Clown the Jester
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Chapter 32: In the Clown's Shadow
“And it is not your mother’s warm protective hand that wakes you from the dark dreams of night,” Clown the Jester hissed, rubbing his throbbing temple, his eyes burning into the motionless dead creature that had made the fatal mistake of entering his domain. “But the terrors and nightmares that lurked in shadows and gave you such fright.”
Day seven or maybe eight of Brotherhood captivity, and incarceration had taken its toll on Clown the Jester both physically and if it was possible…mentally. The already sickly thin Harlequin had lost even more of his scarce weight. His once tight fitting clothes were now a size to large. His purple top hat and cane had been removed from his cell in spite of his protests. His skin was stretched as tight as could be over his bones. His body was covered by wounds, bruises, scratches, injuries, and other such inflictions. Not to mention…his current host body was beginning to decay.
That was the thing about Clown the Jester’s body snatching…his possessing the already living and warped their DNA to match his…the process of turning some random shmoe into the grand Ringleader of Chaos had it’s draw backs.
First of all…it killed the body he occupied. So with the combination of natural decay and Clown the Jester’s pushing his temporary bodies to impossible extremes, his bodies would only last a matter of days. A week max if the body was healthy to begin with.
The Clown would usually be able to keep his hosts in one piece for a while anyway with his powers...but he didn’t have that luxury right now. He could feel his flesh rotting away. His bones becoming brittle and stiff. The matter in his brain decaying….what a feeling. He had stopped bleeding red blood and had to make due with a dark blackish liquid that reeked.
“Jeez what is that foul smell?” Clown the Jester called out, pinching his nose with two fingers. “Is something dying in here? Oh right. IT’S ME! HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA HA!”
The Harlequin was in a good mood. A FANTASTIC MOOD IF HE MIGHT SAY! And what was the occasion? Today was the day he was gonna escape. Break out of the slammer. Bust outta the joint! Make like a drum and beat it. GET MACGYVER ON THIS RASCALLY OLD DUNGEON OF TORTURE AND MISERY!
“Nice of the Doc to drop on by and say hello. Pleasant fellow that Doctor Strebor Goldstein MD…though I must confess his little schizo-episode with his may be misinterpreted as a less than hospitable gesture upon my behalf,” Clown the Jester said to the dead rat that was in the processes of decomposition in the corner of the Harlequin’s cell. “Could it be the cucumber cool master of health and medicine had malice intentions to perform questionable surgery upon my throat with that nifty little scalpel of his? People nowadays, resorting to violence for the most bizarre of causes. Isn’t it wacky and quacky? HEE HEE…Quacky. What a word! Quacky…WA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
If the rat was alive (which it wasn’t…at least Clown the Jester didn’t think it was) and if the rat could talk (which it couldn’t…at least Clown the Jester didn’t think it could), the mouse would most likely respond, “But don’t you use violence and your own unique form of questionable surgeries? Do you not lack any pity or sympathy towards others? What difference is there in your bloody nature and Strebor’s sudden assault?”
“Ah but there is a difference between my practice of physical comedy and random occurrence of a doctor resorting to violence his guilt stricken mind snaps from the stress,” The Clown corrected with a wag of a bleeding finger. “A big…BIG difference. Ya see my rat acquaintance…its one thing to kill someone when you have a rotten nasty old day…but quite another when ya slaughter even on your best. Its what makes the latter class of killers the more memorable…when ya got the stomach to kill whether you’re happy, mad, sad, glad, bad, tad. HOO HOO! Ya see…Strebor would only kill if he lost control with his so called cool temper. Me on the other hand…I kill with or without a temper. HEE HEE. Ya see…I can kill for any reason…hell I don’t even need reasons. Therefore...like all my other hobbies that I dabble and babble and boil and toil in…I reign supreme in the category of murders and serial killers ! That’s right my good chum, Mr. Rodent Mouse of Rigor Mortis. KING OF THE KILLERS! RINGLEADER IN RUBBING OUT! HOO HOO! Master of MANSLAUGHTER! Sultan of the Slayers. The HA-HA-HARLEQUIN OF HOMICIDE! WA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
“HEY CLOWN, WHY DON’T YOU SHUT UP?” Eclipse’s voice shouts from a nearby cell.
“CAREFUL MOON PIE OR I MIGHT LOOSE MY GOOD ATTITUDE AND PLUCK OUT YOUR EYEBALLS AND SHOVE YA INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC!” Clown the Jester snarled back, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond his cell, searching for Eclipse.
The Clown turned his attention back to the deceases rat in order to resume their bizarre conversation.
“Forgive that pesky interruption. Neighbors… am I right?” Clown the Jester said with a knowing wink to the rotting creature. “Now where were we? Uh…dum da dum doom duah doo…doop uh what were we talking about? What what what? Um…hmm…doop doop….OH YES! HA HA HA HA! Nearly forgot. Heh heh. STREBOR THE DOC OF MY LITTLE CELL BLOCK! And more importantly…heh heh…the fortuitous luck of the good doctor’s little check-up.”
“Luck?” The glassy eye of rodent’s eye inquired.
Clown the Jester let out a laugh, dragging the dead rat next to his Galoshes and grinned down at his companion.
“Luck indeed Mr….uh…Mr…,” Clown the Jester paused, thinking over the idea of naming this corpsy mouse. The Harlequin scratched his chin in deep thought.
Micky? NAW! Way to predictable…way to obvious…and too cliché even for someone like Clown the Jester. Jerry perhaps? Eh…Jerry didn’t fit with Clown the Jester’s sense of humor. The Mickey idea came once again into Clown the Jester’s mind…however this time it evaded the Harlequin’s memory of rejecting the idea. Sometimes…Clown the Jester could remember everything…other times….his mind was no better than a goldfish in a fish bowl.
However, Clown the Jester denied Mickey a second time due to it’s association with being the hero...which would make the mouse more Drakkoniss’s ally than his and Clown sure did need a friend in The Brotherhood’s Prison…even if he was as antisocial as could be…well sometimes.
Rodent names…hm…Itchy, Rufus, Rocky, Bull…wait no HOO HOO! That’s a moose and most of the others were hardly mice. Heh heh heh. Names…Mighty Mouse, Sonic, Batma…heh…no.
Finding a good name for the dead mouse became quite the dilemma. There was no doubt that this dead rat that could be packing Bubonic Plague in its fur and fleas has earned the right to be given a title of honor and rank. He couldn’t continue his conversation till he gave his maggot infested boon companion a name. BUT WHAT? For a moment, Clown the Jester considered whether or not his vermin friend liked being a
Could Clown the Jester continue his talk without naming the dead rat? Yeah…sure he could. Why not? Clown the Jester broke rules…but he would hate to be rude…after all…he told the mouse his name…or at least the only name that fit his new ‘festive’ look and it was clear the mouse didn’t seem to be carrying a identification papers or a passport making identifying next of vermin kin very unlikely.
Wait…didn’t parent mice eat most of their young? Do mice have identification papers? The idea of a dead rat in a wind-up toy car being pulled over by a cop for speeding and being forced to pull out a driver’s license that was the exact size of the car made Clown the Jester loose his train of thoughts in a sea of laughter.
