Love for the Cold-Blooded (45 page)

Star Knight hovered above Pat looking greenish and grim, locked in a magic-induced paralysis he’d be bound to shake off in the next second or so. His arm was still outstretched, fingers hooked into Pat’s collar, now merely a thin length of dangling leather. Pat’s fingers were slipping inexorably from the hoagie’s gloved wrist, slick with oil and sweat.

That was fine. It was fine — it would work, the floor wasn’t too far down for a controlled fall. Pat needed to get away from the hoagie anyway,
now
, before he fought free of the Serpent Scourge and grabbed hold of some less detachable part of Pat.

Pat’s fingers were stiff and reluctant to obey, but he forced them open, allowing Star Knight’s rock-solid wrist to slide from his grip.

Amber liquid spewed from unseen nozzles the instant Pat began to fall. Pat had tucked himself in and tried to roll as he hit the ground, but he was still too stunned by the impact to make much sense of the sight of Star Knight in the air above, enveloped in an amorphous golden-brown mass. And then Pat had all remaining breath knocked out of him as he was swept aside by the tip of an enormous serpent’s tail, just in time to clear the spot he’d landed on for a huge-ass load of crystallized Hero’s Bane, complete with freeze-dried hero center.

“Ow,” Pat croaked, weakly. Strictly speaking, this called for considerably stronger language, but he had to watch his mouth; his mom was right there trying to hug and cuddle him, despite the fact he was crumpled on the floor with his left hand trapped underneath a frozen superhero. It didn’t help that even crouched down she was five meters tall, as well as still glowing with dread power and covered in green and bronze body glitter.

“My poor, darling little snakelet! You really must learn to grow some fangs, one of these days. Zenobia, be a dear and get Star Knight into his alcove, will you?”

Zen appeared with a small group of minions and righted the amber-frozen Star Knight… or tried to, rather. As soon as they’d rolled over the oblong crystal the Hero’s Bane had turned into, it became apparent they had a bit of a problem.

Inside his aesthetically pleasing stasis prison, Star Knight looked startled and humongously dorky, mouth twisted crookedly in what looked to have been protest, one eye half-squinted shut, the other entirely open. Except for his facial expression, he’d actually been caught in a rather heroic pose, with his cape flung back dramatically over one shoulder and one arm outstretched as though he were stabilizing himself mid-flight. The black leather collar dangling from his fingers added an interesting element of ‘what the fuck’. It was rather artistic, not to mention absolutely hilarious.

Considerably less hilarious was the fact that several of Pat’s fingers were trapped in the crystal along with Star Knight. They weren’t actually encased, but the backs of his ring, middle and index fingers were stuck to the crystal surface.

“Oops,” said Pat, staring. It looked for all the world like Pat had been caught in half-solid amber when trying to rap his knuckles against Star Knight… right at the level of the hoagie’s crotch.

He tugged a bit to free himself, but no luck. Even when he stemmed his pirate boots against Star Knight’s crystallized middle for leverage, his fingers remained stuck.

“Patrick,” said Serpentissima, a distinct hissing in her tone. “This is hardly suitable.”

No kidding. “It’s not like I did this on purpose, Mom!”

Dad turned up then, wielding an industrial-sized bottle labeled ‘scentless massage and body oil’. He’d found the time to don a voluminous ivory shirt with dramatically billowing sleeves, which was a huge improvement, in Pat’s considered opinion. “You should get back on your throne, Tissa. The others will be here any —”

“Phase Four achieved,” Hell’s measured voice boomed through the cavern, cutting Dad off mid-word. “I repeat, we are now entering Phase Four. Subjects are approaching the lair in two organized groups, all positively identified. Group one: Nexus, Ariadne and Mariachi, ETA throne room seventy seconds. Group two: Silver Paladin and Captain Cool, ETA labs sixty-five seconds. I am organizing lab defense as first priority and will then proceed to throne room. Over and out.”

“Martin?” Mom was already half turned back towards the throne, raising herself to her full height once more.

Dad nodded at her reassuringly. “I’ve got this, go! You too, Zen. I’ll take care of Patpat.”

“Nice turn-out,” Zen was saying as she hurried to catch up with Serpentissima. “Almost all the big names… and Mariachi. Maybe we can keep that one unfrozen and send him scurrying back out to spread the tale of your conquest!”

“An excellent idea, Zenobia,” Mom said approvingly. “But we must see how the tides of battle run. He can be rather annoyingly noisy, I hear.”

