~ The Paragons ~ Chapters 11 ~ 16 ~
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The Brotherhood
Psychic, mentor, teacher
Can survive underwater
Ability to scale and climb
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Chapter 11
Jolt’s fingers dug deep into Seduction’s back, eliciting a moan of satisfaction.
“Go harder,” Seduction ordered, and Jolt obeyed, massaging the smooth, taut flesh deeper. Soon, Seduction would abandon the massage for passion, but for now, he relaxed at Jolt’s masterful touch. He sunk into the low-backed plush seat and lost himself in Jolt’s touch.
He needed this relaxation. The escape of Jackhammer had infuriated him and he had a deep purple bruise on his forehead to remind him. With Crush and Jackhammer under his control, he could have moved forward with his plans but Jackhammer’s getaway put a kink in his timeline.
Seduction had learned the hard way after his near miss in New Zealand. Capturing the local superheroes had been a snap over there, just like here. But he hadn’t taken into account that Australia was nearby. The entire New Zealand armed forces took him on and were soon joined by the Aussie forces. Their combined forces, the ANZACS, had taught the American and British troupes a lot during the second world war so it was no surprise that these supposedly minor countries would pose a challenge now. Even with his legion of champions, there had been too much artillery and too many skilled soldiers to combat them all. In the end, his minions had fallen, either captured or dead, and he was forced to flee the country. Never kick a dog just because it’s just a pup. One day the pup will grow up. And make friends.
This time, he’d planned it better. He’d learned from his mistakes. And he had a back-up plan in case something like this happened. The world would fall at his feet, including New Zealand and those damned Aussies.
At Seduction's feet now however, Bounce reaped the benefits of his own conquest. It was an odd sight, seeing such a lithe young beauty play master to the muscled Arabic stud who crouched on all fours in front of him. A studded dog collar circled Quake’s neck and Bounce clasp the accompanying chain in his hand.
Of course, Quake would have no compunction to bow down to Bounce, given that he was under Seduction’s control. Seduction had promised Bounce a prize for his loyalty, and the kid’s impressive subjugation of Quake had earned him a ‘pet’.
Contrary to popular belief, Seduction had never seized control of Bounce. The kid had been a willing pupil from the start. In fact, Bounce was so eager to learn from the master that at one point, Seduction had found himself questioning whether he’d fucked Bounce and forgotten. Even his forced slaves didn’t seem so committed as the rubbery rogue.
Bounce delighted in having Quake completely his mercy. His beaming face made it more than obvious. Tugging on the dog chain, Bounce was riding Quake’s rear like a bull on heat. His free hand waved in the air rodeo-style and he ordered Quake repeatedly to use his power to create minor tremors inside his arse. Quake was his own personal vibrator!
Across the room, Crunch was chained to a whipping post, where Fever claimed him as a punching bag. Fist after fist collided with Crunch’s rippled abs. As sweat glistened over Fever’s tanned torso, Crunch lapped up the punishment, growing hornier with each blow. His erection was immense, impatiently await Fever’s attention.
The sight of both duos made Seduction hot as hell. He reached over his shoulder and took Jolt’s hand, guiding him from behind. Jolt’s luscious chest stood in front of him, and Seduction lost himself in the forest of fur. His arms wrapped around Jolt’s waist and pulled him closer.
Jolt smiled, enjoying his master’s attention. He clasped Seduction’s shoulders and suddenly squeezed them hard. Seduction arched out of his seat, falling to his knees and Jolt came down on top of him, forcing him to the ground.
As their lips met, Seduction felt Jolt’s weight crush him. His biceps bulged as he strained against his slave, flipping Jolt over. He belonged on top and the feel of Jolt now pressing up against him increased his libido. He kissed Jolt hard and passionately. Jolt responded and Seduction lapped up the sight of Jolt’s muscular arms trying to force themselves up.
Seduction dined on his dominance, sucking Jolt’s neck, then chest. Then Jolt’s arms began to rise. He forced them up, lifting Seduction off him, and forcing Seduction’s arms back behind his ears. Seduction hung above Jolt, every massive muscle straining. He willed Jolt to release him, and immediately fell back down on top of the Israeli hero.
