Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jul 18, 2016 20:00:29 GMT -5
When I do fics based on something canonical, there's always a question of how much do you need to repeat for the reader. It usually comes down to what you said: What's the bare minimum they need to know to understand this story I'm telling? That's why, when Maggie asks how Jonah knows who Green Lantern is, he just says, "It's a very long, very complicated story." It's unnecessary at the moment, so we can skip it for a few issues. The majority of Blackest Night/Brightest Day has no bearing on Jonah, so we can skip nearly all of it and just cherry-pick the parts that apply to him. If you think about it, that's what they tend to do with tie-in issues, because you can't keep wasting pages repeating the same info over and over. So if you've read the main story (as you have, Charlie), then you get a fuller picture, but those who've only read Shades of Gray don't miss out on anything pertinent because I've included it here. It just makes for smoother storytelling.
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jul 15, 2016 16:26:03 GMT -5
I came here to comment about the issue, but now I'm all teary-eyed. You're right, it is hard to not think of Brandon when you think of DC2. Best we can do is soldier on and try to honor everything he brought to this site, as well as Omega Crisis.
I read issue #1 when it was about 80% complete, and I thought it was great then. The few scenes that've been added since then are just as great. Little slices of civilian life, before the world ends once more. Even with knowing the gist of what's in store for these folks, I still had a sense of anxiety as the you-know-what closed in on Vandal Savage, as well as when Stabby McStaff-Wielder did his business. By the end of the issue, the forces of good are assembling, but they don't know what against, and the few who might've been able to clue them in are being removed from the board. Can't wait for issue #2!
Oh, I almost forgot...thank you, Nathan, for doing such a great job on the cover! I like the little touches you added to the guys' lapels, I missed those when I first saw the piece.
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jul 5, 2016 12:53:41 GMT -5
Didio's work on Weird Western Tales #71 was rather lacking, and in some cases rather annoying, like his introduction of the town of Illumination and the idea that Quentin Turnbull had other descendants (only one we've ever heard of before is his long-dead son Jeb). There's a story there, I'm sure of it, but Didio doesn't bother to tell us...but I've got a notion in my head, and I'll eventually get around to writing it. And of course, there's Don Hall's rejected black ring, which essentially vanishes from the Blackest Night storyline after WWT#71. Prior to writing Shades of Gray, I asked around on the DC Message Boards (may it rest in peace) and searched comics databases to see if there was any other mention of that ring, but nope, it's just gone. Why would Nekron send troops after only this black ring, and not the couple of others that went unused (like the pair that Hal and Barry managed to duck), not to mention why Don Hall's dead body rejected it in the first place? It's one of the few unanswered questions leftover from Blackest Night, but by the end of this first arc, you'll have an answer.
The flashes of Jonah's "afterlife" are indeed horrifying, and are based partly in comic-book truth: his corpse did indeed shoot two people, and it was lost for long stretches of time. The internal part of it -- the idea of Jonah's soul being trapped within, unable to find peace -- was my addition, a way of reasoning out how a dead man could shoot people, and will tie into an important part of the story later on. Basically, I didn't torture the poor guy for nothing.
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jun 30, 2016 17:01:49 GMT -5
I appreciate you moving it up. As for the thumbnails, how about we use issue #2 instead? It gives new readers a quick idea of what's in store for the whole series.
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jun 28, 2016 18:57:56 GMT -5
Good Lord, where has the time gone? It's been nearly three years since the last installment of Jonah Hex: Shades of Gray posted, and I do apologize for the lag. I won't go into the full details here (seeing as how I already did in the letter column for Weird Western Quarterly #25 back in February), but I will tell you that I wasn't sitting idle the entire time, it's just that a lot of things got in the way. I'm glad that many folks have continued to find this tale in the interim, though, and I hope this latest installment will be to your liking. We've got one more chapter to go on "Narcocorrido" (which I'm almost done writing, by the by, so keep your eyes peeled!), and then we'll move on to a storyarc that I've been looking forward to writing for the past couple of years (one chapter of which is nearly finished already, 'cause I've been working on it bit by bit since the idea first came to me).
Despite my own excitement about the upcoming storyarc, however, I must confess that there may still be delays in posting, as I have finally accomplished the goal I've been pursuing for a decade: I found a publisher for my original novel, Swords & Sixguns! We're hoping to have the book out by this fall, and if you want to keep up with all the latest news regarding that, I recommend checking out my blog -- Susan Hillwig: One Fangirl's Opinion -- and/or the Facebook page I created for Swords & Sixguns.
Alright, that's enough chitchat, on with the letters!
- Susan Hillwig
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jun 28, 2016 18:48:33 GMT -5
The smell of Worm became stronger the further Jonah went down the rough-hewn corridor, and he could soon hear heavy breathing as well, so he was only mildly surprised when he reached the end of the corridor and saw the massive cavern lit with ultra-bright work lights containing the Mother Worm. Jonah was a good twenty feet above the creature, which was restrained on its back to the cavern floor with multiple lengths of heavy-gauge chain, as well as a few woven-steel cables. Multiple plastic tarps were spread out on the ground by the lower half of the creature's body. The cavern itself appeared to reach another twelve feet above Jonah's head, and his altered eyes could discern that the cavern stretched off into the distance for at least another half-mile before narrowing into another corridor, albeit a rather large one. A few smaller corridors could be seen near the cavern floor, and Jonah watched them closely as he headed down the stone ramp that led to the lower level -- whether the ramp had been carved by men or Worms, Jonah couldn't tell. The Mother Worm barely stirred as Jonah approached it -- a series of low rumbles issued from its throat, but that was all the noise it made. He'd expected a gnashing of teeth, great roars, limbs straining at bonds, not the near-apathy he was witnessing. Then again, it looked like Los Magos had done everything possible to break the Worm's spirit: its thirty-foot-long body was crisscrossed with partially-healed wounds, some apparently caused by the restraints, not to mention the numerous amputations it had suffered from the drug-runners hacking off the larger tentacles that naturally made up the lower half of the Mother Worm's body. The two sets of arms on its upper half were mostly intact, though each of them now ended at the wrist with a knurl of cauterized tissue. The only reason its captors appeared to have left it with any limbs at all was so they could more easily attach chains to it. Even the great crown of horns growing from its head had been pierced by drills so as to thread cables through and anchor them to the floor, thereby rendering its head immobile. Had the creature not been so obviously helpless, Jonah would have never dared to get so close to it, coming within eight feet of the Mother Worm and looking directly into its bulbous eye. [Compassion], the ring said in a sad tone. Maybe yuh got compassion fer it, but Ah don't, Jonah silently replied. These things are stone-cold killers. No better'n rabid animals, far as Ah'm concerned. If'n this thing wasn't tied down, it'd be doin' its level best tuh swallow me whole right now."Hey, Gato!" someone called out in Spanish. Jonah turned to see a man dressed head to foot in a baggy white plastic suit coming out of a nearby corridor. In his hand was a mask unlike the others Jonah had seen: instead of an animal's head, this one had a clear faceplate with a stubby cylinder attached to the front. "Did you guys feed these freaks yet? We need to tap 'em for the day." Jonah said nothing, and the man kept walking towards him, unaware that the person under the cat mask wasn't his criminal cohort. "You hear me, or do you got those damn earbuds on again? Lionne told you..." Jonah grabbed the man by the arm as soon as he was within reach and shoved him face-down onto the ground. Twisting the man's arm behind his back, Jonah growled, " Yuh make a sound without muh say-so, an' Ah'll kill yuh." The man wasn't about to give up so easily: he managed to get his legs beneath his body and push upward, knocking Jonah off-balance, then he whacked Jonah upside the head with the odd mask in his other hand. Both of them were cursing as the man grabbed a gun from one of Jonah's holsters, but Jonah still held the machete, which he swung with such force that it lopped the Los Magos man's head clean off. It wasn't his intention to kill the man outright -- he needed information about both the Worms and his missing colleagues -- but the deed was done. After retrieving the gun, Jonah got up and started to walk towards the corridor the man had come from, but stopped when he heard a deep voice behind him say, " Stupid apes." Whirling about, Jonah raised the machete again, ready to attack whomever else was in the chamber, but he saw no one. Then he heard the Mother Worm let out a rumbling breath, and he saw its red-yellow-orange aura ripple as that deep voice sounded out again, saying, " First you slaughter my children, now you slaughter each other. Do your kind hold nothing sacred?" Staring in disbelief at the Mother Worm, Jonah hesitantly asked the ring, Yo're...yo're playin' interpreter again, ain'tcha?[Compassion!]Holy Hannah...
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jun 28, 2016 18:42:18 GMT -5
A series of light bulbs were crudely strung from the ceiling of a passageway deep within the caverns, indicating to Greg that they'd finally reached the true hideout of Los Magos. Lionne and her cohorts had marched them along for about a half-hour, prodding them down one twisting tunnel after another. This was presumably done to conceal the proper way out of this maze, but Greg was sure his men were doing the same as himself: silently memorizing every turn and any outstanding feature on their rocky surroundings, all in the hope that they might be able to escape and get help, preferably before any more of them were killed. As they were herded towards a wall made of varying pieces of sheet metal that had been welded together, Greg realized those escape plans had just gotten a mite tougher to achieve.
Clown stepped forward and undid the padlock on the crude door set into the wall, then swung it open to reveal a dim chamber beyond, a couple of dirty blankets strewn on the floor. Greg presumed this must've been a natural cul-de-sac, easily converted to a holding cell by Los Magos with the addition of the metal wall and door. He glanced at his men standing behind him, debating whether or not they should make a break for it now, and knowing damn well that their odds hadn't improved one bit over the past half-hour. Smythe could barely walk thanks to his wounded leg, and had been alternately leaning on Silver and Greg the entire time. The federal marshal also appeared to have received a mild dose of dragon sweat when the Worms wounded him, as did Davis, for Greg had noticed both men uttering nonsensical words from time to time, like their brains were misfiring. Even Henry's gait fumbled occasionally, thanks to the blow to the skull he'd taken. Like it or not, the best option for all of them was to let themselves be locked away for the time being.
"If you stay quiet, I'll have someone bring you something to eat in a while," Lionne said as the officers were herded into the cell. "If you don't stay quiet, you'll end up on the dragons' menu tonight." She then closed the cell door, plunging them into darkness.
About ten seconds passed by before Smythe muttered, "I think this is the last time I ever answer a call from you, Saunders."
"You gotta admit, though, I keep things interestin'," Greg answered. "I've got a lighter in my pocket, but I can't reach it. Anybody want to give me a hand?"
"I'll do ya one better," Henry said. "I managed to hide my penknife down my boot before they frisked me. Just give me a minute." A thumping sound could be heard in the dark as Henry tried to kick his boot off.
Davis began screaming, "Goblins! There's goblins in here!" He blundered into Silver, who tried to shove him away. "Pounding on the walls!"
"Shut up! You want those Los Magos guys to come back already?" Silver hissed.
"Got it! Hold on..." They could hear Henry shuffling around, followed by a snap as he cut through the zip-ties binding his wrists. "Okay, boss, call out so I can find you."
"Right over here," Greg said. Moments later, Henry was cutting him free, and Greg dug out his old, battered Zippo lighter and flicked it to life. "See, Davis? No goblins."
Davis shook his head, beads of sweat rolling down his pale face. "They're hiding...the shadows...watching..."
"Forget it, boss," Silver said as Henry cut him loose, "the dragon sweat has gone straight to his brain. He'll be thinking we're goblins pretty soon."
"Hate to admit it, but you're right. Keep him tied up for now, Henry. It'll be safer for us." He looked over at Smythe, who was sitting on the floor with his injured leg stretched out. "How 'bout you, marshal? Seein' any goblins yet?"
"Too busy watching pus ooze outta my leg. Smells too...like rotten meat." Smythe scrunched his eyes shut. "That's not really happening, is it?"
"Nope. Looks like we should probably keep you tied up as well for the time being." Greg turned to Henry and Silver. "So, guess it's up to the three of us...presuming your head's in decent shape, Henry."
"Mostly. Depends on how much I move around. If we have to make a run for it, there's a good chance I might trip over my own feet."
"We're a long way from runnin', so maybe you'll be better when the time comes." Greg walked over to the metal door. "The hinges on this thing don't exactly look up to code, but bustin' it down would make a hellacious amount of noise."
