by CSyphrett
Mac Maine adjusted the heavy vest that covered his insulating bodysuit. With careful precision, he connected the cord from the portable generator on his back to the colossal keypad fixed to the surface of his vest. As the cord seamlessly plugged in, a comforting green light flickered to life. He donned a welder-type helmet, taking a swift moment to steady himself, relieved for the thousandth time that his device hadn’t exploded on him. His partners, too, readied themselves for the mission that lay ahead.
Harry “Hutch” Hutchinson, clad in a suave white suit and tie, watched in awe as his attire transformed into a cloak of darkness as soon as he activated his absorbing power. Even his fair skin and white hair turned as black as the depths of night. Pulling a white hood over his head, he fastened a tie clip in the shape of a black star onto his tie. Known by the moniker of the Black Star, he was as prepared as he would ever be.
Hal King tinkered with what by appeared to be a telephone dial affixed to his belt, satisfied with its operation, before donning a jacket to conceal the device.
Meanwhile, Johnny Constantine took a sip from his flask, grateful that his beloved wife, Betsy, and their teenage son, Thomas, eagerly awaited his return in England. It was only in their presence that Johnny felt like himself, completely normal. Stashing the flask away in his hip pocket, he straightened his emerald vest and donned his short coat. Lighting his cigarette, he silently prayed that his troubled son wouldn’t pick up the habit. Tom already had enough challenges of his own, especially with that loose girlfriend of his, Mary Anne. Johnny hoped to guide his son onto the right path before Tom could end up passing on his problems to the next generation.
Harvard “Doc” Yale, with his slender hands, clutched a tome three times the size of a Gideon Bible. Flipping through the aged pages with practiced finesse, he adjusted his glasses, slipping the book into a pocket of his gray coveralls.
Roland DiGrasso flexed his hands, focusing intently. Hexagonal pieces of metal materialized over his clothing and body. The metallic layers crept up his neck, converging into a helmet that resembled the head of a cat, complete with a steel tail that flicked into existence. He flexed his hands again, causing blades to spring forth from his knuckles, then relaxed, allowing the retractable claws to slide back into place. Thanks to a strange amulet that had bonded with his skin years ago, the normally mild-mannered Roland had become the fighting force called the Stainless Steel Cat.
And there, sitting patiently on a bench amidst his comrades’ preparations, was the enigmatic Number 99. This creature, draped in a heap of moss-like hair, peered out with sickly eyes. It awaited the command to proceed with unwavering patience. The creature had once been an American soldier — a pilot in the U.S. Army Air Force who was shot down in flames over the Okinawa Islands and later arose as something else entirely. Unable to remember the name it had in its previous life, this swamp thing was given the name of 99 by the only legible characters left on the mostly demolished dog tag it still wore around its moss-enshrouded neck.
This eclectic group of seven individuals had assembled in 1943 to aid the Allies during the war. The press had affectionately dubbed them the Sentinels of Magic, not only for their strange appearance, but also because they possessed abilities that surpassed the limits of human potential. Even as the Iron Curtain descended upon Europe, they still stood united, their camaraderie unbreakable.
Two years ago, they had also taken in a boy with extraordinary psychic abilities, a twelve-year-old orphan named Gary, but he wasn’t going on this mission. They needed a backup, and that duty fell to him. Mac understood the reasoning behind it even as he tried to persuade the others to let them bring Gary along, but Hutch had insisted. The kid would stay behind as a monitor and mission control. Naturally, Gary had thrown a fit. Hutch had simply smiled and told him no in that calm way of his. The boy glared at Black Star with his piercing ice-blue eyes before reluctantly leaving the locker room.
The Sentinels of Magic made their way to a building that overlooked the airstrip. They had to be briefed before being flown to their destination by one of the high-flying Blackhawks.
As he listened to the whine coming from his backpack, Mac couldn’t help but notice that the base had a temporary feel to it. Once the mission was over, he would have to check the generator for any wear and tear. A nuclear device that could reduce someone to atoms in seconds was nothing to take lightly.
Mac entered the briefing room last and positioned himself near the door. He knew it was probably just paranoia, but he wanted to be prepared to leave quickly if necessary. Of course, any blast would likely be at least a mile wide, so he doubted it would be of much help unless Hal could transform into something useful just in the nick of time, then somehow save himself and all the others. Mac didn’t have enough faith in their luck for that kind of outcome.