A new counter flicked up on the left-hand wall of the cavern, counting down at alarming speed. They were really cutting it a bit fine this time. Though… maybe the sudden anxiety in Pat’s gut was less due to the time crunch, and more down to the fact that this was going down while he was attached to a frozen superhero. It changed things.

Dad pressed his giant bottle of oil into Pat’s free hand and gathered up the minions with a wave and a nod. In no time at all, he’d organized them into an effective unit that carried Star Knight over to a likely spot by the side wall. Pat followed along like a kid, dragged by the hand. One minion brought an adjustable metal framework from the nearest hero-displaying alcove. Within seconds, Dad and the minions had set Star Knight’s crystalline shape up on the stand. “There’s no time to bring over a wall hanging as a backdrop,” Dad said briskly, “But arrange those potted trees to frame Star Knight, will you? Yes, like that. Looks good — he can stay there until we have a chance to move him to his alcove. And you, Patpat, come here.”

Ha, ha. Pat stared at his father impassively to convey the fact that he was not funny. The effect was somewhat ruined when he yelped as Dad poured a generous glug of oil over his trapped hand, splashing it halfway down Star Knight’s crystal-encased leg, too.

“There you go. Stay at it and you should be able to work free. And while I’m here, hold still.” Pat held still, and Dad poured a steady stream of oil all over Pat: up along his trapped left arm and over his chest by the collarbones, and then down his right arm. Pat was too startled to protest. When Dad turned him with a firm hand on his shoulder, Pat allowed it meekly, hardly even shivering as tepid rivulets of viscous liquid ran down his back. “Spread that out evenly, Patpat. I’m leaving you the bottle. Remember, son, never skimp on the body oil. If the coating you apply is too thin, it soaks right into the skin. It looks best when it’s thick and gleaming, and you don’t want to be forced to touch up when the cameras are rolling.”

Pat hmmphed grumpily, but regretted it immediately at the crestfallen slump of his dad’s shoulders at his son’s lack of appreciation for his advice. “Thanks, Dad,” he said quickly, and smiled. “That’s really good to know. I’ll definitely keep it in mind.”

Dad smiled at him fondly before hurrying off with the minions, so Pat considered the save a success. This was way too much body oil though, seriously. The stuff was dripping all over Pat’s pants and the floor, and ticklish little trickles were winding their way into his pants at several points, all of them distracting. Pat did his best to hastily distribute the oil over his upper body, where it was supposed to go, but with only one hand, it was trickier than you’d think. He couldn’t do much of anything about his right arm, and all in all couldn’t help but feel like he’d tripped into a giant’s salad bowl just before said giant poured on the dressing.

He wiped his oil-slick palm against Star Knight’s crystal prison, smearing the clear amber in front of his face with unsightly streaks. Served the dude right for being such an ass.

There wasn’t much time left and the Sluts up by the throne weren’t getting it together on their own, so Pat abandoned decorum and simply yelled instructions at the top of his voice until his Slut Second, Tom, had taken Pat’s place at Serpentissima’s feet, and the others had shifted to make up for Tom’s absence on the left. “Good, now lounge!” Pat shouted, when he was satisfied. “You know the drill, be sexy and shit.”

They lounged and were sexy and shit, and did a pretty good job of it, too. The tableau looked great from back here, which was some consolation for not being able to take part in it himself. Tom did have nice shoulders on him, as Pat couldn’t help but notice. His abs weren’t anything to sneeze at, either. Pat would have to ask him about his workout regimen.

Right now, though, Pat had to see about freeing himself. The oil on his trapped fingers hadn’t immediately helped, but the idea was sound, and it wasn’t like Pat had a whole lot of other options. “You’re a total nuisance,” Pat informed the frozen Star Knight while he tried to work some of the lubricating oil in between his fingers and the stasis crystal. “What even is this. Of all superheroes whose crotch my hand should be stuck to, you are at the absolute cold hard rock bottom of the list. No joke.”

Star Knight declined to answer. Becoming a crystallized knightsicle had done wonders for his personality, but he was still an arrogant prick.

Pat heard the first faint notes of music then, muffled and distorted by distance and layers of bedrock. Within seconds, he could make out a jaunty, brassy tune with a driving rhythm, rousing and energetic. It grew louder with amazing speed.

The tune sounded way nicer from a distance, Pat reflected as the heroes burst into the lair through the new skylight Star Knight had created, raining down rocks and soil amidst a sudden chaos of descending aircycles, blaring music and terminal righteousness. He tried to take cover behind Star Knight’s frozen form, but since most of him was left out in the open no matter how he contorted himself, it ended up being more of a symbolic attempt. He did manage to avoid one small rock that pinged off Star Knight’s chest instead of his, though. Probably the most useful the man had ever been.

