HELLIONS v2.0

Written by Kostmeyer
Plot by Pharoah and Kostmeyer

ISSUE 10
"You Are Cordially Invited..."

Cover by Kostmeyer. Colours by Gene.

This story features HELLIONS and related characters, which are characters of Pharoah.The X-men, and the Hellfire Club are
trademarks of Marvel comics. This is an unauthorized work and no profit is being made on this work.
This work is © Kostmeyer 2006. Please do not archive without permission of creator.

FOR NEW READERS…

The long awaited wedding of the Black King (Roberto DaCosta) and the White Queen (Krystil Frost) has finally arrived. As guests begin to arrive at the Hellfire Club’s Manhattan Brownstone, DaCosta learns of a group calling themselves the Horde, powerful practitioners of black magic, who are planning to take over the world…

Cassandra Morrell felt her stomach tighten as she turned her corvette into Fifth Avenue, and saw the familiar buildings before her, picked out in heightened detail by the glare of the early morning sun. It was already uncomfortably hot in the city, and while the sky was cloudless, the electric tension in the air seemed to promise a thunderstorm. She smiled grimly as the Hellfire Mansion appeared ahead of her. Couldn’t be more appropriate.

The beginning of a headache was forming – brought on by the city heat and the faint buzzing sound of the image inducer that disguised her true form – her mutant form – that of Quill, agent of the Hellfire Club, and, until recently, the Black Rook of the Inner Circle. Cassandra drove on, past the mansion, noting as she did so the slow procession of caterers and workmen making final adjustments and deliveries. The grounds of the Brownstone had been decorated, with coloured lanterns hanging from the branches of the trees, and a red carpet leading from the gates to the main entrance, through an archway of white roses. DaCosta was obviously spending a fortune on the preparations, but somehow the effect was not entirely convincing. The mansion was still there – masked perhaps but still as stark and imposing as ever. Quill was reminded of the deep sea fish that lure their prey into their jaws by dangling an attractive lure.

Quill steered her car past the façade of the Brownstone and then turned down a side street, towards the access doors to the Hellfire Club’s underground parking garage, which opened automatically as she approached. Inside, she recognised two figures emerging from the elevator to greet her.

“Paris! Scotty!”

The two Hellions waved as she brought the car to a stop. Scotty’s bestial form reminded her that there was no need for further pretence inside the building and she turned off the irritating image inducer. Her true form, scarlet skin, razor sharp spines covering her body, was revealed.

“Good to see you Miss Morrell!” Paris Taylor said.

“We’ve really missed you!” Minotaur added.

“I’ve missed you too.” Quill said, getting out of the car as Scotty fetched her bag from the passenger seat. “I heard about Damien. Is he any better?”

“They had to put him in a cell for his own protection.” Paris said, shaking his head sadly. “When I last checked in on him this morning he was still raving about Reese. The doctors say that hallucinations are a common side effect of Zen abuse.”

“We should have done something more.” Minotaur said as they stepped into the elevator. “How could we allow this to happen to him? We’re supposed to be his friends!”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Quill patted the Hellion’s arm gently. “If you hadn’t acted when you did we would never have known how badly his condition had worsened. We were all distracted by other things – but you prevented matters from getting worse.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” The doors opened and Quill led them out into the main lobby of the Hellfire Club Mansion. Scotty smiled. Everything was going to be fine.

“Miss Morrell!” A voice called out from the landing above them. Quill looked up to see the Hellions team leader leaning over the balcony. Quill braced herself, knowing that every encounter with Gillian DaCosta was a confrontation. Teryn was probably the most arrogant person that she had ever met – believing that her power, intellect and family connections made her superior to everyone else. She had never believed that she needed instruction from Quill, and it had been one of the few consolations of her fall from grace that Gillian hadn’t been there to witness it. To her surprise, however, Gillian ran down the stairs grinning broadly, with such excitement that Cassandra feared she was going to embrace her – an act that would cause her serious injury. Fortunately, Gillian stopped and clasped her hands together with obvious excitement.

“You must come at once!” the younger girl said. “Miss Frost has been so looking forward to seeing you again!”

Quill hesitated. This was not the Gillian DaCosta she remembered. “Gillian, are you feeling OK?”

