“ Places Off the Map”

Written by Gary Dreslinski

There were places you didn’t come, unless you were looking for a certain type of information. They weren’t on any tourist map, and they certainly didn’t put up advertisements. Usually the local authorities knew about them, but were given enough monetary enticement to keep from any large scale arrests. Just one or two a year, to make people think that you had a handle on the Black Market, and then let business go back to normal. The collapse of every other currency against the Euro had come as quite a shock to most people. Those in the underground had counted on it. They bought up as much foreign currency as possible, figuring that sooner or later things were going to get back to normal, and the market would crash around the European Standard. For the moment though, they were concentrating on information, technology, and magical charms. The usual trade for economic and social gypsies. Only these days, the charms worked better than most of the technology.

Sersi and I traveled to Paris, largely without incident. Unless of course you count an ogre that had camped out on the tracks who had to be “persuaded” to move. That hadn’t taken too much time. Ogre’s are notorious cowards when it comes to facing down a man with a mystical sword and a woman who can turn him to dust if the mood strikes her. It’s a rare person who isn’t.

Paris was a surprise. I mean, I heard about what was going on, but I never expected it to be like it was. There were practically armed camps, both literally and figuratively, debating Doctor Doom’s proposal. A large part of the population seemed to be inclined toward taking his assistance. The protests in the streets, the riots, demanding that the government do something to restore things to normal… it was like I had stepped into a completely different world. There were the same sorts of underlying problems in Britain, but they hadn’t come anywhere near the level of explosiveness they had in Paris, and if stories were to be believed, most of France. Sections of the city were constantly on fire, the firemen just couldn’t be everywhere at once. Apparently neither could the police.

Britain was lucky. She had the Pendragons. But they had enough to worry about without expanding their duties across the channel. Besides, there was quite a bit of suspicion when it came to foreign superheroes. Especially the British ones. The Avengers, and Fantastic Four, were really the only groups that had somehow managed to find that right combination to transcend their country of origin.

The Black Market was a microcosm of the situation. Even within Paris, there were several different groups, each trying to find that one thing that would give them the edge, to give them control of the underground structure. The markets themselves were neutral places, set up wherever they could find enough space and moved around to keep out those who had no business being there.

We had business.

It only took a few broken noses, and pinprick cuts on some throats to tell us what we needed to know. And that was just Sersi at work. I made it plenty clear that I wasn’t going to be the Good Cop this time around. The clank of my energy sword’s metal casing against the chain mail leggings was enough of a warning to those who thought we were easy marks. I didn’t need it, not with the Sword of Light to call into my hand at a moment’s notice. But the way that things were working these days, it certainly didn’t hurt to carry a back-up. If nothing else, training with Captain America over the years had taught me that much. It was better to be careful than dead.

Besides, I liked the way people’s eyes went to it. They knew what it was on sight. A deadly weapon, worthy of their respect. It also kept them from looking for any other weapons. A little misdirection never hurt.

A few more damaged faces, a few more damaged egos, and we had some names to work with. A few more hours, and we had the guides we needed. They led us right to her. More or less, I noticed that we passed by the same shop three different times before finally going in. No doubt someone wanted to see who we were. I gave them a good show, striding around, head back, like I owned the place. Sersi didn’t have to act. The look on her face was fairly clear, if she owned such a place, she would have never admitted it, at least without letting a fumigation team in first.

 I don’t remember which of us thought of it first. But it made too much sense to ignore. If we wanted to figure out what was going on in this new world, what was really going on, we were going to have to find the centers of information. The type of information that just keeping an eye out couldn’t give you. We started slow, and picked up speed from there. Leading us to her, one step at a time.

She stared at us for a moment, a genuine smirk slipping through to her lips before she regained control of her dusty face. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place…

“What can I do for you, “ she asked in a thick accent that sounded Arabic, adding the telling tag, dripping with a weight of its own, “Avengers?”.

“Good,” Sersi declared, taking the lead, “You know who we are, and that we’re serious. Maybe that will cut through the usual, misunderstandings of intent.”

“That, as with all things, is to be determined. My time is valuable. Who got here by being who you are. Now let’s here what you have to say.”

