Post by Press1269 on Jun 25, 2019 16:28:20 GMT
THE SWAMP THING
BAYOU COUNTRY, LOUISIANA
It’s a dank humid night in the Louisiana Bayou, but most nights are this time of year. Heat lightening can be seen streaking across the sky to the near south, and with every flash yellow eyes peer out from all the hidey holes that exist in the swamp. The insects almost seem to sing a chorus along with the bass of the frogs, and from time to time the sudden slosh of something big moving in the water causes everything to stop like a CD skip on a compact disc player, but only for a moment.
A 1982 Red Chevrolet Blazer with white trim sits parked dead center of the dirt road that was pushed up out of the swamp sometime in the thirties to bisect this portion of the Bayou. It has deep mud lines thrown up it’s sides and has seen its better days, but still somehow gets the job done. It seems out of place in this unforgiving setting, a reminder that there are some areas of nature that aren’t an invitation to man.
Suddenly, somewhere out in the darkness, there is a roar followed by the sound of an impact. A whistling sound breaks through the symphony of the swamp, and with a meteor like crash something, or someone, blasts clear through the roof of the Blazer, bisecting the vehicle in half and only being stopped by the frame. Leg’s protrude from where the front door and back door once met, now bent inwards on themselves to make room for this new mass.
Press starts to lift forward, but then falls back into the now ruined vinyl roof resting on seat cushions and sighs heavily. He’s covered in muck, blood, and dirty water drips all around him. In either hand are the ends of the shotgun he was carrying, cloven clean in half by something with powerful jaws. He shakes his head in disdain as he tosses the two ends to the side to join the rest of the wreckage, huffing as he grips the battered doors and pulls himself into a seated position.
That pisses him off. That was his favorite shotgun.
His back and shoulders ache as his feet touch solid ground again, and just as they do he catches glimpse of the tree pushing out of the murky water in front of him beginning to shake. Suddenly they split completely apart, and a creature steps between them that very much resembles the comic book ‘Swamp Thing’. Its skin is like bark, it’s eyes glowing green as the moss that covers everything in this area of the world, and it’s arms and legs are like tree limbs with roots at their ends for fingers and toes.
It roars in Press’ direction from a huge open maw with jagged teeth protruding up like the ends of broken stumps. The God Touched can feel the heat emanating from its breath, and seconds later the spores found within it produce a wracking cough.
The beast trudges forwards through the water, a singular path towards the compromised man. Press tries to regain some level of composure, but the spores do their job, keeping him unable to focus or react.
Just as the giant beast, nearly twelve feet tall and half as big around, reaches the edge of the muddy road it already has both tree trunk like arms lifted over head for an attack. He brings both tree-arms down at the same time to crush it’s enemy, roaring loudly all the while.
A bright flash of purple burn’s his eyes as he continues to cough, but he can hear the beasts roar change from rage to one of confusion. When his eyes finally come back into focus, he sees that the purple is some sort of forcefield, and the monster has been knocked back a step staring at it’s own singed hands.
Off to the side Samedi, the owner of The Emporium on Bourbon Street by day, Voodoo Shaman at night, steps up beside the Blazer, the top of his misshapen staff burning a purple even brighter than the field separating them from the monster.
With the Swamp Thing temporarily distracted, the priest spares the big man a glance. “You planning on doing someting to dat ting, or are we gonna do dis dance all night!”
He says the last while tossing a flask into Press’ lap, and the big man quickly uncorks it between a coughing fit and takes a deep swig. Immediately the wracking cough comes to a stop, and Press can feel new energy coming back into his muscles and bones. He wipes his mouth while corking the flask back and looks up at Samedi in a disgruntled fashion.
“Thing broke my fucking shotgun…oh yeah, where’s the kid?”
As if on cue a high pitched war cry goes up into the night sky, and the Swamp Thing looks in that direction just in time to catch a Leaping Jump Kick by a younger man dressed in black jeans, a black wife beater, and a pair of half-calf leather cowboy boots. One of those boots strikes the creature square in it’s face, maybe…if that is its face (?), and it falls back a step in surprise.
As soon as Youth, Press’ partner in crime and the yin to his yang, is centered, he moves into the creature’s space, firing off piston like lefts and rights directly into its center mass. The entire scene looks comical, and Press can just imagine Youth in a karate Gi, practicing his skills at Cobra Kai.