“Of course!” Gillian giggled. “Miss Frost is marrying my brother and everything is just going to be perfect for ever and ever!”

Quill’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. If this was an act, she was overplaying it. What was going on? She allowed the Hellion to take her by the hand and lead her up the grand staircase towards Krystil Frost’s chambers, looking over her shoulder long enough to fire a quizzical glance at Scotty and Paris. Minotaur shrugged his broad shoulders. If Gillian was up to something, her team-mates were in the dark just as much as she was.

* * *

Pryor Shaw observed the scene from the fourth floor balcony. “So, our own dear Cassandra returns to us at last!” he said to himself, taking a long draw on his cigarette and blowing the smoke out over the edge.

“Fitzroy, the waves of smugness that you are giving out now are most repellent.” The interruption came from Nicolette Jones, the Black Queen, a mutant whose power enabled her to feed from the extreme emotions of those around her. The Hellfire Brownstone was a rich source of nourishment.

“My name is Shaw.” Pryor corrected, turning to glare at the woman. “And I’ll thank you to keep your observations to yourself.”

“But it’s fine for you to observe Quill?” The Black Queen smiled. “Always so ambitious, Fitzroy.” She emphasised the name to spite him. “Are you worried that Quill might be a threat to you?”

“Not so worried as you should be.” Pryor snarled. “I wonder, Nicolette, how long it will take Cassandra to work out that you supplied the Zen to poor little Damien, hmm?”

“Pryor, your feeble attempts to stir up trouble really are pathetic.” Jones said dismissively. “If the boy took too much of my lovely drug it’s his own fault. He should have been more careful. Besides, now that she has been cast out of the Inner Circle, Quill is even less of an obstacle to me now that she was before.”

“Is that so?” Pryor said, leaning back and resting his elbows against the balcony. “I note that Synn still hasn’t arrived. In fact, nobody seems to have heard from her for days…”

“Speak plainly, Pryor.” The Black Queen said, angrily. “Are you saying that Cassandra…”

“She was very angry with Synn. The White Rook was the reason Cassie was kicked out of the Inner Circle, from what I hear. Think about it, Nicolette. It would be most unlike Quill to leave a job half-finished, would it not?”

Laughing, Pryor Shaw ascended the staircase towards his own apartments, satisfied that his words had planted the seed of doubt in the Black Queen’s mind. How easy they all were to manipulate, he thought to himself. It wouldn’t be long now, until he took his rightful place at the very pinnacle of the Hellfire Club! His ambitious fantasy was disturbed and his smile abruptly faded as the Grey Knight loomed up in his path. “What do you want?”

“Milord Shaw.” The Knight intoned. “The Black King wishes to speak to you.”

“He’ll have to wait. I’m busy.” Shaw snapped.

“It was not a request.” The Knight said.

* * *

Lamprey growled menacingly. She was battling, if not her most dangerous opponent to date, certainly the most frustrating. “What possible function can this thing have?” she snarled, as the fins on her arms caught again in the dress she was trying on.

“Bridesmaid’s dresses aren’t supposed to be functional!” the seamstress said tersely, trying to extract the Hellion’s arm from the wrong sleeve. “You’re supposed to look pretty!”

Lamprey twisted to free her arm and the dress finally yielded to the inevitable and tore. “I don’t do pretty.” She said emphatically.

The seamstress picked up the third in a succession of dresses and said, with determination: “You will!”

Teryn led Quill past the continuing battle, through the outermost of Krystil Frost’s chambers, where dressmakers, florists and other hired functionaries poured over the most minute of details. Everything had to be perfect for Krystil’s big day, and a small army had been recruited to make sure that it all went to plan. At the end of the room, Teryn halted and knocked twice at the door.

“Miss Frost?”

“You’d better not have ‘Berto with you, Gillian!” a voice called out from the other side of the door. “You know its bad luck for him to see the bride before the wedding!”

“Hopefully this is good luck.” Quill said, taking hold of the door handle.

Krystil Frost was already on her feet and moving towards her old friend, scattering the three hairstylists who had been working on her and setting their masterpiece back by a further hour. She ignored their protests, ordered them out of the room, and then grasped Quill’s hand.

“I’m so glad you came Cassie!”

“Of course I came.” Quill smiled. “How could I miss your big day?”