“WHOO HOO HOO HA HA HEE HEE HOO HA HA HA HA HA!”
“DOH HO HO HO! Where was…HEE HEE…where was I?” The Clown asked, whipping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Ah yes! STREBOR! BY GOLLY AND COUNT GEE WILLIKERS THAT DOC KEEPS SLIPPING THROUGH MY MIND LIKE A BAR OF SOAP COATED IN GREESE! HOO HOO! Ya see…I may have…borrowed without permission from a certain Doctor a surgical scalpel during a certain scuffle.”
With a flick of his wrist, Clown the Jester flicked out from the sleeve of his dress shirt, holding the knife like a fragile antique in his chalk white hands. He pressed the tip of the scalpel against his thumb, watching with a grotesque grin as a small drop of blood trickled down his thumb and splattered onto the dead mouse’s right eye.
“I got the Red thumb…and you got Red eye… …and I don’t even have a camera,” Clown the Jester mused, raising up the knife and began chiseling onto the wall a message. The message sometimes made perfect sense and other times seemed irrelevant.
In the days of myths and forgotten lore, there was a prisoner in a rabbit trap.
The bunny twitched it’s purple nose, thumped it’s feet, and flapped it’s ears but was bound in wrap.
While he was a cute little bunny who found all things funny…
But give him a knife and he will cut all those who wronged him with strife.
The funny bunny dug his way out of his prison and escaped his hunter and darted off bold.
After slaying the hunter’s child, the rabbit disappeared down the rabbit hole.
The Harlequin signed the last line with his bleeding finger, writing out in dark red blood:
Clown the Jester: Insane. Comical. Chaotic. And very much Free.
“Take notes my good rat friend,” Clown the Jester said, placing the tip of Strebor’s scalpel against the ancient style lock that enforced the strange chains that bound Clown the Jester and his lovely magic tricks. “This is how the professionals escape. And here we…go!”
Clown the Jester jammed the knife into the padlock’s keyhole, twisting and wiggling the small tool around in the lock. He would occasionally flick the blade, jab the small knife deeper into the keyhole. The Clown giggled with glee with every Click and Clack that the lock made from the Harlequin’s work.
“A little to the left, a twitch here, a flick there. Move this doohickey like so…and…whoops…that wasn’t suppose to happen. Daw well. Lets do a little twisting over here, a jab there, a rotation here…move that gear and the second one…ya…uh…Hoo Hoo…wait…whoops...that wasn’t suppose to break.”
After three minutes and ten seconds of fiddling, the entire lock fell to pieces. It’s gears and screws disassembled. The padlock fell to the ground as Clown the Jester brushed off the chains and bonds binding him to the wall.
“Thank you Ms. Scalpel, you wicked gal you. I wish we could play together…but if my razor and switchblade found out…HOO HOO! Well…they can be quite the jealous types,” The Harlequin giggled, looking fondly down at the blade in his hand. “Oh but the fun. I mean, if we were together, I could have so much fun on the good Doc Strebor Goldstein’s expense. HEE HEE! I mean…the guy’s record ain’t exactly spotless to begin with. Heh heh heh. Imagine the look on his face…HEE HEE HEE!...if I was tuh…to start slaying people with his fine blade and leave evidence behind to incriminate the doctor. Heh heh heh. Maybe I should kill his gal with his own knife…Then maybe he’ll understand just how thin the wall that separates his mentality and mine truly is. Heh heh heh. That would be a real…hee…real…”
The Clown’s speech died off as his mind made like a speeding car on it’s last tire and crashed. The knife fell out of his hand as his body slid down the wall. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, his teeth began chattering, his body trembling. The Clown let out a scream and began thrashing his arms and legs in uncontrollable spasms. His mind felt like the stage for a twenty one gun salute. Spikes of pain and disorientations went through his brain.
“WA HA…HA HA HA HO HO HO! HOO HOO…GAH HA HA…HEE HEE HO! GAH HA HA! MUH HUH! HEE HEE…FNNKK…AH HA HA! HOO HOO…GRAH HA HA HA!”
The Clown wasn’t laughing over anything funny. He was laughing because he had the sudden fear that he might not die at Drakkoniss’s hand as the Harlequin stabbed the Champion of Good with his final prank. The Clown feared he would die from boring natural causes. The world suddenly became terrifying and unfamiliar to the Clown. His mind was screaming at Clown the Jester. SCREAMING! He felt like he was in the middle of an earthquake, twister, and world war 3.
However the episode began to die down. The seizures always did. But they were always terrifying. The Clown’s senses were wacky. His mouth could taste random colors and see random tastes. Slowly Clown the Jester’s body stopped thrashing and became motionless. The Harlequin’s breathing was rapid and shallow, his skin cold and clammy. Clown the Jester was still giggling…but it was the giggles of fear. Tears trailed down his face as he rocked his body back and forth.
As Clown the Jester, he had be subjected to the seizures his entire life. Usually five or six every month. He had experienced hundreds…maybe even thousands. He could never get use to the sudden attacks. It scared Clown the Jester. Made him feel weak and vulnerable. He felt like the pathetic excuse of a man he was before he was Clown the Jester. The Clown understood the causes of seizures...in his case, most likely due to the extensive brain damage from the bullet discovered in Clown the Jester’s brain during his stay at L.O.C.K.D.O.W.N. Maybe it was something more. Not only was it an inconvenience…the entire process scared the hell out of him. It was something no one could ever be prepared for.
However as the seizure passed, Clown the Jester felt his confidence return and he was back. No time to dwell on his episode. Ya gotta move on to the next joke.
Clown the Jester let out a hoot of delight, hopping to his feet and doing a quick tap dance and bowing to the dead mouse.
“TA-DAH!” Clown the Jester announced, his voice echoing off the walls and corridors. “Aren’t I just the most cleverest thing you ever did see? HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA HA!”
With that, Clown the Jester snapped his fingers and his body went through a metamorphic regeneration. His dulled purple hair regained it’s dark color, his bruised and blistered stained body regained it’s smooth white texture. His faded and wrinkled brightened to it’s natural shine of purple, his withered green carnation was restored back to it’s full youthful bloom.
The wounds, bruises, cuts, scratches, scabs, tears, and other such injuries vanished for Clown the Jester’s body. In less than twenty seconds, Clown the Jester looked as fresh as a daisy...his host’s body was still decaying…though Clown the Jester’s abilities allowed him to slow the process down. Maybe a few more days…maybe less. He had occupied this body for far too long. Clown the Jester turned to the door of his cell, rubbing his hands in anticipation.
“The walls have eyes my good ratty friend,” Clown the Jester told the dead animal, holding up his hands as a ball of concentrated purple energy began to charge up between his fingers. “Nasty…prying peepers…HEE HEE! WATCHING ME AND YOU! SPYING! DOOH! THE VERY IDEA IS QUITE SCAREY! Lets give the peepers a black eye! HOO HOO HOO!”
Before his could hurtle his ball of chaos energy, Clown the Jester restrained his impulse and arm…which was quite the feat. Clown the Jester needed to be stealthy…well as stealthy as a guy who had uncontrollable fits of laughter could be. The Harlequin reabsorbed the ball of chaotic energy, deep in thought.
