Jonah Hex: Shades of Gray #15

"I presume you and the others will behave better than your friend."

Greg glared up at the woman. Villalobos had told him the leader of Los Magos, whom they called Lionne (Spanish for "Lioness") could be a rather ruthless sort, but that was par for the course when it came to Mexican cartels. They damn-near owned the country, after all. Still, there was a difference between hearing stories about what they'd do and actually witnessing it. Part of him was in shock from watching Jonah die -- and he truly was dead, there was no trace of the black ring trying to repair Jonah's wounds as Greg had seen before -- while another part wanted to dive for a pistol and blow Lionne's brains out. But he couldn't do that right now. Yes, Hex and three of his other officers were dead (and there was the possibility that the ones he'd left topside were dead as well), but he still had four men down in that cave with him who were very much alive and depending on him keeping a level head. So he tamped down all that anger building inside of him and said to Lionne, "You won't get any more trouble from us."

"I appreciate that." She pointed to someone in a gorilla mask, saying in Spanish, "You and Gato, go grab a cart and haul away the bodies. Make sure to siphon off what you can from the dragons before you serve them up." The gorilla nodded and left, a man in a cartoon-cat mask following.

"What do you mean by 'serve them up'?" Greg asked in English. As he talked, he tried to clandestinely pull the black ring off of Jonah's finger. Even if it didn't work anymore for whatever reason, he wasn't about to let it fall into the hands of a bunch of criminals, especially if it truly was "alive" like Jonah claimed. Unfortunately, the ring refused to budge.

"We try not to waste resources," Lionne said. "The dragons are always hungry."

Greg's stomach churned at the implication, but he kept an even tone as he asked, "Is that what we are now? Resources?"

"Perhaps. We haven't decided yet." She gestured to a guy wearing a disturbing clown mask, who pulled a handful of long plastic zip-ties out of his back pocket. As he went from one officer to the next, binding their wrists behind their backs, a slim person -- possibly another woman -- in a bug-eyed alien mask collected their discarded guns, while the remaining members of Los Magos stood around with weapons at the ready. Once they were all bound, the alien gave each of them a quick pat-down, taking their cell phones, flashlights, and a couple of pocket knives, then Lionne gestured with her gun in the direction her group had come from. "Why don't you and your men go first? You are our guests, after all."

One by one, the officers began to walk up the dark tunnel. They soon heard the sound of a motor coming their way, along with the faint glow of headlights -- a few minutes later, a banged-up four-seater golf cart came into sight, Gorilla at the wheel and Gato riding shotgun. Greg and his men gave it a glance as it rolled past, each of them fully aware that it would soon be loaded down with the bodies of their fallen comrades, and each of them swearing to make Los Magos pay for every drop of their blood that had been spilled.

[Fear! Avarice! Jonah Hex of Earth is at peace!]

The black ring had been crying out for what seemed like forever, hoping that its words would pierce the deep, familiar darkness that Jonah's consciousness had sunk into. The ring blamed itself for Jonah's current predicament: there hadn't been enough energy left to repair the fatal wounds inflicted upon him, so the ring had shut down all his bodily functions to conserve what little remained, not realizing that the shock would render Jonah insensible...and without Jonah to guide it, the ring didn't know what to do next, other than hold on tight to keep Jonah's soul from fully transitioning from living to dead. [Fear! Avarice!] the ring cried out again, utilizing the only words it had available. [Jonah Hex of Earth is at peace!]

Whut?

Had the ring been capable of gasping in surprise, it would have. [Jonah Hex of Earth is at peace!] it repeated, now with a more joyous tone, as it felt Jonah's mind finally emerge from the dark depths it had fallen into.

Reckon Ah was almost restin' in peace, if'n thet's whut yuh mean. Though his mind was conscious once more, Jonah soon realized that he could neither move nor open his eyes. He did have the vague sensation of hands taking hold of his body, however, and he could hear voices speaking Spanish, or at least what few muffled words that made it to his ears sounded like Spanish. Tell the truth, son: How bad off are we? Jonah silently asked the ring. Kin yuh fix me up at all? Even if Ah'm a walkin' corpse fer a spell, it's better'n layin' around like a sack o' feed.

