Twenty-One

A contest entry/Colmaton fanfic for Wolfrider
Joshua Ronfauni/Howler, Rusty Blokes Scrapyard, and Addiction are (c) Wolfrider
Bryon Walden/Phantom is (c) Leafthornton
Erin Flaherty/Miracle is (c) Sam Gwosdz
Gary Formis/Vermin, Jawless, and Lilith are (c) The Canidean
Zaine Einder/Hypertension is (c) Sketchpadman
Hestia Mehar/Steel Works is (c) bluwolf0
Colmaton universe is (c) TRAIN

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There it was again. Howler flicked the safety to his Barrett M468 on, ceasing his live-fire exercises. Being the co-owner of the Rusty Blokes Scrapyard just outside Colmaton could be lonely at times, but it meant he could set up shooting ranges to keep his marksmanship sharp. But lately, he'd been hearing a strange sound around the place at night.

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He knew it wasn't Bryon. He was on the other side of town investigating some possible book-cooking at a new business as Phantom. And it wasn't Gary - he was on a date with Erin. Besides, they wouldn't be at the junkyard this time of night. Wasn't Hestia, either. The big demon didn't drop by that often, and when she did, the resulting sounds tended to be loud clangs and thuds as she hammered scrap metal into new shapes, rather than subtle clicks and rustles. No, there was something in the junkyard that didn't belong.

The Australian tribal wolf closed his eyes briefly, filling a faint prickle in his sockets as his nanites went to work. When he opened them again, they were glowing bright green, and everything around him seemed ten times brighter. Assuming an expert military posture that would have made the boys back in the Australian SAS proud, he quickly began to navigate the smashed cars, old vending machines, and various bric-a-brack, piled high for acres.

Howler quickly raised his gun at every sign of movement. Most of them were just Gary's little "soldiers" - families of rats, foraging raccoons, the occasional oppossum. With his powers as Vermin, Gary had a miniature army, and one of the best spy networks in the city. But they weren't the ones making that...

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He spun around, quickly taking aim, but was disappointed to find nothing but a pile of junk with a store mannequin on top. He remembered getting those a little while back. A company was cleaning out their warehouse, and those twenty mannequins were among the junk they carted to the scrapyard and left to be bought by pickers, or eventually broken down and turned to scrap.

---

"The craftsmanship on these things is incredible," said Bryon. The rex rabbit carefully pulled at one of the ears, and it swiveled on a ball joint. They could be positioned just like a real furson's ears, and they stayed in position, too. "These are so lifelike it's almost disturbing."

"I'll say," Gary said, examining the hands. Every finger was articulated with the same incredible detail. Even the thumb was lifelike, and could be bent to touch the tip of each finger. "Sure beats my little trick glove." The oppossum was referring to the glove he wore as Vermin. It contained fake fingers to conceal the stumps where an illegal immigrant high on cocaine had cut off his ring finger and pinky back in San Pedro. "The hands, the tail, the ears...even the toes!"

"Now that...that doesn't really make much sense," Josh mused. "Why would somebody work on the toes? Not really something that's shown in most shops."

"Maybe it's a modeling dummy for a really anal-retentive artist," Gary chuckled. He raised his arm, letting his pet cobra Elvira emerge from his hoodie and investigate the mannequin. "And check out the carvings."

Josh leaned in and rubbed his fingers over the mannequin. Sure enough, there were very fine engravings on several surfaces, including where the face would be.

"Crikey," he muttered. "And there are twenty of these? Some poor fellow had too much time on his hands."

---

Howler turned away, ready to resume his search...

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He spun around again, eyes wide. Nobody was there...but wasn't the mannequin lying face-down earlier? Now it was face-up.

Something was definitely up here. He carefully stalked over, then prodded the mannequin a few times with the muzzle of his gun. It must have been his imagination.

It wasn't. Howler barely supressed a scream as the mannequin surged forward and grabbed him by the throat!

Howler struggled briefly, eyes widening as the mannequin's face illuminated with a complex symbol, glowing with a baleful light. Howler managed to pull back a fist and punch the monstrosity in the torso with all of his enhanced strength.

The construct didn't just break. It shattered. Splinters flew as the chest broke into pieces, the once powerful fingers suddenly going limp and lifeless around Howler's neck. He gladly pried them off, glaring down at the shattered mannequin. He couldn't see the slightest trace of any machinery.

That meant magic.

Shit.

Howler's nanites were powerful, and could reinforce his body against most blows, rapidly heal him, and allow him to turn thermal energy into powerful projectiles. There were a few things that could defeat them, however. Grappling and constrictive force would usually spread the nanites too thin to work effectively. High voltage electricity could overload them, forcing them to shut down for a while. But magic was the worst of the bunch. For some reason, any wound made by magical forces just wouldn't heal, like the otherworldly forces repelled the tiny machines.

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Shit, Howler mentally reiterated. There HAD been twenty of them. Were they all like this one? He shouldered his assault rifle and turned, tracking the now familiar sound of the mannequins moving. He saw several more of them, and their arms were glowing blue.

Pointing straight at him!