The very second that door goes down, his cell would be infested with those troublesome knights who might which to chain him down once more. It was time for pure cunning and dastardly planning. Which raised the question…how does one defeat one that is indestructible? Hm…now there’s the million dollar question.
“A puzzle in need of solving. HOO HOO! NOW THAT’S MORE LIKE IT!” Clown the Jester cried out, adjusting his shirt cuffs and straightening his neck ties. “Let’s see if I followed my check list. 1. Fix up my scratches and bruises…Check. Can’t have nasty old wrinkles and crow’s feet on his lovely face. TO have such flaws on such…PERFECTION…it’s a crime. A DIRTY ROTTEN CRIME! DOO HOO HOOO OHO HA HA HA HA HA! 2. Break my way out….in due time…HEE HEE…due time. Oh my my my…HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA! 3. Let’s see…uh…hm…ah….hm. OH YES! Payback. REVENGE! Getting even. Settling the score. Evening the playing field. WHICH REMINDS ME! I got to replenish my gag supplies. HEE HEE HEE! Which means I should by a clock and throw it out a window cause…its chemistry time! I got some Synapses to Synthesize, Compounds to Catalyze, AND DRAKKONISSES TO VAPORIZE! WA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! ”
Clown the Jester snapped his fingers and a lab table with a large variety of chemicals and compounds materialized in a cloud of purple smoke in the middle of his cell. Oh…HEE HEE…the things he had been able to do with these chemicals. Remembering the many pranks he had pulled with these chemical caused Clown the Jester to break into uncontrollable laughter.
“WOO HOO HOO HOO HA HA HA HO HO HO! HEE HEE…HA…HA HA HA HA HA! HOO….”
The Harlequin clamped a hand over his mouth trying to suppress his giggles. His second hand had to join its companion as reinforcements to keep his laughter at bay. After a moment Clown the Jester’s giggles died down and he was able to resume his work.
Clown the Jester loved to custom create by hand all his little potions and toxins. Made each deadly prop seem like family…and had the Clown not been a father to a troubled youth? Not in blood…but in mentorship. Clown the Jester let out a hoot of laughter with the thought of him being a family man after all the families he murdered. But enough dillydallying.
“THERE IS A TIME AND A PLACE FOR EVERYTHING! And right now…Its time…” Clown the Jester pauses for dramatic effect (Which is ever so important to him.) “….for SCIENCE! HOO HOO HOO HOO HA HA HA! Whoops…heh heh…steady. HOO HOO! Steady…HEE…steady. Deep breaths. In and out. In and…and…WA HA HA HA HA HA! Ah…heh heh…there we go.”
Clown the Jester lifted up the chains that had suppressed his powers and dropped them down on the lab table. Giggling with glee, Clown the Jester gathered up a dozen test tubes and began his work. Never pausing. Never faltering. Never doubting himself as he handled the lethal toxins, unstable explosives, and other such chemicals. Like a professional…or a madman with a death wish.
Clown the Jester’s memory was a funny thing. Sure he couldn’t remember his real name, what he had for breakfast, the current president. But his knowledge of chemistry could only be described as encyclopedic. Which was strange because Clown the Jester had no recollection of his past life having any experience with chemicals and tonics.
After three minutes, Clown the Jester finished his first gag, setting the sky blue chemical onto a dish and placed the dish over a burner, watching as the liquid hardened into a solid blue mass. He smiled, taking back up the dish and drew out from his pocket his razor. The Clown cut the blue mass into small rectangular pieces. Each piece the exact same size. The Harlequin scooped up the pieces and drew out from his pocket a purple candy dispenser and placed the small blue pieces into the dispenser.
“Yes….HEE HEE HEE! Now that that’s done with,” Clown the Jester muttered staring down at the golden chain on his table, twisting the dispenser around in his hands. “Its time to fix The Brotherhood of Order’s Little Red Wagon. FIX It…HEE HEE…FOR GOOD!”
The Clown scooped up the chains and licked one of the metal links. The Harlequin smacked his lips deep in thought.
“Pure Gold,” The Harlequin told the dead rat. “Heh…I was expecting an unknown alloy…or maybe a metal from outer space. Nothing as common and boring as gold. But still….last time I checked gold wasn’t exactly the indestructible metal. So what makes this gold invincible…and able to suppress my powers?”
Clown the Jester thought back to the coin that he stole from the Brotherhood. It was gold as well…and it had some quirky properties as well. So it wasn’t the gold itself that gave the Brotherhood it’s power…it was something else in it. Magic maybe. The Harlequin didn’t put that much thought into it. If it was something in the gold that made the chain indestructible…Clown the Jester could easily deal with it.
“Gotcha…ya rust bucket mongrels,” Clown the Jester hissed with sinister delight. The Harlequin seize up two beakers filled with the desired chemicals. “Ya think ya can ruffle me up, torture me and lock me in a poor excuse for a play pen? HOO HA HA HA! YA RIGHT!”
Clown the Jester poured the chemicals together, waiting until the solution had settled into a redish yellow mixture. Satisfied with his work, he emptied the beaker’s contents into his Seltzer bottle and shoved the bottle back into his pocket.
“Well ya can’t keep a wild animal in a pen forever,” The Harlequin hissed. “And when the animal gets out…it won’t be happy.”
Clown the Jester paused…remembering Drakkoniss.
“And where is my arch nemesis? Had he not been hunting me before those Brotherhood Knights found me?” The Harlequin asked himself, feeling his skin grow icy cold. “He should be here by now. Does he really not know that I am here? NO! No way…he’s too smart to not know. So why isn’t he here? What could be hold him up?”
“Where…is…he?” The Clown asked, looking back down at the dead rat. “Where is he? Surly he’s had enough time. Its been at least four days.”
Clown the Jester let out a low growl, grinding his teeth, clenching his fingers together tightly.
“UNEXCEPTABLE! I mean…sure I left a few traps for Drakkoniss during our last play date,” Clown the Jester said, pacing back and forth in his cell. “Lethal impossible to solve, doomed to attempt traps. Nothing Drakkoniss couldn’t cruise through. THEY WERE NOTHING MORE THAN STALLING DEVICES! Stalling that would have worn out days ago. So where is he? WHERE THE HELL IS HE?!?”
For a moment, Clown the Jester felt alone. Rejected and ignored by the closest thing he had to a friend. Why was it Drakkoniss was viewed as the hero and the Harlequin was viewed as the villain. Why was the Clown persecuted while Drakkoniss was praised? They were both striving to make the world a better place. Different methods…BUT SAME GOALS! IT…WASN’T…FAIR! But the feeling passed as most things did. Clown the Jester found his mind wandering back to the need of naming the dead rat.
Once again…Mickey was out of the question…but it was then when Clown the Jester realized the perfect name. With a snap of his fingers, the Harlequin began to recreate the rat into a more suitable image. Clown the Jester smiled as the dead rat formed a purple rabbit. A living purple rabbit.
