DocTachyon

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Glitter And Gold: Part Nine

“The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.”

-Anonymous

---

New York City, New York --- The Raft Prison Island

---

Vigilante sat astride his bike, content to watch the arrival of Big Barda. The prison had been cleared in large part. Nothing normal rescue crews couldn’t rightly handle, apparently. Instead, he got to watch an alien-lady pull her alien-superhero-husband who was the Silver Surfer, but now wasn’t, through a portal that appeared in the middle of nowhere with of some fancy box. Vigilante needed a drink.

“The stench of The Power Cosmic lingers, Greg Saunders. Something wicked this way comes.” The Spirit warned.

The Spirit was right. Through the holes in the skull, Vigilante could see it spread out all across the bay, that same inky black-and-silver-and-gold spread across the sky and on the surface of The Raft like it was blood, gore from The Surfer’s brawl with Thor. Wisps of it reached for the sky, longing for their master… Whoever it was. Darkseid, he’d heard someone say. Whoever or whatever that was, Vigilante could feel its presence on the horizon, popping and boiling somewhere in the cosmos. Evil in pure form, like a creature borne of Hell itself. Billions of spirits called for him, somewhere in the vastness of the cosmos. But their voices did not call for vengeance. They called for him to run.

“It’s wielder will come for us. All of us. You must be ready… Or this world, and Warpath alike, will burn.” And then The Spirit was gone from his mind, slunk into the background. Content rest, if only for a spell.

Vigilante had never been awake as The Spirit receded from his mind. Flash-grown skin leaped across his body as red hellfires died in his chest, squeezing on cracked ribs and bruised muscles Vig didn’t know he had.

’Hrrg…” He grunted in pain as the change washed over his body. Daggers stabbed into his lungs and chest from his ribs. Apparently getting bitch-slapped by The Silver Surfer wasn’t very good for your health. The Spirit was gone and in his stead was a plum out of place cowpoke.

He walked over to where The Flash had dropped Jaime, trying his best to keep his ribs steady. ”You did good out there J-” Vig stopped himself and shot a glance around. Probably wasn’t a great idea to drop his real name around all these prisoners n’ the like. Lotsa super-folk really cared about that sorta thing. He looked Jaime up n’ down. He was blue… N’ that armor on his back sure did look a lot like a bug… ”Er, ‘scuse me. I mean, uh, nice one, Blue Beetle?” Vig tried the name on for size. Kid was smart enough to get rid of it if he didn’t like it. ”I can give ya a lift back, but it might be a little slower n’ it was gettin’ here.” Vig said.

He turned to the rest of the heroes, Flash already limping her way away. Didn’t seem much fit to Vig. They all come together n’ barely come out on top. Best fighter with a hole in his chest, and already people were just trying to get away from each other. Vig took his hat in his hands.

”It’s been a pleasure, y’all. I’m mighty proud of us, all of us, that we could… Well, that we could handle somethin’ like that.” Vig pointed to the spot where Barda and pulled The Surfer away.

”But it seems to me that this, whatever this is, is jes’ gettin’ started. N’ I don’t know that any of us can handle it alone. I don’t much know how you super-folk usually play things but maybe we should… I dunno, exchange email?”

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Glitter And Gold: Part Eight

“The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.”

-Anonymous

---

New York City, New York --- The Raft Prison Island

---

”No!” Vigilante’s lariat had just kissed the sole of Johnny Storm’s boot before the Surfer snatched him away. Vig plummeted to the ground, tangling himself on his bike, trying to jump from it in mid-air and snatch Storm from The Surfer’s grasp, but it was too late.

Vigilante slammed into the ground and his bike went skittering away across the shattered concrete ground. He was on his feet immediately, gun in hand, trying to get a bead on The Surfer.

”C’mon ugly, jes hold still for three seconds…” Before he could get a clear shot, a pillar of light appeared so fast it seemed to erupt from The Surfer’s back. It was like the finger of God. For all he had seen in Hell, Vigilante had never witnessed power like this… At least not up close.

