Bork Lazer

Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]

I’ll let @Abstract Proxy answer that one. I prefer to think it’s just a gender swap but alas, the character is their own to shape.

Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

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^{_{♦ M A G I C A L M I S F I T S ♦ L O R D S O F B A L A N C E ♦ E A R T H 97393745}}

W H A T I F T H E P H A N T O M S T R A N G E R W A S M I S S I N G?:

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For aeons, the Phantom Stranger, emissary of the Spectre and keeper of all, has watched over the garden of the Maker. His silent vigil is endless and without rest, for he sees all and watches all, wandering across all of existence to perform his duty. It is his unending watch that keeps the realm of mortals at peace and his tireless actions which prevent the scales from tipping too far out of balance.

Now, he is missing.

Those on the mortal plane would not notice his presence but those who traverse the other side can feel his absence. The cold winds in the alley. The lengthening of the shadows. The growing silence. Without his gaze, the cosmos begins to unravel.

Left with no other options, Madame Xanadu has had to peer deep into her blackest ledger to find six individuals capable of undertaking a cause, deemed hopelessly lost to most…

That’s where they come in… The Shadow Pact.

Six heavy debts. Six misfit souls. Six months to rebalance the scales.

A tatterdemelion without a cause.

A spirit of vengeance.

A sword wielding dreamer of the past.

A damned beast.

A man of destiny.

A child of the black moon.

In short, we’re all fucked.

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ):

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Think ‘Suicide Squad’ meets ‘Justice League Dark’. Me and @Abstract Proxywant to create something pretty wonky and this feels like the right environment to do it in. We’re mixing in several magical characters from both DC and Marvel into some weird-ass cocktail you find in a seedy little bar at 1 AM and hoping that it works out for the worst (in all the best ways).

The main beat of the starting storyline is that the Phantom Stranger is missing. How and why you might ask? Well, that’s what this cast of characters have to find out as they have to learn to work together and discover that the real Phantom Stranger was the friends they made along the way.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Shadowpact Members

- Ragwoman (Abstract Proxy)
- Ghost Rider//Johnathon Blaze (Bork Lazer)
- Guillotine//Jeannine Sauvage (Abstract Proxy)
- Werewolf By Night//Bigby Russell (Bork Lazer)
- Doctor Occult//Tim Hunter (Bork Lazer)
- Sister Grimm//Nico Minoru (Abstract Proxy)

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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N/A

The Parting Road

I've spent an hour looking at this post. Pouring all over the incessant details. Typing this message up has been perhaps harder than any post I've done on this forum by far so I suppose I'll meander a bit before I get into the meat. It's a culmination of several things but the lion's share of that can be attributed to recent extenuating factors in my life alongside other reasons as well. This is not a hiatus. If life is a play, then, this act of my life is coming to a close and it's better to end on a proper denouement than an anti-climax. I must also admit there is a certain art in succinct goodbyes but I can't bear within me to perform rhetorical artistry. So, I'll suppose I'll start with a phrase.

Yahoo chats.

I suppose that was how I first discovered the world of play-by-post roleplaying back in 2014. Almost 10 years ago. I was 14, then. In retrospect, my life would take an entirely different route if I hadn't responded to that person on that day but lo behold, I did and look where it's led me today. I then went through several phases: RPNation, Iwaku, Reddit before I landed here on the Guild. This is by far the RP forum that I've stayed consistently on by far and I have struggled to understand why I stick by it all these years.

Its UI is janky, the number of members compared to other RP boards is low, BBcode support is low compared to other boards and there are a host of other issues with the Guild that numerous people have complained but upon reflection, I wager that it is the diversity of the community and the unique idiosyncracies of many members on here that have kept me attracted to this forum. Yes, if you measure by objective standards, other forums supersede the Guild but none of them have made an impact on me as an individual quite like this one. I will forever cherish the connections I have made here and what I've learned but this hobby just isn't sustainable for me anymore.

