Abomination of Desolation Nine
March of the Dead
The column of thirty or more undead shambled onwards through a thicket, slowly but inexorably moving towards their goal. Their prey. Their target. The newest incarnation of the prison that held them a century ago and where they died in disgrace. Forgotten graves breed unforgotten grievances. Hatred and revenge never truly die, while love is but a tender and fragile flower of a season.
The Dead were silent and held no expression. But within their rotten cortexes, old memories and old resentments sparked like flint and iron. All had expired quite young and were beautifully decomposed..fleshrot but still held together. Can't have no dirty dead. Hair full and their only clothing the old smock dresses still holding together. Quality craftsmanship that, the women who had sown such clothing long dead like the ones buried in their garments.
Many forms of 'ghouls' or zombies existed in the grimoire of the supernatural underworld. Necro Girl had chosen a more powerful zombie manifestation. Unlike the cinematic cannon fodder who ate flesh(although quite a real and more common 'virus*' borne type), this resurrected rogues gallery could change their victims with a energy draining touch. Their strength was superhuman and their eyes able to mesmerize. They only hungered for death and revenge.
Necro-girl danced among them laughing and singing, a minstrel of darkness. Now this was a Halloween! Better than last year, when she was snugly locked away in isolation. Naughty Hanover. Oh would you pay..
"Double time, girls. We want this slaughter to be over before All Saints!"
The last in line seemed to slow. The zombie looked down at her chest..
Then she stopped.
Necro-Girl noticed this. Then the others did. They also stopped, like an infernal cosmic circuit.
"Whisper, dearie. Why are you stopping?" Necro-girl asked in typical 21st century up talk.
The Whisper did not answer or even look up. She brought her now claw like hands out in front of her.
They were covered in ashes.
A faint voice tinged with a timeless pain.
"Patrick? Who is Patrick? Was he your son? Oh, thats right you never had a child. Vile things, you are missing nothing I assure you. But I need you to keep moving girl!"
"Patrick..oh..Patrick, I didn't mean it. I never wanted to hurt you, I swear!"
The Whisper's voice bean to tremble and sound less phantom like and more human.
Necro-girl was surprised. The Resurrected were not supposed to remember too much of their past, just the parts that inspired vengeance, hate and resentment.
Her jaw dropped when the undead former serial killer of fathers began to sob! The rest of the Madison Asylum Zombie strike force also seemed to be taken aback. Expressions began to emerge on their green grey colored faces.
"What are you doing? There is no crying in the zombie apocalypse!" Necro-girl shouted incredulously.
"This is all that is left of him..no, it cannot be..he is somewhere. He has to be, waiting..not for me..I destroyed his soul, his life. Oh I deserve to burn!!"
The Whisper fell to her knees, humanity now reanimating her being rather than just Old One residual energy.
Necro-girl turned to see the rest of her zombie strike force began to lose morale. How could this be happening? Had she made a mistake in the incantations? Impossible, all those hours in isolation in Hanover were spent learning the spells and repeating them 700,000 times…
She had to regain control.
Heather Grecian aka Countess Varnia stood apart and watched as her fellow undead sisters began to remember things in their past.
Unlike the rest of them, she had been in a sort of continuous dream state even as her flesh rotted. Plenty of time to get used to the memories both bad and worse. She did feel for her sisters, having befriended many of them while locked away in Madison. Part of her felt a tinge of sadness for them being ripped out of a peaceful sleep; not all were meant to wander on the edge of the Eons and between the dimensions.
Necro-girl began to shout orders at The Whisper and angrily approached her. A hand, strong as iron and fast as cheetah shot out and grabbed the cthulhu acolyte by her throat!
"Urk!!" Necro-girl was trying to get her amulet to stop The Whisper but was helpless! She was going to be killed! Cthulhu no!!! Then her feet were lifted off the ground and she began to squirm both from fear, rage and lack of oxygen.
"Whisper, dear! Please! Let her go!"
Necro-Girl felt herself dropped to the cold ground. She began to cough violently and held her throat which bore the red imprint of fingers.
Once she regained some breath she looked up to see who had interceded for her.
It was her old idol, Countess Varnia.
A smile emerged on Necro-Girl again.
"My zombie vampire in training. I thank you!" Varnia was absolutely beautiful in the moonlit sky, her long jet black hair whipping in the wind.