“Oswald,” Clown the Jester hissed, scratching the rabbit behind the ears. But there was no tenderness or affection from the Harlequin’s touch. The trembling rabbit shrunk away as Clown the Jester rasped “My lucky…lucky…lucky friend. We’ll have our moments. We’ll…reclaim our spotlights from those who stole our rightful glory. They will pay. We’re gonna retake what’s ours, you and me! YOU CAN BET YOUR LUCKY RABBIT’S FOOT ON IT! I have a new joke routine for the world…and I’m sure it will be most…ah…bunny. HEE HEE HEE! BUNNY! WA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
With that, Clown the Jester flipped open the head of the candy dispenser and tossed one of the blue candies at the cell door. As the blue piece came into contact with the reinforced door, Clown the Jester stuck his fingers in his ear.
KRA-KOOOM!
The ground shook as the metal door was blown off it’s hinges and was hurtled past the never ending row of prison cells. The Clown let out a wild laugh, skipping out of his cage and down the hall. As he passed his fellow prisoners, he tossed candy after candy at their cage doors and the chains that pinned them to the dungeon walls.
“FREE! WE’RE ALL FREE!” Clown the Jester screeched as his fellow captives emerged from their cells. “MAKE MERRY MY COMRADES! DANCE AND SING WITH THE CHORUS OF THE TWISTED SICK!”
However…the escapes seemed less interested in making festive jigs and harmony and more enthusiastic in escaping and flight.
The Clown let out a disappointed sigh.
“Such lack of appreciation,” He noted as the prisoners rushed past him towards their perception of freedom. “Not even a ‘Thanks for releasing us Clown the Jester.’ The lack of manners and appreciation is most unbecoming.”
The Clown recognized most of the prisoners. The Smashers, Meta-Beings and all the rest of those freaks. Obviously the Brotherhood of Order considered the ‘heroes’ of Super City just as much of a threat as the ‘villains.’ Clown the Jester could appreciate this categorizing…but he defiantly did not approve of his improper treatment at the hands of these ruffians.
He was Clown the Jester! RINGLEADER OF CHAOS! The only one with the guts to do what he had to do to bring peace to the World. THE ONLY ONE WILLING TO REMOVE THE CANCER THAT IS GOOD AND EVIL! Clown the Jester believed he could bring true peace through Chaos and destruction. Not with peaceful marches and confusing posters. But with blood, anarchy, and fear. Every action the world made was made with conflicting intent.
Take Clown the Jester’s recent deed of releasing his fellow prisoners. His good deed was less good and more dark. The others were his distraction to occupy the Brotherhood as the Clown’s activities came to fruit. While the Knights were busy killing the others Clown the Jester would have his own fun.
This random stream of thoughts brought to the Jester’s attention that he had not seen any Brotherhood knights on the alert. Why weren’t they on guard for the Jail? They must have been in the upper levels of the Brotherhood base. Strange the dungeon was left unguarded...especially when for the past few days his personal cage was graced with the presence of two big guards with very intimidating swords.
Clown the Jester’s paranoia told him he was walking into a trap, but his ego told him that the Brotherhood like all minds had underestimated Clown the Jester’s resourcefulness. Just another factor that convinced Clown the Jester of his perfection. Not that he needed evidence to believe his perfection.
Clown the Jester’s skipping turned into a big strut as he approached the main dungeon door and obliterated the obstacle with the toss of another dispenser candy. He was about to exit the dungeon when he heard a scream behind him. The Clown turned to see one of the captives disappear in a cloud of darkness…the scream cut short. Everyone froze in their tracks and stared at one another for an explanation.
Suddenly another prisoner was seized by a large black tentacle and dragged into the shadows. A third prisoner let out a cry as her own shadow leapt off the wall, wrapping its arms around her shoulders. Before anyone could move, the shadow and it’s captive faded out of existence.
“Shadows killing people? At this hour? ON A SCHOOL NIGHT?” Clown the Jester exclaimed, watching with perplexity as two fleeing prisoners were caught in a pillar of black flames, their skin and bones decaying into dust.
Looks like the Brotherhood Guards were replaced by a different jailer with a bit darker intent. Didn’t take a genius to recognize the hidden security that was lurking in darkness. Complications. The Harlequin was in no shape for taking on the darkness being…and there was a small chance the darkness might still be a little sore at Clown the Jester.
“Ruh-Roh,” Clown the Jester exclaimed, breaking into a run out of the dungeon and up a spiral stair case. Behind him, a handful of the escaping prisoners followed him up the stairs a blanket of darkness following from behind, consuming the prisoners that it was able to catch up with. A large number of the prisoners would still escape.
Clown the Jester ran past door after door as he ascended the stairs, laughing with glee. He came to a stop at the fifth door he reached. The Clown kicked door open and closed it behind him as he entered. The Torture Chamber. Clown the Jester knew this room so very well. It was his blood staining the dungeon floors.
“Hope I didn’t show up at an inconvenient time,” Clown the Jester called out, passing a wall covered with swords and axes of every shape and size. “Just stopping by to say hey, borrow a few toys, and maybe kill a certain Executioner that seems to have a sick grasp on the concept of Health Care.”
The room seemed to be unoccupied, but Clown the Jester knew looks could be deceiving. He strolled to the center of the room, glancing left and right as he walked. The Clown didn’t need to find his prey. All he had to do was wait for the Executioner to give himself away. And what better way to speed the process that playing a few of the Clown’s mind games? The Harlequin stopped before the table he had been strapped to for so many days. Could make a nice bed, the Jester noted, rubbing his hand against the rough wood.
“Oh Executioner…where are you? Come out, come out wherever you are!” The Harlequin’s cheerfully exclaimed, his eyes scanning the Chamber. “I know I’m a little early for my next appointment, but waiting for my session has been just….TOURTURE! WA HA HA HA HA HA! Ah…I know you’re in here. STOP HIDDING LIKE A LITTLE GIRL AND COME OUT AND PLAY WITH ME!”
Clown the Jester heard the sound of something metal scrapping against the weapons wall behind him as one of the blades was being lifted from it’s hooks. The Harlequin did not turn his head at the sound and strolled on as if his quarry’s presence was still unnoticed. Somehow the Clown was able to resist the urge to burst into a fit of giggles with his little ruse.
“Must we play hide and go seek?” Clown the Jester asked, tensing his body as his quarry lunged at the Harlequin for a surprise attack. “I was under the impression I was dealing with a secret order of powerful knights not a bunch of sniveling babies.”
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” The Executioner roared, charging at the Clown with a large axe raised over his head.
The Jester sidestepped the axe swing, and drew out from his purple dress jacket his Seltzer bottle.
“COOL YOUR JETS, COMPODRE!” Clown the Jester shrieked, spraying the bottle’s contents over the Executioner’s armor. The reddish yellow liquid trickled down the Brotherhood of Order’s chest plate, bubbling upon contact with the armor. However…the reaction didn’t last for long and the bubbled ended with no apparent effects on the Executioner’s armor.
“BAH! Our armor is impenetrable to any weapon of man!” The Executioner declared, swinging his axe at the harlequin’s head.
The Clown ducked under the axe and leapt away from the Knight retorting, “WELL I BAH YOUR BAH! SO BAH HA HA!”
The Executioner swung his axe in a circle the blade scrapping off the stone wall, showering the two men in sparks.
“TUT TUT! SUCH A TEMPER!” Clown the Jester replied, dodging swing after swing with an inhuman agility. “Besides…I am hardly a mere man. Not much of a human anymore either.”