”Kick his ass, big guy!” Vigilante shouted to the God of Thunder. Thor and the Surfer battled through the seas and the skies, slamming into each other in bursts of power, lightning arcing off from each strike.

“Join the fight, Greg Saunders.” The Spirit called to him. He could feel his body moving already, his bike automatically righting itself for its rider --

”Beleive me, I’d love to give him a piece of my mind. But this is a whole ‘nother weight class to you and me. Way I reckon, we’re jes a spirit, not a God. I’m sure we’ll get a chance to get our licks in on our own time. Meantime, lotta innocent souls left on this here vessel.” Vigilante said, shaking the tension out of his muscles and calling for his bike. This was an argument to have later, n’ The Spirit knew that, deep down.

"You, skull dude. Mind giving me a ride through the Raft? I'll use what webbing I have left to keep any fracture points we find as structurally sound as I can make them. That will give the rest of you time to get as many people out as possible. Sound good?"

@HenryJonesJr

”Works for me, ma’am.” His bike rolled to his side and he sat, Spider-Woman perching behind him. He pulled the throttle and the bike took off through the prison, winding around tight corners and touring as much of the prison as he could to let Spider-Woman tag each weak spot. He snatched up prisoners and guards up as he went, dropping ‘em off in marginally more secure areas of the prison, hopefully to get sheparded across the bridge by someone else.

”Y’all should invite me to these shin-digs more often.” Vig quipped, skirting around a corner, blasting through a pile of collected rock. ”So much fun.”

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Glitter And Gold: Part Seven

“The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.”

-Anonymous

---

New York City, New York --- The Raft Prison Island

---

Vigilante had never given much thought to how The Spirit saw the world. He’d thought it a kinda mess of goods and evils, targeting him to wrongs that had to be righted like some kinda vengeance-seeking-missile. But somehow, he could sense a weight coming off these folks, if it weren’t enough to see ‘em so haggard anyhow. A weight mightier n’ anything Vigilante had ever seen sat on their shoulders; but here they were, riskin’ life and limb against Mr. Crayola Model Magic over there, crazy spandex or not.

“Old Chrome Dome really isn’t playing around this time. There was enough on that one to flatten me. You’d better keep your heads on a swivel, people.”

“You heard the man,” Reed shouted to the others as he assumed control. “The Surfer’s not pulling his punches anymore. If he hits you, you’re going down for the count. We need to play this one smart. Johnny, Vigilante, I want you to give him something to think about – keep your distance, pepper him with everything you’ve got, but keep moving.”

@Morden Man

Vig hadn’t figured anyone outside of Jaime’d know who in the Hell he was. Apparently word was gettin’ around. Bout time to live up to the recognition.

”Loud n’ clear, Boss Man! C’mon, Hotshot! Let’s see if he feels lucky.” Vigilante spun his pistol in his hand and began to fire again, giving The Surfer the runaround with his bike. As the drove he spun his whip, pulling out giant bits of concrete that had been knocked from the walls and flinging them at The Surfer.

As he fired, he shot a look at the ‘Johnny’ feller, see how he was handling it. There was a rage building up in that boy. His face was all shock and awe. But then? Nothing but focus and anger. Even from the ground he could feel the flyboy getting hotter n’ hotter -- and he was headed straight for the Surfer.

”City slickers gettin’ into trouble all the gotdang time leavin folks like me to…” Vigilante grumbled to himself, swerving his bike and following the hotshot’s path.

”Hey! What happened to ‘keep yer distance’?” Vigilante shouted up at him. He wasn’t sure if the feller could hear over the roar of his own flames, boiling to a fever pitch.

“You want death? You want destruction? Well buckle up, you son of a bitch, because there’s no coming back from where we're going!”

