Marvel/DC: Shards of Destiny #12
Written by WarlorTVor and Anomaly,
Edited by Marvelite
Shards of Destiny
Return to the War of Yesteryear
Part Five - The Lair of the Beast
***For previous chapters, go to the Marvel/DC Cosmic Crossovers Archive***
The greatest of all evils was only a few feet away.
Festering, bathing in all its darkened glory. The battle cry erupts from the
throats of all gathered: “Hail, Hitler! Hail, Hitler! Hail, Hitler!” The
words rang out like a diminutive chant, spell-bounding all those who wanted to
hear its message.
A dark black car wheeled closer
to the building, the door was opened by a young boy, no older than fourteen
years of age. Dressed in their uniform, the Nazis uniform. A tall towering man
stepped forth, he squared his shoulder’s and casted his gaze upon the Swastika
that covered the red which represented the blood of their enemies. The young boy
gave off a sloppy “Hail, Hitler” salute, the newcomer nodded and returned
the salute, he took a step forth and the young boy closed it with a bow at the
The newcomer was clad in purple velvet, a mask shrouded his face, so none save him and a select few can behold upon his true visage. The newcomer nodded, and made his way upon red carpet toward the main set of glass doors, which was opened by another bus-boy no more than fourteen as well. They exchanged the salute and he entered the main dinning hall - - unaware that from a far a dark man dressed in the costume modeled after a bat stood, leaning over the roof, watching his every move.
“Baron Zemo has arrived,” Batman hushed into an intercom
link that was built into his cowl and that the receiver was built into Captain
“Alone?” came the reply.
Batman nodded. “Yes, alone.”
“Good, my team is moving into position now, Batman. I suggest yours
does the same as well,” Captain America said, and Batman could clearly
make out the falling footsteps of the other’s behind the Patriot. “And
good hunting, old friend.”
“You too.” The transmission
was cut; Batman swirled around to face the visages of Logan, a massive long
sword in hand, the moon’s pale light beaming off it, the Human Torch and Robin
Silverback, the small team that he was responsible to command over were all
ready for his orders. “Let’s move out.”
They nodded, without complaint and vanished off the roof, stalking into the night.
Captain America stood posed for the battle, there was only two centurion guards posted near the main power generator. Only two! Cap mused, in disbeliefve. It is either Hitler becoming vary lax and arrogant or that he was growing clumsy. Either way . . . I don’t trust the situation. Not one bit!
“What are we waiting for!” Namor demanded, in a hush and quiet tone, that still had forcefulness to it; an after effect of having his orders taken on Atlantis and all. “We should take these people out, and destroy the generator as planned!”
“Wait, our timing has to be perfect, Namor,” Cap hushed, spying out the scene before him. There stood the main power core jetting out of the back wall. They had infiltrated the interior of the complex through the back with little trouble at all. Now they found themselves pressed into a brick wall that was part of a doorway big enough to fit a tank through if one wanted. It started to rain overhead, and quickly, at no time at all, it turned into a storm, thunder clashed overhead. Two guards were passing back and forth in a catwalk beside the power generator.
“Captain America is right,” the man dressed souly in yellow with a blue “W” marking his forehead said to Namor. “If we go in there and charge blindly then we risk setting off the alarm system, bringing the Third Reich in all it’s entry storming in here with weapons firing. And mind you they’ll shoot, then shoot some more, then shoot some more after that and see if anyone’s alive after that and then ask questions. Then shoot again.”
“I wish to hear none of your battle plans, Whizzer!” Namor commanded. “Imperious Rex!”
The Sub-Mariner, ruler of Atlantis, charged forth allowing the battle cry of his people “Imperious Rex” to storm out his throat. The Nazi swirled around and turned at the muscles bound man that was soaring, crossing the heavens at a remarkable speed toward them. And opened fire!
In response Nick Fury spun around and opened fire blindly, a Nazis bullet came from a sniper up on one of the catwalks out of view striking Fury in the ribs. An explosion of blood erupted from his black leather uniform jacket. He grunted biting on his lower lip, not allowing the damn Natzis the pleasure in knowing that they had injured him. And in order to prove that fact even more, Fury took of the general area where the bullet had came from and opened fire.
Chaos was everywhere, and Captain America found himself in the middle . . . once again.
A sharpshooter took aim of the one dressed in an American flag and fired.
Batman made his way swiftly through the corridors, in a dark blur. Close behind him was the man known to him only as Logan, who yielded what appeared to be an ancient samurai katana blade, that shimmered in the faint light of the underground passage ways that lead to the massive Nazi convention building. He had asked the espionage agent what it was for, and all Logan did was smile demonically and replied, “You’ll see.”
Now they slipped in and out of the shadows into the light that was allowed admittance by the small fencing grids that covered their heads from time to time, rain was leaking through, dripping onto them. Soon the water filled tunnel ended, giving way to a small utility closet, which lead to the main infilstructure. Batman reached out for the door handle; slowly he turned the handle. It screeched, the rust giving way to Batman’s might.
