And... let's be honest, we're not looking forward to this one. We're getting reports of a lot of wanton destruction going on in downtown Beijing, and everyone at GaiaCorp is praying to gods we don't believe in that it's just another Muto, and not what we think it is. But considering our luck, it's more than likely Mothman, and it's also more than likely that our other contender is going to find him and a battle is going to start. And since that's what you guys want, we're obliged to broadcast it live anyway, regardless of the immense loss of life on the horizon.
Ugh, alright. Here it is.
Connor Hardy here, trying not to shit myself as we go live to the action...
-------
Beijing falls.
The neon-light night, once the center of a bustling capital of men and women, is filled with screams of horror and terror. The streets are filled with panicking masses of people, pushing and shoving and trampling in a desperate bid to delay the inevitable doom that bears down upon them. Cars are left abandoned, shop doors are left wide open and chaos reigns as the crowds run this way and that, looking for a place to hide.
But there is nowhere to hide. The monster is all around them.
And it emerges as, seeing an opportunity, a young hooligan snatches up a metal trash can and lifts it up, preparing to smash a shop window open and loot the place. Only he fails to see it - the red eyes emerge from the reflective metal of the can itself, and before the young man can throw his improvised weapon a clawed hand has fastened around his throat. A gurgling scream is cut short by a ripping of flesh and cracking of bone, and the unfortunate victim drops the can as he slumps to the floor, throat torn and neck broken. The crowd around him screams in fright and surges away from the scene, ignorant of exactly what pursues them and unaware of the danger many blunder into.
For Coșmar the Mothman, it is paradise on Earth.
-------
The carnage does not go unnoticed.
Somewhere else in the city, a lone figure has been meditating, unnoticed by the city at large. Nobody knows just how he got here, or why he'd come here, of all places. But he has been here for a long, long while now, trying to focus his pin-sharp mind despite the clamor and noise of the city around him and bring himself ever closer to enlightenment. He's making pretty good progress, all being told - even the monks at the monastery were surprised at how well he's adjusted and settled into the lifestyle and mentality, considering he's-
The screams.
An antenna twitches upwards, sensing the sonic vibrations that permeate the air. Compound eyes narrow as he recognizes the human voices, all of them betraying primal terror as they gibber intolerantly into the night air. The fear is sweeping down the streets like a tide, changing courses and moving back and forth like sheep worried by savage dogs. The humans are clearly being hunted, unsure of which way to go as danger seems to be all around them, and the hunter clearly has speed and power beyond reckoning if he can get humans to stampede in this fashion.
That can mean only one thing.
The enemy is here.
Powerful legs hoist the spindly torso upright. The yellow-and-red robe flutters briefly in the wind, and then gives way to a pair of glistening wings. Jagged mouthparts slide open as a hiss escapes cracked, half-human lungs. And then, with a blur of movement, Samuel Escardo the Mansquito surges forth from the rooftop and heads down into the streets of Beijing, eyes seeking any trace of the enemy he has come to fight.
-------
The Mothman knows the light hurts it. It itches where it touches, like a thousand ants crawling upon him, which is why it prefers the shadows. But the woman is injured, her leg unwittingly and unthinkingly crushed by the trampling masses that paid heed to only their own survival as they ran away from him. And try as she might, as loud as she bawled for mercy, it is impossible for her to drag herself upright and flee from it as it looms over her, sensing her fear and hopeless terror.
It does so love easy prey.
A clawed hand raises itself into the air, ready to rip and tear-
-and suddenly Coșmar finds itself yanked aside and thrown through the air, as though an express train has struck. With a screech of anger the nightmarish shadow crashes into a nearby dumpster, upending the metal box and spilling foul-smelling garbage everywhere. That wasn't definitely not part of the plan at all, being thrown aside like that - have the humans decided to fight back now? No, that couldn't be, the soldiers with their guns and shields would have arrived by now if that was the case...