Their lips locked once more, until Jolt twisted and shoved, knocking Seduction off him. They lay side by side, arms grappling to push the other down. Further down, their cocks clashed and connected in a sword fight that made each more determined to dominate the other.
Seduction was no weakling, and his height gave him an advantage. His long arms stretched upwards, stretching Jolt’s more than they could reach. Seduction rolled back onto Jolt and pinned his arms high above his head. They kissed again, the firmness of their bodies tantalizing each other over and over again.
Seduction lapped up the feeling of Jolt stretched out beneath him again, tongues dueling in their mouths. Then Jolt’s feet hooked around Seduction’s ankles, forcing his legs apart. Distracted by the sudden move, Seduction left himself open to Jolt yanking his arms down and out. Seduction’s arms may have been longer, but once Jolt forced them out 90 degrees sideways, he lay helpless on top of his slave. He was a starfish on the sand that scratched against his exposed torso.
Seduction pressed down on Jolt, a prisoner despite being on top. Beneath him, Jolt grinned, enjoying the eroticism of control before Seduction forced his psychic will upon him. Seduction pinned Jolt to the floor once more. His kisses became more passionate and Jolt responded in return, as though he only ever dreamed of being conquered.
It was a joy to be in charge. For Seduction, his supremacy over Jolt symbolized his ultimate control of the world. The other’s had their power but Jolt had both power and control. He was the leader of the Legion. And with the Legion under his control, it proved that this time, Seduction’s influence could only grow.
His plans were coming to fruition faster than he’d anticipated and, so far, no one had predicted his strategy. The world was his oyster, and he was the clam that was about to engulf them.
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Chapter 12
News on the street sent a ripple of panic through the populous. The sensational story-telling was, for once, accurate because the circumstances were sensational enough. Heroes had chased villains into a school, never to return. In a devastating street brawl, a hero had been seen running for his life. The late edition of the papers screamed the end of civilization. What threat was so great to overcome the entire League?
Jackhammer tried to ignore the news as he snuggled into his coat and walked briskly past the newspaper headlines and window displays of televisions. He wished the coat had a hood so he could cover his face in case anyone recognised it.
Trailing behind him, determined to keep pace, O’Shay puffed and panted, cursing at Jackhammer’s speed but refusing to fall too far behind.
“Wait for me!” he panted and burst into a short sprint to catch up with Jackhammer. He grabbed Jackhammer’s arm and pulled him to a stop.
“Wait for me!” he repeated, this time pleading.
“We have to get out of the city,” Jackhammer responded. “If we take a bus, we won’t be traced. This way!” He began surging forward again, and O’Shay fell into a half-walk-half-run to follow him.
The bus they eventually caught was an ordinary metropolitan bus that took them far out of the city and into the neighbouring hills. They disembarked at the last stop as dusk began to fall.
“This way,” Jackhammer instructed again, and led O’Shay from the bus stop to a farm that was an hour’s hike away.
“What is this place?” O’Shay asked, expecting to find some kind of superhero safe house.
“Don’t know,” Jackhammer responded. “But it’s got a barn and no near neighbours, which makes it a good place to bed down for the night.”
They set themselves up in the loft of the barn, forming a bed of hay that worked as a mattress and for warmth. O’Shay settled down beside Jackhammer, who lay on his back with his arms folded behind his head.
Moonlight glistened through the open loft window, revealing Jackhammer’s taut smooth torso thrusting out from the open jacket. O’Shay had never considered Asians in a sexual way before, yet seeing the rippled body glistening in the moonlight, he felt a stirring that took him by surprise.
He snuggled into Jackhammer, using Jack’s chest for a pillow, but lying there with his eyes open, Jackhammer’s erect nipples filled his vision. O’Shay couldn’t resist. He rolled over slightly and kisses Jackhammer’s stomach, sending a ripple through the hero’s abs.
It encouraged him to go further and he rolled on top of Jackhammer, opening his own jacket so their skin touched. He sucked harder and his fingers slid up Jackhammer’s rippled torso to mess with his hair.