The comedy quickly comes to an end, however, when the creature takes one if it’s trunk like arms and swipes it in front of itself, clipping the retreating Youth on his shoulder and sending him spinning like a top before striking the ground. With a roar it steps forwards, raising it’s massive leg and hovering it right over the young man’s skull.
Press mutters curses as he grips the sides of the Blazer and thrusts himself forwards into a trot, passing through the purple field which dissipates when he does. Just as the creature begins to bring his leg down to finish the job, Press launches himself into a dive that catches the creature in the midsection like a spear.
The two behemoths tumble into the drink, sending splashes every which a way as the water churns and froths. After a moment the water finally comes to a calm, and Samedi peers into the dark liquid in concern as he helps Youth up to his feet. Both men search for any sign of their compatriot, when suddenly bubbles come rushing up to the surface followed by Press’ head.
The big man heaves himself back up and out onto the mud road, spitting and sputtering swamp water out onto the ground. Both men grab him on either side and help him to his feet before all three turn to look back at the water.
Just then a tree trunk like arm springs forth from the swampy refuge to strike Press right under the chin like an uppercut. The blow sends him sailing backwards as the hulking creature pushes the rest of itself back up on the shore, his unnatural green eyes burning even hotter than before. Youth’s right hand flashes down to a SIG Pro semi-automatic pistol hanging from his hip and yanks it free, firing six shots into the body of the Swamp Thing just before it manages to knock the gun to the side. Bullets plop across the water as the gun still fires despite not having a target, while green ooze flows freely out of the monster where it was hit.
With a roar it plants its other root-like hand into Youth’s chest, lifting him up above his head as if he weighed nothing. Before he can follow up from this movement, Samedi swings his staff while speaking a word of power, striking the creature low on its trunk. When the wood meets wood there is a neon yellow flash, and the monster lets out more of a scream than a roar, dropping Youth to splash down into the water behind it. When Samedi pulls his staff back, there is a withering blight that appears to be crawling through the spot where he struck the creature.
Press, who has managed to get back to his feet, watches as the blight carves out a hole in the center of the Swamp Thing, and he calls out a warning while reaching into his vest pocket and producing a grenade.
“Bones! Hit the deck!”
Samedi chances a glance back to see what’s happening, and his eyes go wide when he sees the big man pull the pin and pitch the grenade right for the thing. The priest dives to the side as the grenade lands perfectly in the blight created hole, but instead of blasting, it ignites, the entire area of the wound going up in fire. The flame seems to take on a mind of its own inside the creature, crawling and licking through its interior until it is completely engulfed, letting out an open mawed bellow that ends with flames shooting from its mouth.
The ground beneath them rumbles just before the Swamp Thing explodes, sending flaming splinters in every direction and sprays the area in green liquid. The only remaining part of the monster, it’s tree trunk legs, slowly slump down into the water to float away.
Press breathes a sigh of relief while Samedi wipes his brow. Youth stands up, covered in the green mess, tendrils of wood hanging from his hair, and altogether disheveled. He stares down at himself in shock, and then looks past the priest to his partner with an annoyed expression.
“Dude….what the fuck?”
THE CAR
HIGHWAY 1
HIGHWAY 1
The three men walk down the mud road for two miles enveloped by the sounds of the Bayou. None of them speak as they go, each one processing exactly what they had encountered and the part that they played in it. The Blazer was a mess, and Sam said it would be better just to push it into the swamp rather than try and salvage anything from it, so that’s what they did. He made sure to grab his bag of spell components from the back hatch before it disappeared into the murky water.
By the time they reached the paved road it was well into the morning, and clouds had started to form overhead along with a thick fog that rolled in from across the water. Press made his way directly for a patch of what looked like overgrown foliage, but when he peeled the shrubbery back revealed his Classic White 1966 Pontiac Tempest.
This thing would need a good wash he thought as he opens the door and slips into the driver’s seat. Youth was doing the same on the other side, but he pauses to pull the passenger seat forward so that Sam could get into the back. When the priest doesn’t immediately follow, he turns to find that his companion was staring off further down the road, eyes glazed over and distant.