And it's led me through a foray of both great and bad, educational and propagandistic, fast and slow encounters with a multitude of individuals over the years. Approximately 6 years in fact. I'd like to take a moment to mention some of these people.

@Abstract Proxy - We've said all that there needs to be said between us. I consider you one of the most important people I've met on this forum over the last 5 years and you are perhaps the most wonderful writer I've ever met. We joked before about RP hiatuses and looks I'm going to be taking the biggest one out of both of us by far.

@AndyC - I enjoyed the last few months blasting mechs with a tank. Sorry I couldn't keep up with the IC.

@Opposition - I'm sorry I couldn't give OD and DD justice. If and when the RP was completed, I would end their arcs with A Real Hero but alas, it didn't pan out the way it did.

@Master Bruce - I think one of my first group RPs here was the Ultimate DC/Marvel games you and Lord Wraith organised. I enjoyed playing Static and Shining Knight on every RP that the group organized. It gave me a real love for some of the underrated characters in those universes and made me realize my joy in roleplaying.

So, why am I doing this? I could blame it due to IRL factors but overall, roleplaying is not as fun as it used to be. I've voiced my frustrations over the years but roleplaying has become a chore rather than something I look forward to now. Recent events have caused me to re-evaluate my perspective on my hobbies and I will admit that the majority of the posts on this forum have been done under situations of duress rather than under relaxation. Perhaps, it is my perfectionist nature that is the foundation for the numerous writer's blocks I've had over the years but this is no longer the sustainable hobby I once had in my early years. Roleplaying for me takes more than it gives now. It is a tickbox on a list of weekend chores rather than something I could once do in my free time and bare my soul to the keyboard. It has become harder and harder for me to post consistently and harder and harder for me to perform as well as I could three years ago. I might have improved in skill and experience but my output has considerably declined. My academic and professional responsibilities have caught up to me as well. What is the point in pursuing an escapist hobby if what I escape to doesn't provide succor and comfort?

So, consider this my official, not to be repeated once more, retirement from roleplaying. I will be on the forum from time to time to take a look but it's the equivalent of parsing through a store window in the middle of a weekend stroll. I might write one or two things in the future if time permits me but in terms of the field of play-by-post roleplaying, this is the end. It is to my shame that I can never claim to have a completed RP but I suppose that is the final nail in the coffin for this post.

I will be on Discord as usual but not for the purposes of roleplaying. I am not completely abandoning the relationships I've made here but I can't engage in the self-destructive cycle of on-and-off engaging and abstaining I've imposed on myself anymore.

Hit me up on Discord but otherwise, this is the end of roleplaying for me in the foreseeable future.

I hope all of you continue to find success in your roleplays.

(NOW CLOSED:) Marvel RE: Imagine - A Marvel Comics Roleplay

@ErsatzEmpress I’m dealing with serious IRL shit at the moment right now which is why I’m rescinding my position for Doctor Strange after one post. I know this is sudden but I cannot delve into another one of these comic book RPs at the moment.

(NOW CLOSED:) Marvel RE: Imagine - A Marvel Comics Roleplay

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volume 1: hanged tree

chapter 1.1

the cell is dark, beyond light, beyond the realm

in its stygian iron bars a hermit lingers

meditating in ennui

rust creaks

sun enters, seeking truth

and a tale is spun

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So, finally, you've come. If you are here to extract the truth, then, you shall find it long and protracted. Ah, so quick to anger with that old hex. Let me remind you of your superior's punishment and consider weighing that against the barb of my tongue. I see you have found your wits.

Now, sit. Pacing around the room angrily like an angry mule is unbecoming of any practitioner of the Mystic Arts, even one as foul and deluded as yourself. Sit like me. No, don't cross your legs like that. Breathe in past your diaphragm and concentrate on your first chakra. Your stomach. The one - Are you telling me a well-funded organization like yourself can afford to bind me to this godforsaken rock and yet, fail to teach its pupils the basics of meditation? Ah, where is the Dread One to soothe the aches of incompetence I see before me? Do so again and - it is like a poker on your belly. Concentrate, yes. Now, temper it so you don't give yourself an aortic aneurysm. There. You see, this should give you enough patience to bear my tale.