@Morden Man

“Jesus, Mary, n’ Joseph.” Vigilante said, staring up at the wave of fire that burst forth from Johnny Storm’s body, sweeping through the battlefield like a pyromaniac’s idea of a tidal wave. If that wasn’t everything he had in the tank, Vig didn’t know shit from shinola. Kid was probably about to fall like a ton of bricks. And he was the only one outta the fellers still standing that could handle that kind of heat.

”Hold onto your horses, kid! Imma comin’!” Vigilante shouted. He flung his lariat out, dragging up a piece of weakened concrete into a makeshift ramp. He revved the engine and launched himself down the ramp, flinging himself high into the sky, through the fire that was just starting to ebb from the point of impact. Hopefully he could catch ‘im before he had a bad fall, or help him fight whatever came next.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Glitter And Gold: Part Six

“The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.”

-Anonymous

---

New York City, New York --- The Raft Prison Island

---

”Kid!” Jaime was all Vigilante could think about as he was blasted off of his bike, flying past Wonder Woman and smashing through a six inch concrete wall. Pain was everywhere, but already he could feel the presence of the Spirit, hellfire stitching together the fractures in his bones as if they’d never been there at all. Vigilante hauled himself out of the rubble and looked side to side to survey the damage.

It was like a thing outta some wartime comic book. Wonder Woman was launchin’ through the air like a regular Captain America, n’ the Spider-Lady snatching the fastest woman alive outta’ the air. The Surfer hung in the sky like a malevolent God, waiting to pass his judgement. But then there was Jaime, clawing his way out of the rubble, one piece at a time. He was supposed to have gotten clean outta’ there after the jump. He should’ve-could’ve…. He was here now, and that meant protecting him.

Vigilante’s bike lay sandwiched in a pile of twisted metal and concrete, he rushed for it, shoving aside the huge slab of stone like a kid’s toy. He jammed his hand into the saddle bags and produced two pistols, blazing black with hellfire. Jaime was on his feet now, recombobulating his hands into some kinda fuckoff giant laser. He was gonna fire on The Surfer.

The Surfer was… God, he hadn’t even had a moment to think about the measure of his power. He’d smacked him n’ Jaime aside like they were children gettin’ too rowdy in the playpen. An alien superweapon n’ an agent of what might as well have been the devil himself, knocked over like a row of dominoes.

”I ain’t much given to askin’ for help… But how do we stop him?”

There was a silence in his head as Vigilante righted his bike.

“I do not know… What do you always say? Shoot it until it stops moving?”

”I can do that.” Vigilante said aloud. He mounted his bike and the engine roared, he screamed off into the distance, making long circles of The Raft. He took his pistol in one hand and lariat in the other.

”Hey ugly! You and me r’ gonna mix!” Vigilante shouted, gunning the throttle, pushing the engines as hard as he could go and keeping his turns tight around the arena. Hopefully he’d be too fast to get tagged -- n’ too distracting for the Surfer to even think about touching Jaime.

”See if you can't keep him still!”

@Superboy

”You heard the kid! Let’s get ‘im tied!” Vigilante took aim with his pistol, and black bullets coated in fire started pinging off his metal exterior. Maybe they weren’t doin much to hurt him, but hopefully the distraction’d pay off. He threw his lariat high into the sky, looping it around the Surfer’s ankle and tugging with everything he had.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Alright, @DocTachyon and @Superboy if you want in on this round of Surfer action, speak now (or within the next couple of hours) or forever hold your peace.

I'm going to try to respond to everything in one slightly longer post as opposed to individually as outlined above, so let me know so no one is left out before taking their shot.

@Morden Man

I'm in, I just need an hour or two, out with family ATM. That said, you can go ahead and post begore I can get something up if need be.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

”I’ve got one. The Spirit of the Gun.”

@DocTachyon

Vigilante is actually called this in the comics sometimes, for... Some reason.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Glitter And Gold: Part Five

“The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.”

