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[Sep. 5th, 2010|06:42 pm] |
Pete swore as he dove out of the way. The Skrulls were getting thicker now, and people were falling. He had not enough men, and he did not know if there were enough men anywhere in the world. It was a bloody damned mess and as usual, he was the one who had to come up with a way out f it. After all, it wasn't like the silly MI-5 had much chance at it, nor MI-6. Hell, half the time, those two groups still wrote dispatches from Margaret Thatcher's time. Heh, Maggie. Now there had been one hell of a woman, in battle, and in bed.
There were explosions, bringing him back to now, and he grumbled as he glanced at his watch, realized it was dead, and swore again. “Damn Skrulls.”
They'd killed John, and thing were getting bad, and without a miracle they... he stopped, nearly getting blown up in an explosion, and stared upward. He suddenly remembered... and groaned. He knew how to get rid of the Skrulls. Somewhere near, was a doorway, behind which much magic was contained, mostly evil, but also one important piece. The sword which would allow Brian to come back. Brian Braddock, aka Captain Britain . If anyone could pull this out, he could. Pete ran.
The gateway was old, dark, and sweet smelling, like death and cherries together, seductive and evil, and painful. Pete stared at it, knowing what he was doing, and cursing the fate that made him the man to save England, and doom it, all at once. Why him? He shook his head. To hell with this crying shit. He had a job to do.
He spoke the magic words, and let the feel of it flow from his mind to his tongue, and touched the gate as he did so. There was a booming sound and the Gate split asunder. Almost immediately, a stream of darkness, of fear, and of pain, swam over Pete. Evil magics, and demons, evil mages and curses, evil wishes and faeries, all were loosed. Darkness paler than a nightmare pranced, and demons taller than mountains roared, even as old Bane-Sidhe cried freedom.
And there were howls as old things that went bump in the night were freed. And out of it, out of it stepped Brian, golden, shining, and bearing the Sword of Might. Captain Britain was reborn. “Oh, Pete, what have you done?”
Pete was watching, weeping, and coughed. “No time for old stories, Captain. Same as usual. Incredible odds, dark secrets, a crisis to end the world. Same as old days, same as new. Time to get to work, Brian.”
And two friends, warriors who would never to know rest, walked forward together; the hero of Britain, and the man who had, by his actions, both saved the land and doomed it. |
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