No, why would I give the last piece of the puzzle to you? Regale me with torture if you must but your master won't give you the pleasure of seeing me die nor will he let me live a free man. Frankly, torture would be entertaining from the likes of you. I have survived tangling with the facets of Shuma-Gorath, face death from the likes of the Dread One, fend off the Nightmare from the aether and fought in the War of the Vishanti. Your imagination is puerile and gauche in the face of their boredom and honestly, your ineptitude would frighten me more.

So, let us start at the beginning of all things.

It begins with a mother.

Her name for me was Stephen Vincent Strange. My father was Bartholomew Strange, a tax consultant serving multiple clients in the New York Exchange. Roxxon, Hammer, Stark, all were at his beck and call. He burned books with a single-minded drive of an automaton and could never leave one number out of place. My mother was Rebecca Brandt, an overworked night-call nurse who lived on a diet of over-processed vending machine food and caffeine overdoses trying to compensate for the schedules of burnt-out nurses. They were both atheists at heart, although, they would never announce it on the census. I am and still hold to their -

You jeer at me but I still remain faithless to this day because I find no God worthy of my undying fealty or worship. I call them allies or friends, yes, in the case of the Vishanti but most remain craven such as Shuma-Gorath or unpredictable like the Greek or Nordic pantheons. Others remain inscrutable. For the ones I have yet to name, is like trying to burn incense in favor of gravity or pray to the laws of molecular attraction. A man flings himself into a hurricane and calls it a sacrifice for his god. I call it what it is.

So, naturally, my mother gave me the drive to batter myself against the marble halls of medicine and my father honed my mind to a razor's edge. There was a time we were a family. I had a sister in case you didn't know. No one really knows. Her name was Rebecca. She was the first I failed to save. It was winter. We were young. We were ice-skating on a frozen lake. That is all I am willing to part with. My life progressed on and so, I earned my M.D at the age of 21 and earned two Noble prizes for groundbreaking surgical procedures that are still in use to this day. For 10 years, St Barnaby Presbytarian became my throne, the media my suitors and I, Ozymandias. It was the height of my career and I became de facto judge, jury and executioner, doling out ridiculous fees for patients that I thought 'were worth my time'.

Worth my time.

These are not proud moments of my life.

My temple collapsed on 2005. I was driving off the coast of Baja, a bottle of rum in my hand. My blood alcohol concentration after the accident was measured to be four times over the national limit. I crashed a 4 million dollar Rolls Royce into the rocks below. My body survived, my hands were crushed and my ego festered and rotted into a sickness. A sickness that, to my shame, led me into the follies that have led me here today.

In spite of all I have learnt, my hands still shake. Why I didn't cure them with magic, you'll have to wait.

So, let us skip forward then. I doubt you want to hear the rest of my journeys. Past my trials to reach the top of the Himalayas where the Vishanti awaited me on the summit. Past my first communion with Agamotto the Wise. Past my first invoking of the sacred principalities. Past my commiseration with the most infuriating and brilliant man I have ever met. Past my first friendship with my once greatest ally. Past my first entanglement with what shall be my one and only heart.

Let us delve into how I first killed for the title of Earth's Sorceror Supreme.

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It was the middle of Summer on Bleecker Street. It had been two months since I first received the post of Keeper of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum. I see you scoffing. How could I end up with such a menial post? You might remember it as an institutional relic from a bygone era of magic but the Sanctum Sanctorums were once key to the structural defense of Earth's reality. Built on continental ley-lines and inscribed in babylonian rune-script in the time of Agamotto, Earth was in a sense, shielded from the worst of otherwordly predators and beings. Think of it like a filter or a sieve.