"Probably better off waiting for one of those goons to bring us food, then jump 'em when they open the door," Silver replied. "Of course, there's still the matter of finding our way back to the surface. I doubt any hostage we take would be willing to help with that."
"Considerin' these bastards have killed at least four of our friends so far, I reckon I can find the means to persuade 'em otherwise," Greg said, a hard edge to his voice.
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jun 28, 2016 18:40:20 GMT -5
[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.
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Susan Hillwig
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jun 28, 2016 18:19:36 GMT -5
Outside the cave, Trevor was pacing back and forth by the SUVs, a cell phone to his ear as he spoke with Rusty back at the station. "You've got to give me something, mate!" Trevor said. "The way in is a dog's breakfast. Even if we had the equipment here right now, it'd take at least an hour to clear this mess away. We need to know where those other entrances are!"
"I'm sorry, Trev. I'm making progress with their GPS program, but nothing concrete so far," Rusty told him. "For the moment, you're better off staying by the entrance we know about instead of traipsing around the desert."
"Easy for you to say. You're sitting all cozy in the air conditioning instead of looking at the big pile of rocks covering our friends."
"Hey, I'm worried about them, too. Go smoke a cigarette and calm down."
"I've already smoked 'em all." He turned on his heel and began to make another circuit around the vehicles.
"Then chew on the butts or something. Look, you and Garlock just sit tight, okay? The crew's already on the road to you. Should be there by noon."
"Noon?!? Bloody..." He had to bite back all the nasty epithets that wanted to jump off of his tongue. This wasn't Rusty's fault, Trevor knew that, but he wanted to curse a blue streak at him all the same. "Fine," Trevor finally said in an even tone. "We'll wait until they get here. In the meantime, you crack open that damn program."
"I'll call you as soon as I have a solid location." Rusty ended the call, and Trevor tromped back down the slope to where Garlock stood. The blast had totally collapsed the small hole that led to the underground cavern, and Garlock was attempting to clear away the debris with a camp shovel he'd found in one of the SUVs -- the man had made scant progress so far. "What's the word?" he asked as Trevor approached.
"They're sending a backhoe to help clear this, along with some more officers, but they won't arrive until noon." Trevor sat down on one of the nearby boulders. "The sheriff and the others could all be dead by then, if they're not already."
Garlock heaved another shovelful of debris to the side. "Then get up and help me dig them out."
"As if the two of us could actually make a dent in this. I can't even tell if you're digging in the same spot where the hole was!"
"If you don't help me dig," Garlock said, using the shovel to pry one of the rocks loose, "I'm going to tell Abrahams you were the one who filled his desk drawer with cow patties."
"You wouldn't."
"Keep sitting there and you'll find out."
Trevor glared at him for a minute, then got up to see if he could find another shovel.
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Susan Hillwig
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jun 28, 2016 18:15:05 GMT -5
"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.
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Susan Hillwig
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jun 28, 2016 18:12:26 GMT -5
The ground beneath them shook as the explosion collapsed the entrance to the cave, blowing great clouds of dust down the passageway. It also shook debris loose from the roof of the cave, raining down on the officers like stone missiles -- the black ring created a shield around Jonah and the others, but a few people got hit before it was completely up. When the shaking finally stopped and the dust began to settle, Jonah dropped the shield, and Greg called out into the dark, “Anybody hurt?”
“Got cracked in the head pretty good,” Henry replied from nearby. “Feel kinda wobbly.”
“Then stay down. Anyone else?” There were some cuts and bruises scattered amongst the officers, and at first it appeared that Henry's bump on the noggin was the worst of it, but then they began to sweep their flashlights around and spotted one of the men -- Durchenko, if Jonah recalled the name correctly -- pinned to the ground by a large chunk of rock laying across his back. The man was out cold, and his labored breathing didn’t improve much after they removed the rock. “Keep him as still as possible,” Greg said. “Lord knows what sort of damage that did to his spine.” He then gestured to Jonah, and the two of them backtracked the way they'd come, the beam of Greg’s flashlight bobbing along with their steps, until they were eyeing the huge pile of rocks that now filled the cave from top to bottom. “Lovely," Greg muttered, then began to fiddle with his walkie-talkie in the hope that he could raise someone outside. All he got was an earful of static, so he tried his cell phone as Smythe had suggested earlier...and just as Greg had predicted, he couldn't pick up a signal at all. "We'll have to assume that we're on our own," he told Hex, "which means we need to dig our way out. I just hope that little passageway we came down didn't totally collapse."
"We're just gonna light outta here an' let these Los Magos fellas off the hook?"
"No, but we need to get Durchenko some help. Besides, I'd like us to have an escape route if things go south down here as well."
"Might not be much of an escape if'n they're slingin' explosives around up there."
"I'll take the risk." Greg indicated the rubble with his flashlight beam. "Think your ring can blast a way through that?”
Jonah was already stripping his gloves off -- there was a small hole in the left one due to his earlier ring-slinging. “Considerin’ whut just happened, Ah don’t think blastin’ is a good idea. Might be safer tuh dig through an’ shore it up as we go.”
“How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Dunno. Depends on how long muh heart kin take the strain.” He tapped a finger against his breastbone. “If’n Ah push too hard, it damn-near knocks me flat.”
“Well, do that you can. It's a sure bet Los Magos knows we're here, so we can't waste any more time."
Greg returned to the group while Jonah got to work on digging through the rubble. First, he used his ring to shore up the roof and walls of the cave, just in case they’d been weakened by the blast, the he trained a thin beam of dark matter in the shape of a corkscrew on the center of the rock pile and began to push it through. Debris collected at his feet as the rocks were chewed up, and after a few minutes, Jonah felt confident enough to expand the beam’s diameter a little, and he kept up this pattern until the beam was nearly five feet wide. As he continued to tunnel through the rubble, he silently wondered how he was going to explain his handiwork to the others in the group: due to the darkness and general confusion, no one seemed to notice the shield tossed up by the black ring, but a perfectly-cut tunnel complete with support struts was going to be a mite more obvious. Maybe they'll be too grateful tuh question it, Jonah thought.
After close to ten minutes of nonstop drilling, Jonah had managed to bore a circular tunnel roughly eighteen feet long and angled slightly upward, but he still hadn't breached the surface. He wiped a layer of sweat from his brow, then mustered up all the willpower he could and pushed harder, the dark-matter drill generated by the ring chewing up rocks and dirt at an incredible rate. After a couple more minutes, Jonah could feel a sharp pain in his chest, growing stronger with every heartbeat, but he ignored it and kept going. There'd been other desperate situations when he'd had to work through pain, and he considered this one to be no different, though Jonah did briefly think of Hal's comment when they'd been discussing the black ring's possible limits: "This idea of the ring drawing power from within you instead of an external source worries me. What would happen if it tried to draw too much?" In truth, Jonah had done very little with the ring since then, meaning he still had no clue as to how much power he could exert at once without bringing harm to himself. Nor did he know how long it took to replenish what he'd already used, and he'd been using the ring quite a bit over the past twelve hours, with only a few hours' sleep and nothing to eat over that same period. "Doesn't matter," he gasped, clamping his right hand around his left wrist to steady his aim. "We gotta keep goin'. These boys are dependin' on us tuh..."
A chorus of shouts echoed down the passageway, followed by gunshots. The drill vanished as Jonah whirled about and headed back towards the group, leaving the ring-generated supports in place so as to not destroy his progress so far. Thanks to the black ring, Jonah could see perfectly in the darkness, and he spotted the source of the commotion while still some distance from it: a quartet of Worms had descended upon the group, tearing and snapping at whomever they could get their claws on. Luckily, most of the officers had their weapons out already, and they opened fire the moment they realized the creatures were in their midst. Once Jonah was in firing range, he pulled out his own weapon and took aim at the closest Worm, but when he pulled the trigger on his Dragoon, the pain in his chest flared up again, almost as if he'd been shot himself. He cried out and fell to his knees, not even noticing that his aim had been spoiled: the Worm, which had only been grazed, was now fully aware of Jonah's presence, and it wasn't pleased with his actions. The creature lunged at him, tearing at his face with its razor-sharp claws, but Jonah managed wedge the barrel of his gun beneath the Worm's chin and blow its slimy head off. The act brought Jonah more pain, and after he'd pushed the Worm's lifeless body to the side, he found it difficult to muster the strength to stand. He finally did so as the last gunshots echoed away, leaving only the groans of the injured mingled with assorted curses.
Greg's voice came to him from what seemed like a great distance, and he slowly turned his head to see his friend walking over, saying, "Christ, you're a mess."
"It'll heal," Jonah replied. In truth, he wasn't so sure: he could feel blood pulsing out of the wounds on his face, as opposed to the numbing sensation that meant the black ring was doing its job. "Did yuh get 'em all?"
"Yeah, but they got a few of us. Durchenko went first...couldn't fight back. Alvarez and Lucas are gone too. Davis and Smythe got chewed on pretty bad, but I think they'll make it."
"Hey, boss, did you see this?" Silver called out, and the two men looked to see the officer point the beam of his flashlight at a metal chain around the neck of one of the Worms. "Choke-collars...they're all wearing 'em. Los Magos must've sicced these things on us like attack dogs!"
"Very astute," a woman's voice answered from the darkness in softly-accented English. The officers turned to see seven armed individuals in rubber masks walking towards them. Two of them also carried handheld spotlights, which they seemed more than eager to shine directly into the eyes of the officers.
"You folks come to surrender?" Greg asked, squinting into the light.
"I think you have it the wrong way around." A tall, solidly-built woman in a lion's-head mask -- the speaker, presumably -- stepped into view and said to them, "Put your weapons on the ground...slowly, or else we start shooting."
Greg motioned to his men, and one by one, they disarmed themselves. Even Jonah laid his Dragoons at his feet. Of course, he was armed in ways Los Magos didn't suspect. Silently, he told the ring, When Ah say so, toss a shield up around our boys, then knock out them damn lights. We'll pick these bastards off at our leisure.
[Fear], the ring replied. [Fear compassion].
The Hell yuh say. Ah know Ah ain't the best shape right now, but Ah've fought muh way through worse. 'Sides, even if we do surrender peacefully, yuh really think these skunks are gonna let us walk outta here scot free?
[Fear fear compassion fear!]
Stow thet talk! We've got a job tuh do! Jonah tightened his ring hand into a fist, then jabbed it outward. Instead of what he'd requested, however, all he got was a faint wisp of dark matter, along with a pain so intense it felt like a cannonball was slamming through his breastbone. A scream involuntarily left his lips as he lurched forward, fist still held out before him. Though Jonah's hand was empty, the woman in the lion mask decided to not take any chances and leveled her gun at Jonah, firing off three quick shots. The first two were absorbed by the bulletproof vest Greg had insisted Jonah put on, same as the other officers, but the third caught the bounty hunter just below his adam's apple, ripping his throat wide open before colliding with the vertebrae in his neck. Blood gushed from Jonah's mouth as he fell to the ground, while in his mind, he yelled at the ring to hurry up and fix the damage, but all he got in response was more pain, to the point where he couldn't breathe anymore. Greg called out his name, and then his face floated into Jonah's vision, which was growing dimmer by the moment. Then there was nothing to see at all, and soon, nothing to hear either.
The darkness had claimed Jonah Hex once again.
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Susan Hillwig
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jun 28, 2016 18:08:24 GMT -5
Jonah Hex: Shades of Gray #15 Narcocorrido, Part 3: "Murder Ballad"
Written by: Susan Hillwig
Cover by: TBA
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Jun 1, 2016 14:49:30 GMT -5
For those who are interested, the "DC in the '80s" online 'zine is looking to feature fanfiction on their site. If you'd like to contribute a story, old or new, contact Justin Francoeur at dcinthe80s@gmail.com or through their FB page: www.facebook.com/dccomicsinthe80s
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on May 19, 2016 11:33:00 GMT -5
Steve Rogers wielding the power of Captain Universe? This I gotta see!