“What do you know about the barrier?” The words slipped out of mouth before I could stop them. Sometimes I’m not quite so sure that my brain’s attached to the rest of my body.  Or maybe it just likes going straight for the target. I’ve always been a straight for the target kind of guy. I can tell from the look that Sersi shoots me though that she’s not that surprised, with the normal amount of attached disappointment that this time wasn’t different.

The woman looked at me for a moment, and then back to Sersi, wonder in her face, “You came Here. To ask That. I thought maybe you were looking into where all the weapons were going. Or what Doom’s next move would be - I don’t know would have been the answer to both of those by the way. Instead you want to know about the barrier that separates us from the rest of the world?? No one knows, and based on the research being done on the subject, it doesn’t look like anyone is ever going know.”

“And why is that?”

“Because every scientist worth anything has been taken out of the public sector, and put to work for whoever can get their hands on them that’s why. Anyone with the slightest bit of know-how unlucky enough to be stuck here is working on it, trying to figure out what its made out of it, and trying to figure out what has to be done to make it go away. But each of them are working for the sponsors, the people keeping them alive. None of them are sharing with the rest of us. For any price. Someone’s benefiting from all of this, mark my words, and unfortunately it’s not me.”

I stare at her, looking into her eyes, “I know you.”

“Of course.” She replied, with a warm smile. I smiled back. She wouldn’t be smiling if she saw the real me. The old man Dane Whitman has become. But for now, I’m the Black Knight, dashing and deadly. I don’t have to look over at Sersi to know that she’s staring daggers into my skull.

“Who do we need to speak to?” Sersi asked, cutting the eye contact between the two of us. “We were led to believe that you were a power broker in this area. Someone who would be able to help us.”

“And I am,” The woman maintained, her face going back into business mode. “But I really think you’re asking the wrong questions. You’re thinking too big. Do you want to solve the big problem in one fell swoop? That’s not going to happen. Or, if it is, it’s not going to happen anytime soon. Want to solve the little ones? That’s something worth doing. I can help you with that. I can get you the resources…”

I shook my head, “We’re here for the big problem I’m afraid.”

“A pity…” she said, dismissing us with her hands, “I guess we have nothing further to talk about then…”

I didn’t see the blast of venom that came from palms until it hit me. I don’t think Sersi did either.

We woke up somewhere else, with the woman standing over us. Or rather, I woke up there. Sersi wasn’t waking up. “I had to gauge the dosage the best I could.” The woman explained, as she saw my eyes flicker open, “She should be fine though. Provided that I don’t decide to hit her with another dose. Oh yes, maybe you remember me now?”

I looked at her again, going over my mental recollections of the Avenger files. I got lucky, it was an “A”. “Asp”. She was part of the Serpent Society, who’s powers included a deadly venom that oozed from her body. Sometimes though she was able to shoot it out of her hands. She had been saving it up while we were talking, and before that, when she had her people walk us around the block a few extra times…

She smiled. It was really a nice smile. If things had been different… I mentally slapped myself. There were times and places to check out attractive women. When they had kidnapped you was not one of those times.

“…I'll have to release his energy from my blade at some point. I'll wait until we return to Earth and turn him over to the Avengers or the Fantastic Four... someone who can get him some help." Dane’s words still echoed in his ears.*

(* From issue #5 - GD)

Someone who could get him some help… the man who called himself Proctor chuckled. That help had been on one of the small islands off the coast of England. They had tried all sorts of things, from therapy, to drug treatments to alter his mood. None of it had any real effect. There was only one thing that would help, only one thing that could cure his rage, to have the last Sersi of the Omniverse dead at his feet.

Once the world had been released from its mundane bonds, things had gotten interesting. Clearly Mordred had found a way to win after all. If not him, then someone of that caliber. Proctor had used the chaos to escape.

He kept his ear to the ground, and learned things. Such as the betrayal of a Prime Minister, and the absence of the Avengers. Apparently the ragtag group that had faced him before were organized, calling themselves the Pendragons. However, they were no longer of any importance. Dane wasn’t among them, which meant Sersi wasn’t either. Where one would go, the other would follow. Until the time came when she would destroy his entire life, leaving him to wish for his own death. Or hers.