-Anonymous

---

Warpath, Texas

---

It wasn’t like the other times. Wasn’t nothing that posed a threat to Warpath like that… Like that thing. Vigilante was hesitant to even call it a man. For all the wrath of The Dummy and the number of The Bounty Hunters, wasn’t nothing that coulda stopped Black Star this side of the Mississippi. His power, his speed. He coulda turned Vigilante’s bones to powder by looking at him funny. Vigilante could feel the pain in his heart, watching The Spirit get thrashed. Black Star put ‘im through walls like they were made of cardboard. Everything fell away from him, then. The Theater all melted away into the background, n’ he was dimly aware of something behind him, tellin’ him to wrest control. Wasn’t no sense in fighting that thing anymore than there was in fightin’ Black Star himself. All he could do was what he’d always done. What his Pop had always done. Offer his hand and try to help.

It was something different, sharing his body. Wasn’t much like they were fighting, one man over another, wrestling n’ trying to decide what would happen next. They battled together, moved as one unit. Vigilante felt himself joined with the souls that made up The Spirit. He felt their anguish and their pain, pouring into him and putting strength behind each of his blows and the crackling power behind his words. It was closer than any kinda teamwork Vigilante could've hoped to describe. His thoughts all faded away until there was nothing left but his Enemy and his Mission. Fight Black Star. Save Warpath. Save The World. Just black and white morality, a cowboy and his gun, er, lariat.

He could feel himself standing over Black Star now, vision tunneled, burning hands quavering. Looking down at his body, the subtle rise and fall of his chest betraying the monster’s life. Burns crisscrossing up and down his costume, asking for more. Itching to stretch his lariat around Black Star’s neck and pull. He imagined his hands around Black Star’s neck, boiling the flesh away, staring into the depths of his blackened soul and extinguishing it. Then his vision started to pull back.

His breath was hot against his clothes, hotter n’ the Texas heat or the fire that raged in his belly. He could taste the smoke in the air, but maybe that was on account of his head being aflame. Warpath burned around him. They were little fires, nothing the stiff breeze wouldn’t take care of, but he could hear the crackling, waiting to turn into an inferno. But most of all, he saw the alien kid stood before him. His armor was cracked all over the shop, spider webbing up and down his form. He was meek in stature, now that Vig got a good, quiet look at him. Vigilante drew himself up. He could hear every click of his spinal cord as he drew himself to his full height, looking upon the kid.

”Vigilante?”

@Superboy

The kid’s voice felt a million miles away, something out of a dream. He was floating now, reaching for something to say in a cosmic ether that reached off and beyond into a great nothing. He could faintly make out the kid arguing to himself in the background, but all he could focus on was the pitch-white skull coalescing before his eyes.

“Gregory Saunders.” Its words seemed to shake the frame of the world around him, giving a sketchy distorsion to the darkness.

”Spirit.” He greeted it. He no longer saw the creature from his dreams. No, instead it was a bleached white skull like any of the cow skulls he’d seen out in the untangled desert before. A crackling black fire cooked in either of its empty eye sockets. It stared intently.

“You want to run.” It said the last word like it was poison. Flaming spittle dribbled down the bone. It sizzled away into nothing.

”What in tarnation gives you that idea? Come Hell or high water, I’m here for these people. You know that.” Vigilante tried to square his shoulders and step forward to the skull, but he found his movement locked, as if all control of his body had been stolen.

“Fool. You so obstinately refuse to ‘abandon’ these people that you bury your head in the sand. The Surfer must be fought. But you will hide here.“ The skull said. Every word felt like a stake being driven through his body, restraining him, pushing him further from control.

”What’s left for them? Huh? You expect me to leave good folks to rot?” Vigilante shouted back. He willed himself to move, contorting every muscle in his body. He’d give that thing a piece of his mind.

“This is bigger than us. It’s bigger than them! You cannot comprehend the enormity of this threat. The force that fuels that man carries behind it a path of carnage and bloodshed spanning eons. Incalculable death. Suffering. It will come here. And everything will end.”