Howler jumped back just in time as a continuous stream of magic energy blasted a divot in the ground where he had been standing, then continued to track him for a few seconds as he dodged backwards. Howler took aim and and let loose a short burst, feeling momentary satisfaction as the thing's torso and head exploded in a shower of splinters. That elation was short-lived, however, as three more blasts thrummed through the air. One of them managed to clip him, sending searing pain through his side. And more mannequins were showing up.

Howler may have been a super-soldier, but he knew that in some situations, the best option was to take cover. He pushed his legs to the maximum, running back to his trailer at speeds that would be expected on a highway, rather than a living furson. He paused to catch his breath, and quickly entered, briefly searching the interior to make sure that none of the mannequins had broken in. Satisfied, he began to open several secure compartments.

Fragmentary grenades. He clipped three of them to his belt. Then he quickly retrieved his vibro-katana, fastening the scabbard for a quick draw. He briefly considered the flash bangs, but decided against it - he had no clue what senses those mannequins were using, and odds were he'd only end up disorienting himself with the bright, noisy explosions. He also left his AK-47, his AA-12 shotgun, his Magpul FMG-9, and his RPG-7 locked away. These blasted mannequins might be frightening, but they weren't armor plated, and he didn't want to be weighed down. His assault rifle was proving effective, but it was taking too long of a burst to down his foes. The Heckler and Koch MP5SD2 would be good for close quarters, but his M4A1 modified to fire .50 caliber rounds would be better for the open ground of his junkyard, and would pack a wallop big enough to throw the mannequins back, if not outright destroy them. He added his FN Five-Seven pistol, just in case he did get stuck in more cramped quarters. Finally, he picked up a quite unconventional weapon, something he had picked up ever since the demon Addiction had targeted his old friend Zaine.

A large flask of holy water. It never hurt to be prepared, especially when you were facing unknown magic. Content that he was prepared, he exited his trailer and pressed up against the outer wall, using his ears to track the mannequins.

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They were in three groups, searching methodically. He peeked around the corner. One group had their back turned. Several of them had somehow sprouted long, serrated blades from their forearms, while others had the signature blue glow of the magic cannons. If he got a drop on them, he could probably take all of that group out with a single frag grenade, and finish them off with a burst of automatic fire. Howler mentally prepared himself for the assault.

Drip.

Howler grimaced in disgust as he felt something wet splat against the top of his head. Bird doos? Then it splattered onto him again. He reached up to wipe it off, and withdrew his hand, finding it to be clear and slippery. Almost like mucus.

Then he heard it. A strange, disgusting cross between a growl and a gurgle, as more of the goo dripped onto his head. He edged over and looked up, dreading what he was going to see.

"Hello, hero."

Howler wasn't sure whether to be amused or terrified, but he was leaning towards the latter. What stared back at him was an inexplicable mishmash of animal parts. Legs like a frog linked to a grotesquely fat, sexless torso, while hands like a gecko and a sloth gripped to the walls of the trailer, pointing straight down. The head was hideous, some kind of eel or leech, with four barbels, tiny beady eyes, and the horns of an oryx. Worst of all, though, was that mouth. That flabby, toothless, boneless mouth, continuously drooling a steady stream of mucus. Howler had to repress the urge to vomit as it crawled towards him, noticing that it, too, had glowing symbols, these ones surrounding the chimera's neck, wrists, and ankles.

"Mistress is most fortunate. She's been itching for a chance to start her extermination of the superheroes in this town. And here, her toys are dumped in the same place where the famed mercenary Howler happens to practice." It made a sinister, disgusting noise, something close to laughter. "Though I suppose I should collect some hair and blood in case the mannequins aren't enough..."

Howler's hand darted for his pistol, but the creature was fast. With a quick pump of its legs, the two were on the ground. Howler couldn't reach any of his weapons, so he reverted to his SAS close-combat training, pummeling the creature with savage blows. If his fists had any effect, it wasn't visible.

"What the hell are you?"

"I am Gehudamesh," it said, reaching out to grip Howler's scalp, "but you may call me Jawless." It pulled hard, prompting a yelp of pain as a clump of hair tore out. "Good. Now for the blood..."

Howler gave Jawless a significantly heavier punch, sending the beast tumbling back. He wasn't sure why it wanted his hair, but he wasn't going to let it get away with its prize. He dashed forward, and launched a quick kick to its gecko-like hand. His nanites went into action, enveloping his foot with flame. Jawless screeched in pain as it connected, and the hair in its grasp curled and burnt. Those tiny eyes glared.

Then Howler received another nasty shock. The flabby orifice he had taken for the creature's mouth, was, in fact, it's nostrils. It's mouth was something even more terrible. The tiny, almost invisible slit under his head spread, and a long, equally flabby tongue shot out, spreading like a woman's nethers, covered in a double-row of razor-sharp teeth in a near perfect embodiment of vagina dentata. Accompanied by a torrent of slime.