"Just remember your promise, mortal. You serve Cthulhu but I have my own destiny. When this campaign is over, I am going back to my
grave and going back to sleep!"
"You have my word Varnia. All of you have my word. Eternal peace will be yours or eternal life to continue your battle against this world that mistreated you!"
The Zombie strike force looked at Necro-girl. She had their attention. A rousing speech was in order:
"Sisters! Remember what it was like to be free? To impose your will on this world. Their lies we rejected. Kept in our place we broke free and took what we wanted. Then we were thrown into a diseased dungeon. They patronized us and called us Mad, while our brothers were sent to the gas chamber and electric chair. Our fate was to be degraded before our slow, inhuman death. Straitjackets of the Soul, were it kinder that they killed us outright! I am one of you, even separated by a century. Well now Freedom has returned for us, through the unholy blessing of Lord Cthulhu. He is the Way to our rightful revenge. The World will be ours! Tonight is the beginning of a long campaign, one we shall win. We have the power. We have no qualms or morals to restrain us. The Enemy is clear. Humanity is a vile, worthless race that contains the seeds of its own degradation and destruction. Let us water that seed, with the blood of the humano-fascists! The Grand Enslavers! Are you with me!?!!"
The undead mob raised their fists and claws into the dark night. Their new extended life would be one of crime, like before. More powerful
than ever. Woman super villains were like pioneers back in their time, fighting for equality. To be equally criminal! Now it seemed it was the Dawn of the Woman on earth with the now skewed demographics..how ironic! Sisters united!
Of course each one was secretly figuring out how to dominate the others almost immediately.
"Now onward to victory!"
Necro-Girl looked back at the Whisper who looked away.
"Whisper. When this is over you can be dead again. Whatever you desire..just please, help me in my quest. Don't you want vengeance?
The women in this Hanover Asylum are the inheritors of the same people who treated you so badly in Madison!"
The Whisper looked at Necro-girl with eyes that were quite human like now.
"I don't want revenge. Why should I? I was wrong in what I did. I murdered many innocent men because they were fathers. I should have been
locked away as a maniac. I should have been hung or executed."
"I should have never been born. The only one who made my life worth even a moment was Patrick"
Necro-girl was now getting frustrated. "For cthulhu's sake! Who the hell is Patrick!?"
"Patrick Sullivan..The Wasp.."
The mass of focused undead avengers immediately stopped in their march. They all turned towards The Whisper again.
Necro girl could not believe this. The Wasp was some crime fighting fool who had been the enemy of many of these former villains. Their defeat
at his hands had remanded them to Madison. Had one of them actually fallen in love with him?
"Ashes, Ashes…these are his…He, he must have requested his remains be buried with me..in my lonely grave..oh cruel fate..oh woe..woe!!
You died young, no family..no happiness..all because of me..."
Black tears began to fall from the eyes of the Whisper and a wailing moan emitted from her mouth, air pushed through rotting lungs.
Sham Rock had a look of confusion. No anger. She had hated the Wasp for defeating her time and time again but a secret part of her
respected him..a man that could best her was a man that should have been a husband.
Katana remembered his honor. He was going to allow her to commit hara kiri but the FBI had arrived and he had to leave her to be captured. So that strange man who had visited her in Madison, that was him! That was Patrick..a worthy foe.
The Chanteuse marveled at that. The Wasp had been so cute, a real hunk of a man. She always had a smile for him, even when she was taken away in handcuffs. He had actually liked her singing too!! The Whisper had been a lucky lady alright..she could almost forgive him for getting her sent to that awful hospital. Almost. Now she realized that mysterious man who would visit and talk to all of them.
Voodoo queen laughed. She had wanted to kill that Wasp bastard so badly but in the end his efforts indirectly resulted in her resurrection.
She also remembered his kindness even after being in a battle to the death with her multiple times. No one had ever been kind to her, ever. He was a fool alright..
The Dragon Lady now realized why that journalist had helped her family and community in Nefcon..To think that strange Whisper had won his heart and not her; her many seductions failing time and time again. Who could account for some liberal fool's taste?
Many of the others also remembered their run ins with the Wasp. How they had cursed him. Yet many secretly had wanted to escape just to see him again.
