Bounce

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Got room for another speedster? I had been stalking this for so long and I wanna roll with Bart Allen.

Or any kid hero.

@Indra

Right now, Billy is the sole kid hero.

Please bring more to the game.

The Bounce House

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

A SONG OF GARTH AND FIRE

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^{_{G A R T H O F S H A Y E R I S ♦ T U L A O F A T L A N T I S ♦ M A R ♦ V U L K O}}

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

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[ Theme ]

As above, so below… Since the time of the Great Flood, when the Empire of Atlantis was shattered and the continent of Poseidonis plunged beneath the sea, peace has long been the solace of the deep. The sundering was followed by dark ages in which some adapted, others evolved, or regressed. As the waters drained from out of the Sahara, an entire culture was wiped from the face of the Earth. But the periods of enlightenment that followed ensured that the developing undersea nations followed a different path than their counterparts on the surface. While war shaped human history, it was peace that defined the city-states of Poseidonis.

New frontiers were explored. Some cities were lost to them, while new ones sprang up to take their place. To the far south, to the Antarctic Circle, the city of Tha-Korr rose up as the capital of the Antarctic Nations. Atlantis survived, its pride intact even if its influence was diminished. The former prison colony of Xebel shook off its chains. The Kingdom of Fishermen flourished into the Holy See of Tritonis. To the vast Pacific, Venturia became the Sparta of the sea, while its sister city of Auriana was their Athens. And the city of Shayeris, home to the mageocracy that had served as the scholars and advisors of Ancient Atlantis became a vassal kingdom to the throne of Atlantis.

All of that changed when Venturia claimed an attack by the surface dwellers. The Council of the Twelve Nations has broken and, with it, so too has the long-lasting peace of the eternal deep. In the face of flaccid diplomacy, King Orm of Atlantis and Queen Clea of Venturia take up arms against the other, dividing up their neighbors for conquest in an unprecedented undersea world war. Both would use the present conflict to their own ends, uniting the undersea nations under a single banner once again.

Return to a history both familiar and new, a world unlike any seen before. A world beneath our very oceans. The saga of the undersea war. The curse of the Trench. Our cast will have to navigate these and other challenges, and they are confronted by political aspirations and ambitions of people who each believe that they are acting for the common good. There are no heroes. There are no villains. Merely victory and tragedy, which too often go hand in hand.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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A modern Greek epic, “A Song of Garth and Fire” will tell a multitude of stories in overlapping detail. It’s not the story of any single character, but for Season 2 will be divided among the point of view of a variety of characters integral to the overarching narrative, with the named four (Garth, Tula, Mar, and Vulko) being the main cast.

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

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• The Twelve Kingdoms of Poseidonis:

The Kingdom of Atlantis (Sea of Atlas, Moroccan Coast)
The Antarctic Nations (Capital: Tha-Korr; Southern Arctic Region)
The City-State of Xebel (Bermuda Triangle)
The Holy See of Tritonis (Fisherman Kingdom; Greek Archipelago)
The Kingdom of the Brine* (Northern Arctic Region)
The Kingdom of Venturia (Pacific Ocean/Hawaiian Islands)
The City-State of Auriana (Pacific, shared border with Venturia)
The Kingdom of Lemuria (Great Barrier Reef)
The Deserter Kingdom (Sahara, extinct)
The Lost Kingdom of the Trench (Marianas Trench)
The United Kingdom of Shayeris and Crastinus (The Idyllist Kingdom; aka The Hidden Valley)
The Lost City of Thierna na Oge (Ireland/Wales)

• His Royal Highness Belgarth Melicertes Triton, Heir to the Throne of the United Kingdom of Shayeris and Crastinus, Apprentice to the Third Circle of Mysteries, the Prince of Idylls. Otherwise known simply as Garth, the only son of King Thar of Shayeris. Because he has not yet come of age, he continues to hold the title Prince of Idylls rather than King of Idylls.

• Vulko, Keeper of the Sacred Chalice of Mommur, the Steward of Shayeris. Serves as the de jure head of state for the nation of Shayeris until Prince Garth comes of age. Leads the Circle of Knowledge, Shayeris’ magocratic republic council.

• Mar of the Brine. A Plodex youth, presented as an egg to King Thar by the Brine on the occasion of Garth’s birth. He serves as Gar’s page, attendant, and friend.

