low, strong and sickly alike. I have slain men, one of them three heads taller than yourself, and I have sampled the supple flesh of children. You all fight, you all run, you all whimper and beg for mercy, but there is none. You are all game to me. All sport. All walking sacks of organs that can be harvested for a greater purpose. All your suffering amounts to my victorious innovations and to my pleasure.”

Nora kept her eyes focused on the creature, awaiting his first mistake. They always made a mistake. Especially when they talked this much.

Did all monsters enjoy hearing their own words out loud? Vampyria, wolf-men, demons, wraiths, fair beasts—everything she had ever read of in the Bestiarium Nox and seen for herself—they all monologued.

“Yes, yes. Keep talking. There’s not one ounce of this bunk I haven’t heard before,” she said. As the awful toothy grin faded from her face, a melodiously mocking tone entered her next sentences as she rendered them, “We little humans are weak prey for you to play with. Let me guess—you’ll keep me alive for as long as possible, because you have oh-so-much-worse things in store for me. Am I close? I apologize, it is all the same drivel to me. Please do correct me if I’m wrong.”

She shot a lop-sided smirk at the creature and both Hanrahan’s and Johnn’s faces fell simultaneously. One taken aback by the sheer audacity of this short woman—the other surprised and fearful that she was taunting Hanrahan into slashing his neck.

“You know nothing,” Hanrahan snarled. His claws clamped down. Blood refused to exit Johnn’s neck this time, awaiting only the right amount of pressure and pull to slice through his flesh. “What do you know of me? I am like a god amongst men. Alchemy has made me god-like. You are a fool if you’re too blind to recognize divinity in the flesh, staring back into your wretched little soul. Yes, I can taste your darkness, too. You have killed so many that you have forgotten what it’s like to be human, naked in their innocence and justified in their wrath. To one such as you, I am as a god.”

Nora whistled out a sharp tone, just piling on more derision.

“A god you say? You are out of your bloody mind. The last so-called ‘gods’ I met all bled out like the regular jossers who get the tar kicked out of them by sailors in seedy bars. I’ve just had about enough of you petty pretenders. Why don’t you just slash that fool’s fucking neck already and we can get on with this?”

Johnn’s eyes went wide with dread. All air of superiority had drained from Hanrahan’s presence. Only a glimmer of fury remained, reflecting the tiny lantern’s light, now growing into a flame behind the monster’s eyes.

Nora smirked once more and tilted her blade to show the alchemist the sharp edge of her cutlass.

“Come on, you tosser. Let’s see how godly you are after I gut you like a bloody pig.”

The glint on her blade caught Hanrahan’s eye.

This was the moment. The moment she had been building up to.

Time grinded to a halt.

Defying all, she slung out her pistol with her free hand and fired. The flint struck; a cloud of smoke exploded with the bright jet flame shooting out from the intricately marked barrel. The silver bullet might help, but all she needed was the surprise.

Blood sprayed from the platform, splattering the rocky floors, prompting her to sneer, but Johnn had elbowed Hanrahan and broken free from his grasp, tumbling down onto the ground, and coming to rest on his side, chest heaving and struggling to get back up on his feet after the hard landing.

Only little blood pooled beneath Nora’s beloved fool. As he looked up at her, she saw the vermillion dripping from his collarbone rather than his neck, and the spray of blood had come from Hanrahan’s forehead where her bullet had struck.

The alchemist pawed at his own skull to assess the damage, causing the rage in Nora to make way for fear. A bullet to the skull proved insufficient to stop the abomination, and as he saw his own blood in his monstrous palm, his eyes darted up until they locked with Nora's—a fiendish gaze, saturated with murderous intent.

She reacted quickly but not quickly enough. Her empty pistol had yet to clatter against the stony ground when Hanrahan flew at her like a living boulder, catapulting himself at her with unbridled rage. Her hand had gone to grab another pistol from her belt, but the force of a whole horse-drawn cart barreled into her, knocking the wind out of her lungs, and provoking a shriek of pain as she felt ribs crack upon being crushed between iron cage bars and the monster.