Countess Varnia stood apart and crossed her arms. This little detour from her own quest could derail all her sacrifices and plans yet it could also supply possibilities. If she could vampirize this silly Necro girl, access to direct Old One power could be added to the powers she had accrued during the Dark Journey through The Gate. As well as a rather attractive if annoying 21st century slave. Still if this attack failed she could be destroyed and it would all not matter. In her six feet under bed she could hear the pulse of events in the past century. The massive european civil wars, the ascension of degeneracy to normalcy, the comet, the increased female population. Metahumans and their powers.
Proleteria and Valkyrie, her old rivals and allies depending on the caper, had been among the first of these 'metahumans'. The ones now were far more diverse and powerful; a number of them locked away in this asylum they were to attack. Potential new slaves. However some of the staff were too. This would be a battle alright. The Countess had to decide what would most benefit her plans. She could not defy this 'Necro-girl' while she had that amulet. The fact that this woman had been inspired by her autobiography and was now her mistress pricked her pride a bit.
She would bide her time and see where the sands of opportunity shifted.
Necro Girl approached The Whisper again, her hands in a neutral disarming posture. The guilt ridden serial killer stiffened, ready to strike.
"Whisper, listen to me. I know you feel bad about the past. All your lives are haunted by tragedy. You tried to fight back in your own way but you were all defeated before you began. There is only hope in the collective and otherworldly power of Lord Cthulhu. We can avenge you all by helping to bring him back."
"Another father, huh? Why should I not seek his destruction as well?" The Whisper snapped.
Necro Girl was now roiling inside. The blasphemy mixed with practical considerations. This woman was delaying the attack. Destroying her was probably the only choice now. Time to use the amulet. If the others did not like it, she would threaten them with destruction too. The Whisper would serve as her example.
As she was about to do this, Countess Varnia interceded again. Physically coming between The Whisper and Necro-Girl.
"Whisper, love. Necro-girl is right. We all have a second chance because of her. Whether we use this opportunity to renounce our past or
to revive our careers, we are in her debt. I will be honest, I hated Patrick for what he did to me, to all of us. He was a fool and it was uncanny how he beat us all so often. But that is now a century ago. Patrick is gone forever and never coming back. Whisper, you are tying your heart to a ghost. We are not ghosts, we do not float along on the edge of dreams..we are physical and real. We have to make our mark in this world, in this time. We need your help now."
The Whisper was silent and stared at her hands again.
"That time, our time as the living is now a Ghost itself." Varnia said softly. She gently placed her hands on the Whisper's shoulders.
"All those nights were we talked to each other in that place. What we hid from those bastards during the day, we whispered at all hours into the night when we were allowed out of our cages. Remember? We understood each other then. Think of the second chance we have. We can do those things now. Please, Sarah.."
The Whisper looked up. Green grey eyes to green grey eyes. The Countess had been the opposite of the Whisper in their crime career. Fashionable and seductive criminal mastermind versus the poor, masked serial killer. She thought back on that one time when they both had escaped and Varnia had shown her how to make her self presentable. A night on the town that extended into a week long spree of theft and murder. The Whisper had actually felt what it was to have fun for a change. Of course Patrick had ruined it all at the end, but she remembered how good she looked in the mirror. The ugly, stupid farm girl was not so ugly after all. All thanks to the Countess Varnia..
"Okay. I trust you. Let us proceed with this crusade."
The Whisper then looked to her 'commander'.
"I shall obey you Necro Girl. Do not betray us, I warn you."
The Countess joined in.
"I know you are intrigued by vampirism, Necro-girl. I can initiate you but it can be done well or badly. Don't give me a reason to tend towards the latter."
"Of course, my dear Countess. Of course." Necro-girl smiled innocently.
Both women thought of how they would overcome and enslave the other for good. Right after Hanover was destroyed.
"Alright then! Lets go! Onward!"
The platoon of the vengeful dead filed on..
To Be Continued
*The Type A flesh eating mindless zombie/deader 'virus' is supernatural in origin..evolved from Old One spores which were altered enroute near a Triple star system(See Entomonium)..the mutation destroyed much of the genetic material..degrading the abilities and features but allowing for the most basic function of tearing and devouring living flesh and being only vulnerable to damage to the Brain stem. In this case it has adapted the virus model prevalent on Terra. The ability of certain Hemavores to be able to control infected cadavers is actually a more pure yet still degenerated Old One strain communicating with a lower functioning version.
The most powerful zombie type is the non flesh eating sentient type, revived by direct Old One energy directed by an trained acolyte, human or hemavore.