• Her Grace, Tula Leucothea Adrasteia of Atlantis, the Duchess of Tlapallan. A young, teenaged girl who came to Shayeris as a child bride betrothed to the infant prince by the command of her uncle, King Orvax of Atlantis.

• Clea, Queen of Venturia. First to seek the title of Ocean Master, so that she might lead a war against the surface world for their pollution of the sea. Lemuria, the Antarctic Nations, and a conquered Auriana form the basis for her claim.

• Orm Marius, the current reigning King of Atlantis, ascending upon the death of Orvax Marius. Orm seeks to dissolve the Council of Nations so that a resurgent Empire of Atlantis can emerge. He is supported by Xebel and, begrudgingly, by an occupied Shayeris. The invasion of Shayeris serves as political clout to try and force the cooperation of the Holy See of Tritonis and the Brine.

• Rogue’s Gallery: Black Manta, Hagan, The Unforgiven Dead, Bres, Devilfish, the Trench

• *Note: In Absolute Bounceverse, “Brine” is a common term used to describe the Plodex people.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Hider

T H E H A W A I I A N I S L A N D S

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^{United States Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam}

For nearly sixty years, the USS Trafalgar sailed the seven seas.

Once a proud member of the Kitty Hawk-class of so-called ‘supercarriers’ that had emerged in the 1960s, the Trafalgar had followed its predecessors USS Constellation and USS John F. Kennedy by bowing out of active service in the late 1990s, after more then thirty years of deployments in the national defense of the country whose flag it had carried across the globe. Those proud memories of the ship’s service days were now merely footnotes in the annals of history. Since the ship had pulled out of Naval Station Mayport for the last time, it had been collecting rust in one of the ghost fleet boneyards, waiting for its fate to be decided.

Scraped for razor blades? Sold to a developing country? Turned into a museum ship?

No, the Trafalgar was to be towed out to sea and scuttled to the bottom, where it would become home to a new artificial reef.

A gathering of veterans who had served aboard Trafalgar during its many tours of duty had assembled atop the USS Arizona National Memorial, paying their respects to the sailors and ships that had gone down, even as they watched their former aircraft carrier as it was towed out to sea for one last cruise.

The USS Gerald R. Ford was another aircraft carrier that carried the flag of the United States, this one launched in the current decade and the holder of the current title of supercarrier. The Commander of the Pacific Fleet stood out on the bridge wing, watching as Trafalgar was towed out some 207 nautical miles outside Hawaii, to the spot that had been designated for the artificial reef. If all went well, the ship would sink and lay on its side atop an elevated ridge line.

“All ships, all stations, be advised that active sinking of a U.S. Navy warship is taking place in the vicinity of...”

The pyrotechnics were invisible to the naked eye, contained within the ship and buried under the water line. From this distance, the old sailor could see the ship begin to list. Trafalgar was going down.

“Shit!”

The admiral heard the exclamation from outside the bridge. Turning away for a moment, the man poked his head in as he took stock of the scene and then looked over at the operations officer. “Status report?”

“Several of the charges in the aft failed to detonate,” the project engineer answered, looking over a laptop that had been propped up on the navigator’s table for this event. Looking over the data on the screen, the engineer added, “The ship is going down with a different dive profile than we’d planned for. I think we’re going to miss the ridge.”

The admiral just gave a grunt, as he turned back toward where Trafalgar was starting to disappear. Her bow section was submerged, the flight deck slipping beneath the water as the supersection vanished from view.

And thus passed the mighty warship Trafalgar.

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THE UNDERSEA KINGDOM OF VENTURIA
The Hamlet of Caer Tethys

Tucked away in a shallow ravine, nestled in the shadow of an undersea mountain, Caer Tethys was a quaint, pastoral village. Located near the border with Lemuria, Caer Tethys had enjoyed relative prosperity as relations between the two nations had always remained friendly.

The vastness of the Pacific Ocean basin, and the prominence of the undersea mountain, meant that Caer Tethys had also avoided any contact with the surface dwellers. Their submarines gave the submerged mountain a wide berth. Leaving this part of the sea floor unexplored by those who breathed air.

The temples of the theoi halioi were open, as the citizens mulled about the Greek inspired architecture as each went about their day. The open columns, encrusted with barnacles and coral, permitted a variety of aquatic life to move on the gentle currents that passed like a breeze through the sleepy hamlet.