In a frenzy of flailing claws and inhuman screeches, Hanrahan quickly slashed Nora’s coat to ribbons, tearing her shirt to shreds and leaving her with countless cuts in a matter of seconds. The blade in her hand sliced as she swung and jabbed and jabbed at the alchemist-monster, barely connecting but forcing him to retreat a few steps.

Pain soared from a deep cut where a claw had lacerated her leg. Nora groaned and one of her knees threatened to give out under her own weight, but she held the blade out in front of her, in between herself and the monster, who now grinned at her again, baring his crooked and vicious fangs.

One wrong move, and those teeth would tear out her neck.

The sadistic smile wiped itself from his face when a barbed arrowhead emerged from his neck. Both Hanrahan and Nora stared at it with surprise, watching blood drip from its pointy tip.

Following its origin, the bolt from Johnn’s crossbow had lodged itself into the alchemist’s neck. Johnn, still lying on the ground, now held his discharged crossbow in his hands, leaned up against a cage, grinning smugly at the monster, his own bloodied teeth on display. That grin also faded when Hanrahan whipped around.

Undeterred by the projectile sticking out of his nape, he grabbed Johnn and tossed him aside like a broken toy, eliciting a pained shout as Johnn crashed into another cage, collapsing as soon as he tried to get back up after smashing his head against an iron bar.

Hanrahan howled in pain, reacting to Nora ramming her sword into his back—and then twisting the blade. He spun around again, shoving her away, thus disarming her with the masterless blade now sticking out of his back.

That throaty and deep laugh repeated itself as Hanrahan guffawed at her. He laughed at their attempts to kill him. His laughter broke and his newfound grin faltered as he choked and coughed, almost sounding human for a moment. Almost pitiful.

Almost.

Giving no quarter, Nora slung out the other pistol from her belt and shot him in the side of the head. The smoke cleared quickly, and something gravelly and menacing emerged from his throat—a furious growl. Blood sputtered from the injury, yet he wobbled only slightly where he stood.

His rage simmered, ready to unleash his full frenzy. Nora could feel it, like waves of heat and hatred emanating from his hulking, deformed body. Up close, he smelled like rotten fruit and excrements and vomit.

She quickly looked around for something, anything, but pulled a silvered dagger from behind her back—it would serve until she could retrieve the cutlass from Hanrahan’s back.

The alchemist ignored her and picked up a small object from the table upon which the gas lantern sat. A metal syringe in his clutch, Hanrahan’s paw dwarfed it. He laughed again, erupting into another hacking, wheezing cough, and then jammed the needle into his own neck. The sickly pale flesh thrummed and pulsed there, and his veins turned pitch-black, like a disease running from the injection and spreading quickly throughout his monstrous body.

The huntress was not going to find out what this meant—the silver-lined dirk in her hand flashed twice, reflecting the small light’s flame as she stabbed Hanrahan twice with quick jabs, trying to circle around him.

But he turned with her and his left arm grotesquely almost doubled in size. The claws tipping his grotesque fingers shot out to twice their length, rivaling Nora’s dagger.

Her heart skipped a beat, and he swatted the knife from her hand. The pain of several cuts on her arm flared up with delay, upon which she clenched her teeth and paced backwards.

Hanrahan continued to grow, all over, hunching over and bracing himself against the floor with his meaty fists, like a gorilla she had seen in the zoo.

“I am not merely like a god,” he spoke, now sounding like four voices spoken in unison, so deep that they threatened to open a yawning abyss straight to hell. “I am god.”

The crossbow bolt lodged into his neck now snapped under the roiling masses of his transforming flesh. The cutlass shot out of his back, clanging as it rattled and rolled across the stone floor. Johnn crawled towards it, but nowhere nearly as fast as he needed to be. His strength waned.