The door swung open, and he saw what was waiting for him.
Five Nazis guards, their machine guns drawn.
“It’s a trap!” Logan bellowed, slamming his body into Batman’s and entering another tunnel port. The Nazis stormed out, weapons firing.
The Human Torch stared at Robin Silverback for a moment or two, compassion and concern gleamed in his eyes. She had noticed the action but paid no mind to it, the rain darkened her pleasant features that were normally bright and a glow. How unfair, he thought, frowning, that such a cold-blooded war would take away the innocence of such a lovely creature.
“But whoever said life was fair?” he responded to his own unspoken comment.
“What was that, Torch?” Robin asked turning to her newfound alley, one of the three founding members of the Invaders.
“Nothing, Robin. Merely brooding, aloud,” he answered quickly, almost too quickly. “I am sorry if it inconvenienced you in any way.”
“No apologize needed, Torch.” She smiled, which saddened him even more. A chime sounded, Silverback looked at her watch. “Time to go,” she said solemnly, holstering the bazooka that she had been packing and taking aim at the middle of the pitch black Swastika.
The Human Torch nodded briskly. “Flame on!” And then they charged into battle.
Captain America saw the bullet from one of the other sharpshooters on the catwalks above, mere moments before it would of pierced through his heart, killing him instantly. In a quick jerk of his shield the bullet ricochet off the admantium shield and streaked off, harmlessly colliding with a nearby pipe, sending hot steam jetting into the air, covering their movements.
“Whizzer!” Cap called out, trying to make out the figure of Namor through the mist and haze covering the air. “Get Fury back to the German safe-house! Tell Striker that he needs emergency medical aid. Now! And get back on the double!”
“Like hell, Cap . . .!” Fury said, rearming his machine gun, and aiming it through the thick smoke. He cocked the weapon, he felt a golden gush of wind upon him and soon all of Berlin went past in a great blur. He didn’t even have time to let out a curse or two.
Captain America nodded. One last problem do deal with, he mused. And in no time at all Whizzer was back at his side, ready and willing. “Bob, there’s one sharpshooter on that ridge over there.” Captain America pointed off toward the catwalk on the left, from where the bullet had came striking Fury out of action, then swung his arm to the right. “Another over there. Namor has his hands occupied on the main catwalk before the power generator, the sharpshooters appear to be concentrating on us and not him, you’ll take the one on the left – since there’s more distance to cover – and I’ll flank the one of the right.” Bob Frank nodded. “On the count of three.
“One . . . two . . . three! For America!”
They charged forth, under the hailstorm of gunfire.
Logan brought up his blade and leapt through the air, swinging. The blade was moving so fast that it was only a blur of silver metal, metal that was quickly stained with the blood of his enemies. The guards that moments before were the hunters soon became the hunted – literally. They found that even though they had the upper hand in both men and firepower they were no match for this beast man before them. The five of them started to fire blindly into the darkness, for they could hardly make out the hunter’s outline. They rang out curses and cries to their mothers as they were sliced down to size. Soon in a matter of seconds they all laid there motionless, in the water that now was soaked in their blood.
He could see the forms of more Nazis gray emerge from the utility closet and in the catacombs below. “Damn,” he grunted and bolted off, down the blood filled corridors and into another channel, where the Dark Knight stood lying in wait. He saw the blood soaked blade and nodded, grimly.
“What are you doing?” Logan grunted.
“You have a plan for everything, don’t you, Bats?”
“Hmm-hum.” He nodded.
And that was all the Batman said and went back to work on a set of wires.
In no time at all his work was complete, and not a moment to soon, for the grays were outraged by the crumpled bodies and blood that spilt over their boots – German blood – and were heading down their way, weapons primed and ready. “Get back!” he said, spinning around swiftly, his cape swirling around him and bolting deeper into the darkness, Logan in close pursuit. In his gloved hand was a small black box, in the middle a red light gleamed in the darkness of the tunnels. He pressed the button, and yelled, “Get down!” And both he and Logan leaped into the air and smashed onto the water covered, brick floor.
“They are here!” the lead German guard shouted, whirling around, aiming his weapon, pulled the trigger. . .
And then an explosion rang out in their ears. The walls caved in on them, burying them alive. Screams filtered through the air much as the brown dust and ruin. The two arose from the water, stared at the ruble, hands and other body parts were sticking out of the debris hideously. They turned only to find roughly fifteen gun barrels pointing in their direction – Must have arrived under the cover of the blast, Batman deduced grimly. Out of instinct a small bat-a-rang dropped from his hand.
