NYC, the Bronx.
The earth shook. The first wave of bombardment shook the earth from its very core. Isaac fell back on his back and nearly split his head on the cold floor. The furniture in his room shifted and his small television nearly fell off of its small wooden stand. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. The shakes continued to torment the city, quickly finding their rhythm. Blood curling screams filled the streets – screams that were not human.
Isaac recognized those screams. He penned them himself when he was younger and more prolific. He crawled to the center of the room and opened his television, which landed on the local news channel. His eyes quickly read the subtitles before the woman reporter had the chance to speak and begin with her report. It described aliens, bloody aliens from outer space – bombarding earth and invading it with their ground troops.
It was madness. This was fiction, it had to be. Just like how Isaac wrote Maintenance into existence, someone must have written the aliens into his world. The audacity, the stupidity – the sheer talent that other bugger had – but that wouldn't discourage Isaac. He knew he was the better author, a man with penmanship skills so grand that he makes Greek epics cower in fear. The reason why these epic fantastical creations were willed into existence dawned upon Isaac as he was listening to the reporter speaking about terrible fighting inside Gotham City and reports of similar bombardments coming in from London, Paris and Dresden. She said that they were expecting more to be revealed soon.
It was the pen. That artifact, magical item – just an old knickknack his wife bought him in a flea market and said it would suit him. She placed it in a case of its own and Isaac took it with him along his other portable belongings when he moved into his new crummy apartment. When Isaac touched the pen all of his worries fled his mind and he was thinking clear enough to write. Isaac stumbled back and clumsily ran to his bed, looking desperately for his pen. Maintenance manifested himself outside, but Isaac had no clue what he would do alone. He didn't know whether the fantastical being would go on a rampage or fight against the aliens.
Loud sounds of car alarms going off muffled the screams in the street. Isaac threw his body back and turned around to look out of his window. His head turned to the right and saw things he couldn't recognize – humanoid creatures walking the streets, seemingly killing al those that stood in their paths and tried to resist. Maintenance looked at the approaching squad and stopped before looking up at Isaac.
"Doctor, I will repay you for saving my life", Maintenance spoke through his gas mask, his voice distorted – but Isaac already imagined how his voice would sound like, with and without the mask. Isaac was stunned for a moment. He couldn't believe his eyes – his own creation, walking and talking in real life – thanking him for reviving him. Isaac wanted to cry out of excitement, but he had no time to celebrate his spectacular success. One of the aliens shot at Maintenance and the man growled in response to his right arm being wounded. Another shot was fired directly into his chest which threw the super-hero on his back.
"Clean the streets of the scum of the earth, they will come and kill our children – Remember Washington – don't let it repeat!", Isaac shouted at the man. He knew exactly how to push his trigger – hell, he was the one that wrote it. The man stood up unharmed, his personal armor protecting him from the second shot. What followed an amazing feat – Donald threw one of his infamous intense chemical gas grenades forward and rushed in. In the darkness of the heavy smoke, Maintenance killed the aliens with a flurry of blows to the head with his trusty golf club and the assortment of tools on his belt.
Isaac pushed himself back and tried to catch his breath. He pinched himself and blinked quickly, desperately attempting to wake up – but alas, it was not a dream he was in. He returned to the television and was mortified at the sight of massive ships transporting troops down to NYC. It had to be stopped – and Isaac knew exactly how to solve it.
Dragons. Isaac ran to his pen and began to write on a piece of a paper wrapper left over from last night's dinner, something Chinese, but Isaac continued to write on the damp piece of paper.
It had been foretold that the dragons would return to the earth and haunt the races of men once more, but the legend was not told in full - Deep inside the mines of Beranis, the true stone slabs sleeps. It tells of a great threat that comes from the heavens in the form of men so twisted and wicked that had been robbed of their humanity by the gods as punishment for their sins. These sins were greater than man's, so great that they angered the sleeping dragons in the year 2012 of our lord and caused them to awaken from their slumber throughout the world, determined to destroy those sinners against the old gods and protect the humans – so they can punish them for their sins another day, when the gods so command.
It worked. The splendid cries of the dragons rising outside of the city – and throughout the world echoes through the skies and silenced the heavy sounds of the alien bombardments. The cries of those ancient, mystical – and fantastical creatures were heard throughout the world by both humans and aliens. Isaac sat on the floor with his back at the side of the bed. His hands were holding both the pen and the piece of crumpled old paper. He desperately tried to stop his hands from shaking after hearing the dragons come to life.
"This is spectacular… I am… A genius", the man spoke softly.
The pen was indeed mightier than the sword, and so shall the dragons protect the earth against the wretched alien sinners