”There’s others! There’s always gonna be others! The Flash! Superman! Warpath hasn’t got anybody but me!” Vigilante could feel what felt like tears streaming down his cheeks. His muscles burned. His vision was starting to leave him, like he was being pushed down into some lower place, stifled before overwhelming force.

“You so obstinately refuse to ‘abandon’ these people that you damn the world entire. You sit here with you head in the sand, letting the sinners and the devils come to you. You act as if a hero of God, bearing your burden to ‘protect’ them. Yet all the killers have only ever come for you. Warpath sits on the brink and you, its ‘sole protector’ threaten to push it over with every passing day.” The skull screaming now, swallowing Vigilante’s vision up into a cloud of black fire, hiding everything from him but his pain. He saw images boil up and pop out of existence as quickly as they’d come. It was him, destroying a limousine thirty miles out of town. It was him, fighting Bounty Hunters through the streets of Gotham, The Batman at his side. Him, holding a man with a scar on a three-fingered hand out of a New York highrise, with Jonah Hex right behind him. Dueling Black Star in the middle of nowhere, shoulder to shoulder with The Soldiers. What could’ve been. What should have been.

”God…” Vigilante’s voice felt small in his throat. As soon as he opened his lips, fire poured into him, probing his insides and burning him alive. He could not scream. Every muscle in his body felt like it was made of jello. He pushed himself up, muscles threatening to burst. He forced his lips open, ”God… Forgive me…”

Vigilante beheld the skull before him, as it stared blankly down its nose at him. Vigilante forced his fist into the sky; it felt like he was trying to shove it through a cart of bricks. [color=#f92a0e]”[i]We do this... “[/color] He hacked out a cough. His skin was starting to melt away, obscuring his vision. ”Together. Only… Only way…”

The Spirit cackled. “Do you expect forgiveness? Redemption?”

”No.” Vigilante straightened up. He pushed the pain to one side, and set his jaw, and furrowed his brow. Sight up on target. Aim true. ”Vengeance.”

”Right, so I'll...I'll explain on the way, but how fast can that fancy motorcycle-from-hell of yours move? 'Cause if we want to get to the Surfer, we're gonna need to head up to New York and I left my running shoes at home.”

@Superboy

And then he was home again, the kid before him.

”Oh, by the way… My name’s Jaime. Jaime Reyes. I’m from El Paso.”

@Superboy

Vigilante tried to swallow, but he found his form could not. He extended a hand.

”Greg. Greg Saunders… And this is Warpath.”

He turned to face the bike. It was like he was reaching out with his mind to something living and breathing. It responded to his touch, seeming to shiver at it. He could sense its saddlebags, crammed full of guns and munitions. He could feel the horsepower of the engine in his chest, pistons driving home to his core.

”... And I get the sense that we can get goin’ pretty got-dang fast.”

New York City, New York --- The Raft Prison Island

---

It takes commercial airliners six hours to get from El Paso to New York City. The humming engine between Vigilante’s legs had taken them there in a half hour. They screamed through the streets, exploding storefronts with sonic booms as they sped for The Raft. Jaime had locked himself around Vigilante with a series of alien-metal contraptions locked around his body. The boy blasted all of his suit’s engines full speed to get them the extra boost they needed to get there in time. Blue and red flame intermingled in the scorching trail they left across the pavement, heading for the Raft.

Vigilante had spent the ride explaining the situation in Warpath to Jaime, if the poor feller could hear him over the roar of the wind. He figured it was his way of explaining to him that he was, under no circumstances, to enter this fight. He was hurt plum bad enough already, n’ the only reason he came along was to give ‘em the gas they needed to reach The Raft before the Surfer could skedaddle, or send out another round of goons. The kid was just supposed to get off n’ muster whatever military of SHIELD response he could. This was to be a fight between Vigilante and his enemy. No sense for that kid to waste his life n’ get hisself killed.