Hanrahan lunged at Nora again, leaving several gaping cuts across her chest despite her attempts to leap back, and causing her to roll backwards across the ground, away from him. The grit and dust burned in the many scratches where stone all chafed against her injured skin.

The dirk had rolled right out of reach.

“Time to die, worm.”

This was it.

Nora steeled herself, ready to finally meet her end. Out of options.

Out of all the places, to die in a dark cave, forgotten by its owners, unknown, unseen, in a haunted place where nobody would find her. Would she join its phantoms?

Hanrahan lurched forward and he arched backwards, raising that hand of lethal claws high above him, ready to bring it down and impale her once and for all. Ready to rip her heart out with the ease his new form afforded him.

Something whipped out at the alchemist. Coiled and wrapped itself around his wrist in the blink of an eye. Something like twine, or ropes. Or rather: vines. Covered in dark, sickly leaves. And thorns.

Thorns everywhere.

He grunted, surprised as much as Nora over this turn of events. He looked from the tangle of thorny vines that bound his arm and yanked at them. Despite his tremendous, ghastly frame, and swollen mass of muscles, whatever had projected these bindings at him proved far stronger. His eyes bulged and he roared like the foul beast that he was, teeth protruding outward and bloody spittle spraying through the air. So loudly he roared that it filled all these caves and left an unpleasant ringing in Nora’s ears.

They both followed the vines to their source, a dark silhouette that stood upon the elevated platforms where Hanrahan had held Johnn hostage, just outside the sphere of the lantern’s faint glow. The flame within the lamp dimmed and nearly went out, as if it tried to conceal the presence.

A woman cackled from there. Awful, piercing, like a fork being scraped across a metal plate. The vines tugged at Hanrahan again, yanking with far greater force, and he stumbled away from Nora, now fully turning to face his greatest foe yet.

The vines constricted around the alchemist’s arm, causing pus and black tar-like blood to ooze out from the grinding cuts. He howled in pain, roared, and thrashed around, grabbing hold of the vine, and then howling yet again as its thorns pierced his fingers when he gripped it. He tugged and pulled with all his might, yanking left, then yanking right, not once managing to counter the unnatural force that had seized him.

And the cackling continued.

Gritting her teeth and stifling her own groans of pain, Nora scrambled onto her side, then back up onto her feet. She limped towards Johnn, who had fallen unconscious with the hilt of Nora’s cutlass buried underneath his hand.

Another tangle of thorny vines shot out from the darkness and enveloped Hanrahan’s ankle. He fought its pull, but it suddenly jerked towards the shadowy silhouette, causing him to lose his footing, dropping him onto his back with such weight that the stony floors quaked.

Nora’s cutlass came chopping down. His incessant thrashing prevented the blow from cutting into his neck, so it shattered his front teeth and hacked into his cheek, provoking more pained howls from his monstrous maw.

Her boots skidded against the floor as she lurched back, right underneath one of his claws swinging at her in retaliation and only narrowly missing her.

More vines shot out at him, seizing that same claw, and limiting his motion. It curbed his thrashing to the point where Nora’s next blow struck his neck, causing a violent crimson explosion to spray her own face.

Hanrahan gurgled, choking on his own blood, desperately attempting to fight back and to utter more inane threats, but Nora continued her dirty handiwork that she had grown accustomed to inflicting upon all these monsters.

The vines multiplied, pinning Hanrahan down and turning the hulking monster into a quivering ball of helplessness. Blow after blow, Nora cut deeper through his neck, until only a deformed spine held body and head together, and even that soon severed after more overhead swings of her cutlass. The same blade that had executed so many creatures before Hanrahan, adding his life to the many it had dulled itself in claiming.

His eyes had lost all light of so-called “divinity”, having made way to terror. And pleading.

No amount of thrashing or resisting helped the alchemist in the end. The vines held him too tightly, joined by more tangles from the platform, restraining his every limb and allowing Nora to end him.