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on May 17, 2016 11:38:42 GMT -5
Thanks for the binge-read, and I'm glad you liked it. Things are gonna get even more twisty down the road between Jonah and the black ring, so stay tuned. As for Jonah's voice, I'm still writing more-or-less the same guy I've always been writing, except now he interacts with people in a nicer manner (being in virtual isolation for over a century can change your willingness to be sociable). Being at peace has shaved down some of his rough edges, but he can still get riled up from time to time when the situation warrants it (it's not a proper Jonah Hex story if he doesn't yell at someone or try to shoot them!).
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 16, 2016 21:01:39 GMT -5
Finally got round to the final part of this dynamic and very tight adventure, and I have to say, the three-act structure works for perfection for what you're doing. It's a style that's well-trod but every episode drove the narrative forward without it feeling like you clearly demarkated Act I, Act II and Act III. To be honest, it's a simple and effective narrative structure that I'm playing with this year in Green Lantern Corps (cheap plug!)-- forcing myself to keep stories to three parts. That, for me, means that more epic (epic-er?) stories that require longer to tell FEEL more important. Six issues works perfectly well in a visual medium, but we've got stories to tell, people! The calm before the storm was just that, very serene, even with the training on the Ace and the ceremonies of blessing. With the time covered in this story, there's a sense of determination and urgency for all involved. It's a sad, slow slog for them, but none of your writing makes it feel like that for me as a reader! I'm driven forward by your narrative, and it's great. Due to the differences in time, making this three separate issues -- no more, no less -- seemed the best way to do it. Both WWQ#23 and #25 take place within the span of a day, but WWQ#24 unfolds over the course of eleven years, so I figured it would be best to sequester it all by itself. And the last part is "a sad, slow slog" with all the distance they have to cover, so I did my best to spread out the action over those many miles, having them get hit with a wave, then a lull, then another wave, and so forth. It's brought up in WWQ#24, when Conjura first gets wind of El Diablo's existence and the fact that the demon got bonded to Lane. By 1866 (when this occurred) they already knew Wise Owl was living near Puerta Del Sol, and because of the vision she'd had, Conjura knew that Lane was the victim. After that, this knowledge was simply passed on to whomever else joined up with the group, to let them know an innocent party was involved with all this. Lane is only mentioned by name in that one scene, so it must've just passed by you. Simple trick for keeping track of everybody: I made a list of their names and kept referring to it to make sure everybody got a decent amount of screen time. If they got hurt or moved elsewhere, I jotted a note next to their name, and if they got killed... Yes, I feel bad about killing Ironjaws. I liked that wolf. Ironjaws was only in three Jonah Hex stories back in the day ( Weird Western Tales #12-14), but I always liked the idea of Jonah having this semi-feral animal tagging along with him. In the comics, Ironjaws died saving Jonah's life, and since I felt a story this big wouldn't feel right without some casualties, I decided the DC2 version of Ironjaws would go out in similar fashion. I hesitant about killing James, however, since he was Don's creation, but he was okay with it. Conjura almost died as well, but I decided to hold back as it just didn't feel right. I kept feeling like Jeanne didn't have enough of a connection to this mission -- the only reason she got involved is because Johnny did, which kinda failed the "Sexy Lamp Test" for me -- whereas just about everyone else had a role and/or motivation when it came to fighting Wise Owl, be it Nighthawk working on the gun or the Savage boys doing reconnaissance work or Jonah being in it for the paycheck. So since I knew Johnny was going to be removed from the board, I gave Jeanne the Ace of Winchesters and let her do what she did. It worked better for me and it gave her a character arc that otherwise wouldn't have been there. Actually, now that I think of it, Bat Lash really had no reason to be there either, he was just following Jonah and Scalphunter. (Bat Lash = Sexy Lamp). Lane was not El Diablo prior to Wise Owl messing with him. He was just a regular guy who got put through the wringer by a crazy shaman. As for Johnny's connection to the other Thunders, I'm not sure if we ever introduced one in DC2's version of the JSA (matter of fact, I think David erased him from history in an early storyarc!), but indeed, Jonni Thunder is related to the Tanes, and there's been a sly reference or two to that in some stories she's appeared in. I don't think Don originally intended for the Old West Johnny to get powers, but when I suggested how it could come about, he was all for it. There may be some further exploration of this down the line, but for right now, I think Johnny and Jeanne are just going to rest up for a bit. The general idea for this story was inspired by Swamp Thing #85 from waaaaay back in 1989, so when it came time to visualize what sort of horrors Wise Owl could unleash upon our heroes -- along with what sort of horror Wise Owl himself would degenerate into -- I decided to keep with the theme and looked to the twisted monstrosities thought up by the likes for Bernie Wrightson, Steve Bissette, and all the other great Swampy artists over the years. Glad I did a good job of it for ya!
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Susan Hillwig
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 12, 2016 14:04:11 GMT -5
A lot of the time when I'm reading, I have a doc open beside it to write down my thoughts as I progress through the piece. The same applies here, so I thought I'd give you a heads up before getting into it all. Again, I'm coming to this issue from a distance, so a lot of the characters, such as James Thunderborne, are foreign to me. You waste no time in introducing them to us though, and I could really feel Thunderborne's struggle with his addiction, with what he wanted his life to be, as the opening scene unfolded. I was really taken aback by the six month gap between the events of the last issue and this issue, but it makes perfect sense considering the vastness of the Americas back then. Windrunner really did have one over on everybody with his ability to dart about. Six months though... and I was reading the opening thinking... what about his grandparents? For more on Thunderborne, I refer you to the Johnny Thunder issues Don wrote for WWQ, as well as "The Three Thunders" in 2010's Weird Western Spectacular. Regarding the six-month gap, that was due to both Hawk's recovery time as well as the distance between Echo Valley and Mesa City. I have fudged things in the past regarding how long it takes to get from Point A to Point B: many a railroad station has been conveniently placed, and some horses and stagecoaches have perhaps moved faster than usual. As for Maxwell's grandparents, I'm glad that their brief appearance in the previous issue moved you enough to care about what may have happened to them after his disappearance. I've kept some stuff regarding Maxwell's powers vague, partially due to the fact that, in the modern DC2, the Speed Force is viewed through more scientific eyes. Not to say that scientific analysis didn't exist in the 19th Century, but there's always been something mystical about the whole thing. Speedsters talk about it calling to them, sometimes they get lost in it, you can pass it from one speedster to the next and back again...the idea that the Speed Force is sentient seems like the next logical step. And if it is sentient, who's to say that a spiritual culture encountering it might not think of it was some kind of god? An even better question: Is He-No -- the Thunderbird -- part of the Speed Force, or is the Speed Force part of He-No? Something to ponder before reading WWQ#25. Before starting this arc, I realized we needed to beef up the ranks a bit. We needed characters that could fill roles our already-established folks couldn't. Jeff Graham -- aka The Roving Ranger -- first appeared in comics in the 1950s but didn't last long, as there was nothing distinguishable about him. Knowing a little about the Ace of Winchesters, however, I decided that this unremarkable Texas Ranger was the one who built that fabled gun. I wrote him like combination of Hex and Constantine, and while he was a blast to make up dialogue for, you're right in your assertion that not everyone will make it out of this intact. However, if someone wanted to write a standalone tale about Graham set prior to these events... Conjura fulfilled another need, both as a mage and to diversify the cast. She was actually created by Joe Kubert in the 1970s for a series of educational books featuring DC characters (Kubert took some old Zatanna stories and substituted Conjura for the backwards-speaking spellcaster). Seeing as how she's semi-canonical, I decided to make a 19th Century version of her (to see more of her, go read WWQ#21). As for the Bison Cult...yes, they are connected to Black Bison. I've seen offhand references to them before, so I worked it in. Blame David for the Nighthawk/Tomahawk/Khufu connection. He tossed me that curveball in one of his stories years ago, and it took me a while think my way around it (read "The Circle Unbroken" to see how I did it). And I figured Hannibal's fix-it man background would come in handy when it came to the rifle. To figure out where exactly Bat Lash swanned in from, read WWQ#22, it'll lead you right up to that doorstep. As for Jonah's sorry state, I advise settling in for a while if you decide to read all of the "Love and War" storyarc, which runs through WWQ#13-20 (with a couple of Johnny Thunder tales sprinkled in for flavor). And thank you for reading the issue, no matter how long after the fact.
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 11, 2016 19:57:14 GMT -5
Well, I just saw I promised to read this in February 2012 and that never happened. Oh, the folly of youth. But as you can guess, I've not kept up with WWQ and that's a shame. The western corner of the DC2 has always been a brilliant one, just as important as the superhero one, and I like how important the DC2 considered all the vital ages of comic books. Golden Age, obviously, and this Western Age, all the gunslingers and cowboys, it's great to seem them consistently represented. And represented so well, to boot. Considering how late I am with WWQ#25, I'm not worried about you taking so long to read this. And I've always been very honored that I was given the opportunity to keep the Old West alive here on DC2. The fact that people not only read this title but praise it always delights me. It's been a hoot filling in Maxwell's backstory, especially since we mainly know him as the "Zen Master of the Speed Force". That isn't a title you earn overnight, it takes a a lot of hard work, and I like figuring out what happened to him along the way. From the Online Etymology Dictionary: racist - 1932 as a noun, 1938 as an adjective, from race (n.2); racism is first attested 1936 (from French racisme, 1935), originally in the context of Nazi theories. But they replaced earlier words, racialism (1871) and racialist (1917), both often used early 20c. in a British or South African context. In the U.S., race hatred, race prejudice had been used, and, especially in 19c. political contexts, negrophobia. I've always walked a fine line when it comes to discussing this sort of thing in WWQ. One of my earliest editorial conversations with David regarded whether or not I should use the n-word in a story (I eventually opted not to, in place of another word that carried similar connotations without the controversy). It's difficult to compare the 19th Century notions about this subject to the 21st Century notions, because these days, we'd probably consider everyone from back then a racist, be it towards Blacks or Irish or Asians or whatever ethnicity/nationality you choose. That's just how it was, and we're still recovering from those attitudes to this day. Read WWQ#8-9 and Rogues Gallery #16, that should bring you up to speed on Wise Owl. As for Hannibal Hawkes...go read WWQ#24, it's only been sittin' there for three-and-a-half years!
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 11, 2016 19:23:40 GMT -5
It's very character-driven, as opposed to action-driven (save for the scene on Ryut), and I love that sort of stuff. Everyone has a distinct voice that -- despite being a decade ahead of where we last saw them -- still sounds like the people we know. Hal is no longer a GL, but he's still Hal in the way he talks and acts...he's just Hal with a wife and daughter, that's all. Same thing with Guy (love that he and Tora got married, and now he's rockin' a neo-Viking look!). Also, very nice touch with John, where you essentially let the DC2 version redeem the mistake made by the original: instead of accidentally destroying a planet and being saddled with guilt for years, he saves the universe by absorbing all that rage-energy.
I would like to know more about Hal & Chloe's daughter...will Jess be appearing in any other 10YL books?
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 3, 2016 1:31:04 GMT -5
All these covers look as awesome today as they did when they debuted! I remember being so impressed with GL#20, I saved a copy of it (which I still have on file). The latest cover is gorgeous as well...a fine fit with the great story beneath it. Probably my favorite of all the 10YL tales I've read so far.
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Susan Hillwig
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 2, 2016 20:20:16 GMT -5
Click here to let us know what you think of the issue!
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Susan Hillwig
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 2, 2016 20:18:27 GMT -5
Reckon I should start this off with an apology: it's been nearly three-and-a-half years since WWQ#24 posted, and I take full responsibility for that lag. This entire arc was very difficult for me to write, as it was the most complicated DC2 story I've done to date. Lots of characters to keep track of, lots of stuff going on with them, and lots of buildup to create something that was worthy of all that hassle. In truth, the first part of this -- WWQ#23 -- was going to be entirely different, but it just wasn't pulling together, so it got chucked out the window and only referenced briefly in the second part (all that Black Spider business Thunderborne alludes to and Johnny has a flashback of).