”Y’know. They all gave you a name. Every previous holder.”

“Yes. I was El Diablo. The Ghost Rider. Others.”

”I’ve got one. The Spirit of the Gun.”

They were close now, seconds away. Vigilante saw The Raft before him now, rising up out of the bay like a great plateau out of nothing. Vigilante took his lariat in his hands and started to spin it, whipping up huge, street spanning circles, preparing for his first blow. He pulled back on the handlebars and the thrust from Jaime’s jets thrust the pair into the air, high over the New York Bay, screaming straight down for the deck of The Raft.

”SUUUURFEEEEERRR!”

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

The Surfer could do little to hold back his frustration, knowing that when given the choice, each chosen prisoner of The Raft had sided with personal retribution over the path of virtue. All they had been tempted with was a mere taste of power, and their greed did the rest. Mick Rory had sought to be one with the destructive flame. Doris Zeul had sought the strength to match her ability to transcend stature. Aviva Metula had sought a greater link with this world's literal darkness. The team of thieves once known as Matthew Hagen, Preston Payne, Sondra Fuller, and Basil Karlo had sought to be unified in power stemming from this world itself, despite becoming a singular abomination. Hector Hammond sought ultimate knowledge and the power to control it. And Leslie Willis, already having mastered the power of electricity, sought only to be turned loose and make the world feel her wrath.

@Master Bruce

No William Mowse? Ouch. Anyway, Jaime and Vig should be arriving on scene with my next post, should be up tonight, or in the wee hours of tomorrow morning.

@Retired


Sad to see you go, my man. Hope everything turns out alright for you. Best wishes!

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Glitter And Gold: Part Four

“The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.”

-Anonymous

---

Warpath, Texas

---

"Unless you've got a hand grenade in that belt, I think you might need my help!"

@Superboy

”Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch wouldn’t do much, kid.” Vigilante wouldn’t be surprised if he could outrun the shrapnel, somehow. Conventional approach wouldn’t work, sumbitch was too strong, fast, and durable to tag ‘im. Only thing Vig could think of was maybe putting two shotgun barrels in his mouth and hoping that’d crack it… But mosta the guns were in the barn now, and that was busy gettin’ perforated by pieces of the town. There were a coupla spare shotguns n’ rifles over by Black Star but… Gettin’ those presented its own problems.

”This guy's a bit above our weight class- we're gonna need a plan!"

@Superboy

”Could try to keep this dust up n’ you could pepper him with yer irons… Assuming you’ve got any in that thing.” Vig responded. He slashed at the ground with his whip again as a hunk of concrete as long as his arm sailed past his head. Vig shot a glance back at the kid to watch as the armor around his hands shifted into a huge plasma-cannon-dohickey. Vig grunted in satisfaction and slashed again. Maybe things weren’t so desperate after all.

“Fool! Release me!” The Spirit howled in his mind. Vig grit his teeth. Damn thing always wanted out, but it never fought like this. It really wanted a crack at whatever the hell kinda force was powering Black Star. Vig could still feel the waves of energy rolling off of Black Star, like The Spirit was hijacking his sense to make him understand… Vig considered letting it out. Certainly stood a better chance than he did. But maybe it was keepin’ mum on the kid ‘cause it knew Vig would never let it out otherwise.

”Yeah, not helping. You get any better ideas other than 'kill him'?!"

@Superboy

”Tryin my best, compadre.” Vig frowned, trying to whip up more dust. It was so scattered by now that it was gettin’ mighty hard to get up another cloud… Their time in cover was limited, n’ it seemed like the kid was pussyfooting around shooting the bastard.

”I got it! Not compatible! Dios mío you're useless. What does that even mean?!"