A visiting priest was lecturing on Triton, while elsewhere children were thrilled with a classical education, learning about the exploits of Poseidon’s champion, Nereus. In the gymnasium, teenage boys competed for the attention of teenage girls, while on the steps of the amphitheater’s round old men debated politics and philosophy.

It was well what one might have imagined life to have been like in another place, another time. Transplanted across hundreds of miles and more than a thousand years by the ocean tides.

The USS Trafalgar had been falling for more than five minutes. Centrifugal forces caused by the displacement of more than 60,000 tonnes of water had caused the ship to spin as it continued to descend. The Trafalgar had built up a head of speed, plummeting through the ocean depths at near fifty miles per hour. The ship had started to break apart. The superstructure shearing away from the flight deck as it began to shatter into a cloud of debris that trailed behind the main hull that was aimed at the sea floor like a rocket.

The people of Caer Tethys had little time to react, for few looked up toward the surface. The shadow passing over mistaken first for a passing whale, or perhaps a large tanker on the surface. By the time the first shouts of alarm had run out, it was already too late to do more than watch as the USS Trafalgar crashed down on top of the gymnasium, with a rain of debris hailing like falling meteors chasing soon after.

The old men on the steps found they had no more words for debate, for there was no future left that they could imagine.

Their children lay dead around them.

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THE UNDERSEA KINGDOM OF ATLANTIS
Emergency Session of the Council of the Twelve Kingdoms

“I have not come to the Sea of Atlas so that my words might be debated in committee!”

Clea, daughter of Phorcys, Queen of Venturia was every inch her father’s daughter. A warrior, through and through, she might have easily belonged to the natives of Themyscira were she not a child of the ocean.

She had risen out of her seat, seemingly prepared to vault over the table that presently separated herself from the flaccid diplomat who had dared suggest that a committee be dispatched to verify her accounting of things. Looking at each member of the council in turn, she finished by locking eyes with the one who had the audacity to sit at the head of the table. “I have come to resolve the attack upon our sovereignty NOW!”

At the high throne, Orm Marius of Atlantis was merely silent.

For his part, Vulko was willing to count that as a blessing. At least, for the moment. Clearing his throat, he tried to keep hope alive for a non-military solution to the present crisis. “Destruction has always been the way of man,” the Steward of Shayeris offered, trying his best to maintain a conciliatory tone. “Those who dwell upon the surface will destroy themselves. We need not reveal ourselves to them to effect that.”

King Plodex gave a gurgling sound of agreement. “You mistake ignorance for aggression,” the Brine Lord proclaimed, in as curt a tone as ever a Brine spoke. “The surface dwellers do not even know we exist. They know not what they do.”

The Archbishop was next to speak. “This bickering is distraction. We cannot turn our attention away from the present crisis of the dark water,” Oceanus XIV warned sternly, as the dolphin-tailed merman leaned forward. “The curse of the Trench has returned and we must each devote ourselves to eliminating that threat yet again.”

In the history of Poseidonis, never had the Holy See and Xebel agreed on anything. Era ago, the religious decrees of Tritonis had served as the basis by which Xebel had been operated as a prison colony, a part of history that remained a rather contentious bit of blood between the two nations. So it was that every head was made to turn when King Nereus spoke and said, “Tritonis has the right of it.”

Seeing as he had everyone’s attention, the red haired monarch of the bastard kingdom looked around the room as he gruffly warned, “Each passing day, we have word of more and more sightings of the dark water. Xebel has lost one too many of its soldiers to fighting these beasts.”

Clea’s hand slammed down upon the table.

“One of our cities is now a wasteland,” the woman barked, her voice raw from both strain and emotion. Horrified, the warrior-queen of Venturia looked around as she asked, “Am I to expect no better answer than this?”

The sound of a staff striking the floor echoed through the chamber. Each head now turned toward the head of the table, to Orm Marius, who held to his trident as though it were a scepter of authority.

Now, Atlantis deemed to speak. And, when it did, Vulko felt all his hopes, all his dreams for a better tomorrow, torn asunder.

“If this assembly is incapable of taking action in light of the present crisis then the purpose for which this council was formed has ended,” Orm offered. And then merely stood, and walked from out of the chamber.

Clea was soon to follow, with Lemuria close behind.

The Antarctic Nations lingered only a moment, stoic as always, before they, too, took their leave from the assembly.

As the Brine, Tritonis, and Xebel fell upon debate, all Vulko could do was place his head in his hands and fear for where this might lead them.