Jackhammer gasped and then pushed O’Shay off.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” he demanded. O’Shay could almost hear the romantic music screech to a halt.
“I-I thought…”
“You thought wrong,” Jackhammer snapped.
O’Shay sat up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “When I get stressed, I crave company. I thought…”
“Go to sleep,” Jackhammer said with a sigh. He rolled over so his back was to O’Shay.
“Sorry,” O’Shay mumbled. He pulled some straw over him for a blanket and stared longingly at the back of the hero’s jacket. “Good night.”
“Yeah, ‘night,” Jackhammer muttered.
The silence that followed was deafening. It was a definite off-switch from Jackhammer, leaving O’Shay lying awake in a swamp of disappointment. He was sure Jackhammer liked him. Why else would he let him accompany him? He guessed it was just a matter of time until Jackhammer realised it himself. Until then, he would just have to bide his time.
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Chapter 13
The curator of the Metro Museum cowered against the wall, terrified.
Qa'a was the museum’s latest acquisition, having arrived early today. The mummified body was their greatest attraction for at least ten years, and ticket sales to see the mummified remains of the last King of Egypt’s first dynasty had already exceeded expectations.
Qa’a had died circa 2890 BCE (Before Christian Era) and had been buried in the prized Tomb Q at Abydos, but someone seemed to have forgotten to tell the King that he was dead. The rotten, bandaged corpse staggered before the curator, draining life from anyone he touched. Already, three staff had died and the curator remained the only living soul in the room.
He whimpered as Qa’a lurched towards him, somehow able to sense his life force. Behind Qa’a, the skeletal remains of an indigenous hunter rattled to life and shadowed Qa’a’s approach. The skeleton moved like a marionette with razor sharp finger bones ready to slice through any resistance.
The curator buried his face in his hands and whimpered. He couldn’t bear to face such a gruesome end.
The door to the lab suddenly crashed open and the curator peaked between his fingers at the authoritative figure of Jolt, scantily clad in his traditional costume of only dark shorts. The curator recognized him from the Evening News and immediately started thanking his Maker for the rescue.
Jolt surveyed the room quickly, then stepped in to the ruined lab and called to the supernatural creatures. They diverted their attention from the curator to Jolt and began lumbering towards the superhero, who circled into the room to ensure they followed him instead of lumbering out the door.
The lab was small and Jolt quickly found himself running out of room to avoid the Mummy and his skeletal cohort.
“Don’t let him touch you!” the curator yelled.
Jolt took heed and stepped back in the nick of time. Qa’a let out an ethereal screech and a slit seemed to open where his mouth should be. The Egyptian mummy raised his arms and the century-old bandages suddenly unwound, shooting outwards to wrap around Jolt’s wrists.
Jolt grunted as he found himself being pulled towards the Mummy. He yanked against the straps but a supernatural force prevented him from pulling his arms free.
Qa’a stepped closer; his skeleton counterpart by his side. The skeleton’s razor sharp finger bones pointed forward, ready to slice Jolt into pieces.
Jolt struggled against the bonds as the bandages retracted, pulling him closer and closer to the Mummy and certain death. He kicked out, landing a foot in the skeleton’s mid-section. The skeleton rocketed backwards against the bench top, Jolt activated his power, the electricity in his hands causing the bandages to burst into flames. He yanked his arms free and dove out the way, just as Qa’a reached out to touch him.
Jolt snatched the skeleton’s wrist and snapped off a hand. He spun around and swiped the deadly fingertips down the torso the Qa’a. The bandages ripped, and Jolt crisscrossed the razor sharp bones over the mummy’s dressing.
The mummy staggered backwards and the bandages fell away. Underneath, the rotten corpse disintegrated into dust and the creature collapsed into a sorry mess on the floor.
With its master gone, the skeleton rattled and fell, leaving a pile of inanimate bones on the floor at Jolt’s feet.
Jolt moved to the curator’s side and helped the middle aged bureaucrat to his feet.
“Are you okay?” Jolt asked.