The first rule of warding is that no magical barrier is wholly impenetrable. There is always a chink in the armor and in our case, the chink was magical entities small enough to escape our attention. Without the Sanctum Sanctorums forming a network of magical defense, we would return to the Yld Days when the Earth was no more than a nexus in a storm, when our ancestors pounded rocks together in fear of the sky-demons that conquered the clouds, when men was feasted upon.

And in return, we bit back.

But, I digress. You did not come for a history lesson. It had been two months and yes, I rejected the post of Sorceror Supreme. Before me, Baron Karl Mordo was the Sorceror Supreme. The shortest-lived Sorceror Supreme. The Ancient One, had died during our sojourn in the Wundagore Mountains. The details of how my master, teacher, friend and rank asshole of a magician died will come later into this story. For now, the magical world was still grieving. The Ancient One had lived for a good 599 years and had made indisputably important alliances, deep-forged bonds, between Earth and numerous other realms.

Asgard. The Greeks. The Purple Dimension. Weirdworld. The reverberations of his deeds can still be found to this day in the binding pacts he had made. Now, those pacts were to be tested and I, to my shame, couldn't support Mordo.

Perhaps, if.....Nevermind, reflecting in retrospection is a fool's way to trap one self in guilt.

Nevertheless, I found myself on that day sipping on a cup of jasmine tea Wong had brewed. He was out doing a deli run near Manaheim's. Wong came from a delegation of Masters from the east who sought to shore up the lacking defenses I suppose much of the weight he had gathered over that time was due to that disgusting szechaun meatball submarine he kept eating. I amused myself with the only television in the entire Sanctum Sanctorum, an old tube box from the 1980s that had been enchanted to work inside the ambient magic of the Sanctum Sanctorum. The current zeitgeist of the era was the tale of mutant rights.

Mutants.

If there was one reason to explain why magic hadn't gone mainstream, mutants were the answer. Again, that shaking of the head. I know. We could have spread the use of magic into the general populous. Magic was teachable, not inheritable. There was no abberation in human purity you needed to cast a simple enchantment. Could you imagine how S.H.I.E.L.D, the F.B.I, the C.I.A, the very public itself would react? My boy, we would see something far worse than the Salem Witch Trials.

However, magic hadn't been revealed to its fullest extent to the world, yet. No, the world was concerned with mutants and the mutants were the centre of a new Cold War. Senator Kelly was at the forefront of national efforts to suppress the growing mutant population and he was one step away from goose-stepping into a pit of corpses. Charles Xavier, a room-mate of mine in college, was simultaneously the greatest enemy and ally of the Master of the Mystic Arts. The arcane signature of his telepathic abilities was probing our mental wards and he could already access the Astral Plane. Thankfully, a vote was closed on the Council of Masters to make an attempt to globally neuter telepathic mutants using a binding curse. That would be abominable.

Whilst musing on this newest development, a ghost burst through the air in front of me, the window of reality breaking apart into a hundred shards. I had raised my arms, forming the movements for a quick banishment of the enemy phantasm from the borders of the Sanctum Sanctorum when it spoke in an unmistakably terse tone of a human. It was Wong in his astral form. I lowered my hands and asked why he hadn't bothered to rift into the Sanctum.

" Strange. Come to the park. Disguised. Keep the Cloak on you."

And it was that day on Central Park that I found myself facing a stone girl with a stone sword skewered in her belly.

(NOW CLOSED:) Marvel RE: Imagine - A Marvel Comics Roleplay

@ErsatzEmpress

update on approval for Dr Strange?

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

The fields outlying Tie Shan Dam burned of brimstone and bullet smoke. The forces of the Heavenly Sword were like flies throwing themselves against a windshield in the hope of blinding a driver. To many in their small little platoon, it would have seemed a miracle that they had survived thus far but to Aroxy, it was textbook. The Heavenly Sword were guerilla fighters first and foremost and the bulk of their forces simply weren’t made for open-field engagements. Having two mechs on their side made it almost seems like child’s play.