The Bounce House

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

OLD MAN GRAYSON

A N D R O B I N T H E T O Y W O N D E R

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

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

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Old Man Grayson

Fifty years ago, Dick Grayson's world ended in the murder of his parents, disguised to appear as a circus accident. He met a man named Bruce Wayne, who not only took him under his wing but entrusted him with the secret of the Batman. For over a decade, Dick fought at Bruce's side as Robin, the Boy Wonder, before a falling out between the two in 1980 prompted Dick to step out from the Batman's shadow. He moved from Gotham City to Bludhaven, got serious with his education, and got a job as a cop. But old habits die hard, and Dick was soon living a double life as Nightwing. But the demands of his job grew with each promotion and age started to sap away at Dick's ability to be what Bludhaven needed him to be. Today, he's Commissioner Dick Grayson of the Bludhaven Police Department.

Toyboy

A mechanical automaton constructed by the Toyman to serve as both a surrogate son and henchman, Toyboy is a literal Pinocchio -- a puppet without strings. Using stolen patents, Toyboy replicates the work of Dr. Phineas Horton. Originally classified as a robot or android, modern scientific nomenclature describes him as a synthetic human or synthezoid. Powered by a Horton Cell battery, Toyboy has been studied by S.T.A.R. Labs since the death of his creator in 1990, where he is overseen by Dr. Sarah Charles.

The Premise

A series of child abductions was already frustrating Commission Grayson, but the disappearance of an entire school bus makes Dick seek out measures beyond the law. Too old to be the Nightwing that Bludhaven needs him to be, Dick turns to a former adversary to do what he cannot.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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Writing a cosmic entity, I wanted a character who could be a dedicated Earth hero, on more of a Teen Titans or street level. Primarily, the Old Man Grayson / Robin dynamic is intended as a foil to Wraith's Old Man Bruce / Terry dynamic. It's a parallel story of an aged, embittered vigilante discovering the limits of his own mortality and living vicariously through their chosen proxies. This allows me to slowly tell Dick Grayson's story in addition to Toyboy's own road to Terminator 2-esque redemption.

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

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Winslow Schott: A brilliant engineer, Schott's work with the Army during the Korean Conflict brought him into contact with Horton Cells, which may have had a role in damaging his psyche. His later attempts at operating a toy company, like his attempts at a family, failed and in his later years he became the villain known to Gotham as the Toyman. Schott died in 1994 in Ryker's Island.

Anton Schott: The son of the Toyman, the abuse that he suffered at his father's hands resulted in his civil commitment to psychiatric hospitals for most of his life.

The Street Demonz gang, led by Quince Cullen, extends the Black Cullens' influence toward Gotham.

Cissy Chambers: A BPD cop.

The Leviathan Organization, led by Doctor Dedalus.

Colin Wilkes: A young orphan at St. Mary's Home for Boys.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Hider

H A L E Y ’ S C I R C U S

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^{Gotham City Premier | March 15, 1967}

The ground is forty feet below me.

There’s no net.

Nothing holding me up. I let go of the flying trapeze and, for a moment, I’m flying. I can hear the gasps, the collective holding of breath, and even a few shrieks rise from below. I’m starting to fall, but I’m not afraid. I just stretch out my arms, and I know she’ll be there to catch me. Because she’s always there. Because she always does.

The gasps echo, louder this time, as we both go sailing through the air. Me, dangling in mid-air, and my mother holding onto my arms with her legs hooked around the trapeze bar.

Then she lets go.

The screams pierce the air. I shut out the audience - the blur of faces and lights - as I tuck into a ball and flip through the air. Once. Twice. What they don’t see is my father, standing on the platform. He let the trapeze bar go right as I finished the first rotation. Coming out of the second, I plane my body out. My hands open wide, the trapeze bar smacking right against the palms. Holding fast, I sail through the air. Dismount, tuck into a backflip, and make the landing on the platform.

The cheers break out, even as my mother is following suit, until all three of us are standing on the platform together. The applause grows in intensity as she dismounts and joins us, then transforms into a standing ovation as we take a bow.

“The fearless Flying Graysons! Let’s have a great Gotham round of applause for ten year old Dicky Grayson. The youngest acrobat performing today!”

I step back, and soon I’m the only one standing on the platform. The performance goes into the second act and I’ve got the best seat in the house.