His red eyes burned with hatred, as he listened, and waited for word on where the two of them had gone. There was only so many places they could be, the mystical barrier around Europe made sure of that. It was only a matter of time before word reached him, and he would be able to carry on with his mission.

This Sersi had escaped from him so many times. This Dane, was just so full of his own insecurities that he couldn’t see what was staring him in the face the entire time - the woman would ruin him. Proctor had tried, over and over, to do things in a straight forward method, going right for the target, swinging his sword. But this clearly called for a different approach. This clearly called for something new…

NEXT: Dane and Sersi in the hands of Asp. But what does she want?

Welcome to issue #12. I wanted to take a moment to thank Barry Reese for giving me this opportunity, twice. For those who don’t know, Barry also wrote the Black Knight series at MV1. I followed him on the title there as well.

He’s been extremely supportive of my work over the years and is simply wonderful to work with. I’d even say it if he wasn’t the editor!<G>

Thanks also to those of you who have written in. I may put together a letter page at some point, but for now, know that I read everything you send me, and I appreciate your input.

Since this is the first “milestone” issue, I thought it fitting that I include *two* back-up stories this time. Both of them, and all of the back-ups I’m doing, are going to effect the series at some point. So bear with me as I weave the threads together.

Now that you’ve read the first twelve issues, you might be wondering “what can I expect for the next twelve?” Well we’ve got several old villains already lining up to take their shot at Dane and Sersi - starting with Quark and Proctor. We also have Exodus, and his agenda. And a cross-over planned with Pendragons… and the return of Immortus.. and… something Barry’s been wanting for quite some time… and, well a lot of things. The next twelve issues are going to be quite full of what you’ve come to love, and hopefully a few surprises!

So, enjoy the back-ups and then go email me and tell me what you think of my run thus far!!!

 UNITED STATES EUROPEAN COMMAND CENTER

STUTTGART-VAIHINGEN, GERMANY

 “President Rau isn’t going to wait forever,” he said, pointing to the ultimatum that was in on the table, “Doom has been lining up quite a bit of support from smaller towns. It’s only a matter of time before the President is going to have to enforce this order of surrender.”

The General shook his head in disgust. With the men, and firepower, at his disposal, he had gone from being a link in the chain of command to being one of the superpowers in the new world. Doctor Doom though was proving to be a stronger one, with more weapons at his disposal than any of the others. Where technology had failed, the Lord of Latveria was stepping in to show them how to make it work under the new rules. Where food was scarce, he stepped in, using his own distribution system. Where things were out of control, he offered order, with his own shock troops training the local authorities how to maintain order. Doom’s plan was subtle, but slowly and surely he was fast becoming the only power worth paying attention to in the Central European theatre. He was even bold enough to suggest to various European leaders that it might be time to ask the United States troops to withdraw from their bases, turning over their resources for the greater good of the host country. No one ever said it out right, but there were enough rumors to suggest that Doom was putting the threat of a US coup in their ears.

It made sense, and the General knew that it certainly held a fair amount of truth to it. The matter was indeed on the table as a possibility. Without strong leadership, American leadership, it was fairly clear that the Europeans were ready to jump into bed with the first dictator who offered them food in their bellies NATO be damned.

“We need to put him back into the field.” One of the under-officers suggested. “We’ve been keeping him here all this time, I think that it’s time that we get some use from our investment.”

The General glared at him, but he couldn’t say he was wrong. So instead he took the credit. “That was exactly what I plan on doing. The people of Germany need to know that America may be on that other side of that damn barrier, but that Americans haven’t forgotten their plight. We need a symbol. Someone for them to believe in…”

“But sir…with all due respect… I’m not all that sure I believe in him myself.”

“He’s certainly an odd one. But he’s also the best we have at the moment. Unless of course Captain America just so happens to be somewhere out in the fields of France, stirring up a revolution. And somehow I don’t think we’re going to get that lucky.”

“So we’re going to call him up then, sir?”

The General nodded, his eyes going back to the piece of paper in front of him. If nothing else, it would give the Federal President pause, knowing that in a world gone mad, there was an American superhero loose in his backyard. Now, if the biggest problem was making sure he didn’t make too big of a fool out of himself in the process.