The curator was shaken but managed to answer in the affirmative.
“Contact the police,” Jolt instructed him. “Tell them what happened here. They’ll understand. They’re more used to this kind of thing than you realize.”
“”But who are you?” the curator wondered.
“Me? I’m Jolt. Leader of the Superhero League and the guy who just saved your arse!” And with a grin, Jolt sped out the door, leaving the curator thankful to know that the superheroes were still saving the world.
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Chapter 14
The news reports must have been wrong and Dale couldn’t have been more relieved. He was a strapping farm boy, all of seventeen but ripped from a lifetime of manual labour. Even so, he hid in the barn peering out at the battle royale taking place by the stables. Riding a rodeo was a picnic compared to the supernatural. If it weren’t for the League, he didn’t know what he’d have done after this latest attack.
Fever
Outside, Fever was surrounded by at least a dozen scarecrows while in the distance more lumbered across the fields from other farms, converging on the stand-off. One of those scarecrows was the real deal – a nasty piece of work who had tormented the graziers and farmhands for years. His ability to animate scarecrows into an army had forced everyone in the region to pay regular ransoms, often more than they could afford.Until now, the League of Superheroes hadn’t come to the farmers’ aid, but Dale guessed it was a question of priority. They were always so busy saving lives, that simple blackmail always ended up at the bottom of the list, even if it did mean their livelihoods were suffering. He was just grateful that the League and finally come to their rescue. He’s expected more of them, but figured one must be enough if that was all they sent.
Dale peeked through the vertical slats of the barn wall again and watched anxiously. Fever was turning in circles, trying to keep an eye on the entire circumference of scarecrows. He lashed out with a karate kick, hitting the nearest scarecrow in the gut. The scarecrow’s stomach caved in from the force of the blow but instantly popped back into shape.Fever punched another scarecrow in the face but the head bounced upright, barely forcing the tatterdemalion to hesitate in its step. Instead, it lashed out itself swinging a punch that caught Fever square in the jaw. It was a sharp blow, as though the scarecrow had solidified its straw innards at will. Fever staggered backwards into the clutches of another foe. He struggled as the second scarecrow wrapped its arms around his torso and held him from behind in a crushing grip.
The straw scratched at Fever’s torso, leaving little welts on his chest and back. The other scarecrows pressed in, encircling him in a tight wall of straw. His captor forced Fever to his knees, then released him from the bear hug. On either side of Fever, the closest scarecrows tore open their shirts in anticipation of Fever’s next move.
Fever raised his arms to push them away but instead found his arms swallowed by the straw bodies as his fists passed right through them. The scarecrows solidified their stomachs, cementing Fever’s arms within them. They both took a step back, and Fever yelped as his shoulders felt like they were about to be ripped from him.
His fingertips tingled as he turned on his heat power, but his hands had passed right through the scarecrows before they had trapped his arms. In front of him, another scarecrow ripped open its tattered shirt and pressed its straw stomach into Fever’s face. Fever gasped his last breath before the straw solidified, cutting off his oxygen.
On either side, the scarecrows holding his arms took another small step backwards. If he could scream, he would have. It seemed as though they were deliberately taunting him with their tiny steps that increased the pain but didn’t rip him apart entirely.
Fever’s fingertips wiggled and flailed. He bent his wrist inwards and turned up his super-powered heat to maximum. His whole body began to rise in temperature and his hands glowed red with the core of his heat. Both scarecrows at his side began smouldering as the temperature rose, until a batch of straw on their backs caught alike. His arms were released as the silent creatures disintegrated in a burst of flames that leapt from one scarecrow to the next until the yard was iridescent with the flicker light of the bonfire. The twelve frontline scarecrows, and those that had joined them all collapsed in a pile of ash, leaving just one scarecrow standing.
Fever rose to his feet and gingerly soothed some of the welts on his chest with his fingers. He looked around at the piles of ash that now littered the ground.
“That’s what I call a bad case of hay-Fever!” he grinned.
He turned to the last remaining scarecrow.