Then, around the time WWQ#24 went up, I got it into my noggin to self-publish my first novel, Swords & Sixguns, as I was sick to death of trying to get it published through traditional channels. Just as I was starting to get those particular ducks in a row, however, my husband lost his job, meaning that it wasn't the right time for me to sink a couple thousand dollars into a venture that would likely bleed money for the first year or so. Also, my DC2 Elseworlds title, Jonah Hex: Shades of Gray, was taking up a good amount of my time, as was the Jonah Hex history project I'd begun in 2011, so WWQ kept falling further and further into the background. Then in 2013, I somehow caught a break, and a publisher showed interest in my novel...and the next thing I knew, I had a signed contract in my hand. Between that and my husband's new job, things were looking up. Sure, I would have to wait until 2016 for the book to be published, but I was okay with that! It gave me time to write the second novel, which now became my primary focus. As much as I love doing fanfic, it's not something I can make money off of, and I'm a notoriously slow writer, so something had to be cut.
Unfortunately, by March 2015, I found myself being the one who was cut. My publisher decided to restructure their company, and let many of their authors go, including myself. We hadn't even gotten to the editing stage with my novel. Knowing I wasn't the only one who got a pink-slip softened the blow a little, but it did put me in a bit of a funk. Luckily, DC2 came a-calling around the same time, as they were organizing a little event you may of heard of called "Ten Years Later", and wanted to know if I would participate. Honestly, I had no idea at first what I could contribute. I wrote in the past, and this event was taking place ten years into DC2's projected future. Plus my two titles already on-site were gathering dust...did I really want to take on a third?
Turned out that, yeah, I did, 'cause there was a certain thing that I'd always planned on doing at DC2 that I just hadn't gotten around to yet. Matter of fact, I'd planned on doing it once WWQ#25 was out of the way. So in my head, that became one of the conditions: if you do this thing, WWQ#25 has to be completed as well so it can be posted first. In the end, both projects took far too damn long for me to write -- then again, so does everything -- but I did it. If you're reading this, then I presume you also read WWQ#25, and I hope it was worth the wait. I can't promise any more issues anytime soon, but I will promise that I'm not through with these cowpokes just yet. There's one more big story I need to tell, and you're just gonna have to wait until I have time to tell it proper.
As for the thing that pulled me back to DC2, it's called HEX: Missing Time, and those of you who've been reading my stuff for the past decade probably have an inkling of what's in store. Seeing as how this is DC2, however, it may not be exactly what you're expecting...when you go down this long road, you may recognize a few things, but the overall scenery will be something new. If you're curious, here's a shortcut that'll give you a lay of the land.
By the way, don't fret about me losing that contract. After months of sitting on my butt, I'm out looking for publishers again, and if nothing pans out, I will move on to self-publishing by the end of this year. You can keep track of my progress on my blog as well as the Facebook page for Swords & Sixguns. Speaking of Facebook, pop on over to Jonah Hex, Via Pony Express if you want to see what our favorite bounty hunter is up to lately (I hear that ugly cuss managed to wrangle his way onto a TV show).
Okay, I've said my piece. Time for y'all to say yours. - Susan Hillwig
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 2, 2016 18:37:54 GMT -5
The sun was getting low in the western sky, casting long shadows over the parched land. A second set of shadows were being cast by the newly-rekindled fires throughout the hacienda: to ensure that none of evil Wise Owl crafted fell into the wrong hands, they decided to burn the entire house to the ground. Lazarus Lane wasn't too happy with the decision, but he could see the merit in it. After moving a few harmless items out of the structure, they went from room to room, putting the torch to anything capable of burning. While the others were hard at work with this task, Scalphunter and Firehair set off on the three-mile trek back to where they'd originally been attacked. It was hoped that most of their supplies could be recovered, including bags of salt and some magical items that would be used to consecrate the hacienda's foundation once the fire was through with it. After what they'd all been though, they were taking no chances. "I grew up in this house," Lane told Hawk as they watched the hacienda burn. "So many memories for me are tied to this place, and now...I'll never be able to think about it without being reminded of that monster and what he did to me. To both of us." Hawk cocked an eyebrow. "Do I detect a note of sympathy towards El Diablo?" "As you said before, we've both suffered, and I'd hoped that, once Wise Owl was dead, whatever he did to bind us together would be undone. But it's still locked up inside me." Lane sighed and said, "We're free, but not of each other." "Don't fret, I've got a lot more friends than those you met here today. If'n there's a way to get the two of you unstuck, we'll do our best to find it. In the meantime, it might not be bad to keep letting that thing out every once in a while. El Diablo seems to have a healthy sense of right and wrong when left to its own devices." "It was literally born to punish people," Lane replied. "I've gleaned that much in all the years we've been together. Its entire purpose in Hell was to torment sinners, but Wise Owl forced it to go after innocents as well. I don't know if it's possible for a demon to feel guilt, but I think El Diablo does on some level. It wants a chance to redeem itself, or at least it says it does." "It's part of your soul, Lane, I don't think it can lie to you." As the two men continued to discuss El Diablo's possible moral standing, the others in their party tended to their wounds. They'd hauled an old divan out of the house earlier to lay Johnny upon while he recovered from his out-of-body experience, and Matt Savage had commandeered a chair so he could take some weight off of his injured leg, which Nighthawk was currently inspecting. Bat Lash sat on the ground next to them, waiting his turn. Kneeling next to the divan, Jeanne brushed her fingers over Johnny's tousled hair. Some of the coal dust he used to disguise its natural color had flaked off, revealing his true blond locks. "I thought for sure I'd lost you," she told him. "Thought I was gone, too." He smiled weakly. "Turned out I was just...changing." "Thank God you changed back. No way we'd be able to explain to folks back in Mesa City why you're suddenly glowing in the dark." They both laughed, but Johnny winced in pain after a moment and held his head. "Still got a headache?" Jeanne asked. "Not as bad as before. Don't feel as sick, either." He tried to sit up, then thought better of it. "Wonder if this will happen every time I let the Thunderbird loose." "Is that what we're calling it? That living lightning bolt you turned into?" "That's what James called it...called me, I should say...but I prefer Johnny Thunder." A pained expression came over his face, more emotional than physical, and he said, "I wish he'd told me about all this sooner. If I'd already known about this power inside me, I could've worked harder to bring it out before we got here. I might've been able to save him." Jeanne rested a hand on her husband's cheek, saying, "You saved the world, John, which is exactly what James Thunderborne hoped you would do. I don't know where his spirit is right now, but wherever he is, I know he's proud of you, and I'm sure his friend Windrunner is proud of you, and so are all those souls you freed when you stripped the power from Wise Owl." "You saw them too?" She nodded. "And I saw something else...I don't know what it was, but it was beautiful." "I think it's where these powers come from. Some kind of...force in the universe, set in motion by God. A sentient force. James's ancestor, He-No, is a part of it, and so's Windrunner, and...I guess I am, when I want to be." He smiled again, more broadly this time. "For right now, though, I think I just want to be plain old John Tane." "Are you suggesting we hang up our guns?" "For a while. At least until the world needs saving again." "Sounds fair." Jeanne leaned over and kissed him. Matt looked over at them from where he sat. "Damn, that Johnny Thunder is one lucky bastard," he said to Nighthawk. "Tell me about it," Nighthawk replied as he finished redressing Matt's wound. "I've always had a weakness for redheads." "What am I missin'?" Bat asked. "Johnny and Madame .44 stripping down naked and making mad passionate love," Matt answered. "You're jokin', right?" "Hell yes, I'm joking....they're still wearing their gunbelts." "That ain't funny!" Lash took a swing at Matt, but only managed to hit the chair. "Here I am, blinded for life, and you're takin' advantage of it!" "I keep telling you: You're not blinded for life," Nighthawk said, moving over so he was sitting on the ground next to him. "You just need to wait for the swelling to go down, and I betcha it already has to a degree." He carefully unwound the bandage covering Bat Lash's eyes. "Looks a little better, though you've got a lovely pair of shiners." "Oh yeah, they're a beaut," Matt added. "You look like you're wearing Hannibal's mask." "You keep it up, Savage, and I may forget that I'm a peaceable man," Lash told him. Matt put a hand on the gambler's shoulder. "Hey, c'mon...you're one of my brother's oldest friends. You know I wouldn't hack on you if I didn't think you couldn't take it." Lash nodded, though the statement reminded him that he'd lost another old friend today. Jonah Hex may've been the meanest man that ever walked the Earth, but neither he nor that Conjura gal had deserved to be crushed to death by a bunch of overgrown weeds. "Let's see how your vision is," Nighthawk said, then lit a match. "I'm gonna try and open your eyelid a bit to see how your pupil reacts to the light, okay?" Bat Lash let out a hiss of pain as Nighthawk touched the left side of his face. "It's contracting...that's good. How well can you see the flame?" "It's pretty bright. You got it close to my face, don'tcha?" "About six inches away." He pulled it back. "How about now?" "Saw it move to the right...my right, I mean. I can see it a little with my other eye." "Okay, that's... ow!" The match had burned down and singed Nighthawk's fingers, causing him to drop it on the ground. "Now it's over to my left. I can barely see the thing." "No, it's not. I dropped it and it went out." "Well, there's some sort of light over thataway, and I daresay it's gettin' brighter." Both Nighthawk and Matt looked in the direction Bat indicated to see an oval of light hanging in the air about thirty feet away from them. It was roughly the size of a dinner plate at the moment, but it was slowly getting larger. "It's Conjura! It's gotta be!" Matt exclaimed. Despite his advanced years, Hawk was the first to reach the portal, which opened not long after. On the other side stood Conjura and Jonah Hex, their clothes torn and numerous scratches on their skin. A piece of shirttail was wrapped around Conjura's right middle finger, the tip of which had been sliced off earlier. Behind them were Scalphunter and Firehair. Hawk held out a hand to help Conjura through, saying to her, "Glad you could join the party, missy." "Very happy to be here." She stumbled into Hawk's arms as she passed over the portal's threshold. "You'll have to excuse me, I'm just about done in." "I can imagine," Jeanne said, supporting her still-weak husband as they approached. "How in the world did you two make it out of there alive?" "I was able to create a shield around us, but it took almost everything I had left to maintain it. Luckily, the roots eventually stopped growing, and Mr. Hex still had his knife, so he was able to cut through most of the mess surrounding us." Conjura nodded towards Scalphunter and Firehair, saying, "Then these fine gentlemen came along and heard us struggling to get out, so they finished the job from the outside." "We were able to find James Thunderborne's body, as well," Firehair said, and set down the blanket-wrapped bundle he'd carried through the portal. "He should be buried in sacred ground, not in this cursed place." "Thank you," Johnny told him quietly. "I think it's time to retire that Confederate coat of yours. It's all ripped to shreds," Scalphunter said to Jonah, who was standing off to the side. In his arms was another, smaller bundle containing Ironjaws. "Ah'll get it patched up, same as always." Jonah looked down at the bundle and added, "Wish everything could be fixed thet easy." "If'n you want to bury your wolf in Echo Valley, you're welcome to," Hawk told him. "I reckon the critter's spirit would be very happy there." "Whut Ah want is the damn money yuh owe me fer participatin' in this here nightmare. After thet, Ah want tuh go an' find a stiff drink or three so's Ah kin forget all about it." Jonah was glaring at the older man, but then he spied Bat Lash standing over by Matt and quipped, "Damnation, Lash, yuh look like a raccoon." "I'm still handsomer than you," Lash answered with a grin, not caring about the insult: knowing that Jonah was alive to make it took some of the sting off. "But I've gotta admit, you're tougher than me." "Ain't hard tuh be tougher'n a daisy-wearin' pretty-boy." Hawk reached into his fringed buckskin jacket and pulled out a large sum of bills. "Thanks for throwing your lot in with us, Hex. I know this job was a little outside your area of expertise, but..." "Stow yer thanks," Jonah said, grabbing the money. "Just point me in the direction of the nearest town whut ain't got a hoodoo on it." "Fifteen miles due north," Hawk replied without hesitation, "and I recommend stopping in the Trailblazer Saloon for those stiff drinks. Tell Don I sent ya." Jonah grunted and started to walk north, not even giving the group a second glance. "Is that man really going to walk fifteen miles across the desert at night with no supplies and carrying a dead wolf?" Lazarus Lane asked in disbelief. "From what my brother's told me...yep, he is," Matt said. "Reckon we'll be making that trek ourselves soon enough," Nighthawk added. "If the rest of you will show more patience than Mr. Hex," Conjura told the group, "I'll gladly ferry everyone home just as soon as I've gathered my strength again. Now that Wise Owl is gone, the lines of force around here are much more pliable." "She's right," Johnny said. "That oppressive feeling that hit us when he first got here is gone. It's like the place is...more vibrant." Hawk nodded. "Reckon it's a good sign. Maybe someday, this area will even be livable again." The old man cast his gaze around the landscape, then looked back at the group, which was discussing all that had come to pass that day. He was about to express his gratitude to them for what they'd done, but the words died in his mouth when he saw a newcomer with a very familiar face standing right next to Johnny Thunder. Eleven long years had passed since Hawk had last seen that face, yet he knew it instantly: Chris Maxwell, the Windrunner, mingling with the men and women who'd banded together to destroy the same evil that had caused him to become lost in the spirit world. Firehair noticed Hawk's shocked expression and went over to him, saying, "Are you alright?" "It's Chris," Hawk finally managed to say. "I can see Chris...he's right there." He pointed towards Johnny, who took no notice of their conversation, nor did any of the others. "I cannot see him," Firehair said with a note of disappointment. "He's fading now," Hawk told him, "but for a moment, I could see him plain as day." "He-No spoke of this. He said Windrunner would return someday, and one of us would be there to see it." "No, it's not that...not yet." He looked at his companion, saying, "I never had the touch as strong as my brother, but I have enough of it to know I just got a glimpse of things to come." "Do we tell them?" Firehair asked. "When the time is right," Hawk replied, glancing over at the group standing before him. "For now, I think it's best to let 'em enjoy our victory for a while, without making them worry about what might be waiting for us up ahead." THE END
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 2, 2016 18:17:30 GMT -5
"Guys, I think we've got some more trouble coming." Matt Savage pointed towards the hacienda a little more than a quarter-mile away. "Those black clouds are starting to form again." "Not surprising, since we're almost on their doorstep now," Nighthawk replied. "Those aren't clouds," Scalphunter said. It's smoke." Jeanne shaded her eyes and stared at the hacienda. Indeed, it did appear that smoke was billowing out of structure. She began to wonder why, then a strange feeling came over her, like she was dreaming with her eyes open. "Johnny," she whispered, swaying on her feet. "I can see him. He's fighting Wise Owl, but he...he's not Johnny anymore, not completely. He's become lightning..." "Windrunner's gift," Firehair said, and gently placed his palms against the sides of Jeanne's face, a marked difference from how roughly he'd treated her earlier. "The power inside Jonathan Thunderbird has finally manifested?" "Yes, but it's not enough. Wise Owl is still..." Jeanne gasped, then staggered back as the trance she was under faded away. "We have to get there! Now!" She started to run towards the hacienda, the Ace of Winchesters gripped tightly in her hands.