The only problem that remained was their last-ditch tactic that reminded Aroxy of a chess player who flipped over the table instead of resigning in defeat. As much as Aroxy would have liked to wipe the Takka and Helma were working the Von Luckner’s auxiliary turrets, raining down suppresive fire, whilst Ansel had taken over the role of gunner. So far, there had been no need to fire any shells or their SRMs yet. To do so would be overkill and one didn’t expend their strength at first contact.

Peering through the Von-Luckner’s periscope, Aroxy noticed a black dot hovering around the Heavenly Sword’s land-train. He switched the focus, lens compensating for him to see 12 men leaping from the side of an APC onto the train track. Aroxy wondered what ploy Command was pulling with the dirty bomb. A few minutes later, his question was answered.

"Green Knights. The boys need some time to work. Thirty seconds to put the brakes on this train, three-zero and counting!"

“ Let’s position ourselves a little closer, Helma,” The female driver quickly moved back to the driver’s seat and shifted the gear forward. The Von Luckner trampled soil and grass into a smooth expanse under its weight. Everything was reduced to mulch under its treads as the poor whimpering soul six feet of its chassis was beginning to find out. Gripping his cut-open belly, he barely had time to scream before he became a red smear under the tank’s treads. The only indication the crew had of his existence was a slight jolt in the crew compartments.

“ What the hell was that?,” Ansel asked.

“ Just a little speedbump,” Helma continued to drive the tank forward, stopping on a little mound. The land-train was 3 quarters of a klick away from them. Well within range of their turret and close enough to ensure that neither wind or gravity could make them miss their mark.

“ Load a HEAP in there and start fucking up the treads. I want them spaced out nice and even. We don’t want to hit our own men, got it?”

“ Yes, sir.” Takka mumbled dissapointedly at the thought of being unable to cause a nuclear explosion. The turret of the Von Luckner began following the journey of the land train, angling slightly forward to adjust for its speed before firing its payload downrange. The shells tore apart the massive wheels of the land train like butter one by one, crippling its pace to a visible slug’s crawl. Aroxy could only hope that it would be enough to give the infantry time to disarm the dirty bomb.

(NOW CLOSED:) Marvel RE: Imagine - A Marvel Comics Roleplay

Stranger in a Strange Land

Character Concept

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Once a brilliant neurosurgeon, Stephen Strange's arrogance proved to be his undoing in an untimely automobile accident that rendered his hands damaged beyond repair. Spending an obscene amount of his wealth on searching a cure, Stephen resorted to traversing to the far reaches of the Himalayas in search of the Masters of the Mystic Arts, a collective of individuals who supposedly could cure any ailment with sorcery. Under the tutelage of the Ancient One, Stephen Strange devoted himself to the study of the supernatural and arcane and became a fellow defender of the

During a routine inspection of the Wundagore Mountains alongside his teacher and fellow friend, Baron Karl Mordo, a resulting series of unfortunate events led to the death of the Ancient One. Out of guilt and shame for his self-perceived role in the death of his master, Stephen declined the post of Sorcerer Supreme, leaving Mordo to shoulder the mantle of becoming Earth's mightiest mortal. As adversaries of the Masters, supernatural foes, and otherworldy dangers seek to take advantage of the Order's vulnerability, Stephen must now become the newest steward of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum.

Wiz-biz. Wiz-biz. Wizards gonna bizards. This is mostly a worldbuilding exercise in magic featuring Stephen as the main character. He's not a neophyte hedge wizard nor is he the vincent price looking god-fucking motherfucker yet. He's what I call a 'Year Two' Strange. I'm primarily drawing from the old Kirby runs, a lil bit of MCU, a lil bit of Dresden Files, a lil bit of Hellboy and every piece of urban fantasy out there alongside Jed McKay's newest run to create an updated version of Marvel's Sorceror Supreme.