The American Marvel stared at his reflection for a long moment. Martin Burns wasn’t too sure of his new name, but it was certainly a trade-up from Marvel Boy, or the Crusader… Blue Marvel had been nice though. It was a shame that most people thought of some fraud that had tried to infiltrate the Avengers when they heard it. The name had simply not tested well enough. American Marvel though, it said everything there was to be said. It said he was American. Which he was. It also said that he was a Marvel, and anyone who just so happened to be a reincarnation of Hercules was certainly that.

He had his orders: to seek out injustice and spread the American Way of life. If he could manage a to find a nice bistro on the process, that would be a good too.

Cape Town, United Republic of Africa

3875

He knelt on the ground, giving thanks to the Lady for letting him strike true.

The Masquerade was dead. The terror was over, at last.

Somewhere there was a tally of the victims, a list of those who had fallen before the madman, before the Black Knight had tracked him down, and sent him to join them. On that list, there were many Wythims. Ernst Wythim, the Black Knight, knew that they all lay on his head. He had put the people he loved in danger by taking up the mantle that was his birth rate. They had all said they understood. But, he wondered, in that last minute of their lives, if they were cursing his name.

He was the last of the Wythim line, a line that stretched back to Sir Percy of Scandia himself. The Ebony Blade that had once been his ancestor’s, was now his to serve Justice, and the Lady of Avalon. While the rest of the world had long since moved on, he served the most ancient of ways. Using their tools, and winning against all odds.

The Pilgrim stood back, and watched the Black Knight wipe the blood of his enemy off the blade using a strip of the Masquerade’s own shirt. He noted the look of satisfaction on Ernst’s face, the gleam in his eye, and he noted the importance of it all. Looking back, this was where things had gone wrong, again.

3876

It wasn’t fair, Ernst knew that much, deep in his heart. He had rid of Earth of the greatest evil of the time. He had struck down the Masquerade, saving hundreds, maybe thousands of lives in the process.

But he kept coming back. And every time, Ernst would kill him again. And again. And again.

Different faces every time, but underneath it all, there was the Masquerade staring back at him, laughing, mocking him.

Wherever he went, the Masquerade would already be there, waiting for him. Forcing his hand, making him swing the Ebony Blade over and over again, cutting off his head, stabbing him through the heart, trying to figure out what it was going to take to end the torment.

The Pilgrim watched, in silence.

3877

Ernst Wythim stared at the machine in front of him. It would send him back in time. He could stop it from happening. He could stop the Masquerade, he could stop himself from ever doing… all that he had done. There was so much blood on his hands. So much innocent blood… he saw it now. The Masquerade had died with a sword through his chest, the first time.

He had stopped the world’s most notorious mass murderer, and then had taken his place.

He closed his eyes, grateful that the Lady had long since departed from his presence. If she saw the disgrace he had brought to the name of Black Knight… he held the blade in his hands. The answer seemed so simple. The blade was cursed. When it tasted blood, the curse had been unleashed.

If he could just go back in time, then he could stop any of it from happening. Perhaps the woman in his head, screaming out in pain - screaming for mercy, would be silent.

He would have to go back, he would have to make things right. He had done his research as well as he could. There were a lot of holes in the lineage of the mantle, but there had been a notable one in the late twentieth, early twenty-first century, more known for the things he had not done than the ones that he had. That was where the change had to take place. If this, he tried to remember the name again… Dane.. Whitman, were to be eliminated from the picture, then things would be all right. The Masquerade had met him first after all… coming back every century after that to hunt and kill the Black Knight. If this Dane could be killed before that first meeting… perhaps things would work out much differently. Someone else would take up the mantle of the Black Knight. There was always someone else… hopefully it would be someone who wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

The machine would send him back…. in spirit anyway… to take over, to possess, someone, who was in the position to do what needed to be done. Ernst stared at the Ebony Blade in his hands, and closed his eyes as tight as he could, concentrating on all of the people who had died because of the Blade’s madness.

It was going to end, he knew, as he stepped into the point, all he had to do was die, physically, so that his spirit could go back and do what needed to be done. All he had to do was die… the rest was going to be easy.

(NOTE: This story takes place just before the events of Marvel’s Solo Avengers #4 - GD)