* * * * * *
Flames were starting lick their way up the dining room walls, but Wise Owl didn't care. Most of his skin was charred black already from Thunderbird's blows, so there wasn't much more the fire could do to him. Besides, this body only had to last long enough for him to get back upstairs, where he would finish the spell and take the white child's now-empty shell as his own. Once that was done, he would return to claim the power from Thunderbird and leave the white child's soul adrift in the world. Wise Owl moved towards the exit while his plant-creatures -- which continued to spring up from the floor -- kept Thunderbird occupied. How ignorant the child was! All that power at his disposal, yet he only seemed capable of throwing energy bolts. What a waste, Wise Owl thought as he reached the threshold, granting such gifts to the whites. " Step no further, shaman!" El Diablo bellowed from behind him. Wise Owl turned to see the demon jumping down from the hole in the ceiling. The wounds upon El Diablo's chest were not fully healed yet, but the brief period it had spent dwelling within Lazarus Lane had helped it regain some vigor. " The time has come for you to pay for your crimes." "You think you can stop me? I created you, and I can just as easily break you!" As before, Wise Owl reached out towards El Diablo and made a fist...but while the demon did stagger, it did not go down. "The binding spell may be broken, but I can still make you suffer!" Both hands came up now, inches apart, then Wise Owl violently pulled them in opposite directions. For a moment, both Lane and El Diablo were visible at the same time, and both let out a horrific scream as the flesh they shared was twisted in ways that defied all natural laws. Though in the midst of his own battle, Jonathan Thunderbird saw the distress his new ally was in. Focusing inward, he brought forth a huge burst of energy, setting all the plant-creatures ablaze at once, along with nearly everything else in the room. The burst didn't faze El Diablo, but it did surprise Wise Owl, whose concentration slipped enough to let El Diablo shake free of the shaman's tortures. El Diablo's whip cracked in the air, then snaked around Wise Owl's neck and forced him to his knees. Looking at Thunderbird's descending form, the demon said, " Destroying his body won't be enough. We must siphon the magic from his soul, so that he goes to Hell powerless." " How do we do that?" Thunderbird asked in a voice wholly unlike John Tane's. "Let me show you," Wise Owl said, and lunged forward, grabbing Thunderbird's arm with one hand and El Diablo's with the other. Wave after wave of mystical energy was ripped out of both of them, and a greenish-yellow light began to show through the cracks in Wise Owl's blackened skin. " Ignorant! Both of you!" he bellowed as his frail body began to distort from the enormous amount of power pouring into it. " Neither of you deserve to possess such gifts! It should be mine! All of it! Every soul, every god should BOW TO ME!" * * * * * * There was no mistaking it now: the hacienda was on fire. Smoke poured out of every window and the open front door, near which lay Hawk and Johnny. Jeanne reached them first, dropping the rifle so she could pull her husband's body into her arms -- his breathing was shallow, his pulse weak, and his eyes were rolled all the way back in his head. "Oh my God...Johnny? Johnny, wake up. Can you hear me? Wake up!" "He's not there...his soul's outta his body." Hawk propped himself up on one elbow and coughed. "Him and El Diablo are inside the house, fighting Wise Owl." "El Diablo? That thing's on our side now?" Nighthawk asked as he and the others came running up. Hawk nodded. "Freed me and everything. Too bad they couldn't wait until I got Johnny's body clear of the house before setting it ablaze, though." The inhuman voice of a transformed Wise Owl reverberated out of the hacienda, chilling the bones of all who heard it. Carefully laying Johnny's body down again, Jeanne said, "I'm going in there. The rest of you, get Johnny and Hawk clear of this place." "Are you crazy? You'll die in there!" Matt said. "If Johnny's soul gets snuffed out, I'll want to die!" she snapped, then picked up the rifle once again and ran into the house. The heat slammed at her before she even passed through the doorway, and the smoke blinded her instantly. She'd taken a moment to pull her bandana over her mouth and nose before entering, but it offered her little protection. Johnny! she cried out in her mind. I'm coming, but you'll have to guide me. Reach out for me, like you did before. Guidance soon came, but not from her husband: Wise Owl was letting out a bestial roar that assaulted her eardrums. She followed it to what used to be a dining room, but now was a tableau not dissimilar from what one might see in the deepest depths of Hell. Gouts of flame rose up around an eight-foot-tall humanoid figure, its misshapen, charred body alit from within by energies that its form could barely contain. The creature had its hands wrapped around the throats of two limp figures, both of them emaciated, but their features recognizable enough. Jeanne wanted to burst out crying at the sight of Johnny's faintly-glowing form, but she held it back, even as the thing that was once a human named Wise Owl looked down at her and said, " So, the Half-Breed still has a few lambs left for me to slaughter?" "Put them down." Jeanne brought the Ace of Winchesters up to firing position. " You think you can hurt me with that toy?" Wise Owl said with a laugh. She answered by pulling the trigger. The rifle went off with an earsplitting boom, sending its mystically-charged bullet right between Wise Owl's glowing eye sockets. The creature shrieked as its hands instinctively reached for the wound, dropping El Diablo and Thunderbird in the process. " Bitch!" it roared, and was about to lob a ball of white-hot energy at Jeanne when she shot it between the eyes again, then a third time, until parts of its skull began to fly off. The power coursing beneath Wise Owl's charred flesh spurted out of the wounds and whirled about his head like a perverted halo. It lunged at Jeanne, but the bulky beast Wise Owl had become was much slower than the gunfighter, who dodged with ease. It crashed to the ground, then pushed itself up on all fours and turned her way, only to receive another volley of bullets to the face and chest. Despite the damage, Wise Owl kept coming, the mad shaman's soul having transformed into something more powerful than its physical form. Wise Owl screamed at her in a voice that shook the burning rafters, and Jeanne screamed right back, firing one shot after another until the rifle ran dry, forcing her to reload. Seeing its chance, Wise Owl lunged at her again, only to find itself held back by a whip coiling around one of its legs. " You have something that belongs to me, shaman," an exhausted-looking El Diablo rasped. " I would like it back." " Never!" Wise Owl reached back to grab the whip, but before it could do so, Jonathan Thunderbird came up behind it and sank his hands into the turbulent cloud of energy pouring out of Wise Owl's skull. Thunderbird's body instantly regained its former brilliance, then became even brighter as every ounce of mystical power stored within Wise Owl flowed through Thunderbird unchecked. Pure white light soon overtook every corner of the room, snuffing out the flames the moment their energies intermingled. The light also flowed through El Diablo, restoring the powers Wise Owl stole from the demon. As for Jeanne, the light made her feel like a whirlwind was blowing through her mind, filling it with images she could barely comprehend. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of souls brushed past her before flying towards what she perceived to be a rainbow, but her heart knew it was so much more than that. Then it was gone, and she was once more standing in the hacienda's dining room, which was still filled with smoke but no longer burning. Nearby stood El Diablo and Jonathan Thunderbird, and curled up at their feet was a shrunken, charred body that somehow retained a semblance of life. Without a word, Jeanne finished reloading the Winchester, walked up to the body, and pumped bullets into it until the remains of Wise Owl finally crumbled to ash.
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 2, 2016 18:01:21 GMT -5
Someone was driving a railroad spike into the side of Johnny Thunder's head. The blows came at a steady rhythm, sending waves of pain through him with such force that he wanted to cry out, but his mouth refused to open, and his tongue lay fallow behind his teeth. The rest of his body seemed to be having the same problem: no matter how hard he tried, Johnny couldn't even twitch a finger. I'm dead, he thought. Dead and buried and awaiting Judgment. Surprisingly, the notion brought no fear, only sadness, since this meant he wouldn't see Jeanne again until her own time had come. Then he realized that his body wasn't as motionless as he first believed. My heart...I can feel my heart beating...there's breath in my lungs...what is this, then? Why can't I move? Had he been capable of furrowing his brow, he would have, for he now tried to focus upon the sounds around him -- someone close by was talking, but the pain in Johnny's head made it difficult for him to concentrate -- and after a moment or two, the words became clear.
"...expected to have this opportunity once again. It has always galled me that the power of the Windrunner was constantly kept out of my grasp, yet here it is, showing up on my very doorstep, and contained within something far more valuable to me at the moment." Johnny felt a pair of hands press down on his chest, then heard the rip of fabric as those hands tore his shirt open. The motion caused Johnny's head to roll slightly to the left, and his eyes opened just enough to give him a limited view of his surroundings. The room was lit by firelight, and he could make out the dark figure of El Diablo staggering towards a high-backed chair. The person who'd torn his shirt open was standing at the very edge of Johnny's vision, saying, "This will make a fine vessel."
"That's what all this has been about? You've been looking for a new home for your diseased soul?" Despite the gasping, exhausted tone, Johnny recognized the second voice as Hawk's, but was unsure as to where it was coming from. Then he saw the older man pinned against the far wall, his arms spread wide as if crucified, though it was really a thick tangle of thorny vines that held him in place.
"Only in part. In order to fulfill my goals, I need a strong body. One that can withstand the power that will inhabit it. The power already dwelling within this vessel makes it all the more appropriate." The figure moved further into Johnny's field of view, and he was soon gazing upon the infamous Wise Owl, whose bare torso was dripping blood from the patterns carved into his wrinkled flesh. "Ahwehota denied me what the spirits bestowed upon him, as did the thieving white child, but they are both dead now. They can deny me no longer."
"And what of I?" El Diablo rasped, one hand pressed over the gaping wound in its chest, while the other gripped the chair to steady itself. "You promised...once you found a vessel...you would free me. I have served you...killed for you..."