“We haven’t really had a chance to talk since you left. I can’t thank you enough for not telling ‘Berto about De Faux and I…”

Quill interrupted her, pointing urgently towards Gillian, standing close by. “Quiet! What about..?”

“Don’t worry about her.” Frost said casually. “Gillian and I are the best of friends now, aren’t we, Gillian?”

“Oh, yes Miss Frost!” Gillian nodded emphatically.

“I was meaning to ask about that.” Quill said. “What happened to her?”

“Let’s just say she had a change of heart.” Krystil smiled.

“Mind control.” Quill said with distaste.

“Of a sort.” Frost nodded. “She was becoming a threat – uncontrollable. An associate of mine has developed a machine that rewrites its subject’s mind entirely – deleting unwanted personality traits and memories, creating new ones in their place. Gillian will do anything for me now, won’t you Gillian?”

“I love you Miss Frost!” Gillian grinned, tears of joy forming in her eyes.

“You don’t blame me, Cassie, do you?” Frost said, her tone reproachful.

“It seems an extreme course of action.” Quill said haltingly, choosing her words with care. “Are you certain it was necessary?”

“Absolutely. This is the most important day of my life, Cassie. Don’t you see? After all this time, after everything we’ve been through, Roberto and I are finally going to be married. Nothing’s going to spoil my happiness, isn’t that right, Gillian?”

“Nothing’s going to spoil your happiness!” Gillian beamed. “We’re all going to be so happy!”

* * *

At two in the afternoon the gates to the Hellfire Brownstone were flung open, and the soft strains of the hired chamber orchestra drifted across Fifth Avenue. The wedding guests, now beginning to arrive, were specially selected from the most prestigious members of the Hellfire Club, their numbers supplemented by industrialists, aristocrats and politicians from all over the world. They gathered now for what every one of them knew would be a unique and important event: The union of the Black and White houses of the Inner Circle was completely unprecedented. The world seemed to mirror their tension, their expectancy. It had grown hotter – impossibly hot – and the sun, high over the city like a vast red eye, beat down against the streets with unyielding, unrelenting force. The air was close – stifling – and the arriving guests began to wonder how much worse could it get before the storm broke?

Shade and Minotaur – the latter’s bovine features hidden by an image inducer, ushered the guests to their seats in the Great Hall, where the ceremony was to take place. At the other end of the Hall, Roberto DaCosta stood, impassive, waiting for his bride. Beside him, Pryor Shaw shuffled uncomfortably, tapping his jacket pocket every now and then to confirm that the all important ring was still there.

“I still can’t believe you agreed to be best man!” Nicolette Jones whispered in Shaw’s ear as she moved into her seat behind him. “I thought you hated DaCosta. What did he say to you?”

“Whatever his faults,” Pryor whispered, “The man has vision.”

The Hall was filling up rapidly now, to the discrete accompaniment of the orchestra. One of the last to take her seat was Cassandra Morrell, once again disguised by holographic technology. She noted with some displeasure that she had been allocated a place next to the Black Queen.

Suddenly, the music surged up, and taking their cue, Scotty and Paris reached out and opened the doors at the rear of the Hall. All eyes in the room turned to look, as Krystil Frost entered.

She was breath-taking – a vision of beauty wrapped in white and silver. She was somehow like a classical statue brought to life, some artist’s vision of a goddess condescending to show herself to the mortal world. Beneath a sparkling diamond tiara her face was faintly visible behind a veil, her hair spilling across her bare shoulders like a wave of pure gold, and her dress glittered as she moved, the light refracting in the facets of the thousand diamonds sowed into the fabric, clinging to her body and accentuating every perfect curve before trailing off in decorous folds behind her. The White Queen advanced step by shining step towards her future husband.

Krystil’s arm was threaded through the folded arm of a tall, distinguished looking dark-skinned man, whose neatly trimmed beard and hair were whitening with age.

“Is that..?” Nicolette whispered.

Quill nodded. “Roberto DaCosta Senior – Sunspot of the New Mutants – The Black King’s father, all the way from retirement in Asgard!”