Key Notes

Tenants of the Sanctum Sanctorum

Doctor Stephen Strange M.D - A relatively young (40 is considered to be a teenager in wizard years) master of the mystic arts who was considered by many in the council to be the natural successor for the post of Sorceror Supreme should the Ancient One face an untimely death. He has become somewhat of a black sheep in the wake of the chaos that followed his master's death as many practitioners and disciples viewed his rejection of the post as a deliberate insult to their entire order. Considered by many masters to be a loose cannon with a penchant for breaking magical law to suit their own needs.

Wong - Chef, chemist, assassin, thamaturgist, butler, cleaner, Wong is what Wong is. Having served as an archivist for over two centuries in the Order of the Mystic Arts, he is Strange’s sole confidant.

Bats - The spectre of an NYPD basset hound who died under Strange’s care after saving his former master’s life from a bullet. Now, he has made the New York Sanctum Sanctorum his haunt and assists Strange with matters of mortal law enforcement.

Jericho Drumm - An young Haitian magician who specializes in the voodoo arts and is currently the disciple of Doctor Strange. His brother, Daniel Drumm, serves on the Council of Masters as a senior member.

Zelma Stanton - A college dropout with a burgeoning talent in the mystic arts who trains to be the next archivist of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum and an intern in the New York Public Library.

Masters of the Mystic Arts

Baron Karl Mordo, Sorcerer Supreme - Once Strange’s closest friend, they have become estranged in the wake of the Ancient One’s demise as Mordo struggles to bear the burden of the mantle of their former master.

The Council of Masters - A collection of 5 democratically voted Masters who delegate the affairs of the Order of the Mystic Arts and serve a check on the authority of the Sorceror Supreme. The current members of the 445th Council of Masters includes:

Clea - A 400 year old Faltine refugee from the Dark Dimension who is the niece of Dormammu and Umar. She originally held the post of Sorceror Supreme in the Dark Dimension before another eventual war between the Faltine warlords forced her to flee to Earth. Was romantically involved with Strange during his years as an initiate before circumstances concerning her parentage forced her to break up with him. In spite of this, she still harbors affection for Stephen.

Daniel Drumm - A Jamaican sorceror who specializes in Voodoo Magic. He is the youngest member of the Council and is considered the most inexperienced in matters of sorcery. Still, he has accomplished much for his age, establishing the first Sanctum Sanctorum in New Orleans and being the Council's primary delegate and contact with the Loa Pantheon. He is also the elder brother of Jericho Drumm and has entrusted Strange with tuition of his brother in the mystical arts.

Anthony Druid - An Celtic druid who traces back his history to the time of Avalon, when King Arthur ruled and enough magic suffused the air that even a peasant could pray and shit gold from his back.

Agatha Harkness - The First Witch and the only member of the council who has managed to read the Darkhold with their mind intact. They were the inspiration of folktales concerning witches worldwide and indulged in a few massacres during her first few centuries before becoming tired of it.

Kaecilius Orlo - A German railroad engineer who immigrated to Canada in the late 1800s. His family died in the Halifax explosion and his second family died yet again due to the Spanish Flu. He is the second-most youngest member of the council and is a close ally to Karl Mordo, being almost akin to a yes-man.

The Vishanti - A trio of elder cosmic deities consisting of Agamotto The Wise, Hoggoth the Hoary and Osthur the Lawful who have traditionally served as patron principalities of the Masters of the Mystic Arts. As of late, they have become mysteriously silent.

Otherwordly Forces

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Dormammu, the Dread Lord - Ruler of the Dark Dimension and arch-enemy of the Order of the Mystic Arts. He first stepped on our plane in the Neolithic Era and was beaten back by the First Wizard, Agamotto the Wise. Since then, he has considered Earth more trouble than it's worth but make no mistake, he is merely preparing to mount one grand invasion that will remove any hint of his former defeat by those pesky mortals.