Stepping back from the platform, I put my back against the tent pole and slide down. The strength seems to go out of my legs and I’m starting to realize that my arms are numb. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m still trying to catch my breath. Below, it probably feels a little cool inside the tent. Up here, with all the lights, it feels like it’s a hundred degrees.

There’s a strange twang overhead. I look up, but it’s just the tension wires. In between the platforms, mom and dad are really putting on a show. I know every move. I know each routine. But it’s still incredible to witness. It takes my breath away, and I get to see this every day. The audience below? Amazed would be an understatement. I wish that I could be out there with them, but I’m still too little. Mom and dad are worried that I’ll get tired. Tired during practice is one thing. We have nets and safety harnesses while we learn a new routine. It gives us that little extra security to push ourselves to the limit to figure out what works and what doesn’t. Which, in my case, usually doesn’t. I hit the net four or five or even a dozen times some days.

But that’s practice, and this isn’t. So I come in at the start of the performance for the first act, then I’m sidelined for the second, and come back toward the end of the third. But I don’t really have any stunts after the first act.

The sound again. Louder, the cable and support structure giving a snap-CLAP of protest that echoed like a roll of thunder. I heard it. I bet the audience below heard it.

My parents heard it.

They’ve paused their routine, missing the jump. They’re lower than they should be. From this vantage point, I can see that the trapeze is sagging. My dad’s looking up at the cables. My mom’s looking at me. I can see her face.

I can see her fear.

“Mom?”

The cable snaps before I can even get back to my feet. “DAD!” I see them drop, and lunge forward. I collapse onto the platform, peering over the ledge and I see everything.

I see the end of the world.

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City of Bludhaven, New Jersey
Present Day

The coffee had been cold for more than an hour.

The styrofoam cup cradled in his hand, untouched, as he sat there. He seemed as oblivious to its presence in his grasp as he was the flash of lights from the roof of the police cruiser. The door to the car was open, one leg extended out to the shoulder of the road. Propped up in the driver’s seat, the former circus acrobat looked as though he was withering away. His clothes might have been slept in.

And that was before the call had come in about a school bus out on Route Sixteen.

The iconic, yellow caravan was reflected in the windshield of the police cruiser. Dick was staring at it when the phone rang. Reaching inside of his wrinkled suit coat, the disheveled man fished out a cell phone. Swiping a thumb across the screen, he brought the phone up up to the side of his head as he answered, “Yeah?”

“This hasn’t been a good two weeks for you, Commissioner.”

The scowl on the man’s well-lined face only deepened. He’d known it was only a matter of time before the political vultures began circling.

This had been a month for vultures.

“This hasn’t been a good two weeks for any of us,” Dick answered, working to keep his voice even as he spoke back into the phone.

“The mayor is asking for advice on what the messaging should be on this,” the man on the other end of the line remarked, before plunging ahead with what was obviously the line that the PR cadre intended to try and tow. “Can we call it an accident?”

With a shake of his head, Dick just rolled his eyes in disbelief. Then, staring at the coffee lingering in the cup, pitched the drink out the door of the car before returning to the conversation. In a much more heated tone. “I’ve got three dead bodies and thirteen missing children,” Dick snapped coldly. Did these politicians even give a damn about any of that? At times, he had his doubts. “That’s thirteen families that are going to show up in the hospitals, looking for their kids who were in the ‘accident.’ How long do you imagine that story’s going to hold water?”

Jesus. He was appealing to a political lobbyist with common sense. That was somewhere between futile and talking to a wall.

“We can’t go public with this,” the man’s voice on the line repeated, though it seemed as though he didn’t have any alternatives or thoughts of his own on the matter. “The outcry could spark a panic.”

“Whatever happened to ‘and the truth shall set you free?’”

“Jesus saves. You know what Jesus doesn’t do? Manage a fucking election campaign,” the man on the phone snapped in retort. There was a pause, before Dick heard, “Tell your people to keep this close-hold. We’ll be in touch regarding the messaging.”

The line gave a click, before Dick was left with the muted warble of the cell phone closing the connection.

He just sat there, in the police cruiser, staring out at the school bus without so much as breathing. Then, he punched the steering wheel as he lurched forward and exploded with a forceful, “FUCK!”

His people were trained to serve and protect. To color within the lines, investigating ordinary crimes.

There was nothing ordinary about what was happening in Bludhaven right now.

Relaxing back into the driver’s seat, Dick looked at his phone. A tap of his thumb brought up his contacts. Without even thinking about it, he started scrolling through the list.