“The last one standing,” he said. “That must make you The Scarecrow.” He smiled, then added sarcastically, “Nice costume!”“Don’t think you’ve won, League Man,” The Scarecrow threatened, and suddenly burst into laughter. “You’re not even League, are you? You’re an apprentice. A sidekick. All you’ve done is dispense with a dozen minions. But can you handle any more?” He motioned to the fields that were awash with countless more scarecrows lumbering into the property. They would be on Fever within minutes.
Fever stepped up to The Scarecrow with menace.
“The one thing all of you bad-arses seem to have in common,” Fever said, “is ego. You think you’re hot shit, but I hate to tell you, I’m the one who’s hot. Not you.” He raised his hand and let it glow red with heat. The Scarecrow staggered back a step as the heat pinched at his face.
Fever smiled, and let the heat subside. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not here to burn you alive. I’m just here to make sure you get burnt.” And with that, Fever punched out.
The Scarecrow yelped as the fist connected with his nose. He staggered backwards as a warm flow of blood began streaming from his nostrils. Fever swung out again, this time connecting with The Scarecrow’s cheek. The villain fell to the ground, knocked out before his head even hit the ground.
On the outskirts of the property, the possessed scarecrows collapsed as they returned to their inanimate state.
Fever nodded triumphantly, and lifting The Scarecrow into a fireman’s hold, he parted the scene. Behind him, Dale emerged from the barn and viewed the carnage around him.
“Thank you!” he gushed, looking after the receding figure in the distance.
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Chapter 15
Jackhammer and O’Shay woke with a start.
The last thing Jackhammer remembered was O’Shay’s whiny lilt bemoaning “How much further can it be?!” as they’d settled into another barn for the night.
They’d been on the move for days, scavenging for food, sleeping in hay lofts and avoiding populated areas as much as they could. They'd both desperately needed a shower, and in Jackhammer’s case, a well earned rest. O’Shay had lasted only two days on their hunt for The Brotherhood before his whinging had become incessant. In the end, Jackhammer had relented and had been piggybacking the hitchhiker ever since.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, just shut the hell up!” Jackhammer had growled for the umpteenth time, and rolled over to sleep. He didn’t dream much, but waking suddenly in a different place made him hope it was dream.
“What the…” O’Shay whispered, echoing Jackhammer’s own thoughts. They were no longer in the barn they’d fallen asleep in.
The room was narrow and bare, offering nothing more than the two single fold up beds on which they lay, and a small desk with a lamp. They were both naked and covered discretely by a thin, scratchy blanket. The stone walls and concrete floor made Jackhammer think of a monastery and he leapt from the bed with visions of ninja monks patrolling the corridors outside.
“Nice,” O’Shay grinned, momentarily distracted by Jackhammer’s nakedness.
The hero sighed and quickly secured the blanket around his waist. It was only when he looked down however, that he noticed the glisten of his skin. He’d been bathed while unconscious.
Jackhammer turned to O’Shay and noticed the same aura on him in the lamplight. He leaned over the Annoyance and sniffed. O’Shay smelt freshly bathed. O’Shay also took it the wrong way. Before Jack could protest, O’Shay had pulled him down on top and embraced him in a passionate kiss.
O’Shay’s legs wrapped around Jackhammers and the light coat of fur scratched at Jackhammer’s chest. In moments of crisis, people need to be held, and Jackhammer felt himself go hard immediately, his own skin hunger betraying him in an instant.
He pulled away, straddling O’Shay, who was grinning madly. O’Shay sat up and begun kissing Jackhammer’s chest; his hands caressing Jack’s back. Jack pushed O’Shay off him and pinned the man to the bed.
“What have I told you?” Jackhammer growled.
“You know you want me,” O’Shay replied, and Jackhammer couldn’t honestly disagree. “Isn’t that why you came over?” O’Shay continued.
“I came over to smell you,” Jackhammer snapped, refusing to admit anything more. “We’ve been cleaned up. Wherever we are, they couldn’t stand the smell of you either!”
Jackhammer climbed off the bed and resecured the blanket.
“Stay!” he ordered.