[Fear].

Yuh cain't do nothin'? Thet's bull. Muh soul's still here, so there must be something left thet we kin use. Otherwise, Ah'd be traipsing around the Great Beyond at the moment.

[Will. Fear will].

Yo're afraid tuh do it? Is thet whut yo're tryin' tuh tell me? Look, son, if'n yo're gonna ride along with me, then yuh gotta learn tuh never let fear stand in the way of doin' whut needs tuh be done, an' whut we need tuh do right now is go help Saunders an' the others. So if'n there's even just a thimbleful of willpower left in this crusty ol' heart of mine, we're gonna have tuh use it so's we kin get movin'. Yuh savvy?

[Will], the ring said reluctantly, then did as Jonah ordered. Unfortunately, the moment it tried to draw upon that scant amount of willpower still stored within Jonah's heart and direct it somewhere else, waves of pain began to reverberate through his very soul. Jonah endured this agony for as long as he could, but when he began to feel himself slipping back into the darkness again, he told the ring to stop. Yo're right...dammit, yo're right, he gasped within his mind. Ain't enough left...tuh work with...not without killin' whut's left of me.

[Fear], the ring sobbed. [Compassion fear].

Don't go talkin' like thet. We ain't licked yet. So long as the gears in muh brain are still turnin', we'll keep thinkin' on this problem. Jonah paused, then asked the ring, If'n Ah had taken a rest earlier instead of plowin' ahead, would the willpower yuh'd drawn outta muh heart build back up tuh where it'd been afore?

[Hope].

So the well ain't run dry permanently, we just have tuh wait until it fills back up again. The ring responded with [Hope] again, in a tone that indeed made Jonah feel hopeful. How long does it take? A few minutes? Hours? he asked, then realized this was a question that required an answer beyond the ring's vocabulary. Never mind, it ain't exactly like we're goin' anyplace.

With nothing else to do but wait, Jonah tried to concentrate his muted senses on what was going on around him. He could tell that whomever had taken hold of his body earlier had laid him face-down on a hard surface, his right arm pinned beneath him. Though he wasn't breathing, he could detect the pervasive odor of Worm in the air, and his ears still caught snatches of Spanish, but he couldn't understand what was being said. Ah need y'all tuh play interpreter again, he told the ring. Even if Ah cain't move yet, Ah want tuh keep up on whut's happenin' around us.

There was a brief, focused pain in his soul -- a tiny drain of precious willpower -- and moments later, muddled Spanish became clear English. Two distinct voices were arguing about whose turn it was to feed "the bitch", and whether there was enough meat to take care of both her and "the kids". The conversation didn't seem important to Jonah at first, then he thought of the Worm-smell that kept wafting past his nostrils. Ah'm the meat, he realized. These sons-of-bitches are butcherin' folks tuh feed the Worms! His initial disgust soon gave way to rage as he considered how many people may have already been slaughtered by Los Magos to keep those creatures sated, not to mention the fact that they wanted to add Jonah Hex to the menu. As he silently cursed the two men, Jonah suddenly realized the fingers on his right hand were twitching -- though it was pinned beneath his torso, he could feel his hand curl into a tight fist for a few seconds. Whut in blazes? he thought as his hand went limp once more. Did yuh do thet, son?

[Rage!] the black ring said excitedly. [Rage rage will rage!]