The silhouette that passes over tells it everything it needs to know. Horrid red eyes flash with glee at the sight.
"Ah̕,́ yes. Th̷e ̕b̕e҉ast ͞wit̕h ą ̶hum̧an m͞i͟n͞d. St̛upi̛d̶ f̴oo͟l, y̷óu ͟h̸a͏v̷e c̷o̡m̕e͠ t͘oo ̷l͡ate̢."
Mansquito responds with an unearthly screech that echoes around the city. The hybrid hero is in no mood to debate the hour with his nemesis - the creature reeks of bad karma and other such strange and possibly racist concepts. It's a demon of the highest calibre, and its continued existence is not just a threat to this city, its a danger to the world at large. Meditation on his purpose in life can wait for the moment - the mosquito monk has some justice to despense.
Sacred, bloody justice.
The Mothman responds to the screech with its own awful roar, and its tattered wings spread outwards as it takes to the air, rocketing upwards at speeds that would embarrass a fighter jet into retiring. Samuel is quick to respond in kind, zooming up after his enemy on buzzing wings as he chases the Transylvanian terror into the skies above Beijing. His claws unfurl from beneath his wrists as he files, and his proboscis quivers in anticipation of the battle to come - Coșmar probably has no blood to speak off, but just driving the weapon into his neck ought to feel good.
It is some fifty feet in the air that the hybrid horror manages to catch up with his opponent, and immediately a claw swipes out, aiming for the back of the monster's head. But the Mothman twists in midair and catches the attack with one paw, and its vice-like grip makes the insectoid shriek in surprised pain as chitin bends under the pressure. A roar and a twist, and it is the Mansquito's turn to be thrown through the air, rocketing downwards towards the city like a humanoid missile with the shadow demon in hot pursuit.
But Mansquito's senses reflexes have been honed by months of training with the monks of Tibet, and he stall himself in midair by spreading his limbs like an air brake. As the Mothman closes the distance, eyes blazing, the blood-sucking bug performs a twisting dodge that would make the average man's eyes water, arms extended. His claw catches on something and slices through, and there is an awful howl that vibrates the air around them. By the time the sinister shadow is able to pull up, one of its wings has been torn from root to edge, trailing loose threads.
Coșmar snarls and turns in the air to face its enemy - how it's able to keep airborne despite a ruined wing is a mystery. Mansquito chitters in rage and darts forward, lashing out with practiced strikes aimed to cripple the beast in front of him. But somehow, the mere task of hitting the red-eyed demon is like catching water in a bug net, for the monster is able to weave and parry every blow that comes his way as though it were coming five minutes too late. The glowing lamps stare back at the giant bug with equal parts loathing and contempt, and a shiver runs down the exoskeleton as-
"T͜oo͝ slo͘w."
A foot lashes out and, somehow, catches Samuel on the chin, knocking his head backwards. Then the Mothman swings a fist, and the blow is like being hit with a thousand pounds of speeding iron, sending the bewilded bug flying backwards once more. Only this time his shadowy enemy is quicker to take advantage of it - diving after him, it tackles the Mansquito around the midsection and begins picking up speed, forcing it backwards towards one of the nearby skyscrapers of modern Beijing. A good crash course through several tons of metal and glass ought to put this insect down, and then the feast can resume in peace.
Except, of course, when the claws dig into its shoulders.
A gasp escapes Coșmar as it finds itself twisted in midair and compound eyes glare back at it. Then Mansquito lifts a foot and rams it into the demon's stomach, pushing itself free from the demon's grip as it flies backwards, overcoming momentum to stall in the air. Unable to do the same in time, the black-winged beast slams straight through the side of the building in an explosion of dust and glass, howling in pain as something else is broken on its body. The monstrous monk waits patiently, observing the way the dust blows away on the slight breeze that flickers through the city.
Then he flies down into the hole left by the Mothman and into the building.
-------
The inside of the office is a mess.