“Hello, gentlemen,” greeted the U.S. army officer standing at the makeshift podium. “I am Captain Richard Exeter, and I am pleased to meet you.”
“For how long?” Constantine muttered under his breath.
Ignoring the interruption, Exeter continued, “This is the mission in full. One of our pilots spotted something unusual happening in the Pacific. He managed to take some photographs before diverting from his original mission. When we developed the film, these pictures were what prompted us to call upon you.”
He dimmed the lights and switched on a slide projector, projecting images of an island rising out of the ocean onto the wall.
“What could be causing that?” questioned Doc Yale. “It doesn’t seem like a natural occurrence.”
“We don’t know, Doctor,” Exeter admitted. “As you can see from the pictures, there are no volcanoes on or near the island that could explain such an upswell. We’ve dubbed it Grim Island.”
“It’s definitely strange enough to warrant investigation,” Harry Hutchinson remarked. “But why call upon us? Only Doc and M.C. here have any expertise in scientific matters.”
“M.C.?” Exeter inquired.
“It’s short for Molecular Converter, my unfortunate nickname,” Mac explained from his spot by the door.
“Ahhh,” Exeter nodded in understanding. “The higher-ups believe you are the right team for this mission. Otherwise, we would have sent in the Blackhawks or some other group.”
“‘Cos we’re bloody expendable,” scoffed Constantine.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Exeter replied dismissively.
“How will we get there?” Hal asked.
“One of the Blackhawks will transport you to the island on a sea plane and drop you off. Twenty-four hours later, the same pilot will retrieve you. Hopefully, in that time frame, you will be able to uncover the cause of this anomaly.”
***
Mac Maine admitted to himself that he was the team worrywart. At first glance, the task seemed straightforward — go in, acquire what they needed, and leave. However, he couldn’t shake his nagging feeling of impending disaster. Despite this, he kept his thoughts to himself. Hutch and Doc would probably brush it off and relax when they needed to stay alert. Even if they agreed with him, the feeling would persist. It was simply part of their job.
Positioned at the back of the line as the seven men filed up to the plane, Mac listened to the whine of his generator and watched Number 99 in front of him slowly shuffle his way across the tarmac sans legs. The field surrounding them seemed eerie, and Mac couldn’t help but wonder how bad things were about to get.
Taking a seat near the door of the plane, Mac observed his companions trying to settle in. Hutch, notorious for his fear of flying, was clearly struggling. On the other hand, Number 99, as carefree as a kid on a roller-coaster, seemed to be enjoying every moment. Mac himself merely endured the flight, knowing it was just something to get through until it was over.
Suddenly, a raised voice sliced through the air, interrupting Mac’s thoughts. “Gary!”
Turning to find out what the commotion was, Mac saw Constantine, surrounded by an ever-present cloud of cigarette smoke, glowering at the boy. It turned out that he had been hiding in a storage locker until by chance he was found out. A smile almost tugged at the corners of Mac’s lips. He had to admit, the boy had spunk.
“I thought I told you that you’re our back-up for this mission, Gary,” their leader Harry said firmly, his words laced with frustration. “Stowing away is not how you contribute to the mission.”
Gary, with his piercing ice-blue eyes, shot daggers at the group. “You’ll need me,” he declared defiantly.
“Off the plane,” Harry commanded, pointing toward the door. “Now.”
For a moment, Mac considered intervening, but ultimately decided against it. Dealing with Harry’s icy anger or keeping an eye on the boy was not something he wanted to add to his plate. Silently, he watched as Gary left the plane.
As the plane gradually came to life, Mac wondered about his future. What would he do once he retired from this life of danger and excitement? Perhaps he would become a farmer, growing tomatoes or vegetables to feed the world.
The American Blackhawk pilot, Chuck, maneuvered the plane down the runway and into the sky. Mac held onto the strap provided, only letting go when the turbulence ceased. Visualizing the island in his mind, he couldn’t imagine anything natural that could cause the strange phenomena the pictures had revealed. Even a volcano would pale in comparison. Mac assumed Doc shared his disbelief, considering the man was scouring his book for answers.
“Get ready for the jump,” Chuck’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Target is five minutes away.”
With adrenaline coursing through their veins, Mac and the team readied themselves. There was no turning back now. The mission was about to begin.