Time was a mere joke to a Harlequin that could bend reality. Especially to a Harlequin that could manipulate the relative passages of time between to individuals. To Clown the Jester, the Executioner’s speed could be best compared to a snail. While the Executioner’s perspective registered the Clown’s speed as a blur.
“You may be quick…but you can’t dodge me forever,” The Executioner snarled as his axe whizzed over Clown the Jester’s head.
“TRUE OLD BEAN! I MAY NOT BE ABLE TO DODGE YA FOREVER…BUT…” The Harlequin replied, drawing out a baseball bat from within his jacket pocket. “…I CAN BEAT YA TO A PULP FOREVER! WA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
The Harlequin swung his bat at the Executioner’s right shoulder, the sport appliance glancing off the figure’s armored plating without effect. He swung again, striking the Executioner’s hooded head.
KLING!
“Was that a KLING? The sound an aluminum bat makes when it comes into contact with a metal helmet hidden under a layer of wool that only a rascally Executioner’s hood could cover?” The Clown asked with an amused roll of his eyes, drawing his bat back and preparing a third swing. “Jeez…does he wear indestructible contact lenses as well? And my bat…it’s not looking quite up to par. Oh…I DO DECLARE! HIS ARMOR DOES SEEM TO BE QUITE THE TOUGH STUBBORN METAL!”
The Executioner lashed out his axe as the Harlequin spoke, the blade slicing through the Jester’s shoulder with ease. The Clown looked down at his shoulder…watching blood pour down his arm. HIS BLOOD!
“Oh…you stupid hairless ape,” Clown the Jester growled, his facial features darkening in pure rage. “Do you know what you just did? HUH? DO YOU? WELL…I’LL TELL YOU! YOU…RUINED…MY SUIT! NOBODY GETS TO DO THAT! NOBODY BUT DRAKKONISS CAN DO THAT!”
The gash in the Clown’s arm had already healed away. But the tear in his purple suit. A FREAKIN TEAR!
“BUT LETS TRY THE OLD GUT!” The Jester snarled.
He swung his bat, hitting into the center of the Executioner’s chest plate. The exact place he had sprayed his Seltzer bottle.
The entire upper half of the Executioner’s armor crumbled into black and gold dust, pouring to the ground. From behind the Executioner’s black mask, his eyes widened in fear, staring down at his bare chest in disbelief.
“No…it…it can’t be...impossible!” The Brotherhood Knight stammered, the axe in his hands trembling. “No…NO! We are indestructible…How…how could you possibly…?”
“Easy,” Clown the Jester replied, shoving his bat into his jacket pocket. “Your shiny gold chains that you used to suppress my powers were just that. Gold chains. Which meant you had some kinda magical hex thing-a-ma-gig enchantment that kept you ‘Indestructible’.”
The Clown began advancing the dumbstruck executioner.
“Ya see…you can be all magical and sparkly ya want….but unlike your Brotherhood Club, I have knowledge in both magic tricks and science,” Clown the Jester explained, taking the large axe from the Executioner’s limp hands and shifting its weight in his hands. “And with my expertise…I can figure out your little invincibility trick only keeps the atoms that make up your golden metals indestructible…not the bonds that link em together. Still with me friend?”
Not waiting for a response, the Clown continued, “Now class….today’s lecture is on what happens when you mix nitric acid and a concentrated form of hydrochloric acid in a 1:3 ratio. WELL? I DON’T SEE ANY GRUBBY LITTLE HANDS! Well students…if ya did your homework…you’d know when ya those rascally nitric acids and hydrochloric acids in una hasta tres relación…you geeeettttt… Aqua regia…if translated into the King’s Royal English…you get ‘King’s Water’. And what does Aqua regia do? Well…its one of the few agents that can dissolve Royal Metals. Like….say…I don’t know…uh…GOLD!”
With that, the Clown slashed his axe across the Executioner’s shoulder. The Brotherhood member let out a cry of pain, covering the large gash in his body. The Clown kicked the Executioner onto his back and yanked off his black hood and began prying off his under helmet that covered his face.
“NO! PLEASE! NOT MY HELMET!” The Executioner pleaded, trying desperately to hold his mask in place with his free hand. “PLEASE! NO! THE DISGRACE!”
“What? You a luchador or something?” Clown mocked, knocking the man’s hand away with his the blade of the large axe. “LOOK THE ENEMY IN THE EYE I ALWAYS SAY! Not like Drakkoniss…always wearing those freakin sunglasses. HELPS HIM DETACT FROM THE PEOPLE HE KILLS I BET!”
With a violent snarl, Clown the Jester ripped the helmet off the Executioner’s head and stared down at his foe. The Executioner was much older than the Clown expected. He had long gray hair and a beard. His face seemed leathery from hard work. Two tiered eyes that seem so exhausted. For a guy his age…he was…well…buff.
“Isn’t this funny?” Clown the Jester smirked. “Now I’m the one doing all the scratching and bruising and you’re the one begging like a doggy. HEE HEE HEE HEE! AN OLD DOG WHOSE JUST RAN OUT OF TRICKS!”
“The Brotherhood will avenge their own that are killed,” The Executioner warned, stooping his head in defeat. “If you kill me…they will hunt you to the ends of the Earth.”
“And now that I have a way to kill em…LET THEM COME AT ME! I’LL SLAUGHTER THEM LIKE THE DOGS THEY ARE! LIKE THE DOG YOU ARE! HEE HEE HEE!” Clown the Jester raised the axe over his head. “NOW DOGGY…ROLL OVER! COMEONE ROLL OVER!”
“You will not break me,” The Knight said, his voice free of fear.
“I…said…ROLL OVER!” Clown the Jester roared, kicking the Executioner across the face as hard as he could. “BAD DOG! STUPID DOG! DEAD DOG!”
“The Brotherhood welcomes honor of death in battle,” The Executioner replied, raising his head up high. “I will be honored for my sacrifice.”
“Is that so? Shower you with praise? Heh heh heh.” Clown the Jester snickered, lowering the axe to his side and drawing out a switchblade. “Well then…lets see how much honor they’ll have for you when I carve ‘Clown’s Doggy’ over your body. OVER AND OVER! You think they’ll still see you as the hero who died in combat? Or the mutt who was helplessly defaced by a maniac? How much honor is there in that?”
The Clown slashed the switchblade into the Executioner’s flesh, carving ‘Clown’s Doggy’ over and over. On his chest, his hands, his feet, his face. Over and over until the Executioner began to sob in pain.
“There…heh heh heh…crying and blubbering like a baby,” Clown the Jester hissed, shoving his knife back into his sleeve. “Only a crazy person would think you died with honor.”
The Executioner was curled in a ball, his body covered in blood and cuts. He trembled in pain and sobs. Broken.
“Putting old dogs to sleep is such a sad ordeal,” Clown the Jester hissed raising the heavy axe over his head. “No...not sad. What’s the word? Begins with an H? OH YES! HILARIOUS! WA HA HA HA HA HA!”
The Executioner stared up at the Clown, his eyes wide with fear and hatred.
Letting out a shriek of laughter, Clown the Jester screamed, “HEADS UP CHUMP! I’M GONNA LOB YOUR USELESS BLOCK OFF!”