That's the first thing Samuel Escardo notices as he alights on the polished floor, compound eyes taking every detail. The Mothman's entry into the place was less than graceful - the floor above was shattered by a body, bits of it raining down even now. Dust coats everything in a fine, greyish-white layer, and a trail of destroyed desks and chairs indicates where the monster must have bounce-rolled several feet in its path. Mansquito stares fixedly ahead as he observes all this and a few more besides, striding towards the heaped mess of wood and papers at the other end of the room.
He knows full well what that is.
As he approaches, a black form rises up, trailing shattered oak and torn light fixture. Red eyes glare out from the darkness.
"Not e͘n̴o͢u̕gh," growls Coșmar, and quick as lightning it lunges over the wreckage of the office and makes a determined swipe. The claws snag on the Mansqutio's robe, but the half-human hero twists out of range once again, shucking the garment as it is ripped apart and cast aside. However, insect reflexes have a finite limit, and Samuel is not able to dodge the next swipe, which scratches deep along the hybrid's chest and, for the first time in this battle, draws blood. A harsh shriek is the response, and the benevolent bug responds by revolving on the spot, aiming a kick at the Mothman's head.
The leg, however, is caught - in his desperation, Sam forgot that kicking has a bigger tell than just punching and can be read easier. Then the red-eyed abomination heaves sideways, and Mansquito finds himself jerked off his feet, suspended in the air as his foes swings him around with a savage roar. The world blurs, but the hybrid hero can tell he is being aimed at one of the reflective support pillars that holds up the ceiling and, by extension, the office above the scene of their battle. The Mothman's grip is too strong - there's no way he can break it at this speed.
So instead, he lets himself be smashed into it, the metal bending beneath his weight. Pain flares through his body at the impact, but the former criminal reacts quickly, wrapping both arms about the support pillar and heaving his lower half backwards - that is, for him, upwards. Already unbalanced by the weight of his foe, the black-winged beast of Transylvania is yanked off his own feet, howling in surprise as he is flung sideways towards a plasterboard wall and slamming into it like an out-of-control semi truck. Quickly releasing the pillar, Samuel drops to his feet and turns, expecting to find his foe slumped and dazed at the foot of the wall.
There is nothing there.
Mansquito buzzes with suspicion, antenna twitching as he tries to divine what happened. He can still sense the beast is around him, somewhere, still lurking in the shadows, but he can't see a trace of it - no imprints, no footsteps, nothing. The giant bug turns this way and that, trying to sense where-
AAARGH
That's a sharp claw to the back, shredding something probably important. Samuel howls in anger and twists around, but finds himself staring at the support pillar that he just swung off. Bewilderment fills his mind, which is then replaced by even more pain as needle-like claws rake his shins, causing him to drop to his hands and knees. Where are these attacks coming from, and why can't he see his enemy any more? What's going on?
As he gasps, staring down at the floor of the office building in bewilderment, he thinks he can see the two red lights of the overhead lamps reflected in the-
“̕GǫT͝ ͜y͝O̷u͏.”́
Coșmar suddenly bursts out from the reflective floor, hands grasping for the head of his opponent. But Samuel's insect-like reflexes kick in once again, and all it takes is for the benevolent bug to lean back to dodge the incoming claws. In response, his own appendages lash out, catching the Mothman's wrists and trapping them together in a grip like a steel vice. The Transylvanian terror snarls in frustration at this development, but it is trapped and cannot pull away from what comes next.
Namely, Mansquito driving his needle proboscis into his head.
It's doubtful wherever the Mothman has a brain of any sort, at least in the terms we can describe. But even though the stabbing isn't fatal in any way, it still hurts like hell, as Coșmar screams an apocalypse, eyes flickering like soccer stadium floodlights on the blink. Tightening his grip on his foe and shutting out the headache forming, Mansquito drags himself backwards and upright, slowly pulling his shadowy enemy out of the floor as he goes, and another howl fills his hearing, accompanied by an awful tearing. When the Mothman finally pulls himself clear of his enemy, its wings are tattered, broken and useless.