The White Queen and her escort continued their slow procession along the aisle. Behind them, supporting the train of Krystil’s magnificent dress, came Gillian and Lamprey, the latter, like Quill and Minotaur, disguised by her image inducer. The folds of the dress were so long that by the time the two bridesmaids had entered the hall, Krystil had arrived at the front of the Hall, and was standing beside Roberto. The music swirled to its conclusion, and the Bishop, his Hellfire Club pendant entangled with his crucifix, motioned for the couple to step forward.

“Dearly Beloved,” the priest began. “We are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Roberto DaCosta Junior and Krystil Frost in matrimony, which is commended to be honourable among all men; and therefore – is not by any – to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly – but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined.” He paused and adjusted his glasses. “If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together – let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

The Bishop paused for the customary length of time, smiled at Roberto and Krystil, and then was about to resume the service, when a devastating, screeching noise blared out – a scream so loud that everyone in the room clamped their hands across their ears in a futile attempt to keep it out.

“Wha- what is this?” The priest gasped.

“A psychic scream!” Pryor Shaw announced as the terrifying noise trailed off. The Black Bishop was deathly pale, seemingly worse affected than anyone else in the room. “There has been a massive disturbance on the astral plane. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before!”

The crowd all began talking at once. Some were getting up from their seats. Suddenly, the powerful voice of the Black King rose above the clamour: “Enough!” he shouted. Everyone turned to look at him. He seemed to have recovered from the effects of the scream and had resumed his natural state of implacable calm. He turned to Shaw. “Pryor, would you say that the… phenomenon we just experienced was directed at us?”

“No Milord.” Pryor reported. “I would say that every living person in the world just felt what we felt.”

“Then we have no reason to be unduly concerned.” The Black King said. “Resume the service.” He ordered the priest, and then smiling at Krystil, added: “Nothing’s going to spoil today. I won’t let it.”

“Very well!” The Bishop said, pulling himself together while the guests returned to their places. “Who gives this woman to be wedded to this man?”

Roberto’s father announced himself and the service continued, but as the first reading was taking place, it became apparent that the heat was getting worse. Some of the guests were pulling at their collars and fanning themselves with their copies of the order of service. The Grey Knight, until now an immobile presence at the rear of the Hall, stealthily slipped out of the room.

The Priest finished his address and indicated to the couple that it was time to make their vows to each other.

“I, Roberto DaCosta, take you Krystil Frost, to be my wife.” The Black King said. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish from this day forward…” he looked up at her, “…until death do us part.”

Krystil then spoke her vows, and Roberto then took the ring from Shaw and placed it on her finger.

“I give this ring as my gift to you.” He said softly. “Wear it and think of me, and know that I have always loved you.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then looked into her eyes and smiled.

“Let this ring be a symbol of my promises to you.” Krystil said, placing her ring on Roberto’s finger. “And a reminder of my devotion.” Had she emphasised the word, Cassandra wondered? “I am honoured to call you my husband.” She finished.

“By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The Bishop said, finally bringing the service to a close. “You may kiss the bride.”

“Oh my God!” someone shouted. One of the guests was standing at the window pointing. Again attention was distracted from the ceremony. A woman screamed. Outside, the sky was red – a dull crimson - like blood. Clouds had raced up as if from nowhere, great thunderheads colliding and churning above them, moving as if of their own accord, heedless of any earthly law of science.

“This isn’t natural!” The Black Queen murmured, unnecessarily. “What’s going on?”

“Look!” Lamprey pointed.

The unearthly heat was now all but unbearable – the air seemed to pulsate like the rhythmic charging of a generator or the beating of a heart. Then the pressure was released. The sky shattered like a broken mirror, and out through the gaping hole in the centre, millions of creatures, roughly humanoid in shape but corrupted, bestial and wild, descended on the city carried on their beating wings.

“Demons!” Somebody shouted “It’s the end of the world!”

“There’s no need to panic.” The Black King said, shouting to make himself heard above the crowd. “I am the leader of the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club, and I give you my word: We are perfectly safe here.” The demons could be heard getting closer – raucous laughter rising above the screams of their victims. Roberto saw that his guests were unconvinced by his speech. “You don’t believe me?” he smiled. “Watch.”

DaCosta walked along the aisle, out through the entrance hall and towards the main doors, where the Grey Knight stood, waiting. The Knight opened the door. Beyond it, the demon horde could be seen, advancing slowly along Fifth Avenue. Behind them, Central Park was a raging inferno, a column of fire that spiralled hundreds of feet into the air.