Nightmare - Freddy Kreuger, eat your heart out. Every nightmare, every bad dream, every chill in the night is the fault of one singular individual. The underlord of the Dream Dimension who hopes to breach the barriers of the Astral Plane and enter the material realm to wreak eternal horror.

Chthon - The source of all Darkness on the mortal plane. Even though he is sealed away in the deepest, darkest world, the legacy of his work has left a festering scar on Earth since the dawn of the first morning. He is the author of the Darkhold, the scribe of Chaos Magic, the primogenitor of Black magic and has spawned unholy beings from Earth’s first virgin soil.

Mephisto - Though he has only held the post for 959 years since he tore out the heart of his predecessor, Beezlebub, Mephisto's vileness is no less cruel than any Arch-Lord of Hell. His greatest asset is not the legions of demons he commands but his quicksliver tongue and ability to make any deal fall in his favor.

Shuma-Gorath - He/She/It/They is known by many/multiple/hundreds of names, the Many-Angled One, the Never-Ending, The All-Growing. The ruler of a hundred dimensions/realms/realities, Shuma-Gorath has attempted multiple incursions/invasions/conquests of Earth and has been beaten back at terrible cost by the Masters of the Mystic Arts. It has been 9/nearly a decade/4 cosmic solstices since his last invasion and he only grows stronger each time.

(NOW CLOSED:) Marvel RE: Imagine - A Marvel Comics Roleplay

Sample Post: Paging For....

“ One long black for….,” The cashier pauses and looks at his name with squinted eyes. She won’t be the first or last today. Before the name exits her lips, he snatches the two steaming cardboard cups from the counter.

“ It’s a bit strange, I know,” He winks mischeviously and then, exits the cafe, shouldering past the line of cold New Yorkers in the November winter.

The streets aren’t full of snow but already, the city shivers. Both physically in the shrouded coats of every passerby walking to and fro around him and spiritually in the muted neon lights and the dwindling fires. He can hear within the fetid sewers and the lain boney corpses of a thousand seafarers within the foundations a lumbering heartbeat.

He sits down on a park bench and takes a sip of his coffee. He wipes the line of milk foam off his thin moustache and watches couples, children, old, young pass by, a hundred stories, a hundred tales waiting to end. Ever since his venture to the Himalayas, enjoying a simple cup of coffee now is a labour in of itself. The Himalayas. The cold breeze is but a shadow of his trek up those slopes. In the middle of another slip, the loud scream of a baby makes him forget to close his eyes and he Sees.

The beyond is all and it foments and festers around him like a petri dish. The sky is a cracked window and the clouds squirm and wriggle, intent on burrowing downwards onto the thousands of souls below. Schools of phantasms whip around in the sky and the soil teems with the forgotten ballads of kingdoms past. Shoals of phantasms huddle around each other, aimlessly living out the patterns of their mortal coils and daemons prey on the unwary souls like parasites.

His master would have called this balance. He believed it to be an infestation.

“ Spending too much time Seeing isn’t good for the soul,” The voice was like a gong. The world rewound back to normal, cracks glueing back themselves together. He blinked and he was back in the park. However, there were two things wrong. Firstly, the park had become mysteriously vacant in the span of a minute. The odor of incense clued him that wards, strong wards were in play. Secondly, his coffee however was missing from his hand. He heard a loud slurp to his right and immediately turned his neck, relaxing when he saw a portly bald man in linen robes. The lines on his face were gaunt and his complexion was a pale tanned brown. His lips curdled in disgust as he set the coffee cup on the bench.

“ I like the cafe down by Broadway more than this one.”

By Hoggoth’s hoary hosts, the man was hard to satisfy.

“ Well, perhaps, you shouldn’t rely on me to make coffee trips, Wong.” He retorted. Leaning back, he palmed his face and signed in dread of what was to come next. “Well. on with it, then. What do we have today?”