But that does nothing to quell the rage in its eyes, and it lunges once again.
-------
A large crowd has gathered.
For at least two hours now, the sounds of furious battle has been heard coming from the skyscraper. Windows have blown, awful cracks have been heard from within and screeching and roars have filled the air. The two monsters inside have been having a brutal battle, the likes of which the world has never before seen. The people here are obviously torn between going into the building to see what's going on and staying outside to preserve themselves, a desire to see bloodsport conflicting with the desire to stay the fuck away from the carnage.
One question hangs in the air like a bad smell.
Who's winning?
Just at that moment, a window shatters, and the battered body of Mansquito comes flying out. The assembled scatter just in time - the insectoid hero slams into the concrete with startling force, leaving a sizable dent in the tarmac beneath him. And at the same moment, the scratch-ridden Mothman emerges from the building's reflective ground-floor window, stalking forward with intent clear in its mad red eyes. It ignores the screaming masses around it, once the prey it had been stalking with relish, and makes directly for the prone Mansquito with long and ominous strides.
Mansquito can barely move. His limbs are in agony, part of his torso was caved in by somebody else's desk and his vision is blurring. He knows his enemy is approaching, but can barely do anything to stop it - such was the strength of his deadly foe that his own strength had been sapped out of his body trying to fight back. The world spins sickeningly as he rolls onto his side, trying to face down Coșmar even though he is in terrible agony.
And he sees the faces of the people.
Young men and women. Children no older than five or eight. Elderly pensioners.
All of them looking at him with the same mixture of fear and expectation.
They're counting on me. They need me to stop it here. If not here...
Coșmar's arm comes down too late. Samuel has already brought up an arm and parried the blow, causing the Mothman to stagger backwards with surprise. Now the heroic hybrid is on his feet, and the world seems to slow down as Mansquito unleashes his fury upon the monster in front of him. A claw swipe here, a counter there, a kick to the ribs... every movement flows together in his head and in his limbs, and he shuts out the screaming horror in his head as he slices and picks and twists and lunges-
"Look out!"
Too far.
His arm his caught. Mothman roars, and nearly yanks the limb from the socket as he twists his opponent around in the other direction. Mansquito stumbles, unable to change direction, and a foot finds his gut and sends him soaring backwards... into a nearby petrol truck, abandoned by the driver as Mothman rampaged through the city earlier. A fireball erupts as the tanker is punctured and the fuel set alight, bathing downtown Beijing in orange light. People scream and drop to the ground, holding their heads as heat washes over them in a wave that threatens to singe the hair right off their bodies.
Ignoring them, Coșmar addresses the inferno in front of him.
"S̶t̴up҉id̷ ͡cr̢e̴at̴u̕r̸ę.̨ Y̡ou̢r ̵şơ-call͝ed ́enl̀i̕gh͝te̡n͘m̧e͟nt ̶b̸rou͏g͟h̴t҉ yo̶u ̷no͢ţhing. Y̵o҉u̶r ̸igno͏r̢ąnc͞e ͝a͠nd s͢elf̴-͟l̵oa̴t̴hing̨ w̶èi͢ghed you̢ d͝ow͞n.̸