Until his thumb hovered over a name.

WAYNE, BRUCE

He stayed that way for about three minutes, debating in his mind whether to make that phone call or not.

Instead, he put the phone down. His head in his hands, the Flying Grayson was at his wit’s end. He hadn’t been this twisted since he’d walked out on Bruce. But, he was certain of one thing.

Turning to Bruce Wayne for help was not the answer.

Instead, he picked the phone up and, this time, scrolled through the contacts until his thumb landed on CHARLES, SARAH.

This time, he pressed it.

Holding the phone up to his ear again, he heard it ring twice before she picked up. “Sarah? Dick Grayson.”

”Dick?” He almost winced at the surprise in her voice. Not because she was surprised, but because he knew that he’d come that guy who only called his friends when he needed something.

He’d become like Bruce.

”Oh my God, it’s been ages! How are you?”

He forced himself to smile. People could always hear the smile. “Good. You sound good,” he offered, trying to come off as relaxed or casual.

He could try to make conversation or...

No, just get to it. “You have time for a cup of coffee?” Dick asked, before adding “Your office, preferably.”

P O S T C A T L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

O P E R A T I O N D R A G O O N

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^{Southern France | September 14th, 1944}

The intelligence on Baron Alrecht Krieger was more guess work than anything else.

At the start of the war, his name had never come up. The first mention had popped up in British field reports coming out in Libya in 1942. The SAS used a codename in case the intelligence was intercepted. They called him Hauptmann Nazi.

Who was he? No one had come up with a good answer for that question. Instead, the assumption that he was just another fanatical upstart among a sea of power brokers vying for Hitler’s favor seemed to carry the day.

Was he Schutzstaffel or Wehrmacht? Again, no one knew. Instead, the agents in the field seemed to be making assumptions. In one mention, he was described as being part of the Waffen-SS. The next listed him as a member of the Reichssicherheitshauptamt.

Whatever the case, the descriptions provided seemed to more aptly depict the heroics of Wonder Woman or Captain America. The summaries each contained narratives that described actions that few, if any, people could have pulled off. Let alone believed. Hence the nickname as Captain Nazi. As for what he was up to now? The Allies had been searching for information, but with Rommel in retreat and the emphasis on the European Front, the SAS had lost track of Krieger after 1943.

Then, a month ago, the French Resistance had picked up Albrecht’s trail. They’d reported that he was up in the Vosges Mountains, preparing to move north toward Berlin. If that was true, then that would have allowed Diana or Steve to tackle whatever threat that this so-called Captain Nazi posed to the Allies.

The intelligence turned out to be wrong.

Albrecht Krieger had gone south. A push from the German’s to try and make up for lost territory in the Cote d’Azure region.

Billy had a reputation for being faster than a locomotive. Krieger was faster. To this point, the Captain Marvel of the newspapers had gotten by through raw strength. When he faced a challenge, he overcame because he just overpowered whatever it was. A few of the GIs had taught him boxing, but it had been made out as a joke. Why would Captain Marvel need to know boxing? He could just flick a bad guy with his pinky finger and send him flying across the room.

Billy might have been stronger than Krieger. Who could say? The fact was, Billy couldn’t lay a finger on Captain Nazi. Instead, Krieger was literally beating Billy in the streets, as the last vestiges of the German Army rallied for a comeback against the Allied force that had been rolling over them for the last month.

Pile-driving the child-sized hero into the American tank, the German supersoldier rolled from off of the warped and twisted metal. Yanking the boy free of the wreckage, the man skipped the boy’s skull across the cobblestones like a skipping stone for the better part of a city block.

Billy’s torn and battered form just lay in the middle of the street.

“Kid!”

A young medic scrambled out from the alleyways, sprinting under a spattering of machine gun fire until he was crouching down before the boy’s small body. “Shit,” the man swore, looking over Billy’s bruised form as he rolled the child over. Slapping the side of the boy’s face, the medic peered into the blue eyes as they fluttered open. “You okay?”

Billy gave a nod. He tried to take a deep breath, but stopped short as pain lanced through his side. Clutching at his ribs, the young Marvel pulled himself back to his feet. “Never better,” the boy managed, between clenched teeth. Then, with a sigh, started jogging back toward where Krieger was presently dismantling another tank unit with his bare hands.

Round two lasted about two-point-eight seconds. After which Billy, now stuffed inside the barrel of the tank’s main gun, came rolling down the street, stopping only when the bend in the road cause the barrel to jump the curb and smash into the front of what used to be a bakery.