As the ring spoke, a dim memory from a century before surfaced in Jonah's mind: within the first moments of discovering he'd been turned into a stuffed and mounted corpse, he was inexplicably able to shoot the gun that had been wedged into his dead hand, killing one of the men responsible for his desecration. For long decades afterward, Jonah tried to duplicate the feat, but he couldn't, not until the day when his elderly, widowed wife found his body. That time, Jonah shot a man who threatened Tall Bird's life, but as before, the ability came from nowhere, and proved impossible to repeat. All this had occurred long before Jonah learned about the emotional spectrum, and how it could be used to fuel weapons of unimaginable power. He now realized that, on both occasions, his soul had been overwhelmed by emotion -- rage the first time, love the second -- to the point where it must have given his waning willpower the boost it needed to push past death itself. The results were unfocused, though, and burned out too quickly for Jonah to truly task advantage of the miracle. But thet's exactly whut a Black Lantern ring is built tuh do, Jonah thought. All's Ah need is tuh muster up enough rage tuh get this corpse of mine movin', an' the ring kind direct it where it's needed.

[Will!] the ring concurred, just as Jonah felt a hand grab his shoulder and flip him onto his back. The motion caused Jonah's eyelids to open slightly, affording him a blurry view of someone in a gorilla mask standing over him with a shiny, oblong object in their hand -- most likely a machete, going by the conversation he'd heard earlier. Jonah focused on the machete as best he could, thinking of what unspeakable acts this person had done with it already, and what they'd do to Jonah if he couldn't get riled up fast enough.

A lifetime seemed to pass before he felt his fingers twitch again, and just in time, for the machete was now moving on a downward arc towards his neck. Letting out a roar within his soul, Jonah brought his arm up and wrapped those cold fingers around the gorilla-man's wrist. The man cried out in surprise, which then turned into a cry of pain as Jonah violently twisted the man's wrist until it broke and the machete fell free, missing the gunfighter by inches. Still holding on, Jonah managed to make a fist with his other hand, which he slammed into the gorilla-man's jaw as he yanked the man downward.

It was soon plain to Jonah that this was far from a perfect system: there was no way to operate on instinct, as the ring had only a finite amount of power at its disposal. Every move had to be thought out in advance, then executed as efficiently as possible before the next move could even begin. In the eyes of the other Los Magos man present, Jonah moved like a gore-streaked automaton, lurching to his feet after he shoved the unconscious gorilla-man off of him, then advancing towards his new target one awkward step at a time. The only advantage Jonah had was that the sight of him horrified the man in the cat mask so badly, he didn't think to draw his gun. Instead, the man grabbed a long wooden pole with a metal hook on the end and swung it at Jonah -- the blows caused Jonah to stagger, but he kept moving towards the cat-man with all the elegance of a spastic drunk. Then the cat-man hollered as he jammed the pole into Jonah's stomach with enough force for it to come out his backside -- Jonah's head lolled over on his busted neck, as if examining the situation, before he simply clamped a hand onto the pole and pulled himself forward until he was within arm's-reach of the idiot, who never thought to let go of the other end.

Shut up, Jonah silently ordered as he pressed his free hand over the cat-man's mouth, then slammed the man's head into the wall behind him -- there was a satisfying crack upon impact, and Jonah let the cat-man slide down the wall to the ground. Jonah himself slid down right next to him a few seconds later, arms hanging limply at his sides and not giving a damn about the pole sticking out of his gut. Still cain't see too good, Jonah told the ring. There anybody else around tuh put up a fuss?

[Fear], the ring replied, which he took as a "no". [Jonah Hex of Earth is at peace?]

Jonah Hex of Earth is really %#?&!*' tired. Remind me tuh never pull this trick again. Had there been breath in his lungs, Jonah would have let out a groan to emphasize how exhausted he felt -- though his body was numb, his soul had taken quite a beating. We got enough fuel left tuh fix me up, or are we back down tuh nothin'?