@Superboy

Vig didn’t have a spell to consider that particular statement before the kid raised his cannon and started firin’ anyhow. Teenagers. Every shot of the plasma was boring a big ol’ hole in the cloud. It seemed like it was taggin’ the big feller good, but it was also makin’ em easier targets. Vig tried to usher him through the remnants of the cloud as he fired, minimizing the amount of shots Black Star could get in on them. Big guy wasn’t takin’ em too good. In the moments of clarity Vig had, he saw burns all over his costume, and he looked mighty pissed.

”Kid, I’m startin’ to think this ain’t exactly tenable. We’re blowin’ through our cover fast n’ a one-legged man in an ass kicking competition.” Vig whipped again and no dust rose from the cracked surface of the ground. Do or die time. Vig turned to look at the kid. He seemed deadly focused on firing, not paying Vig no mind. At the same time, he seemed like he was somewhere else entirely.

”Great. Just great. My psychotic Jiminy Cricket comes with an error message. Terrific."

@Superboy

”Kid?” Vig watched as the alien’s weapons melted away into wicked blades protruding from his forearms, they looked as long n’ sturdy as the prow of a battleship. As the smoke cleared Vig saw tension ripple across the surface of the armor. No.

”Kid!” Vig tried to loop his lariat around the kid but it was too late, he rushed forward, blades at the ready, coming to puncture Black Star through and through. Vig launched after him, but the kid cleared the way to Black Star in what must’ve been miliseconds. He tried to sidestep but the kid caught him just right, puttin’ one of his stabbers right into the big guy.

”AGH!” Black Star recoiled. ”Insolent whelp!” A hand as big as a baseball mitt curled into a fist and crashed into the kid’s stomach, making him stagger back from the force. Black Star threw and uppercut and the kid got launched into the air like a rocketship. Black Star caught him by the neck at the peak of the throw and choke-slammed him into the ground. The sickening crunch of alien metal reverberated through Vigilante’s head.

”Motherfucker!” All Vig could see was red. This… This animal had come into his town and was beating a goddamn kid half to death. He could barely register his movement, all he could hear was his breathing and the pounding in his ears, and The Spirit boiling to the surface of his mind. He could feel his legs starting to pop and boil with an unnatural heat, but he didn’t mind. He pulled a double barreled shotgun from one of the proches that lay unmolested and screamed, firing one, and again. He was right before Black Star now, and his gun was empty. The supervillain raised a hand to crush Vigilante’s skull. Vig brought the shotgun around for a swing,

And The Spirit of Vengeance finished it. Orange hellfire exploded from Vigilante’s skull as The Spirit cracked the shotgun over Black Star’s chest. The villain stepped back and grunted, then delivered a palm strike to The Spirit’s jaw. The Spirit stumbled backwards and snarled. Hellfire was already knitting the crack in the bone back together.

”A metahuman after all.” Black Star drew himself up to his full height, towering over The Spirit. ”But dead all the same.” Black Star lashed out and The Spirit and slammed it back, sending it crashing through the dust and cracking the surface of the dirt and stone below.

The Spirit’s head yanked up and stared Black Star down. ”Suffer!” Black fire billowed from its skull and roared across the sands into Black Star’s face. He sneered and swatted the fires away. He smiled.

”What!?” The Spirit cried. It could feel a niggling presence worming its way to surface of the swirling mass of souls that constituted its consciousness.

”My prowess is wasted on you.” Black Star snapped out a kick into The Spirits chest and smashed it clean through the siding of a house and through the antique living room couch.

”Hrrm…” The Spirit drew to its feet and stared out at Black Star, taking contemplative steps towards it, head held high. The presence fighting through The Spirit’s mind was stronger now, pushing aside more and more souls and climbing its way to the top. It was shouting, trying to force The Spirit’s attention. The Spirit ignored it and grabbed half of the couch it had crashed through and heaved it at Black Star.

The supervillain stopped in his tracks and absorbed the blow. The couch detonated into a cloud of splinters across his body. He started forward. ”To think that you are the only obstacle to my conquest. All this time plotting and planning, and I have the power dropped on my doorstep!”