"You only served me because I forced you to," Wise Owl replied. "Do you really think I would be stupid enough to free you, after all the times you tried to turn on me?" He reached out a hand towards El Diablo, then quickly closed it into a fist. Though Wise Owl was nowhere near him, the demon cried out in agony and collapsed onto the chair. Black smoke poured off of its body until the slumped form of Lazarus Lane was revealed. "As soon as I've acclimated to my new body, I'll be taking your power as well," Wise Owl continued, "not that you truly contain that much. Oh, for a body like Lane's, it's a tremendous amount, but had I taken him over like I'd originally planned, the power within me would've torn him to shreds in a day or so. It's fortunate for me that I realized this before I'd begun the transfer." He caressed Johnny's cheek with his mutilated right hand. "That is not the case with you, child. You are perfection."
Johnny wanted to spit in the man's face, but it was impossible. Whether due to the head trauma or Wise Owl's magic, he was frozen in place, unable to do anything but watch as the shaman began to chant in a guttural voice. With his good hand, Wise Owl traced one of the bloody patterns on his chest with the tip of his finger, then reached down to carve an identical pattern on Johnny's own chest, their blood mingling as Wise Owl's jagged fingernail pierced his flesh. It felt like a red-hot poker was being dragged across his skin, but Johnny couldn't scream, he couldn't fight back, he could only lay there as Wise Owl carved unholy obscenities onto a body which would soon no longer belong to John Tane. With every passing second, Johnny's heart banged harder and harder against his ribcage, as if it were trying to force its way out. Then, in the midst of all that pain, a bizarre thought came to him: when the spirits that granted Windunner his power reached into young John's chest eleven years ago and repaired the damage done by Black Spider, they had literally touched his heart. And now that heart was beating faster, not from pain or fear, but from the need to release what had been laying dormant within for so long. Johnny did his best to block out everything around him and concentrate on his heartbeat. He needed to bring forth whatever power had been granted him, to let go of both John Tane and Johnny Thunder...to embrace his third self, Jonathan Thunderbird...
Lightning exploded out of Johnny's chest, blowing Wise Owl backward -- he collided with Lane's chair hard enough to knock both it and Lane to the floor. After taking a moment to recover from the shock, Wise Owl looked over and saw a being of pure energy floating above the altar, upon which Johnny's human body still lay. The smell of burning ozone hung in the air as tendrils of lightning crackled off of the being, which was glaring down at Wise Owl with eyes like miniature suns. Then it dove at the shaman, striking him with enough force to shatter the floorboards and causing the two of them to fall into the disused dining room below. Even after they hit the ground floor, the being continued to strike Wise Owl with his fists, searing the man's skin with every impact. The smell of charred flesh began to fill the air, but what had formerly been John Tane took no notice of it: his mind and spirit were overwhelmed by the power of the Thunderbird, now unfettered for the first time since it joined with young John's dying body. His human morals were forgotten, his sense of mercy brushed aside, and his doubts about taking a person's life dissolved to nothing.
Wise Owl barked out a guttural phrase, and soon a great hand took hold of Jonathan Thunderbird from behind and threw him across the room. Thunderbird recovered quickly, turning in the air to see a massive plant-creature emerging from the floor, blocking Wise Owl from view. "You can wound my body all you like, child," the shaman cackled, "but you cannot stop the magicks that flow though me!"
Though the plant-creature was anchored to the floorboards from which it spawned, it had a long reach, and it soon took hold of its opponent again with its bark-covered hands. Thunderbird lashed out with a bolt of energy, setting the plant-creature alight, but more sprang into existence. They burned as well, filling the room with billows of smoke that began to drift up through the hole above and into the room where Hawk was still pinned to the wall by vines. He wished he could see what was going on down on the first floor, but try as he might, be couldn't get free -- while Hawk was pretty spry for a seventy-one-year-old man, there was only so much he could do.
As Hawk continued to struggle, a groan came from behind the toppled chair, which lay at the very edge of the hole in the floor. Hawk looked towards it and saw Lazarus Lane, his eyes wide and full of desperation, trying to crawl away from the chair that had been his prison for far too long. "Lane!" Hawk called out in surprise. "How in blazes are you managing that?" Then he realized the majority of the binding spell carved into the floor had been destroyed, allowing Lane a chance to escape, especially since -- going by the sounds of battle downstairs -- Wise Owl was rather distracted. "Can you stand up?"
Lane shook his head, gasping out, "Can't...too weak." He looked up at Hawk. "Who..."
"I'm a friend, Lane. Been working to rescue you for a long time." Hawk managed a grin. "How do ya like it so far?"
Lane didn't seem amused. "This thing inside me...can you...can you kill it?"
"I don't know. Right now, our priority is killing Wise Owl...and I think that thing inside you might be able to help with that. If you can let out it..."
"No!" Lane shouted, belying his earlier signs of weakness. "No, it's a monster! It can't be trusted! I'd rather die than have it take me over again!"
"El Diablo may be a monster, but it's been suffering for the past six years right alongside you, all because of an even bigger monster. If you want to live to see another day, then the two of you are gonna have to come to some sort of an agreement, and fast!"
Lane lowered his head for a moment. When he brought it back up again, his eyes had become glowing red embers. "The shaman has escaped judgment for far too long," El Diablo spoke with Lane's lips. "The souls of the innocent dead cry out for his destruction, and I am more than willing to carry out their command."
"You join our cause, and I'll see what we can do about freeing you both," Hawk said. "The Son of Tomahawk always keeps his word."
El Diablo nodded Lane's head in acknowledgment, then howled in pain as the transformation began once more.
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Susan Hillwig
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I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 2, 2016 17:49:15 GMT -5
Wise Owl stood on a balcony facing southeast, watching the group from afar. While he couldn’t see them clearly from this distance, he could feel the identity of two of them. He ground his teeth, seething over the realization that one of the Half-Breeds still lived after all these years. Yet this was tempered by the fact that the power bestowed upon the thieving white child was within his reach once more. Preparations had to be made, and thanks to the success he previously had in this area, Wise Owl knew it could be done more quickly this time. But first, this new child had to be brought into his lair in one piece. He held his hands out, palms toward the sky, and started to chant. There were few white clouds hanging above the hacienda, and as the chant grew more guttural, those clouds darkened, spreading out across the blue like a quantity of ink dropped into water. As soon as the entire house was cast in shadow, strange noises began to emanate from inside: shuffling, grunting, syllabic rhythms that could roughly be deemed a language. And cutting through all of it was the scream of a man who hadn’t known a moment’s peace in over six years. * * * * * *
“How’s things lookin’ out there so far?” Bat Lash was taking careful steps, one hand held out in front of him and the other holding on to the back of Firehair’s belt. “You’ll tell me if trouble’s comin’, right?” There was no answer. “I know you ain’t much of a talker, but could you at least grunt or something?” “I will tell you.” Firehair was beginning to think it would have been better to simply leave Lash where he’d fallen earlier. It didn’t appear that the damage his eyes had taken would be permanent -- the vine had carved a shallow yet bloody gouge just below his eyebrows, while the lids were nearly swollen shut from the impact -- but they’d applied a bandage in order to protect him from further harm. This meant someone had to guide the gambler as they continued on their journey, and Firehair volunteered for the job, not thinking of how much Lash was in love with the sound of his own voice. “Maybe I’m just imagining things,” Lash said, a little louder so everyone else could hear, “but does it feel a mite chillier all of the sudden? Not that a cool breeze is unwelcome...” Firehair was beginning to consider stuffing a bandana into Lash’s mouth when Nighthawk chimed in, “He’s right, it does feel colder.” The masked man then noticed that their shadows upon the ground appeared to be dimming. Looking up, he realized why. “Something’s on its way!” he called out as black clouds filled the sky, propelled along by a wind that got fiercer by the minute. “What do you think? Fire raining down from the heavens?” he asked Hawk. The older man shook his head, saying, “No, this is just cover for him.” Hawk pointed straight ahead at the figure on horseback heading their way. “Should’ve known Wise Owl wouldn’t let a little thing like sunlight keep him from using his pet demon.” “I think we have more to worry about than just El Diablo,” Scalphunter said. Though still quite a distance away, they could faintly see other figures following in the horseman’s wake. “Didn’t Conjura say there aren’t any more like him?” Matt asked his brother. “Perhaps they aren’t...but that doesn’t mean they can’t be just as dangerous.” Hawk turned to Johnny and said, “I want you front and center. The second he gets in range, give him everything you got. Let the rest of us worry about his friends.” Johnny nodded, then got down on one knee and trained the Winchester upon his approaching target. Jeanne took up a position on his right, and Hawk on his left. From there, the others spread out to create a line of guns pointed straight at the advancing enemy. Even Bat Lash was put in position on the far right end, flat on his belly with a scattergun so as to not accidentally swing it around when it kicked. As the enemy drew near, Hawk and his group could see that what followed El Diablo was certainly not human. There were twenty of them, and though some had a humanoid shape, they otherwise appeared to be twisted beasts. Asymmetry abounded, with no two creatures looking alike, just strange amalgamations of fur and scales and misshapen lumps of skin, as if Wise Owl had stitched them together from whatever carcasses he got a hold of. Some had rows of razor-sharp teeth, others had tusks, and a few no visible mouth at all, which they made up for with claws like railroad spikes. Many ran on all fours, easily keeping pace their leader, while a few rode animals of their own, just as twisted as what they bore upon their backs. Hawk had told them all tales of the nightmares Wise Owl had unleashed on Echo Valley, and while it appeared that the shaman had crafted these things anew, that knowledge did nothing to assuage the fear they all felt. “Steady, everyone,” Hawk called out over the wind howling past their ears, “let them get in range.” A beat passed, then another, and then... “ Now! Open fire!” The boom caused by the Ace of Winchesters nearly drowned out the sound of the other guns. A few of the approaching creatures went down immediately, and while El Diablo had screamed and doubled over when the rifle slug sank into its upper chest, it still rode towards the group. Johnny cocked and fired again, trying for a head shot this time -- not easy to do with a moving target at such a distance -- but instead plugged the demon’s horse, which appeared to melt beneath its rider the second the bullet tore through it. El Diablo tumbled to the ground, a sight that made Nighthawk let out a whoop even as he continued to fire his own gun. “Don’t start celebrating just yet,” Matt Savage said to him. “The bastard’s trying to get up.” “Not if I can help it,” Johnny said, taking aim at his now-stationary target. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, though, El Diablo reached beneath its cloak and pulled out a whip, casting it out towards Johnny like a fisherman looking to hook a trout. There was a good thirty feet between Johnny and El Diablo, but the whip appeared to grow as the tip of it sailed through the air, finally wrapping around the Winchester’s barrel. With the flick of the demon’s wrist, the gun was torn out of Johnny’s hands and flung out of reach, thus removing their “ace in the hole” from the equation. Letting out a laugh that chilled all who heard it, El Diablo cracked the impossibly-long whip over their heads as the surviving creatures overwhelmed Hawk’s group. Firehair grabbed hold of Bat Lash and yanked him away from a reptilian horror that spotted the blinded gambler as easy prey -- three quick gunshots from Firehair’s pistol took care of the scaly problem permanently. Something that could only be described as a shaved grizzly with a gaping, slobbering maw where its chest should be tackled Nighthawk and tried to pull him into its belly-mouth -- only the combined assault of the Savage brothers was able to kill the abomination before it consumed the masked man. And through this chaos waded El Diablo, a hand pressed over the gaping wound in its upper chest -- though obviously in pain from the damage dealt upon it by the Ace of Winchesters, that wasn’t enough to deter it from advancing upon Johnny Thunder and Madame .44, both of whom were alternately running and blasting away at it with their pistols (which didn't faze it in the least). Lucky for them, Jeanne had spotted one of Scalphunter's enchanted knives sticking out of the corpse of some half-squid/half-human creature, and after pulling it free, she managed to throw it directly at El Diablo's whip hand, causing the demon to drop the whip and giving them some breathing room as they tried to reach the spot where the rifle had fallen. As the Ace of Winchesters came within sight, Johnny said to his wife, “Go and grab it, I’ll hold this thing off!” “If you think I’m going to leave your side, you’re crazy!” “I’ll be fine, now go!” Johnny tried targeting the wound El Diablo had already suffered, in the hope that normal bullets might aggravate the injury, while Jeanne made a beeline for the rifle. She managed to reach it unscathed -- the magical aura surrounding the weapon kept Wise Owl’s creatures at bay -- but cursed under her breath when she saw that the tip of the barrel had embedded itself in the dirt when it landed. Now she had to waste precious seconds clearing out the blockage in order to fire the rifle. Without pausing in her work, Jeanne glanced over to see Johnny still blazing away at El Diablo’s approaching form. Her husband had turned slightly so that their path no longer led towards her -- whether this was a conscious decision on his part or accidental, she didn’t know -- and going by the demon’s posture, its only concern now was the gunman in front of it, not the woman who’d fled. That’ll make it all the easier for me to shoot you in the back, she thought, clearing the last bit of dirt from the barrel. But before she could turn that thought into deed, she heard the double click of the hammers on Johnny’s guns hitting empty cylinders, followed by El Diablo’s maniacal laughter as it leapt at the hero. The two of them hit the ground and grappled in the dirt, with El Diablo’s clawed hands occasionally drawing blood. It was almost impossible to get a clear shot with them wrestling about, but Jeanne knew she had to try, so she took aim with the rifle and fired, only to watch in horror as the bullet hit El Diablo square in the back, then passed right through with such force that it clipped Johnny in the side of the head. Madame .44’s scream of anguish echoed across the battlefield as El Diablo slowly rose up, one hand wrapped around the throat of Johnny Thunder, whose face was bathed in blood as red as the shirt he wore. El Diablo was bleeding as well: a black, viscous substance was oozing from the demon's gaping wounds, but it seemed to pay the damage no mind, not now that it had seized its quarry. Jeanne knew she had to lift the Winchester and fire again, but the enchanted rifle was like a ten-ton weight in her hands, and soon fell to the ground once more. She'd become a white-clad statue, mutely looking on as Hawk ran up to El Diablo and, letting out a scream of his own, swung the stock of his flintlock rifle so hard against the demon's head that the weapon shattered. Surprisingly, the blow caused El Diablo to stagger, but it soon seized Hawk by the throat as well, followed by flames erupting around all three figures -- within seconds, they were gone from sight. The wind died down, and the black clouds in the sky rolled away. All of this went unnoticed by the remaining gunfighters, who were preoccupied with the task of wiping out Wise Owl's lesser minions. It wasn't until after the last of the creatures had been felled that they noticed Madame .44 standing alone, the rifle still laying at her feet. Firehair was closest, so he went over and picked up the rifle, asking Jeanne, "Where is Jonathan Thunderbird?" She didn't answer him, didn't even look his way, so he roughly cupped her chin with his hand and turned her face towards him. "Where is Jonathan Thunderbird?" he asked again, more loudly this time, practically a shout compared to his usual low tones. "He's dead," she finally told him. Though tears had begun to fall from her eyes, her voice was steady. "They were fighting, so I took the rifle and shot El Diablo, but the bullet...it hit both of them. The bullet hit Johnny in the head." "Are you sure?" Nighthawk was standing there now as well, with the Savage brothers and Bat Lash -- one hand clamped onto Scalphunter's arm -- not far behind. "I saw his head snap back. Even if the bullet didn't kill him, El Diablo has probably finished the job by now." "But where are they now?" Matt asked. "Did El Diablo do that 'vanish in a puff of flame' trick?" Jeanne nodded, saying, "He took Hawk as well." The six of them fell silent as the information sunk in. So far, half of their party had been eliminated -- including their leader and both magic-users -- and they hadn't even reached the hacienda yet, which still lay about a mile from their position, a white smudge on the horizon. Until that moment, the possibility of all of them dying had been only that, but now their deaths appeared to have become a certainty. None of them would live to see tomorrow. They might not even live long enough to see the sun go down. The only uncertainly left was whether or not Wise Owl would die before they did. Despite this, they all knew they had to keep fighting, right down to the last man or woman. No matter who'd already fallen or why, the battle wasn't over yet, not by a long shot. Nighthawk reached out for the rifle, but Jeanne laid her hands on it first, taking it from Firehair. "Let me do this, Hannibal," she said when the masked man gave her a questioning look. "You don't have to," he replied. "It's my fault we lost Johnny and Hawk. I froze when I should've been pumping El Diablo full of lead." Her voice took on a hard edge. "If I let you take this gun from me, then I have no way of rectifying that mistake." Nighthawk wanted to tell her she wasn't to blame for what happened, but he knew a thing or two about guilt, and no amount of reassurance from him would relieve her of the burden that was currently engulfing her heart and soul. "In that case, you'll need these." He removed a leather pouch that had been hanging from his belt, then handed it to her, saying, "Extra bullets. Best make sure the thing's loaded for bear before we get to the hacienda."
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Susan Hillwig
Staff
I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 2, 2016 17:39:39 GMT -5
Dawn came, and camp was broke quickly, with breakfast consisting of a few bites of hardtack and jerky washed down with a slug of bitter coffee. Equipment was checked, mounts prepared, and weapons loaded, all in relative silence. A heavy feeling hung over the group, one that those who’d been to war were familiar with. It stemmed from the notion that their lives could very well be snuffed out by day’s end, yet their sense of duty and honor prevented them from doing the sensible thing and avoiding the danger that lay before them. Right before they saddled up, James Thunderborne had them all stand in a line, then he walked in front of them with a sheaf of burning herbs, casting the smoke over each member of the party as he invoked blessings from He-No, the Thunderbird, to ensure the safety of their mission. Bat Lash, who was still uncomfortable with the hoodoo portion of this adventure, winced and held his breath when James passed before him. When the shaman was finished, Hawk stood before them and said in a authoritative voice, “As many of you know, my father led a special group during the Revolutionary War. They carried out some very dangerous missions, ones that the average soldier wouldn’t be able to handle. Not many people in Washington’s army knew at the time what Tomahawk and his Rangers were doing, and just saw the lot of them as oddities, the sort of fellas that couldn’t get along in regular ranks. I reckon that the world looks at most of us gathered here the same way: oddities, outcasts, unfit for civilized society. But just like the Rangers, we are willing to do what the average man can’t. Now, what happens today won’t likely be written down in any books or sung about in some tavern, but that doesn’t make it any less important. My father and his men fought to give this country a future free of tyranny, while we’re fighting to make sure it still has a future. So no matter what you see today, no matter what unimaginable Hell is thrown at us, this mission isn’t over until Wise Owl is dead and his ashes scattered to the four winds. Even if it comes down to just one of us left standing, that person will have to make sure the mission is finished today, or else there may not be a tomorrow.” Hawk took a moment to look over the men and women assembled before him, then said in a less stern tone, “Anybody wants to bow out, this is your last chance.” No one so much as twitched. “Alright, I’m through speechifying.” Hawk went over to his horse, saying, “Boots and saddles, people! We’re burning daylight.” * * * * * * They traveled across the desert, eleven people on horseback and one lone wolf trotting along behind, their shadows stretching far in the morning sun. Johnny Thunder led the charge, flanked by Madame .44 and Nighthawk. The Ace of Winchesters lay across Johnny’s lap, one hand upon the stock to hold it steady -- there was no telling when or where an attack from Wise Owl could commence, so it seemed best to keep the weapon at the ready. Puerta Del Sol (or rather what remained of it) was to be their first stop, in order to assess the lay of the land should El Diablo put them on the run, then they’d proceed onward to the hacienda of Lazarus Lane five miles beyond the town. They knew that, if they managed to get into the house itself, the battle would likely turn into close-quarters fighting, making it difficult for gunplay, be it enchanted or no. However, drawing Wise Owl out into the open was dangerous as well, as it could lead to the possibility of him getting away. There was no “perfect” battlefield in this war, so they’d have to improvise as they went along. As they approached the border of Puerta Del Sol, everyone in the group felt a sense of unease press down upon them. Even the horses’ steps began to falter, and Ironjaws let out a low whine and tucked its tail between its legs. Conjura and James appeared to be affected the worst by it, cringing in their saddles as if being assaulted by a hard rain. “Feels like I cain’t breathe,” Bat Lash muttered, and yanked off the kerchief tied around his neck. “Is this normal ‘round here?” “It didn’t used to be this bad,” Matt Savage explained to him and the newer members of the group, “but the longer Wise Owl’s been leaching the life outta this place, the worse it’s gotten. The last of the townsfolk went crazy and died ‘bout two years back.” “It’s gonna get the stronger the closer we get, ain’t it?” Jonah asked. “Afraid so.” They spent little time there, with only Scalphunter and Firehair dismounting to check on the interior of a few buildings, making sure they were sound enough for fallback positions. After deeming them good, the group headed northwest towards the hacienda. One could tell that the surrounding area had once been picturesque, but now the tall grasses had turned yellow and brittle, and the few trees dotting the landscape were withering, the wood becoming gnarled like arthritic hands. All the while, the oppressive feeling pushed down upon the group like a physical weight. Then, less than three miles from their destination, Nighthawk’s horse let out a scream and fell to the earth, but he managed to fling himself clear so as to not get pinned beneath it. The animal flailed on the ground, seemingly mad, then Nighthawk saw the source of the trouble: an ugly-looking root spiraling around the horse’s left foreleg, with thorny protrusions sinking into its flesh. He barely had time to comprehend it when an identical root shot up from the ground behind him and took hold of his waist. “Everyone, spread out!” the Son of Tomahawk shouted, even as he drove his own horse towards Hannibal. Before he can even get close, all the earth around the group erupted in a tangle of roots that clutched at whatever happened to cross their path. The horses, being closer to the ground than the riders, were the first victims, and soon everyone was on the ground as they either jumped from their saddles like Nighthawk or fell to the earth with their mounts. The moment they were down, the roots didn’t hesitate, slithering like snakes across the parched soil to entangle the feet and arms of whomever got near. As some of the roots reached out for Johnny, he instinctively opened fire with the Winchester, shattering them on contact. The rest of the group followed suit, shooting whatever came near them, and it was quickly deduced that this plant matter, while magical, was just as vulnerable to regular bullets as any old flora could be: the moment they were severed from the ground, they shriveled up and died. The same effect could be achieved with knives, as Jonah soon discovered, using his Bowie to cut Firehair loose from the root that threatened to strangle him. No sooner had he freed the Blackfoot warrior when another mass of roots sprang at the two men, but before they reached their target, Ironjaws leapt up and sank its teeth into the roots, wrestling with them like they were a nest of vipers. Jonah sliced through the roots as fast as he could, but by the time the job was done, he realized it was too late: just like the horses within the first moments of battle, the roots had crushed Ironjaws to death. The bounty hunter allowed himself only a moment to touch the wolf’s still form before he and Firehair moved on to help someone else. All the while, the roots kept bursting out of the ground, as if a forest had suddenly decided to grow in the middle of nowhere. In the midst of this chaos stood James and Conjura, each one playing the skills they were best at. Conjura had prepared a few spells in advance the night before, and was now manifesting a wall of force around her body. So far, she’d managed a four-foot radius around herself, within which sat Scalphunter as he tended to Matt Savage, whose left thigh had been run through by one of the hardier roots -- his brother had sliced the root to pieces before the two of them took shelter within the perimeter of Conjura’s shield. Meanwhile, James was casting out powder from his medicine bag, sanctifying the soil around him so that the roots couldn’t penetrate. Madame .44 spotted what he was doing and tried to make her way over to him, saying, “How much of that do you have?” “Enough, I hope.” James took out a pinch and threw it as far as he could, the amount seeming to grow as the wind took it. “Think you can cover three miles with it?” She pointed in the direction of the hacienda. He spared a moment to look, then said, “I doubt I could cover the entire distance, but it’d be a start.” He took up a larger amount of powder and threw it northwestward, clearing a path roughly four feet wide and twenty feet long. “Find Jonathan while I start forging ahead.” Jeanne’s task wasn’t all that hard, for the Ace of Winchesters made a very distinctive boom every time Johnny pulled the trigger. “Head this way!” she shouted, grabbing hold of his shoulder and turning him towards the path. The others soon caught on and followed, all of them running as fast as they could down the narrow strip of land James had sanctified. Johnny and Jeanne were right behind the shaman, followed by Bat