The Australian tribal wolf staggered back as thick goopy mucus enveloped him. He tried to wipe the mess from his face, but it was mixed with some kind of fiber, causing it to cling tenaciously. He was having trouble breathing through the goop, and Jawless charged forward again, driving the gecko hand into his gut, followed by a slash with the sloth hand to the face, drawing blood. Howler focused, and once again, heat erupted from his body, drying the goop. When he was able to move his hands again, he went for his pistol, firing several rounds at Jawless. The sexless beast simply leapt out of the way, before leaping back at Howler, growling and burbling hideously.

Howler managed to dive out of the way and stun Jawless with a quick kick to the chest. Enraged, Jawless charged towards the wolf, only to be stopped in its tracks as Howler managed to uncap his vial of holy water and splash some into its eyes. The screeching was earsplitting as it clutched at its face, slime bubbling and melting as it tried to wash the holy water away.

"Holy water? You dare defy a servant of Lilith?"

"Who dares, wins, motherfucker," Howler snarled back, throwing another splash at the chimera. The hideous being recoiled, screaming as the sanctified liquid scalded and burned its flesh like concentrated acid. It scurried back, before Howler added in a few shots from his pistol. Jawless snarled, slamming the ground with its gecko hand, causing a circle of hellish red symbols to emerge around it.

"You haven't heard the last of me. Or of Lilith." With a burst of sulfurous stench, a blast of fire, and the sound of screaming, the demon vanished. Howler was paused briefly. Who was this Lilith that Jawless kept talking about.

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Howler raised his assault rifle and fired, sending another mannequin flying back in pieces, two blades extending from its wrists unused. Howler took to his feet, dodging a few magic blasts thrown in retaliation. The next hour was like something from a video game. Gunfire, explosives, and the occasional burst of flame were met with magic blasts and exploding runes. Retractable blades and hidden needles were useless in the path of Howler's katana, pistol, and occasionally a super-powered fist or foot. Finally, the last of the monstrosities was shattered, twitching faintly before the rune over its face faded.

---

"DAMNIT!"

The little hyrax girl slammed one of her tiny little hands on the table, knocking the scrying orb from its pedestal. In public, one would assume Lily-Sue Vanstrom was a normal young girl. But one look at the room she was in would dispell that notion immediately. Instead of horses and rainbows, arcane formulae and elaborate robbery plans were scribbled with crayon on cheap paper. Several familiar-looking mannequins were stacked up against a nearby wall. One of them concealed the cowering figure of Jawless.

"M-Mistress, please, it wasn't a total loss..."

"Not a TOTAL loss?" The six-year-old sorceress spun around, the stick of a sour apple sucker poking out from between her lips. "It takes two weeks to complete JUST ONE of those mannequins, and that's when my mother was working on them! Now that I'm the Lilith, I'm the only one who knows how to make them, and I don't have the time, resources, OR body size to even put one together! I don't care how many of them are stashed around Colmaton, I CAN'T FUCKING AFFORD LOSING A WHOLE FUCKING SCORE OF THEM!" She flipped her hand at Jawless, causing it to stagger back howling as a slash-mark opened up on its cheek.

"B-but Mistress..." Jawless scrambled forward, groveling before the tiny sorceress and offering up its sloth-hand. Lilith raised her hand again, but stayed it as she noticed the tell-tale dark stains on the long claws.

"Blood. It's his, isn't it? The mercenary's?"

"Yes, Mistress. I-I'm afraid he destroyed the hair samples I collected, b-but..."

Jawless flinched as a tiny hand descended on one of his horns. But instead of the beating it was expecting, to the demon's enormous surprise, she was stroking it. Grinning with diabolical enjoyment, Lilith got out a small cloth and carefully rubbed the blood off onto the fabric.

"You can save your excuses, Gehudamesh." Jawless barely withheld a sigh of relief. In over a thousand years, over fifty generations of sorceresses, it had only been called by its real name when Lilith was in a good mood. The hyrax toddled off, grabbing more fabric, bits of wire, cotton swabs. "It would have been better if you got the hair as well, true. But blood provides a stronger link than hair. This should serve as a good base for a poppet."

"I-I-I'm glad to have been of service, Mistress!"

"It's going to take a while," Lilith said, opening up a scrapbook of newspaper clippings. She turned through the countless pictures of heroes, registered and unregistered, until she found one showing an Australian tribal wolf in orange armor. "But that mercenary is going to pay for breaking my toys." She gave an eerie giggle as she circled the clipping with a blood red crayon. "They always do."

---

Howler was breathing heavily, his hands shaking, and several wounds from magic blasts were throbbing. He checked the magazine of his pistol. Empty. And there were only three rounds left in his assault rifle. That had been far too close for comfort. Clutching his side, he wearily limped back to his trailer.

Every gun was fully unloaded, the chamber cleared, the safety engaged, and securely locked into its safe. The empty bottle of holy water was placed on his desk. He'd need to get a refill, in case that Jawless creature made good on its threat. Bit by bit, Joshua Ronfauni stripped out of his nanite suit. Exhausted and aching, he collapsed in his bed, begging for sleep to come and envelop him.

But whenever his eyes were about to close, he could have sworn he heard that unnerving sound.

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