Due to its limited vocabulary, the ring didn't try to respond, and instead went straight to work. Luckily, since it needed to convert the emotional energy into dark matter in order to utilize it, the ring had been able to do some on-the-fly repairs during the fight, but the results were slapdash, just enough to make certain muscles contract or joints pliable. The one place where the ring's repairs had been rather meticulous was Jonah's heart: the sooner it got back to beating, the sooner his willpower would return to normal levels. Therefore, the ring now concentrated all its efforts there, cultivating the residual rage and willpower -- as well as the faint strands of compassion that were beginning to blossom within Jonah as he thought about Saunders and the other men -- into enough dark matter to get that crucial organ moving again. After nearly twenty minutes of work, Jonah's heart managed one beat, then another, until it reached a steady rhythm once more. Dead blood cells were soon swept into Jonah's heart and, after being reinvigorated by the growing reserves of dark-matter energy within, brought the promise of vitality throughout his unmoving body.

Three minutes after his heart had been fully restored to working order, Jonah gasped as his lungs took on air again, while his outward appearance turned gray and desiccated. "Wish there was a less gruesome way tuh do this," Jonah said aloud, looking down at his bony hands, "but Ah reckon it's easier sometimes tuh just scrap everything an' start over, ain't it?"

[Will].

"Then y'all do whut needs tuh be done, an' Ah'll help out where Ah kin." He wrapped his hands around the pole still protruding from his gut and, after a few good tugs, yanked it out -- though his Black Lantern form was incapable of feeling anything except the most intense sensation, the sight of all that inky blood dribbling out of the hole in time with his heartbeat disgusted him to no end. "Best patch thet up next," he told the ring, then struggled to his feet, using the pole like a crutch. Since his vision had immediately flipped over to the monochrome customary for Black Lanterns, the chamber Jonah stood in appeared bright as day as he surveyed it, with a few intensely-white globes of light hovering near the ceiling. To be sure, he was still underground, and in an area set up for butchering whomever or whatever Los Magos deemed fit for the Worms' consumption. A bloodstained wheelbarrow stood nearby, and hanging from iron spikes embedded in the wall were numerous meat hooks and cutting implements. A chainsaw with bits of fabric and flesh caught in its teeth lay on the ground not far from where he stood, along with a pile of clothing, presumably belonging to those who'd been butchered earlier.

"Cain't decide who's worse: the Worms or Los Magos," Jonah muttered, then turned his attention to the two men he'd taken down. The cat-man was obviously dead, as he had no aura to speak of, while the gorilla-man possessed a faint green-and-yellow hue even in his unconscious state. As he bound the gorilla-man's hands and feet, Jonah spotted the three dead officers laying next to some kind of vehicle he didn't recognize. Thankfully, they hadn't started cutting up those bodies yet. He briefly considered resurrecting the fallen officers, like he'd done with the Los Magos man in the morgue, but considering Jonah's own ghastly state, it seemed unlikely that he could do so, not to mention that he needed every drop of willpower-fueled dark matter his heart could produce just to keep himself moving.

With that in mind, Jonah began to collect up all the weapons in sight -- the less he had to use the ring, the more power it could divert to healing his body. First up were the Los Magos men's handguns, which fit nicely in his empty holsters, along with a couple of spare ammo clips that he shoved into his back pocket. Next was the machete and, after a moment's consideration, he also pulled the jacket and mask off of the deceased cat-man. May as well take advantage of their little masquerade, Jonah thought as he put them on, followed by his own gloves in order to hide his hands (Jonah's hat had gone missing somewhere along the line, but that was of little concern to him at the moment). Properly armed and outfitted, now all he needed was a destination. There were two passageways connecting to the chamber he was in, and at first he couldn't discern where either of them might lead to, then his altered eyes noticed numerous dark streaks on the stone floor. Blood, he realized as he bent down to take a closer look. Not fresh, though. Must be left over from previous kills. He saw that the majority of the streaks -- which were about the same width as the tire on the wheelbarrow -- pointed in the direction of one of the passageways, and that gave him the answer he was looking for. "Chop up the meat, then go feed the bitch an' her kids," he said, and had the flesh on Jonah's face been more supple yet, he would've scowled. "Hope they like the taste of lead, 'cause thet's all we're servin' up today."

Machete in hand, Jonah headed down the dark passageway in search of his old enemy.