Clown the Jester swung the heavy axe down, beheading the Executioner. The head fell at the Clown’s feet. The body crumpled to the ground.
“Now that felt good,” The Harlequin told the head he had just decapitated. “Hope ya didn’t mind the whole head chopping thing. I just needed to blow off a little steam. I mean we’re both sensible people. The only problem is we’re both kinda HEAD STRONG! HA HA HA! Oh wait…I guess I’m the only head strong guy now. PROBALLY THE ONLY ONE KEEPING MY HEAD ON STRAIGHT TOO! HEE HEE! I guess you ain’t the HEAD of this company are ya? HOO HOO! KEEP A HEAD ON YOUR SHOULDERS I ALWAYS SAY! HA HA HA HA!”
Dropping axe to the ground, Clown the Jester straightened his suit and tie as the pool of dark blood oozed around his Galoshes. Ignoring the blood, the Clown whistled a merry tune, considering his options. Satisfied with his tie, the Clown took the opportunity to punt the Executioner’s head across the room, laughing with glee as the head bounced off the weapons wall and was stuck on a spear.
What was next? Clown the Jester stared down that the headless corpse’s armor, contemplating whether he should ‘borrow’ it for a new Game with Drakkoniss. However…the idea using an indestructible armor seemed like a low move. A desperate move made by those who doubted their own capabilities.
Besides, even if he did use it on Drakkoniss, the Game would be boring because Clown the Jester had already found a way to beat the puzzle making it a waste of both Clown the Jester’s and Drakkoniss’s time. The Game was always so much more satisfying when the gag seemed impossible to beat and Drakkoniss would still find a way to come out on top.
“No,” The Clown sighed, giving the body’s arm a nudge with the heel of his shoe. “If I found out a weakness than surly Drakkoniss could find a vulnerability through his own methods. Besides…all this heavy clunking metal and iron on little old me? NOT WITH MY TASTE OF THE FINE AND CLASSY APPPAREL!”
So with that decision…the next thing to decide was the Harlequin’s next move. Escape from the Brotherhood’s underground fortress or continue his revenge on the rest of the Brotherhood? Flight or Fight? Take to the heels or take to the fists? Both options were very tempting.
Escape did sound nice. After being cooped up in a dark cave for so long made Clown the Jester yearn to feel the warm sunlight against his skin, the wind rushing through his hair, the wailing squawks mother birds make when they saw him crushing their eggs under his heels. And what of Super City? His personal Sandbox must miss him so. Who knew how much the city had changed in his absence. But the Clown was a man who rarely missed an opportunity for bloodshed and he wanted to make the Brotherhood accept the consequences that come with trying to mess with Clown the Jester….and he did so hate to leave work unfinished.
So the option of finishing up his revenge. Now that he had found a secret weakness to the Nearly Indestructible Army…it would be a waste of corrosive acids to not take the rest of the Brotherhood Knights down…one by one. But there were so many Brotherhood Knights. More than a thousand…maybe more than two thousand. And eventually the task would become boring and repetitious. Just thinking about how long the extermination would take made Clown the Jester’s head hurt…well…hurt more than normal.
“Fight or flight? Fight or flight?” Clown the Jester muttered, pacing back and forth across the room, in such deep thought that he would trip over the dead executioner’s body every time he paced with realizing he had stumbled over it before. “Choices…OH MY GOODNESS! CHOICES CHOICES CHOICES! How will I ever be able to make up my mind? Fight or flight? Fight or flight? Fight or…”
“Clllllllooooooooooowwwwwwwnnnnnnnnn,” a voice hissed from behind the Harlequin, breaking his rambling train of thought.
Problem solved.
Drawing a switchblade from his pocket, Clown the Jester turned around to face the source of the voice. It was the mass of darkness that he had escaped earlier, leaking through the keyhole. It began to build up forming a darkness being with a humanoid shape with blazing red eyes.
Daw….drat, Clown the Jester thought to himself. No way this could end up good. Funny maybe. But comedy comes at a price. Nobody knew that better than the Clown.
“Ah….well….HOWDY OVERCAST!” Clown the Jester called out, twirling the knife around his fingers with expert grace. “Gotta admit…you were the second to last person I expected to find working with the Brotherhood. Thought you wanted to kill all humanity. So what are the bucket heads to you? Favorites? YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU HAD FAVORITIES! Surely I would have been on of those beastly besties friends lists. HEE HEE! Speaking of which you look great! Been lifting a few weight have ya? Huh huh? Heh heh heh. Don’t be bashful. I know you have. Glad we could catch up on old times. By the way have you seen any secret hidden passageways that a serial killer reality bender Clown could use to escape? I’m just asking to make conversation ya know? By the way…how’s the wife and kids? Do they miss me?”
Overcast stared back at Clown the Jester. No emotion or feedback however Clown the Jester knew better than to underestimate the shadow being. He knew from experience that Overcast would not hesitate to kill the Harlequin…especially after a little…uh…misunderstanding they had a while back.
He was probably one of the only people the Harlequin had ever encountered that could not be goaded into a snare by the Clown’s intentional ramblings. Nope. Say what you will about Overcast…but he killed for business not personal reasons. But everyone had a button right? Even the strong and silent types. And Clown the Jester was the king of button pushing.
“So…you’re the Brotherhood’s lackey?” Clown the Jester asked, trying to distract the shadow with his light talk while he was using his reality altering powers to drastically increase the amount of oxygen in the confined space. “And here I thought you were one of those lone ranger types. What’s the deal? Do they have that great dental plans? How long are your holidays?”
“It is my destiny to fulfill my purpose alongside the Brotherhood,” Overcast explained, his shadowy form floating towards the Harlequin.
“You? The being that is said to destroy all existence working with a bunch of hypocrites in tin cans?” Clown the Jester asked, throwing his switchblade at Overcast. “Playing under others ain’t your style.”
The knife disappeared inside the unaffected Shadow beings, rotting to dust. The Clown let out a cry of surprise as he dodged a shadow blast.
“There is more to the Brotherhood of Order than you think Clown,” Overcast hissed, not even flinching as Clown the Jester plunged two more switchblades into his eyes. “We are dealing with forces beyond your comprehension.”
As Clown the Jester drew out another knife, Overcast calmly sent the Ringleader of Chaos flying across the Torture Chamber with a flick of his wrist. The Clown leapt back to his feet. Dazed…but still in once piece.
“Izzat so? More than meets the eye?” The Harlequin repeated, drawing out two pistols and aiming them at Overcast. “How poetic! Ya know I’m a bit of a poet myself. A Bard if you will. I’m also a bit of a funny man if you haven’t heard. Stop me if ya heard this one before, how many stupid shadows does it take to change a light bulb?”
Overcast did not venture a guess, instead glancing down at Clown the Jester’s handgun, obviously unimpressed. The Clown couldn’t blame the shadow. The guns would be as effective against Overcast as a baseball bat being used against a tornado.
But the Harlequin’s choice in weapons was more about style than effective. Looks where everything in this business. Hence why he snapped his fingers before using his powers. He didn’t really require snapping his fingers…but it showed class. Somehow, using two .44 magnum handguns with custom bullets dipped in a rather toxic concoctions seemed appropriate. The Clown didn’t know exactly how the gun fit…but it did. Far be it for him to deny fashion.