Mac watched wide-eyed as Hal King worked the dial on his belt, causing a miraculous transformation. It was mind-boggling how the dial could turn Hal into any number of odd beings of varying abilities and power levels, like a character from the funnybooks. This time he had become an incredible winged barbarian. “Conan the Hawkman is ready,” Hal announced, his voice now strong and commanding.
“Let’s go,” said Harry Hutchinson, excitement gleaming in his eyes. The Black Star patiently waited as the cargo door slowly opened, revealing the mysterious island beneath them.
Transformed into Conan the Hawkman, Hal reached out and grabbed Johnny Constantine’s hand in one powerful grip, while also taking hold of Harvard Yale’s hand with his other. Doc Yale hastily clutched his book close as the formidable warrior effortlessly hurled the trio into the sky.
Meanwhile, Roland DiGrasso, also known as the Stainless Steel Cat, observed patiently, waiting for his turn. He swiftly grabbed Number 99 from behind, supporting the walking heap as they leaped toward the open door. Like the wind, the two vanished from sight with a rustle of leaves.
Harry Hutchinson watched intently, his anticipation building, as 99 gracefully landed on the ground with a splash. The Stainless Steel Cat skillfully maneuvered through the trees, using his extraordinary agility to reach the ground unscathed.
The Black Star leaped, transforming into a black silhouette against the sky as he fell. Descending into the cluster of trees, he vanished upon touching the foliage and earth, dissolving the ground like a hot knife through butter. Disabling his powers to halt his descent, he then scrambled out of the pit he’d inadvertently made. Despite all that, his suit remained pristine white as he rejoined his comrades.
Finally, it was Mac’s turn. He observed the passing landscape below with a furrowed brow, analyzing the situation. Taking a deep breath, he took the leap of faith, counting to three before activating the keypad on his chest, causing the generator on his back to emit a loud whine. It’s going to explode for sure this time, Mac thought anxiously.
In a flash of light, a set of rings resembling an atom briefly surrounded him as they created maneuverable wings affixed to his vest that he could control with his thoughts. Relief washed over the man nicknamed the Molecular Converter as he gracefully glided through the air, his worries momentarily forgotten.
Setting foot on the ground of Grim Island, Mac pressed a button, causing the wings to disappear in a dazzling burst of light. He marveled at the sudden appearance of lush grass and towering trees.
“Unnatural development,” Doc Yale remarked, touching the rapidly generating grass that seemed to be reaching toward the sky.
“They… are… screaming,” Number 99 said, frowning darkly. “The Green is… screaming…”
Doc Yale nodded in agreement, a solemn expression on his face. “If I were subjected to such rapid growth, I would certainly scream as well.”
Above the tree line, Hal spoke up in his current persona of Conan the Hawkman. “Crom,” he muttered. “There is something happening toward the center of the island.”
“Let’s check it out,” Harry said with a decisive nod. “Cat, take point.”
The Stainless Steel Cat, affectionately nicknamed the Ferrous Feline, eagerly bounded forward, claws extended, ready for any foe that dared cross their path.
Bringing up the rear, Mac couldn’t help but wonder what awaited them at the heart of the commotion. He silently hoped it was just an animal migration of some kind, though he knew the chances were slim. After all, how could there be land-locked creatures on an otherwise deserted island? But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the immediate task at hand.
***
Gary the Miracle Boy paced back and forth on the airfield, his anticipation growing with each passing second. The Blackhawk plane, the very vessel that carried the Sentinels of Magic, finally made its appearance on the horizon. With his captivating ice blue eyes, the twelve-year-old psychic fixated his gaze on the descending aircraft, watching as it gracefully touched down on the airstrip before carefully maneuvering out of the way.
Impatience gnawed at Gary’s insides as he scrutinized the scene. To his dismay, only Chuck the pilot seemed to be in motion on the strip. He scanned the area, desperate to locate the ground crew, for he knew it was crucial that the plane be refueled and back in the air promptly. But when he managed to catch sight of the mechanics, his heart sank. They were leisurely occupied with a game of poker in the main hangar, seemingly unaware of the urgency at hand.
Summoning his most innocent expression, Gary approached the chief mechanic, a man named Purcell, who was attempting to assemble a deadman’s hand. “Excuse me,” he ventured, trying to sound naive, “do you have any idea when my flight to the island will depart?”
Purcell looked up from his playing cards, a trace of annoyance stretching across his face. “I don’t know, kid,” he replied gruffly. “Everything’s grounded until the C.O. gives us the green light.”