Wong snapped his fingers and a scroll of parchment bobbed over from the pile of documents. He deftly took it and unrolled to read it. “ An asura possession in lower Manhattan, two hereditary curses, an enochian summoning circle gone awry and a garden gnome dispute in northern Greenwich. This is just what’s come in this morning, Stephen.”

“ Well, then,-” Stephen said in a light sarcastic tone.. “ Sounds like a light day“. He snapped his fingers and the Cloak of Levitation unfurled out from the neck of his sweater, curling up around him protectively like a serpent. “ Reply to our clients in the next hour or so. Tell them Doctor Strange will be in to see them.”

COLD PLAGUE

“ Oh, jesus, oh fuck -” The thief blubbered out loud. Omar almost sympathized the man and then, it was quickly lost when he remembered how he ended up handcuffed in their patrol vehicle in the first place. He rocked back and forth, a terrified expression on his face. “ Please let this be a dream, please let this be a dream…”

Omar opened the back door without a word and grabbed the shaking thief roughly by the shoulders. The thief’s denim hoodie was no match for the downpour and became immediately soaked. It was then that Omar immediately realized how hard it was just to see in the rain. The relentless sheets of grey splattered down onto the roads and seemingly cloaked the shambling bodies towards him. The sound of Mira’s pistol echoed in the wind -

And then, for the second time today, something grabbed him by the ankle again. Omar looked down and gaped in horror as he saw the freckled face of Emma Hopkins. She was a rookie in the force like him. Now, her dimpled face snarled flecks of blue spittle, paddling herself on the wet road wit what remained of the rest of her limbs.

“Motherfuck-” Omar swore as he brought his foot down and slammed down on Emmas head. What remained of his fellow officer became little more than a stain on his boot as meaty chunks sprayed all over the asphalt. The thief looked deathly pale and heaved over in a dry gag.

“ Holy shit, man-” The thief’s eyes then perked up and pointed over Omar’s shoulder. “ Look out!”

It only took a moan from behind for Omar’s reflexes to kick in. He swung his baton behind in an arc, aiming for what he hoped was the face. It stopped as though lodged in a piece of wood. Clamped around it were the jaws of another body. An EMT, by the looks of it. Their uniform was stained brown and red, old and new blood. The former EMT wrenched his head away and to Omar’s horror, the baton began to crack.

Police batons were made out of high quality oak wood coated in Teflon polymer. He once saw an officer drop it into the department’s wood chipper and come out the other end unscathed.The EMT had now bitten off a piece and was now grinding it like taffy between his molars. His head then disappeared in a puff of blood followed by the sound of a shotgun being reracked. The headless body collapsed to the ground and behind him was a grizzled old man, white muttonchops on either side of his cheek, and a furred stetson on his head.

“ Omar, that you?”

“Jack, the hell’s going on?!,” The old officer didn’t bother replying and walked towards him, shotgun still in hand, before hissing and clutching his left wrist. He turned the other side of his palm and blood trickled from his wrist, dripping from several dented cuts in the shape of teeth.

“ We were just returning back from the..Gah!,” Jack waved his wrist and shook his head as though a bee stung him. “ - the hospital. Then, the morgues…..they started coming out of the fucking morgues, man.”

“ Where’s our reinforcements? What about the station?”

“ Most of the station’s been infected. I’m…”Both of their eyes wavered towards the gouged cut on Jack’s wrist and then, locked onto each other again. “…..Listen, that’s not important right now. Last I heard, they’re calling the National Guard in for a quarantine.. You and Mira have to evacuate, leave the - “

Both Omar and Jack froze as they heard a loud-pitched chalk-like screech. It came at random intervals, scraping on the road like a careening automobile. The dark shadow lumbered out from behind a set of dumpsters near the station. Blue like claws dragged on the pavement like some demented ice skater. Its maw was a pit of icicles jutting out, some piercing through the cheek and sprouting from its chest. Somehow, even though its body was shredded beyond belief, it steadily treaded towards the trio of officers, gangly arms by its side.

“ Oh shit.”