“Come on Overcast! GUESS! Ya know you want to. COME ON! GUESS!” Clown the Jester pleaded, his body trembling with giggles. “Three maybe? NOPE! Two perhaps? NO DICE! HEE HEE HEE! SEVEN? EIGHT? NINE? HA HA HA!”
“Consider yourself lucky the Brotherhood does not wish for your demise,” Overcast continued, ignoring the Harlequin’s ravings. “You have flirted on the line of life and death for far too long.”
“Yes…I am the lucky ducky aren’t I? I’m 99% good luck and 1% rabbit’s foot. And as to the remark of my character as a flirt….NEVER HAVE I EVER BEEN SO INSULTED IN ALL MY LIFE! ME A FLIRT! ME? HEE HEE! Surly thou jests!” Clown the Jester replied, scoffing Overcast’s remark with a wave of his hand. “Death is nothing new to me. Hell…if my mental faculties are still capable of mathematics…I’d say I’ve felt death’s icy grip…oh…say thirteen times. HEE HEE! Thanks to a certain…ah…we’ll say mutual agreement I made with good old Super Death…It’d take a straight jacket to keep me in the crypt. HEE HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA!”
“You can cheat death…but not Oblivion,” Overcast warned, his sword of darkness materialized in his hands. “No one escapes Oblivion. It will swallow up everything. Planets, galaxies, light, time, thought, memories. Nothing will elude the void.”
“No…you’re wrong,” Clown the Jester whispered, his eyes narrowing. “I…I WILL EXIST! AS LONG AS DRAKKONISS EXISTS SO SHALL I! THE GAME IS UNSTOPPABLE! We…I…I WON’T BE NOTHING!”
The very idea of the Game being threatened was something Clown the Jester couldn’t tolerate. The Clown’s mind was no longer following the stalling plan, the room was still filling with excess oxygen. But now…the Harlequin was far more interested in killing Overcast the old fashioned way.
“HOW MANY SHADOWS DOES IT TAKE TO CHANGE A LIGHT BULB?” The Clown roared, pulling his gun’s trigger. “10,000 SHADOWS! 9,999 SHADOWS TO SWITCH THE LIGHT ON ONE AT A TIME AND LAST SHADOW TO FINALLY FIGURE OUT IT’S THE LIGHT ORIGINATING FROM THE LIGHT BULB THAT KILLED OFF HIS 9,999 BROTHER SHADOWS!”
BANG!
The bullet passed through Overcast’s forehead, piercing into the opposite wall.
BANG! BANG!
Overcast did not waste time and his dark form twisted and contorted to evade Clown the Jester’s gun fire.
“YOU SLIPPERY EEL!” Clown the Jester taunted, reloading his handgun while dodging another shadow blast. A little to close for the Clown’s comfort.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Overcast’s sword sliced through Clown the Jester’s handgun. Before the Harlequin could register that his weapon was sliced in half, Overcast blasted the Clown into the air with a shadow blast.
Clown the Jester’s shoulder began to burn…no…far to generous a turn. More like decay. And to a man already decaying…any enzyme to the process of decay is quite a problem. The Harlequin emitted a burst of chaos energy into Overcast’s body, pushing the living shadow backwards. Not enough to do the Shadow Being in. However…if there was enough oxygen….than maybe...
As Overcast began to rise, Clown the Jester used his telekinesis powers to levitate the many knives, swords, and axes off the Torture Chamber walls. The two foes watched the blades float overhead, their lethal points aiming down.
With a snap of his finger, Clown the Jester brought the forty eight weapons down on Overcast. Overcast’s body lurched and jerked as blade after blade plunged into his body. They tore through his arms, punctured his head, sliced into his chest. Overcast reformed his humanoid body and lunged at Clown the Jester’ raising his darkness blade. Clown the Jester drew out a power drill and leapt at Overcast.
VVVVVRRRROOOOOMMM!!!!
Clown the Jester’s drill tore into Overcast’s shadowy body, digging a small hole through his chest. However, if the Overcast actually felt the drill (which was unlikely) he didn’t show it.
Overcast plunged his sword into Clown the Jester’s chest. The Clown’s drill fell from his hand as the sword sunk deeper and deeper. The sword brought a cascade of agony and torment throughout the Harlequin’s body.
But the Clown’s mind was beyond the effects of pain. The pain pushed Clown the Jester on. Made him fight his way towards the Shadow Being. He slowly inched his body closer and closer, gripping Overcast’s sword and using it to pull his body closer to Overcast. As he closed in, Clown the Jester stretched out his hand towards Overcast’s head…his candy dispenser gripped tightly in between his blood covered fingers.
“I promised to bring you back to the Brotherhood live,” Overcast hissed, digging his blade deeper and deeper into the Harlequin’s body. “But you’re existence can no longer be tolerated. You will die and this time I will follow you back to Death’s realm and destroy your soul as well. NOTHING ESCAPES THE DARKNESS!”
“Die? Me?” Clown the Jester asked through gritted teeth, popping open the candy dispenser’s head. “Funny thing is…you think YOU will be given the honor of my death. THAT’S THE REAL JOKE!”
The Harlequin shoved the dispenser into Overcast’s mouth, forcing it’s explosive candies down this throat. Overcast’s cold red eyes and Clown the Jester’s psychotic bloodshot eyes burned into one another. Time seemed to slow as Overcast released his grip on his sword and Clown the Jester’s empty candy dispenser fell to the ground.
KA-THOOOM! THOOOM! BOOOOOM! KA-THOOOOOOM!
Then the world around the shadow and the Harlequin erupted like a raging volcano. A violent burst of orange flames and yellow sparks filled the torture chamber as the very air ignited. The Clown stood motionless like a statue as his body was bathed in an inferno of fire.
His ghostly white face disappeared behind a layer of severe blister burns and dark gray patches of burned flesh. The combusting candies in Overcast’s body caused the living shadow’s dark body to swelled like a balloon, his form bursting like a balloon unleashing an immense force upon the very chemist that orchestrated it’s reaction.
The Harlequin was thrown violently across the room at a speed of 70mph, the force holding his arms at his side together and his legs together making him resemble a purple rocket.
“WA HA HA HA HA…!”
Clown the Jester’s laughter was cut off as he crashed head first through a stone wall, his body plunging through two feet of solid rock before he came to a full stop. Before his brain lost the function of thinking, Clown the Jester’s mind mused over the brain damage he would have from walling through a crash.
“Ha….ah…ha ha…hee…ffnnkk..ha ha…ho ho…hee…”
Then his world fell into darkness.
………………………………………………………………………..
The Clown’s eyelids sluggishly opened to find himself staring up at a moving ceiling.
Moving ceiling? How bizarre…does Heaven having moving ceilings?
The very idea of Clown the Jester strutting into heaven with a pair of wings and a halo over his head, requesting from a bewildered angel for a room with a window view was too much. The Jester began his trademark giggles and chuckles.
“Hee hee hee!”
Unfortunately…Clown the Jester discovered that laughing made his insides hurt. Not that pain could suppress the Jester’s laughter. But it did verify that Clown the Jester was still among the living.