The door to the room clicked and swung ajar. Jackhammer braced for an attack but he couldn’t yet see what was on the other side of the door.
“As I get older, my timing is not so good,” a feeble man’s voice announced from the other side. “Have you finished? Is it okay to come in?”
Jackhammer frowned but stayed slightly crouched, ready for action.
“Show yourself!” he barked, not fooled for an instant by the friendliness of the voice.
The door opened fully to reveal an octogenarian with a white stick. Jackhammer’s nostrils filled with the smell the mothballs emanating from the man’s tweed suit.
“I really hope I haven’t interrupted,” the grandfatherly man apologised, “but time is short and there is much to do.”
“Who are you?”
“Me?” the old man laughed and waved a dismissive hand. “I’m no one of importance. I’m just the Head Master.”
“The what?!” Jackhammer straightened up but kept a watchful eye over the figure’s shoulder in case further company should arrive.
“The Headmaster. I’m the Head Master. I see the future. And I’ve been expecting you.”
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Chapter 16
“So you’re psycho?” O’Shay asked, settling into the high-back office chair.
“Psychic,” the Headmaster corrected him politely from where he sat across the desk. “Or more to the point, I have visions of the future, often random, rarely controllable. They just happen.”
“And when you saw us coming here,” Jackhammer asked, preferring to remain standing. He wasn’t comfortable, neither here in the Headmaster’s office nor in the well-fitting but conservative clothing that had been supplied to them. “…did you also see us kicking some serious butt?”
The Headmaster smiled, his blind eyes narrowing on his withered face. He took the question as rhetorical.
“You’re here for The Brotherhood – your last line of defense against Seduction. What I can tell you is that they are not ready. Nor will they be for some time.”
“Then what about the staff?” Jackhammer snapped. “All your teachers have abilities.”
“We teach because we have abilities that don’t quite make the grade,” the Headmaster corrected him. “None of us have powers strong enough or reliable enough to make us any more effective than an ordinary man. If you send the staff into battle, you may as well send your companion here too. We use our gifts to teach those who have the power to do good.”
“Those that can, do. Those that can’t, teach, eh?” O’Shay chuckled.
“Not helping.” Jackhammer snapped, admonishing the Irish Nuisance into silence. He turned back to the Headmaster. “Then we’re back to The Brotherhood. If they’re not ready now, make them ready. Seduction took down the whole League in less than a day. The longer he’s out there, the more powerful he gets.”
“I suspect you’re safe for now,” the Headmaster said. “There’s no heroes left to conquer in the region – save for yourself - and as yet he hasn’t moved further a field. I suspect he’s playing it safe and trying to restore a sense of normally for the public.”
“Why would he do that?” Jackhammer growled.
“Many reasons, not least being his failure in New Zealand. He moved too quickly and too openly, and that was his failure. This time, he’s being much more clever.”
Jackhammer grunted. He didn’t like hearing a compliment thrown at his enemy.
“Have you heard the news recently?" the Headmaster continued. “Your colleagues are out fighting crime again… making the public – and the government – think everything is okay. And while they’re at it, they’re also clearing out any potential competition. He’s put a lot of thought into this.”
“Well, you need to put a lot of thought into The Brotherhood. I need your students ready to follow me sooner, not later.”
The Headmaster sighed and fumbled for his walking stick.
“Come,” he said, rising from the chair. “Our senior class is small, as always, but a small Brotherhood is better than none, I suppose.” He moved towards the door. “I want you to observe them. You’ll find them all eager pupils, willing to follow your command at the drop of a hat…”
“Good.”
“…but… watch first, and THEN decide if you can bear their blood on your hands.”
The sting of the Headmaster’s words made both guests stop in their tracks. The Headmaster smiled cautiously to himself, knowing Jackhammer and O’Shay were both behind him and unable to see the grin. If he’d learned one thing in life, it was that a hard, cold slap of reality was the best way to get your point across. He made no apology for protecting his wards so graphically.
“Come, come!” he muttered, shuffling down the corridor. “Don’t dilly-dally. You have the world to save, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Jackhammer and O’Shay followed, but the confidence had gone out of their step.