͟"͡I ̢a̸m ̛t̀he ͟s̷um of ̨I̛gn̢o͘r̡ąn͜ce͟. Ev͢ȩr̴y̷t͏h͞inģ ma̡n̛k̢in͡d sh͞ou̴ld̀ ̶hav͏e ͞lea͘rn̨éd̵ ͡l͏ong̷ ̢a͞g̴o͞,̕ ͜it͝ h̕as̕ n̡ot͟.̕ Frơm ̧t̢he͢ ͞f̵i̕r͠e̢s ͡of ́w͜a̷r,̴ ̡t̛h̸e̛ p͝ąi͝n̕ of ̡fa̡m̨in͏e and̸ t͡h͢e c͝h̢ur͡ni̕n̡g d̢a̸rk͡ness o͝f i̷njust̛i͢ce, Ì ͡wa͠s ͘b̶o̴rn.́ ̷No̶ ́gưn̕ ҉c̡an ͡ha͟rm ͝m͘e,́ ͏no sh͜e̢l͝l̀ ca̶n̢ p̛ier̛ce mè,͜ n͝o la͞ser͘ can ̛u̴ndo͠ m̷e - f͜o͢r̵ t̵h̛e̶iŕ ma̸ke̶ was̕ ̴ro̸oted̵ ̕iǹ ̷a s͘tup͞id̵ de̶cìsi͡o̸ń,͡ th̛ę d̕éc̴isio͜n̢ ̀to̧ sĺaug̴ht̸e͡r an̷d̀ ki̷l͠l͝.͡ Your͟ ̶ve͝ry ̛ex̨is͞tençe̶ i̛s ̵p̛r̛òof of͟ ͞m̶an͏kin͡d'̢s͡ ̀ig̸n͜ór̢an͞ce ͢- y҉ou͏ we͟re͜ born out̴ ̸of͢ ̕i̡t̕, a͏nd ̕n̢o̶w ̛yóu̶ p̢er͜i͞s̛h͘ ̴i̛n i͏t͘.͝
̨"̡Stu̶p͡i͡d ͠cręa͢t̛u̡r̵e͞.̸ ̶Ónl̴y ̕a̴ m̀iracle̕ ca͝n ̶de̸f͟eat me."͡
The Mothman turns, slowly and triumphantly walking away from the flames.
...wait.
What's that emerging from-
Fire. Ever since early man first struck stones together and set some dry kindling alight, it has been the gift that keeps on giving. It gave man the tools to hunt, the strength to brave the dark, the spark that birthed a thousand other miracles. It inspired tales of gods, of demons and of things beyond. It is, in a nutshell, the biggest miracle of them all.
And Samuel Escardo is wreathed in it.
Without so much as a pause, Mansquito dives forward in a blazing blur, arms spread, and drives his body straight through the Mothman's.
A hideous scream fills the air as the entire thing catches alight, flaying apart at the seams like a badly-woven cardigan. Light pours from the headlamp eyes in streams of red as the entire top half of the creature is separated from the rest of it, the arms falling to the ground and writhing like agonized snakes. And then, in a plume of foul-smelling smoke and blazing flame, every last trace of the Mothman burns into nothingness, leaving behind only ash.
Samuel Escardo collapses to the ground, breathing heavily. He is in complete agony, his wings shredded, and the fire on his body continues to quietly smoulder, but he thinks he has won. The people around him don't seem keen on attacking him, at least, so they probably think he's a hero or something. Hopefully those morons at GaiaCorp gave him the right sort of publicity - not that he particularly cared for them...
The last thing Mansquito hears before falling unconscious is the rising cheer of the crowd blotting out the sirens of the fire engines.
MANSQUITO WINS!
And that, sports fans, brings a conclusion to Round Two of The Monster Mash 199X, at long last! It also brings an end to my hideous nightmares, as the Mothman is finally dead and I can sleep a hell of a lot easier! And that goes for you, two, viewers - take down that electric fence and pull the boards off your windows! And get back to buying our merch already!
But! Ha ha, don't go away, loyals fans! Because in a little time, our sister company Greentech is going to host a very special battle for you all - The Loser's League Brawl! This is where all the monsters that got their tails handed to them in the previous rounds get into a huge slobberknocker of a battle, live for your viewing pleasure. And whoever wins that titanic clash will earn a sport in the Fatal Four-Way to determine the final match up of The Monster Mash, with a chance to prove themselves as the true King of the Monsters! Godzilla, eat your heart out!
Stay tuned for the Final Round of The Monster Mash 199X, folks...
'CAUSE WE'RE GONNA RAMP IT UP
No comments:
Post a Comment