“God... fuck!” the medic swore, at first diving out of the way and then sprinting over to where a pair of legs were sticking out of the barrel.

The acrid odor of bile rose up from the grease and soot encrusted child that was pulled from out of the wreckage. Lines of clean skin stood out on the boy’s face, carved out by the tears that had run down through the dirt. “I threw up,” Billy confessed, his hair disheveled and his eyes confused as he emerged discombobulated and off-balance.

Holding the boy by the shoulders, the medic sat him up. The medic’s grip tightened as Billy doubled over and heaved a second time. “I won’t tell anyone,” the soldier offered softly.

Rolling forward, Billy crawled on all fours away from the wreckage. Gulping in air, he winced as he pushed up to his feet. He staggered forward, before dropping back onto one knee. His shoulders bowed, he labored to catch his breath as the medic’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“Kid..." the soldier began, pausing a moment before asking, “Why do you keep getting up?”

Reaching across his body, the young Baton gently eased the medic’s hand from his shoulder before slowing rising back to his feet. Catching his breath, Billy winced and wondered that same question silently to himself.

“Because someone fucking has to,” he said finally.

T O L M E R I A

---

^{Present Day}

Terrax the Pants-less was strong.

Stronger than Billy, that had become clear. In quick order, the fight on Toleria was starting to feel a lot like France. No, there were no warm, summer breezes. No French wine or cheese. But the curb-stomp ass-kickings were particularly beautiful this time of year.

Billy lashed out with a punch aimed at Terrax’s head, but his reach was too short. Terrax’s longer arm snapped in a block. Twisting in mid-air, Billy kicked the man’s arm aside.

Only to be grabbed by Terrax’s free hand and tossed aside like a discarded Kleenex.

For a moment, Billy felt as though he had been stuffed back inside that tank barrel, rolling down the street, as the world spun while he was thrown through the air. Twisting against the direction of the spin, Billy got his bearings as he halted his ascent in the air. Striking his gauntlets against each other, the boy triggered an explosion of energy as he thrust his arms out toward the ground below.

The impact of the blast sent shockwaves rippling through the planet, as liquefaction momentarily transformed the soil.

From out of the dust cloud, two hunks of rock sailed outward with supersonic speed and lethal precision, slamming into Billy’s small form to knock him from out of the sky. He only just begun to process what had even happened then, before he crashed down onto the scorched sands.

Rolling several times, the form of the young boy popped up to his feet. Kicking his head to one side, sand was slung from out of his head as he blinked through the grime clinging to his face and found himself peering up at the towering form of Terrax standing over him.

“I WILL BREAK THE FOUNDATIONS OF THIS PLANET AND CAST THESE PEOPLE INTO THE ETERNAL ABYSS BEFORE I YIELD TO YOU!”

As the man stretched his hands out, Billy became aware of a tremor that was starting to grow into an earthquake.

A big earthquake.

A REALLY BIG earthquake.

Could Terrax really be intending to tear the planet apart? Billy didn’t know. But, he also wasn’t going to take any chances. Which meant, he needed to get Terrax off this planet. Like, now.

“Noted,” the boy said, pulling a hand back.

Then he snapped forward. There was another explosion of energy, before Terrax went flying through the air with enough force as to hopefully break orbit.

Could Terrax even survive out in space? Part of him hoped that he could.

Part of him really wouldn’t mind if he couldn’t.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Just the vultures at the gate wanting to pick my legacy apart.

@Sep

First rule of any rpg: always, always, always remember to loot the corpse.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Sorry for the unexpected hiatus.

We are back with Marvelous Mondays.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

T O L M E R I A

---

^{The Andromeda Galaxy}

Contrary to what people might think, there was no user manual or even a how to guide on how to hero. Instead, from the very moment that Billy had come into possession of powers and abilities beyond his comprehension, it had been a journey filled with mistakes and happenstance victories as he’d just figured it out for himself.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, Billy had learned to move faster than a speeding bullet. Because it had been a full-blown world war and the bullets had filled the air like a terror of locusts, carving out no man’s land between entrenched positions of soldiers who slowly suffered through a war of attrition, marking time, waiting for either death or victory.

That was before he knew that he could fly. Before he’d ever broken the sound barrier or traveled faster-than-light.

These days, a guy armed with a pole-ax had no chance.