Between heavy breaths and shuddering as she shrugged off the numbing pain, she spat a gob of saliva and blood onto Hanrahan’s twitching remains. The thorny vines loosened, revealing how they had ripped devastating wounds which may have slowly bled out the alchemist, had her sword not removed his head first.

Those same vines now withdrew, controlled by some otherworldly force. They slowly slithered back from whence they came, like leafy, eyeless serpents; rustling and trembling as they moved. Thorns scraped against stone, scritching and scratching.

Still consigned to death, Nora turned to see their source, ready for them to take her next. For whatever abomination had shown such force in stopping Hanrahan, it would have a far easier time in ending her life next.

She winced, clamping her eyes shut to blot out all pain, fires across her body from the dozens of cuts and bruises she had suffered. Blinking, her vision blurred, in part owed to blood flowing into the corner of her eye. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and blinked again.

Wanting to see the face of her killer, she snatched the lantern from the table, where other mysterious metal syringes clanked against each other. She ignored the alchemist’s supplies and raised the lantern high, stumbling forward. The blade of her cutlass lazily scraped across the stone as she lurched forward, mirroring Hanrahan’s final motions. Nora could barely stand.

In days past, that platform supported the slaver captain, housing a wicked little wooden throne upon which he once sat, allowing him to observe his miserable captives in their iron cages.

Whoever now perched upon that platform, Nora could barely make out any features. Though draped in a rugged, dark cloak, the huntress identified a vaguely feminine figure. Devoured by the shadows of a black hood, almost no face could be perceived. Only shriveled, gray skin and chapped lips that had curled into a devious smile. Teeth, rotten and black, glistening wet.

Hands folded serenely before her hunched figure, like a praying woman, and the vines creeping evermore back to her, shrinking in volume, and disappearing underneath her robes, with cloth so deep that no feet could be seen, only fabric sweeping the platform’s wood and the vines slithering into the void underneath the cloak.

“My pretty little birdie,” spoke the hag. A thick accent, one from up north. Raspy, riddled with phlegm, a voice rife with ridicule. “So nice to see my beautiful little monster in full bloom.”

Nora groaned but it spilled over into a clipped burst of laughter.

Another one of these self-indulgent ghouls, she wagered.

“Get in line, witch,” Nora sighed. Truly exhausted, some part of her preferred the thought of instant death over having to hear another monster ramble on. “I’m sure there are a dozen others who all want to take their pound of flesh from me.”

Nora gripped her head and wheezed with another stifled groan. Eclipsing all other pains, numbing all her senses, her head began to throb in agony. That typical invisible knife sliding into her skull again.

The hag cackled once more, sadistic, and amused.

“No, my pretty. I have all I need now, I am quite alright,” replied the hag with unsettling melody in each syllable.

“And just who the fuck are you, now?”

She cackled again in response. Frosthearte never shared her name lightly. Not even to her chosen orphan.

“I am the decay that gnaws at the roots of the world’s tree. I am the curse that haunts wicked men with eternal suffering. I—”

“Oh, bloody spare me already. If you’re going to kill me, fucking hurry it up.”

Nora spat impotently, nearly fell as she lifted her cutlass to point it at the hag. Her cry, more defiant than ever, echoed through these empty caves.

“Come on, then!”

The lips of the hag drooped down, yielding a displeased frown.

“Sparrow, or crow, my pretty. Are you the crow, or the sparrow?”

“Make some fucking sense!”

“Are you the harbinger of death, or the herald of new blood?”

Nora stumbled as soon as she launched her sword up at the hag. The blade’s metal sang as it rang out, clattering across the wooden platform and striking nobody. Nora’s vision continued to blur, never clearing. Blinking again, she saw:

The hag was gone.

“Death awaits you on your path,” whispered the hag.

Nora swiveled, losing her footing, and falling backwards and banging her previously unhurt elbow against hard stone in the process. She cringed.

But no hag had appeared behind her. Johnn lay unconscious nearby, face down in the dirt. Paces away from him, the body of Hanrahan had stopped twitching in his death throes, motionless and devoid of all life.