Lash, Firehair, Jonah, and Hawk, who kept looking back at Hannibal -- the roots had wrapped around him hard enough to crack a few of his ribs, making it difficult for the masked man to catch his breath. Scalphunter supported Matt as they ran, and Conjura took up the rear, her slim legs pumping like mad to keep up with the rest of the group. Though the path they tread was safe, the roots could still reach them from above and the sides to a degree -- tiny vine-like tendrils whipped out at them, drawing blood but never taking hold. One of them slashed Bat across the eyes so hard that he fell to the ground, causing the members of the group behind him to come to a halt. “Get up, yuh dandified horse’s-ass!” Jonah yelled. “We cain’t exactly go around yuh!” “I can’t see... I can’t see!” The panic in the gambler’s voice was plain as he lay in the middle of the path, blood spattered across his face. Without a word, Firehair grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him to his feet, pushing him forward. Johnny and Jeanne were much further ahead of the rest of the group now, unaware of the lag, and James had a decent lead on them as well, still scattering the powder from his medicine bag before them. They’d crossed over a half-mile in this fashion, and he noticed that the amount of powder in the bag was becoming rather low. He turned slightly, intent on telling the others this fact, unaware that the last handful he’d thrown out hadn’t completely covered the ground he was about to step on. The moment James touched one of the unsanctified spots of earth, a gnarled root as thick around as a man’s leg shot up, spearing him right through the abdomen and exploding out his back. It continued to grow in the middle of the path into a grotesque black-barked tree, as if feeding off of the shaman’s blood. The entire group stared wordlessly at this, unable to comprehend at first what they were seeing, then Johnny pointed the Winchester at the base of the tree and began firing, one explosive shot after another, until the tree split and fell over. James’s body was high above the path by that point, and when it came down, it landed in a tangle of roots a good fifteen feet away and was immediately swallowed up. More roots soon blocked the path in front of them, and Hannibal let out a yelp when he saw tiny shoots coming up from one of their footprints left in the powder. Hawk looked back to where Conjura stood and barked, “We need a way out of here, right now!” “This isn’t going to be easy,” she replied, holding her hands out before her and moving them in slow circles. “Wise Owl’s tangled up all the magical lines of force nearby. I have to find a way through the mess before I can make a portal.” “I ain’t asking you to make it pretty, missy, just do it fast!” Conjura nodded as she continued to work her magic. The strain of her task was plain to see on her face, but soon a shimmering oval appeared in the air. The others in the group were mesmerized by the sight, briefly forgetting all about the creeping green that had begun to brush their boots. “This isn’t going to be very big,” she gasped. “Don’t worry, we’ll manage.” Hawk gestured to Firehair, saying, “We’ll toss Lash through first, then you follow, so’s we can help Savage and Hawkes slide through.” As he talked, Conjura opened up the portal as wide as she could, pulling at the edge of it with all her might in order to keep it open -- there was barely enough room for a full-grown man to pass, but under the circumstances, it would have to do. Hawk climbed through the portal with a spryness that surprised a few of them, then turned around and grabbed onto Bat Lash’s shoulders, guiding the still-blinded man through as Firehair pushed from behind. The action was repeated with the other injured members of their party, then Johnny helped Jeanne through before going himself, the Ace of Winchesters gripped tightly in his hand. Scalphunter turned to Hex, who looked unusually nervous. “What’s the matter?” “Ah’m beginnin’ tuh regret lettin’ yuh talk me into this.” Hex gestured at the portal, saying, “Where’s thet hole lead?” “Presumably somewhere that these crazy plants aren’t.” “Sounds lovely.” “Come on, you two!” Hawk yelled through the portal. “No more lollygagging!” Jonah snapped at him, “Ah’m gettin’ there, dammit! Why don’t yuh yell at the girl? She’s standin’ right there next tuh y’all!” “Because I can’t leave,” Conjura told them. “The magic around us...keeps fighting back. Doesn’t like what I...” She cried out as her grip on the portal’s edge slipped a little, but she managed to keep it open. “The second I let go, the portal will disappear.” The Kiowa warrior blanched as he realized what she was saying. “I’m not going to leave you here to be smothered by these things!” “Sometimes...you can be...just as stubborn as your brother.” As exhausted as she was, she still managed to fix a hard glare on him as she said, “Will you get going already?” Not liking it one bit, Scalphunter did as she asked and climbed through the portal, his wide-shouldered frame scraping the edges. Once he was safely on the other side, he turned back to see Jonah finally approaching the portal. He reached out a hand, intent on pulling his friend through as fast as possible. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Scalphunter saw Conjura’s fingers slide off the edge of the portal one by one -- he yanked his arm back just as the portal slammed shut. The only thing that marked where it had been was a bloody, dark-skinned fingertip, which hung in the air for a moment before falling to the ground. Once the portal was gone, everyone’s attention became focused on the ever-growing thicket, which was now over a mile away. The roots wove in and out of themselves, making it impossible to see what could be happening within, but they all had a decent notion. Johnny reached out and tightly took hold of Jeanne’s hand as the full realization of James Thunderborne’s death sank in. The loss of Conjura and Hex was hard to take as well, but James had been a close friend and mentor. Losing him hit Johnny just as hard as losing Jeanne or his father would. Unfortunately, now was not the time to mourn, a fact that Hawk made clear when he told the group, “We have to keep going.” The Son of Tomahawk then turned to face northwest once more -- their passage through the portal had cut the remaining distance to the hacienda in half. “Five minutes to reload and bandage wounds, then we’re back on the march.” One last squeeze, then Johnny let go of his wife’s hand and began to reload the Winchester.
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Susan Hillwig
Staff
I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Feb 2, 2016 17:31:45 GMT -5
Weird Western Quarterly
Issue #25: “At War with the Devil, Part 3: Battleground” Written by: Susan Hillwig Cover by: Joe Jarin Edited by: Mark Bowers 1872:
“We’ll ride out at dawn,” Hawk told those assembled before him, the light from the lanterns scattered about the barn playing off of their faces. “There’s never been a sighting of El Diablo in the daylight, which we hope means he can’t be out in the day, or at least he might be weaker. I know, that’s kinda thin, but we’ll need any damn edge we can get over Wise Owl and his pet demon.”
“Y’all positive Wise Owl’s only got the one?” Jonah Hex asked, leaning against a support post.
Conjura stepped forward and replied, “The torment Lazarus Lane’s soul suffers is unique to him. I have searched the astral plane thoroughly for the past six years, and have found no one else under Wise Owl’s thrall.”
“Are we really trustin’ the word of some colored hoodoo gal?” Bat Lash whispered, leaning towards Scalphunter. “I like to think of myself as a proper Christian, an’ all this jabber ‘bout demons an’ prognostication makes me antsy.”
“I was the same for a good long while,” Matt Savage, who was standing beside Scalphunter, told the gambler. “Shut your mouth and open your brain, it’ll get easier with time.”
“Fella ain’t got no brain tuh open,” Jonah muttered, then said to Hawk, “Ah want tuh get a closer look at thet gun afore we head out, too.” He indicated Johnny Thunder and Nighthawk, saying, “Ah know these two are the ones yuh’ve trusted with it, but if’n they fall, somebody’s gonna have tuh pick it up.”
From his position beside Hawk, Firehair gave a slight nod to Hex, his way of complimenting the man for his forward thinking. As for Hawk himself, he said, “I pray it doesn’t come to that, but you’ve got a point. If’n you want a nickel tour of the Ace of Winchesters, come see me after the meeting. Same goes for anybody else who wants to get some practice in.” His eyes swept over the group as he asked, “Are there any other questions? Other concerns?” No one spoke up, so Hawk told them, “Okay, then. Anything comes to mind later, don’t be afraid to ask before we head out. I want everyone to be well aware of what they’re getting into.”
“I kind of wish I wasn’t aware,” Madame .44 whispered to Johnny as the group began to break up, many of them heading out of the barn to either familiarize themselves with the gun or to start up a cooking fire for supper. The sun was rapidly sinking in the west, and she knew that meant Johnny was that much closer to his appointment with destiny in Puerta Del Sol. Though she supported his decision to follow Hawk and James Thunderborne into battle (and was more than willing to ride alongside him when he did), the notion that they could all die in their attempt to bring down Wise Owl kept giving her pause.
Johnny, who was in no rush himself to meet his maker, took his newly-wedded wife’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t take this wrong, but I’d feel better if you gave the Winchester a look as well, just in case...”
“I expect that sort of talk from a pessimist like Jonah Hex, but not from you.”
“I consider it being a realist. Speaking of Hex, was I imagining things, or was he giving you a real hard stare earlier?”
“He must’ve recognized me,” she answered reluctantly. “I met him briefly as Jeanne Walker on that trip I took to Cheyenne. I came across him being amorous with someone other than his wife.”
Johnny did a double-take at that. “Someone married him? Must be the bravest woman in the world.”
“You’d be surprised. Maybe I’ll tell you about the whole sordid affair sometime, when things are less perilous.”
The two of them walked outside and headed over to an open field near the barn, where Hawk was letting Hex, Lash, and the Savage brothers take turns shooting the Winchester -- Ironjaws, Jonah’s pet wolf, paced around the group, as if unsure of what to make of the weapon and its master’s handling of it. Nighthawk stood a little ways off, and he gave Johnny and Madame .44 a nod as they approached, saying to her, “Come to watch your man squeeze off a few rounds?”
“John thinks I should spend some time with the gun as well,” Jeanne answered. “Personally, it feels to me like we're asking for trouble.” They watched as Scalphunter took aim at a makeshift target. “Are the bullets magic too?” she asked Nighthawk.
“Not when they go in. The rifling inside the barrel carves an incantation of sorts into the bullets as they fly out. That’s one of the few holdovers from Jeff Graham’s design.” Nighthawk lowered his voice. “Frankly, if I make it out of this alive, I am never playing around with magic of any sort ever again. The stuff’s too damn finicky."
“You’re not helping, Hannibal,” Johnny replied, then he and Jeanne stepped up to take a turn with the Winchester. She had some difficulty with the weapon’s kick, which was more powerful than the average rifle, but her aim was spot-on despite it. As for Johnny, he’d practiced with the gun quite a few times already, and it seemed to grow more comfortable in his hands with every shot. He wondered if he’d still be so at ease when facing Wise Owl. Never even heard of the man until last week, and now here I am, fixing to kill him the moment he falls into my sights, Johnny thought as he squeezed the trigger once more. I’m not like these other men here, I’m not comfortable with killing anybody, no matter what they’ve done. His father had been a lawman for decades, and had taken the lives of many outlaws because it was necessary. Was this situation with Wise Owl, a known madman without remorse, any different?
After supper, bedrolls were brought out, with half of the group settling into the barn. Hawk and Firehair already had a tent set up outside, as did Conjura, and the Tanes chose to do the same. Their friends back in Mesa City believed they were on their honeymoon (save for John’s father, who didn’t act all too surprised when told the truth), and the irony wasn’t lost on the two of them as they laid down together that night. For all they knew, these could be their last moments together, and that most likely fueled Jeanne and John’s passion for each other as the stars wheeled through the night sky. When they were through, and Jeanne slept soundly in his arms, John silently prayed to the Lord for her safety tomorrow, even if such deliverance could only come at the cost of his own life.
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Susan Hillwig
Staff
I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Nov 20, 2015 13:01:19 GMT -5
RETCON ALERT!The name of the killer angel who appears in this issue has been changed to Asmodel, to avoid confusion with that other angel named Zauriel, an established DC2 character who appears in DC2: Nemesis, and is most certainly NOT the character included in this issue. My bad. You might want to give the story another sweep: I was still finding references to Zauriel, and it was rather confusing, especially when I'd see both Zauriel and Asmodel named in the same paragraph!
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Susan Hillwig
Staff
I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.
Posts: 1,612
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Post by Susan Hillwig on Sept 21, 2015 0:33:03 GMT -5
Wonderful issue here! Considering that we're, in a way, jumping in cold due to this being in DC2's future, it flowed perfectly from one scene to the next. Lois's career move from reporter to Challenger does seem odd on the surface, but when you take into account Superman's disappearance, it makes sense: she wants to be ready for when he comes back, just in case trouble is following him. I also agree that "lunaticks" is a great name for those bugs!
As for the Knights and their holiday adventures...yes, I wrote a Christmas tale that revolved around Jack Knight, and was set just after David joined the JSA and moved to Metropolis. It was a one-off, so what happened to the sons of Starman in later years is up to other folks.
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