“’Berto!” Krystil had followed him to the doorway, the Hellions and Quill close behind. “Come back!” The demons were closer now. Surely he didn’t think he could fight them! Now they were almost at the gate. Roberto, apparently fearless, advanced, down the path, through the archway of white roses. The demons halted and watched him approach.

“You cannot enter here.” DaCosta said. “Go back to the Horde and tell your masters they have no power in my domain.”

A hideous, gurgling laugh broke out among the demons. One of them lunged forwards, reaching for the Black King with ragged claws. It never reached its target. A few feet away from DaCosta the creature stopped suddenly, as if it had smashed head first into an invisible barrier. The demon slid to the ground beside the gates, its head a bleeding ruin.

* * *

Beneath the Brownstone, the imprisoned sorceress Zhoe Kahn was surrounded by a whirling vortex of magical power. She had felt the Horde’s magic – taken their measure and now she countered it, projecting her own power amplified and focused by the Hellfire Club’s technology into an unbreakable force field that encircled the mansion.

* * *

High above, the other demons hissed angrily as they realised that they had encountered a power that rivalled their own. Driven to madness by the thought of their masters’ displeasure if they reported failure, the creatures hurled themselves at the force field, attacking it with their teeth and claws. They had no more success than the first. Finally, snarling with anger and frustration, they retreated back along the street in search of easier prey.

Roberto DaCosta turned his back on them and strode into the mansion.

“I take it you anticipated this little… interruption, eh son?” Roberto DaCosta Senior fell into step at his son’s shoulder.

“Not exactly.” The Black King smiled. “But then, you always taught me to have an ace up my sleeve.”

In the main entrance hall, the Black King faced the crowd and raised his arms in a sign for quiet. “Honoured guests!” he began. “First of all let me thank you for joining my wife and I on this happy occasion!” There was a murmur of nervous laughter but nothing more. “Outside these walls,” Roberto continued, “New York is, quite literally, going to Hell. The world has been invaded by beings who call themselves the Horde. But as you have seen with your own eyes they cannot harm us here. The Hellfire Club Brownstone is well protected.”

Someone cheered, several clapped. They all pressed around him offering their thanks. Roberto smiled modestly and dismissed their praise with a gesture.

“Unfortunately, your safety comes at a price. You see, you were all chosen to attend this ceremony for a very specific reason. Each of you has something I want, something that will benefit the Hellfire Club. You will give it to me now, as payment for your continuing sanctuary behind my walls.” He snapped his fingers, and several servants in the traditional eighteenth century livery favoured by the Club filed into the room. “My servants are carrying envelopes for each of you. Inside each envelope is a card on which is written the item I require. For some of you the price is property that you own. For others it is the controlling interest in your company, or the patent rights to an invention you currently have in development. Some of you will sacrifice an art treasure from your collection. For others the price of your safety is a simple monetary donation.”

“This is extortion!” one of the guests spluttered.

“Yes.” Roberto admitted with a grin. “But if it helps your self esteem you can consider it a wedding gift.”

“’Berto, this is inspired!” Krystil said, kissing her husband.

“This is just the beginning.” The Black King smiled.

“I worked for years to build my company!” one guest, a tall, elderly man with a moustache shouted, dropping his opened envelope. “You can’t have it! I won’t let you take it from me!”

“Mister Hensley, if you would?” DaCosta said. Grinning, Minotaur deactivated his image inducer.

“Whatever you say, Mister DaCosta!” Scotty said. He reached out towards the horrified man and lifted him by the collar.

“You wouldn’t!” the man said, his voice cracking as he dangled helplessly above the floor. The Black King indicated towards the door. “Alright! Alright! I’ll sign!” Scotty released his grip and returned to his place beside Paris, while the others hastily signed away their possessions.

“He’s incredible, isn’t he?” Minotaur whispered to Shade, without taking his eyes from Roberto. “He’s got everything planned out – always!”

Paris hesitated. As a spy for Xavier, infiltrating the Hellions to try to save them from the pervasive influence of the Inner Circle, Minotaur had seemed the least likely to be drawn in. Now he found Scotty’s admiration for the Black King disturbing – but could he say anything without raising suspicion?