He adjusted his head to see a dark figure…most likely Overcast (Clown the Jester was in way to much pain to care) dragging him up a flight of stone stairs by his leg. Around Overcast and the Clown, Brotherhood Knights ran up and down the stairs trying to round up any prisoners that were left behind in the main escape. The Clown’s eyelids snapped shut as his head struck on of the steps.
Clown the Jester’s eyes opened again. Overcast was carrying Clown the Jester by his neck down what seemed a never ending dimly lit passage. Clown the Jester felt as if they were going deeper underground…but at this point, the Jester wouldn’t have been able to differentiate falling into a pit and descending into the sky.
The Harlequin rubbed his stinging eyes trying to plan out his next move. The Clown was far too disoriented to try and take on Overcast. He was in no condition for other round. His regenerative powers barley kept him alive from the explosion in the junk heap which was formally dubbed, the torture chamber.
As they traveled deeper and deeper into the pass, they seven pairs of Brotherhood Guards their numbers standing guard at both sides of the tunnel’s walls. As they passed the final couple of guards, Clown the Jester noticed his reflection in Guard’s shield.
“What a mug. A familiar mug if I do recall. Heh…a barbequed face,” Clown the Jester whispered to his reflection, rubbing a finger across his severely burned face. “What goes around comes around I suppose. Heh…guess this is one of those rare times where ya get to experience Karma slapping you across the face. HEE HEE!”
The Jester reached up a limp hand towards Overcast, his senses still disoriented from the previous fight. What he planned to do once his hand reached Overcast…well…Clown the Jester hadn’t thought that far ahead…maybe Overcast would fall for the old “Stealing the Shadow Being’s Nose” trick. Or maybe he could poke the entity of darkness’s eyes Moe Howard style. Then again…the idea of tearing Overcast’s head off and beating his body to a smear on the ground had it’s charms Heh…so many possibilities.
The Shadow being glanced up at the Clown, stopping his journey for a moment watching the Harlequin’s hand. Narrowing his eyes, Overcast wrapped his other hand around Clown the Jester’s fingers. The Clown watched his hand begin to wither and age in Overcast’s grasp…he could feel his fingers stiffen, his arm grow icy cold, and the blood circulation in his entire arm halt.
Clown the Jester merely stared at his decaying hand, watching flakes of dead skin fall from his fingers like leaves from a tree. His hand didn’t hurt…but it felt so unnaturally numb…as if it wasn’t his hand and was no longer attached. The Harlequin didn’t feel pain…he…felt death. Reminded Clown the Jester of his spectral stay in Super Death’s Realm. So strange.
Clown the Jester’s bop on the head…or to be more precise his undoubtedly fatal cranium collision through solid rock was giving the Clown the MOTHER OF ALL HEADACHES! No Joke, he felt like his skull was trying pop out of his head. Like someone was setting off a few firecrackers in his noggin. Like uh…somebody with…uh...a flock of geese maybe?
Clown the Jester gave up trying to construct similes, it hurt to think. Which was no problem. Clown the Jester was at the top of his game when he didn’t have to listen to the voices in his head.
“I will bring your end, Jester,” Overcast hissed, snapping Clown the Jester’s withered wrist like a dead twig. “Not today…but soon. So very very soon.”
Clown the Jester looked up from Overcast’s hand and his twisted hand and into the Shadow Being’s red slits for eyes.
“I know we’re holding hands Overcast,” Clown the Jester said back with a silly grin, batting his eyes up at the darkness entity. “But if ya try to kiss me, I’ll give ya such a pinch! HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA HA!”
With a look of disgust, Overcast threw Clown the Jester down the tunnel. The Clown landed on his back, feeling his arm dangling in air. At first the Clown glanced down at his withered hand to see his healing abilities regenerate the damage done by Overcast’s powers.
But what exactly was his hand dangling over. He twisted his neck to realize he had landed next to a pit. Not just any pit…it was a never ending pit that was SO DEEP that it disappeared into darkness. A diameter of twenty feet. Outlining the giant hole were small stone tiles with mystic marking carved in.
Peering into the never ending abyss, Clown the Jester let out an impressed whistle.
“Nice bottomless pit! Now that’s cool. Nothing says theatrical like a never ending pit into certain doom,” the Harlequin said as two Brotherhood Crusaders grabbed him by his arms and lifted him to his feet. “But this thing screams lawsuit. I mean…think about it. A giant pit…poorly lit room...no safety railing. I BET YOU GUYS LOOSE MORE MEN FROM PITFALLS THAN ACTUAL WARS! WA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
One of the Brotherhood Guards opened his mouth to speak when he was silenced by a deafening roar echoing from deep within the giant pit.
“RRRRROOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!”
The roar was inhuman…didn’t remind Clown the Jester of the sounds any animals made. It was a vicious merciless…savage roar. Terrifying and horrible. The sound was unlike anything Clown the Jester had ever heard...which is saying a lot when you consider all the voices he has to put up with in his head. The walls of a passage were vibrating from the thunderous roar as if shaking from an earthquake.
The Clown peered into the abyss with more interest trying to find the source of the monstrous roar. He looked up at Overcast and the Two Brotherhood Knights. The two crusaders stood where they were…refusing to look into the pit they did not shake or tremble…but their eyes showed fear. Pure fear.
The Harlequin didn’t know how to interpret their emotions to make a full estimation of the matter at hand. The Brotherhood of Order was not a bunch of chickens. No...they were as brave as mankind got. There was no fearing death. No fearing the enemy. They were the hardened soldiers of war. They knew what was in that pit…and it scared the hell out of them.
Overcast on the other hand had a different look in his soulless eyes. He stared down at the abyss along with Clown the Jester with the eyes that foresaw an inevitable catastrophe. Something which he welcomed with open arms. That made what was in that pit all the more unsettling. Whatever was in that abyss…it was something that could make an entire army of indestructible warriors shake in their tin boots and humble an ancient destroyer of worlds.
“Well…” Clown the Jester said, with an intrigued grin. “That’s…uh…that’s interesting. So who’s gonna tell me what’s in the hole? Huh? Come on! Tell me! Tell me! IF I DON’T FIND OUT SOON…I’LL JUST DIE! HEE HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA!”
“SILENCE WORM!” One of the Brotherhood Crusaders growled, striking the Harlequin across the face with his gauntlet and knocking the Clown to his hands and knees. “YOU SLAIN A MEMBER OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF ORDER! FOR THE BLOOD YOU SPILT…YOU SHALL PAY IN KIND!”
For good measure, the Knight kicked the fallen Ringleader of Chaos in the ribs. The Jester let out a snake like hiss, his eyes narrowing in pure rage. His lips were pressed in tight grin…but there was no amusement in the unnatural smile. He stared up the Brotherhood Knight that struck him. He would remember this face. Remember the smallest detail for later…when the Clown’s nails rip the Pawn’s skin from his body. Piece by…piece.
“Take the Harlequin to Lord Gabriel,” Overcast ordered the two Brotherhood Crusaders. “Our lord and master will show him new realms of pain and suffering. He will make the Harlequin reveal the location of the Medallion...or…the Harlequin…will…DIE!”
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