Lionheart Chronicles, Issue #002

Issue #002 – – – – – controlled by Fraser Machin – – – – – Credits 2

The Man Made Entirely Of Rough Pieces Of Granite brought his paired hands, like one colossal club, down on the back of Lionheart’s head.  The blow smashed the hero’s skull into a thousand pieces, pulping it like a melon struck by a sledgehammer.  The hero slumped lifelessly to the floor, nothing above his neck but a gaping ragged stump.

Or that’s what might have happened. What should have happened.   Something in Lionheart’s brain said that this is precisely what did happen.  That’s just how it panned out.  That was how the world was meant to be.  Except that at a fraction of a second before impact, something changed.  Something inside the hero’s head clicked into place, fragments of memory swam distantly in his mind, and reality took a different track based on the hero’s snap decision.  In a moment, his fate changed.

Rolling to one side, Lionheart snatched up a handful of dust and hurled it upwards.  An oldie, but a goody, the fragments hit Granite Guy in the face and eyes, causing him to curse and roar.  And miss.

For his own part, Lionheart pulled on the strength and toughness and tenacity that lurked within him like a well and with a roar of his own he was moving.  To the side.  A dash.  A lunge.  A twist and in a moment he was behind the gargantuan.

“Rrrraaagagghhhhhh!” the monstrous thing articulated, scrubbing at its eyes and raging at the crowd.
“Kill him!”  One of the audience screamed.  But before the creature could find its opponent, Lionheart was upon it.

The hero grew to giant-size, a power he’d held in reserve until this point for no reason he could quickly imagine.  In fact, he wondered what on Earth had possessed him to give this beast the height advantage?  Had he wanted it to win?  Still, he decided, he’d consider what the hell that was about later.

Now nearly as large as Granite Guy, Lionheart leapt up onto the creatures back and locked his arms around its stony neck.  The creature went beserk, twisting, turning, trying to throw the hero free. Lionheart locked on tighter.

“This is how it’s done in the jungle, buddy,” he snarled in Granite Guy’s ear.  “You think lions just tear into their prey?  They don’t.  They get the throat.  They squeeze the throat.  They bring down their enemy by suffocation.”

Whether The Man Made Entirely Of Rough Pieces Of Granite understood any of this was unclear.  It raged, and jumped, and spun.  It fell onto it’s back and ground Lionheart into the dirt.  It tried to smash the hero against the wooden posts that surrounded the combat area.  It succeeded in doing so, in fact.  Lionheart held on – and each attempt to remove him simply made the hero tighten his crushing hold still more.  “You’re covered in stone, but I heard ya’ breathing, buddy,” Lionheart told him.  “I know you need air and that air’s getting mighty hard to find, right?”

The crowd fell into a hushed silence as Granite Guy went to his knees.  Choking, gasping, no longer seeming quite as ominously formidable as he had.  In fact, eyes blazing, arm muscles knotted, roaring with fury, it was Lionheart who now looked utterly terrifying.

And then it was over.  The stone monster slumped onto its face and the strength went out of it.  Lionheart climbed off and paced around the edge of the enclosure.  “Get him some help,” the hero said.  “He’s just unconscious, call your medics.”  The crowd were still – and then they erupted into a frenzy of applause and excitement.

Lionheart was still trying to piece together what was going on and how he got here when two men in black suits and top hats parted the crowd as they approached.  When they spoke, they spoke in unison, their voices oddly synchronised so that every word was precisely mirrored.  “Congratulations, Lionheart, you have beaten the odds today. You will fight again tomorrow.”
“Maybe I’ll just take my leave?” Lionheart said, taking in his surroundings with a view to doing exactly that.
“You will not,” said the strange dual-voice.
Abruptly, the hero was surrounded by men in green uniforms  that had the look of some kind of private security.  They were all armed with snub pistols that had a futuristic look about them.  Their outfits were completed by top hats, which looked out-of-place with the rest of their kit.  “You think I can’t deal with these mooks?” Lionheart asked.
“Not all at once,” the smartly dressed twins said together.  “If you fight us you will lose, and when you awake we will have amputated your arms.  We suggest you surrender to the inevitable.  It will be much less … unpleasant … that way.”