Youth follows his gaze to the same area and spots a murder of crows fluttering and hopping along the pavement. The wind slightly shifts, pushing his still damp long hair into his face, and when he moves it to the side with his free hand he watches as the crows all take off as one. He’s stuck in amazement as their flight pattern seems to create the image of a giant raven that quickly dissolves as the birds go off in separate directions.
There is a low grumble under Samedi’s breath as he turns and slips past Youth into the backseat. The younger man watches the spot where the crows had been for another moment, and then follows suit.
As Press fires up the engine, he looks at his partner on his right, and then up into the rear-view at the priest. Their grim expressions give him pause just as he’s about to put the car into gear.
“You alright, Sam?”
The shaman casts a bloodshot eye into the mirror, and his expression seems to turn terse at being questioned. “We need to get back to the bar…”
Seeing that there was going to be no further answers, Press shrugs, pushes the shifter into first, and heads out onto the open road.
THE EMPORIUM
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
The Pontiac pulls into one of the spaces just in front of The Emporium just as the first rays of morning light pushes its way up past the horizon. The three men drag themselves from the car, but Samedi seems more energized. More purposed.
He quickly steps up to the front door of the bar with his keys only to find that the door is already ajar. He sends a strange look back to the two men as they approach, a mixture of dread, panic, and excitement just before pushing the door open and stepping inside.
Youth looks over his shoulder at Press whose face goes grim, and he shrugs before following Samedi inside.
The Big Man stares at the open portal and the scent of lilac and honey is carried faintly on the breeze, and aroma that seems familiar to him, but is just outside of his minds eye. Finally, with a huff, he trudges forwards into the doorway and damn near plows over Youth and Sam.
He’s about to start a complaint when he pauses, looking at their shocked expressions, and following their gaze to across the room at the female sitting at the bar. She’s a slip of a thing, really. About five foot four, slender exposed shoulders save for the spaghetti straps that help hold up a black dress. Smooth legs peak out from under the short hem, the right crossed over the other so that the toe of her spiked heel can tap in the air. Her skin is bronzed, almond shaped eyes slightly large for her face, and when she reaches up manicured nails to rake her raven black hair out of her face, she exposes the twinkle within them.
Red lips part from glistening white teeth, and Lady Munin says in a throaty voice, “Took you boys long enough…”
Youth beams a grin in her direction just before rushing headlong right at her, knocking the woman right off the stool and sweeping her up in a hug. Despite her usually cool demeanor, the woman can’t help but laugh, and when she does it sounds like tinkling bells in Press’ ears.
Youth sets her down, continuing to grin stupidly, and she puts her hands on his shoulders to give them a little separation.
“It’s good to see you, Nin.” He says earnestly, and she finds her smile starting to match his own as the two share that moment of old friends becoming reacquainted.
She gently nudges him to the side and he turns that grin back towards his partner, but what he sees there causes his face to go slack. Samedi looks over his shoulder at the big man, knowing eyes searching Press’ face for some indication of intent and doing his best to impart a calming message into his skull. Finally, he looks back to Lady Munin, and casts her a skeletal grin before ambling over to greet her with his own hug.
“It’s been some time, my Lady…”
“That it has, Sam.” She replies, clutching the older man close to her for long moments before pushing him back to peer into his eyes. The two become somber for a moment, and then they both laugh, embracing once more like best friends.
Once their moment has passed, Sam gives her a raised eyebrow before stepping out of the way so that she has a clear path towards the big man.
Munin and Press stare across the room at one another with neutral expression for long moments, the tension in the room rising to palpable levels. Neither offers to take the first step towards the other. Neither knew what the other was thinking, going to do, or even feeling. All that was clear that there was something passing between them, something unspoken, something unheard. Something primal.
The seconds tic by on the old wall clock hanging beside the steps leading up to the next floor, and it chimes to signify that dawn had come. The noise seems to wake the two up from their silence, and Press folds his arms over his chest as he regards the woman.
“What do you want?”
Munin licks her lips at the same time her nose curls, as if she had just taken in an odor that was unpleasant, and her eyes sparkle just as she speaks.
“I need your help. I want to get back into the ring...”
Samedi rolls his eyes and whistles. Youth lets out a overly dramatic gasp. Press’ eyes narrow to the point of slits. And somewhere out in the heavens, the crow caws.
…. To Be Continued!