Nexus was the first to descend. She spun her aircycle once, stabilizers whining, flinging out a patter of dirt and debris; Pat imagined he could see her steely gaze even through the obscuring cowl, sweeping the throne room with a piercing intensity that missed nothing. She stopped her spin facing Serpentissima, hovering immobile in the center of the cavern for a single split second. The picture she made in that infinitesimal interval seared itself onto Pat’s pupils — crouched forward over the handlebars, shoulders bunching as though about to spring forward like a panther; her costume of black and blood melding with the shadows that, by rights, shouldn’t even have been there, turning her into a predatory creature straight from a nightmare. Across from her reared Serpentissima, looming in terrible glory on her onyx throne, half-naked minions at her feet… as massive, alien and incomprehensible as an ancient goddess reincarnated into flesh.

Pat gasped as the aircycle’s motor howled suddenly, dramatically. The sound ricocheted through the contained space of the cavern as Nexus shot forward, speeding straight towards the looming shape of Serpentissima.

The instant before they clashed, the entire throne dais was swallowed by a billowing pillar of darkness, impenetrable and featureless. The Pall of Night — one of Serpentissima’s favorite ways to disorient and demoralize enemies.

It was a harrowing moment, okay? So yeah, Pat may have shouted something like “no”, or maybe even “Mom”. Just as well the volume of the music was now at near-deafening levels, drowning him out entirely. Strident strings chords and a resolute clacking rhythm fairly blasted their way into Pat’s skull; several minions in the vicinity were covering their ears with their hands. Good thing Cat was defending the labs with Hell. With her hearing, this would have been sheer agony.

“Ayaiyayaaaiya yaaaai!” warbled the source of the infernal din. Mariachi was clinging onto the back of Ariadne’s aircycle as it descended in a swirling vortex of too-loud music, white linen and black curls. Pat had never seen the dude in person before, and truth be told he was even less impressive live than on TV. He was just a little shrimp in a tasteless shirt, his ill-advised mustache ganging up with the hat dangling on his back to make him look like a total douche. The trumpet-heavy music radiating from him didn’t help, either.

Ariadne’s tunic fluttered as she leapt off her vehicle in mid-air, whirling gracefully. A red web of string was already growing between her outstretched palms. Her golden belt and sandals gleamed, her ebony hair fanning out behind her in glorious abandon, perfecting the image she made: hero to the rescue, from Serpentissima’s throne room straight to luxury-edition posters and the bedroom walls of adolescent boys everywhere.

It took no more than a flick of her wrist to entangle the two minions who immediately tried to rush her. Meanwhile, behind Ariadne, the aircycle listed under the suddenly uneven weight. Mariachi woke to his peril seconds before crashing into a wall; the haste of his fake-casual dismount inserted a harsh jangle in the rhythm of his thrumming guitars.

Zen stormed up at the head of a small troop of minions brandishing Serpent Blasters, spreading out to herd Ariadne and Mariachi away from the dais and the unseen battle of Nexus and Serpentissima. Pat couldn’t spot Dad, but Zen looked like she was having the time of her life, all wide grin and glittery crazy eyes.

A venom-green blast caught Ariadne in the side as she spun on nimble feet. She stumbled, but never faltered, quickly weaving a shield of yarn that caught the barrage of blasts that followed. Neon-bright green and yellow sparks splashed against the dull red of her shield as she wove and dodged, ducking out of cover briefly to fire off a barrage of string that knocked down a swathe of minions and caught one of them up against the cavern wall, ensnaring her inextricably with the wall hanging and a potted tree.

Wow, she was good. Looked good, too, not that Pat noticed. But in this moment, watching fire-eyed Ariadne square off against Zen’s small troop, watching the exchange of blasts and strings, the push and pull, the passion and excitement of it all — in this moment, for the first time, Pat caught an inkling of why challengers and heroes did this. Conquest wasn’t the only reason, might not even be the deepest one. Changing the world, doing away with injustice, protecting the innocent and all that might be your underlying motives, but they didn’t make you fling yourself into combat with this kind of fire. At its core, the attraction was nothing more than this: the exhilaration of pitching yourself against a worthy opponent. The burn of adrenaline when you faced someone glorious in their power; when they forced you to rise above yourself, becoming more than you had dreamed possible.