Gary’s confusion deepened. “But what about the Sentinels? If they find themselves in over their heads, they’re going to need someone to pick them up.”
A wry smile escaped Purcell’s lips as he pulled an eight into his hand. “You’re preaching to the choir, kid. Major Valdemir has grounded every aircraft scheduled to depart from here.”
“I see,” said Gary, a flicker of realization sparking within him. He left the mechanics behind and set off toward the headquarters, his steps infused with simmering anger. As he walked, his turbulent emotions manifested physically, causing pebbles, dirt, and any loose object in his path to be flung aimlessly into the air. How could this Major Valdemir initiate an investigation and then abandon his own people? It made no sense to the young psychic who was wise beyond his years. A troubling thought crept into his mind, intensifying his unease. It’s almost as if he doesn’t expect them to come back, he pondered silently.
Determined to uncover the truth, Gary quickened his pace into a jog, his mind racing alongside his footsteps. Something deeply suspicious was transpiring, and he aimed to get to the bottom of it.
***
In the heart of Grim Island, Harry Hutchinson’s eyes widened as he beheld the terrifying scene unfolding amidst the thick foliage. A swirling vortex had materialized in the ground, greedily engorging the surrounding forests with each passing second.
“What in the world is happening?” the Black Star demanded, his voice a facade for the panic bubbling within his chest. He glanced at Harvard Yale and Johnny Constantine, who exchanged knowing glances that set his nerves on edge.
“It’s a hole to Hell, mate,” Constantine finally declared, his words blunt and chilling.
“We must find a way to close it,” Doc Yale said urgently.
“Right, and quick!” Constantine said, nodding vigorously.
As if summoned by their discussion, a monstrous creature burst forth from the churning whirlpool. Harry couldn’t identify the abomination, nor did he care to. It lunged at him, spewing a corrosive substance. Reacting quickly, the Black Star activated his powers, absorbing both the vile spit and the creature itself as it futilely grappled with him.
More grotesque monsters emerged from the pit, accompanied by an ethereal glow. Hal King cried out, “Crom!” as he retreated for better footing, attempting to gain an advantage over the expanding abyss. Constantine, on the other hand, began chanting in a long-forgotten language. Suddenly, a creature with too many eyes and a multitude of tentacles exploded into a fiery ball.
Hal King marveled at the sensation coursing through his veins when he transformed into a heroic figure reminiscent of the tales he had read in pulp novels and comic-books. It felt as if he inhabited two separate bodies — one vulnerable and unskilled, the other a swashbuckling musketeer. With each strike of his blade, Conan the Hawkman wounded his adversaries, some more severely than others. A furrow formed between his brows as a glowing hand emerged from the expanding pit, flinging the monsters from its form in an insatiable desire to claim the real world.
Ascending above the chaotic fray to gain a clearer vantage point, Hal watched as a colossal arm strained to follow the hand into the open air. Meanwhile, Constantine and Doc valiantly fought to seal the portal. Number 99 defended them with his tree-like limbs, delivering thunderous blows with his sturdy fists.
Hal cleaved his sword through the maelstrom, cutting a path for his three comrades. The others seemed to hold their own against the onslaught. The Black Star absorbed any foe that dared venture too close, his body flickering and strobing with power as he ensnared the attacking monstrosities. The Stainless Steel Cat moved with agility and speed, his strikes swift and merciless. He pounced, stabbed, and slashed, scouting for his next victim with feline grace.
Mac Maine, however, found himself trapped amidst the beasts, unable to break free and find a space to maneuver. Desperation surged through his veins as he unleashed a barrage of morning-star-like projectiles from his weapon. The lethal blast sent several of the creatures tumbling back into the pit. Mac repeated the sequence again and again, carving out a temporary sanctuary amidst the chaos.
Finally able to maneuver, Mac made a split-second decision to join forces with Doc’s group, seeking strength in numbers. Using the repeat key, he cleared a path for himself, securing his position at one side of the formation.
An ominous whine emanated from Mac’s generator, causing his heart to sink. The last thing he needed was an overheating catastrophe resulting in an emergency shutdown. Refusing to succumb to the mounting pressure, he fired a carpet of spikes at his foes, hoping to deter them while he typed in his morning-star sequence once more. Let them charge across that, he thought, and took care to avoid hitting Number 99, who swatted a huge grotesque creature through a tree.
As each member of the team fought for their lives on Grim Island, the battle raged on, their destinies entwined in the swirling tempest of supernatural warfare.