Arcs of lightning sparked from off the child’s body, as the young Batson casually side-stepped out of the path of the falling axe blade. The polearm froze in the air, the blade mere inches from impacting the ground.

A look of confusion passed over Terrax the Pants-less’ face, as it was another moment before the man realized that the boy had snapped a hand up and seized hold of the polearm’s shaft. The weapon seemed to radiate in place, as the boy and the self-described dictator each tested the strength of the other.

Then, slowly, Billy started to feel the pole-axe pull away from his grip.

Terrax the Pants-less had some serious strength going on.

“FOOL!” the shale-skinned man boomed, boasting “I wield the Power Cos--MUAH!”

As Terrax’s pull strengthened, Billy simply released his hold on the shaft. The sudden loss of tension caused the man to lose his balance, stumbling about as he struggled to find his footing, slipping down on one knee as his boots dug and shifted in the loose sand.

“I’m sorry. Were you monologuing?” Billy asked, feigning innocence, as the youth simply stood there with his hands now tucked into the pockets of the jacket that he wore. Pulling a hand free, he gestured up toward his head as he remarked, “Two-second attention span. I’ll need you to keep it short. Sound bites, not whole sentences. That sort of thing.”

Rising back to his feet, the shale-skinned, towering Goliath adjusted his grip on the pole-axe. “You dare mock Terrax!?” the man bellowed, thrusting the butt of the polearm deep into the ground, like a conquistador planting their flag.

Billy just kicked his head to one side as he seemed to let that statement pass. Then, with his other hand, gestured toward Terrax as he said, “Okay, first of all, if you’re gonna make yourself dictator-for-life of a planet you kinda have to be prepared to live with the consequences of being a public figure. And, yeah, it sucks. Been there. I know.” Didn’t these absolute power types know this? Probably not, owing to the whole absolute power schtick. “But second and most of all, the dude not wearing pants is just going to get what he gets.”

Strong. And fast.

There was a brilliant flash, the energy crackling along Billy’s frame as Terrax came barreling forward. With preternatural grace, the young Batson neatly stepped out and around, watching as the gigantic figure went flying past.

There was a loud crack of thunder as Terrax slid to a halt, realizing that Billy now stood behind him. “Seriously, it’s like the future out here. We can get you a good set of trousers.”

Terrax was obviously a man who had trained for this.

That was okay. Billy had never set out to train to fight anyone, but he’d had to learn. Some folks in the Army had taught him about boxing. The Kymelians had a style of combat that they referred to as kyav zaga. The Majesdane’s trained their Light Brigade in tor’su’fan. And the Galadorians just picked up a sword and kicked some ass.

The Skrulls? God only knew what they called their fighting styles. Billy had seen a few. And he’d been doing this now for a long ass time.

Raising his arm overhead, Billy blocked the overhead swing that slammed down with the force of several metric tonnes of force. The ground shook with the impact, even as Terrax following up with a kick aimed at catching Billy in the side.

Instead, Billy took two steps back and felt the rush of air as the man’s leg swept just an inch away from his face.

A pair of hands came at him, as the boy stretched forward and found himself grappling with a pair of hands that were each about the size of his head.

“For your insolence, I will find your people and bring about the end of your pla...”

An explosion ripped from out of Billy’s body, as a wave of kinetic energy radiated outward in a sudden release, catching Terrax and lifting him up as he was tossed a short distance away.

And there, standing amid the smoldering glass that surrounded the scorched earth at his feet, Billy just quipped, “Hey, man, I’m not even about to let you do that to these people I never even met before today. And you want to talk about Earth?”

Unzipping his jacket, the boy shrugged his way out of the red and blue top, allowing it to drop onto the ground. A pair of dog tags hung from his neck, as the boy stepped forward, pounding one fist into the palm of his open hand as he paused to ask, “...how well do you think that’s going to go for you?”

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Billy post delayed 24 hours.

Picked up a case of food poisoning this weekend. I'm hoping to have it together again tomorrow.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

I dare you to find a list of more eclectic shit than this.

Billy Batson - What's Up, Danger?
Kofi Whitemane - The Touch
Aelfyre Whitemane - Rasputin (alt. Daddy Cool, which is how Aelfyre dances when he thinks no one watches)
Smartship Friday - Black Betty
(OC) Alora - Sun in Our Eyes
(OC) Warlord G'Kar - Bodies

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Short Billy post for your Monday.

I'll try and pick it up next week.