No hag in sight. Nowhere.

“You must face Death, the pretender,” the hag’s voice continued in creeping whispers, echoing through the halls, and invading Nora’s mind. Riding on that knife of a headache as it sank deeper into her skull.

Nora gripped her head and—unable to escape this hag’s merciless and incessant whispering—curled up into a fetal position, oblivious to all pain as the headache grew so intolerable that it muted the searing agony from dozens of bleeding cuts.

“I will uphold my end of the bargain, and you shall not see me or mine for a long, long time. But the necromancer who dares call himself Death—he shall stand in your way, and you need be prepared. Prepared to put your old ghosts to rest, one last time.”

Nora groaned in pain, almost bridging into an angry shout, but it died in her throat and she gritted her teeth to stave off the incapacitating pain. She wanted to tell the hag to shut up and get out of her head.

The words she spoke made little sense, but the warnings resonated with her.

She knew exactly what ghosts the hag spoke of.

“This is my parting gift for you, my sweet, beautiful monster.”

The last word echoed not only through the cavernous corridors but reverberated in Nora’s thoughts until it reached a deafening crescendo.

Are you the crow or the sparrow?

Those words arrived not in whispers, but echoes inside Nora’s mind. Memories. Older.

Words she had heard spoken before.

She had met the hag as a child. It all came back to her now.

Never forgotten, only buried. Things that made no sense until this very moment.

“Are you a crow or a sparrow?” The hag had sounded so much more pleasant and nice back then.

The weird witch reached out to take the little sobbing girl’s hand. Little Nora’s hand. The little girl who once stood as the sole survivor in a small village, where pestilence had taken all souls to heaven but hers. The hag looked nowhere as frightful then as she did now.

Before Nora even reached the walls of Crimsonport, huddled with the forlorn masses of all the other refugees who sought to escape the Blight, the hag’s willowy hand held hers, guiding her, and nurturing her. Feeding her soup and potions, by the many campfires, providing poisonous words that jaded her from such an early age on.

“They all abandoned you. Not out of malice but borne of weakness. All may crumble under the might of the Blight. All but you, my pretty little birdie. Eat, grow strong. Defy those who wrong you. Trust nobody. None but me. And never surrender. Never stop fighting. Slay all of them and feed the forest soil with their blood.”

I will always be watching you. The shadow in your wake.

How had she survived a plague? Nora’s mind reeled, but the crippling headache blocked the thought from reaching its rightful conclusion.

Curled up into a fetal position, just like when the hag had found her as a child, the body of fully-grown Nora unfurled again, sprawled out as she reclaimed her fading senses. The dim glow from the gas-lit lantern on the desolate table. In this hopeless, abandoned dungeon. The cold, biting air, removed from the wintry outdoors but carrying the smell of rust and sea salt with it. The smell of death all around.

More than anything else, the pain brought her back. The warmth of her own sticky blood. She winced and stifled another groan as she turned over onto her side. And then onto her belly from there. She crawled, dragged herself over to Johnn. Too exhausted to get back up again.

His shoulders heaved softly, rhythmically. Not dead, merely out of it.

Gingerly, she brushed his long, bloodstained hair from his face, curiously absorbed by the old scar that missed his now-closed eye and ran down the length of his chiseled cheek.

Crow or sparrow? Life or death?

Nora resolved to not let those words reach her. To not let them lead her astray. To do as the hag had told, but not in a way she would like. If it was defiance this hag desired, then she would happily oblige.

She refused to play some sinister game. Refused to accept the strict separation of elements thus proposed. Nora’s fingers curled into Johnn’s hair, running through them, until they found purchase on his coat’s collar, which she gripped. She softly shook him. And then again when he refused to awaken.

Seeing opposites aligned, finding together, she would defy such unnatural severance.

Crow or sparrow? Life or death?

Why not both?

Johnn gasped and his eyes fluttered open.

—Submited by Wratts

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