“Were you really going to throw him out?” He said finally.

“It was a bluff of course.” Scotty said, still watching Roberto. “He’s got it all covered.”

“And now we come to the finale.” Roberto said, his face grave. “The tragic conclusion. I am to be married and widowed on the same day.”

“’Berto?” The colour drained from Krystil’s face, the laughter dying on her lips. “’Berto that’s not funny. What are you talking about?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out, Krys?” The Black King’s voice trembled with emotion. “I loved you Krystil. I loved you so much. And you betrayed me! You slept with Armand De Faux!”

The crowd silenced instantly. The Black King’s anger was so intense that no-one dared to speak. All eyes turned to Krystil, expecting her to deny the accusation.

“No!” Frost said. “No it wasn’t like that! It was Synn! She made me do it!”

“Liar!” The Black King screamed. “Synn used her powers on Quill too, but she resisted! How is it Quill could resist and you couldn’t?” His anger had flared up so suddenly, so unexpectedly that the assembled crowd were transfixed, unsure how to respond. DaCosta seized hold of his wife’s wrist. “I’ll tell you why! You wanted it to happen! I saw you dancing with him – the first day you met him you wanted him! You betrayed me!”

He dragged her out through the open doors and back across the grounds towards the open gate and the barely perceptible barrier of Zhoe Kahn’s magic, shimmering like a heat haze above the street. They halted, on the brink, and their eyes met. For a brief second, Frost thought that she saw a flicker of doubt – a moment’s hesitation in her husband’s dark eyes. But he sensed it too – and despising his own weakness he lifted her by the waist and threw her out into the street.

In the distance, the demon horde turned, sensing blood. Krystil looked back, saw them and screamed. The Black King ignored her, turned on his heel and began to stride back towards the mansion. The Hellions and the remaining members of the Inner Circle had gathered at the doors.

“He won’t leave her.” Shade said. “He couldn’t!”

“’Berto!” Krystil screamed. “’Berto! Please! Listen to me!” The Black King kept walking. Frost struggled to get up, catching her heel in the edge of her dress. Behind her, the demons loomed closer now.

“I’m sorry!” Frost shouted. “Everything you said is true! But it was a mistake! It was a stupid, stupid mistake and I’m sorry! It’s you I love ‘Berto! You have to believe me!”

The Black King continued to walk back towards the mansion.

“Damn you!” Frost screamed after him. She finally got to her feet and beat her fists against the force barrier. “God damn you! Why did you leave it until now? If you knew all this why wait until we were married?”

The Black King finally halted. Slowly, he turned and looked back. “Because when you die, your assets will now pass to me. I had intended to kill you myself on our honeymoon, but the Horde provided a more convenient alternative. Frost Industries is mine now Krystil. Your family’s fortune is now mine. Goodbye, Krys.”

Behind the White Queen, the demons caught hold of the long folds of her wedding dress and pulled, dragging Krystil Frost towards them. Frost manifested a crystal dagger about her hand and began to saw desperately at the dress as she was hauled back along the street. The diamonds sewn into the fabric made it difficult to cut – finally in desperation she abandoned the attempt and hurled the dagger at the nearest creature, catching it in the face. Then the creatures fell upon her, and she screamed. Suddenly, a figure pushed past the Black King, who was so astonished that he made no move to intercept her until it was too late.

“Miss Frost!” Gillian DaCosta called out. “Hold on! I’m coming!”

“Gillian! NO!” Even as Roberto realised what was happening, his sister hurled herself through the barrier. The Black King lunged after her, but a muscular, chain mail clad arm looped around his chest and pulled him back. “No!” DaCosta roared. “Get off of me!”

The Knight firmly pulled the struggling man back towards the Mansion. “I can’t do that Milord. It is my duty to protect the Lord of the Inner Circle. You must not be allowed to die.” They had reached the steps now, and the Knight half dragged, half carried DaCosta over the threshold, past the crowd who had gathered there. The Black King was frantic now, kicking out wildly and clinging to the doorframe as he passed it.

“Gillian!” DaCosta shouted. The Knight threw DaCosta down and slammed the door closed.

“It’s too late.” He said. “They’re gone.”

TO BE CONTINUED IN SPITFIRE 36…

Issue 11

Issue 9

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