The Spirit recoiled, feeling the presence emerge on the surface of its mind, blazing with fury. ”You can’t take him alone! Neither of us can!”

”Watch me.” The Spirit grabbed the lariat from its side and it snaked around the home’s television set. The Spirit jerked its arm and the set slammed into Black Star’s face, burying shards of glass in his skin. In a moment The Spirit was upon him, slashing him with burning blows of the lariat and driving fists of fire into his body. Black Star howled and swept The Spirits legs out from under it, and kicking it through the drywall and falling through the porcelain sink.

”He’ll kill us both! Let me help you!” The Spirit shook stars from its vision and grabbed what was left of the fixture, hauling itself to its feet. Black Star picked his way across the destroyed living room, heading for The Spirit. ”Do not believe you can control me, mortal.” The Spirit grabbed the cover of the toilet’s tank and charged Black Star, shattering it over his head. Black Star grabbed The Spirit and threw it into the air, obliterating the ceiling.

”No!” The presence called at the apex of the throw. The Spirit flopped onto the roofing, knocking off a score of shingles. ”We do this together.” The Spirit struggled to hold itself up. It shot a glance below, Black Star was preparing to leap up. ”Fine.”

Brilliant red fire surged through The Spirit, pouring out of every gap in bone and sinew. A plume of fire leapt twenty feet in the air. The Spirit fell onto its back while Black Star flew up through the gap in the roofing. ”Try this one on for size, pardner!” Vigilante’s voice leapt out of The Spirit as two boots in a cloak of fire slammed into Black Star’s chest.

The Spirit had already rolled off the roof and begun sprinting for Vig’s house before Black Star landed. It reached out with his mind, feeling for something he always knew was there, waiting for its chance. It reached out to him, its presence in his mind only seeming to amplify his power. A rumbling grew in the Saunders household as The Spirit drew closer.

The sound of shattering wood blew through the town in a sonic boom, and The Spirit looked into the sky to see Black Star coming down in a divebomb. Most of his costume had been burned away. His face was contorted in anger. The Spirit hopped backwards as Black Star hit the ground like a warhead. The Spirit staggered and locked eyes with Black Star. His chest was heaving. Wordlessly, he raised arms as big around as tree trunks to deliver a takedown.

A wicked bike exploded out of Greg Saunders’ garage in a sweeping arc, blowing Black Star’s legs out from under him. The motorcycle’s engine purred as it reached The Spirit, seeming to almost nuzzle into him. The motorcycle was warped from the one Greg Saunders had known. Bones and dark metal spiraled up and through its construction, like skeletal hands caressing the gas tank and accentuating the blazing skull at its front.

The Spirit sat on the bike and revved the engine. The sound reverberated through his very soul. He was home. Black Star pushed himself up, coughing out a mouthful of blood. Blood dribbled from his mouth as he stared at the bike and steeled himself for the coming blow.

”Now we’re cooking with gas!” The motorcycle surged forward and smacked into Black Star like a battering ram. The Spirit could hear the crunch of Black Star’s collarbone as he tried to hold the bike back, digging his heels into the sand. The engine howled and crushed Black Star into the dirt. The Spirit pulled the motorcycle into a wheelie and then smashed down with it as an improvised fulcrum. Black Star’s nose cracked like a gunshot, his muscles quavered, trying to push the cycle off him.

The Spirit gunned the engine and ground a tire track onto Black Star’s face. He stopped moving, spare the subtle rise and fall of his chest. The Spirit stood, pushing the bike aside and balling up handfuls of Black Star’s costume. The Spirit held Black Star high in the air, and then brought him down like a cudgel, back into the dirt.

The Spirit knelt next to him, drawing close. Flames licked his face, burning away what little was left of his mask. ”No one messes with my town.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

I petition that all long standing players should get immortalised for Season 2 by making it onto the banner.

#EndThisOppression
#IDemandEquality

@Sep

#VigilanteForBanner2018