The commander who was clad all in black, a hellish smile on his twisted face. “Greetings, gentlemen. Decided to take in the sights that Berlin has to offer this time of year, no?” the commander uttered, his English delicate was plagued with a thick German accent. “Lower your weapons, gentlemen, or we will force to open fire and if we are to do so . . . our Fuhrer will be quite displeased. He has so wanted to meet you, one warrior to another.” The commander smiled lopsidedly. Logan and Batman exchanged dark glances, then they dropped their respectful weapons, sent them plummeting toward the ground, and they clashed in upon splashing into the still water. Their arms raised over their heads. “Take them into custody, men.”
The two intruders were quickly locked up into handcuffs and were forced to follow the commander, the firm press of cold metal upon their back told them that guns were placed there to ensure their . . . “corporation.”
“You have a plan, right?” Logan mumbled under his breath.
“No,” he was forced to answer, continuing down into the depths of the Nazis stronghold.
Namor leaped in the air and smashed his iron fist onto the jaw of the nearest Nazi, doubling him over. But he let his mid-section unguarded allowing the other to take the hind end of his Tommy gun and smash it into Namor’s body, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped; collapsing to the iron clad walkway, out of breath.
“Atlantean pig!” the German officer that had been struck in the jaw of the Nazis swore a German curse under his breath, spitting out blood upon Namor’s nude backside. He rose up and with a hideous thud the German struck the prince of Atlantis,’ after a few more collisions, and a few laughs from him and the other guard. The bleeding soldier pulled out his sidearm and pointed square at the Atlantean’s forehead. “To the devil with you!”
The two patrolmen turned to the signal door upon the catwalk, near the power generator. There a dark figure stood, his features were disguised and a pool of golden light shined behind his form. His features were undeterminable but his tone was unmistakable. Smoke arose giving him a hellish appearance. They stood there . . . frozen in sheer horror for their lives.
“I want them, alive! All of them!”
The Human Torch darted downward, his living flame burned in spite of the fire that cascaded upon him. Fire pulses lanced forth from his extended hands striking the unaware soldiers that stormed out of the main hall upon the alarms sounding. The ground spotlights that were lighting the night sky spun around to focus upon the man that was made of living flame.
Robin Silverback stood there, erected on the rooftop, and within her blue sights was the flag of the Nazis. “Gotcha!” she said in triumph, locking on and readying to fire.
“I believe that is my line, poor American girl!”
She felt a sweeping blow catch her in the midsection, from the left side. She was knocked sideward from the unexpected blow; she swirled around to see a woman before her, dressed in the dark brown uniform of the Nazis command branch. She smiled darkly at her.
“So this is the infamous Robin Silverback, female espionage agent and sniper supreme? Pathetic!”
The Nazi woman leapt into the air, screaming. Her long legs lashed out, the tip of one of her boots slammed in one Silverback’s right check, jerking her head to one side, the heel of her other boot slammed onto the other check jerking her head the other way. Robin Silverback was sent spiraling from the attack, slamming onto the tile roof and skidding across its surface, water running under her, until she slammed harshly against a cement boarder.
Blood trickling from the corner of her lips, Silverback arose and dashed down the roof, and lunging herself forth, slamming onto the Nazi’s midsection sending the tow of them sliding across the rooftop. She crushed the Nazis woman under the sheer force of her legs that were tightly constricting themselves upon the woman’s thighs. She raised her fist, and lashed out, her white clenched fist careening with the Nazis face.
The Nazi woman brought her knee right up between Silverback’s legs. She screamed out and was pushed aside. The Nazi woman bolted to her feet, brushing aside locks of black hair that had fallen in front of her eyes, her sidearm in her hands.
Silverback reached out toward the bazooka, in the hope that maybe she could beat the woman to an early grave, before she herself met death’s icy touch and this Nazi. But the hope would never manifest itself into reality.
An explosion of crimson liquid erupted from her arm, near the shoulder. She curled her hand back away from the weapon, but she still reached for the weapon in vain, with the other arm, which shared the same fate as the previous one. Another bullet lanced from the dark barrel of the weapon, striking Robin in mid-thigh.
She wielded around – knowing that death was upon her – and gave up the struggle of life under the full, icy cold onslaught of the rain.
“It is not your time, American girl,” the Nazi woman chilled dropping to one knee, whispering into the blond’s ear, while at the same time reaching for the bazooka. “You have much to contribute to the Third Reich.” She smiled.
She pointed the massive weapon straight upward and discharged the weapon.
The blast rocked all of central Berlin.
The Human Torch swirled around to face the origin of the blast.
Only to see a Nazi woman, looming over Robin Silverback, a small black elegant side arm pointing for the American girl’s forehead. Holstered on her shoulder was the massive bazooka that was meant to level more than half of the building by Silverback in this Nazi woman’s firm iron grasp.
“Torch!” the Nazi woman called forth. “Surrender now! Or this pathetic excuse for a woman dies here and now! Cut down by your next command.” She smiled.
“Nooooo!” the Torch cried out streaking toward Robin’s aid. He could have taken the woman out as if it was nothing even before the squadron of Nazis who were climbing the fire escape upward to investigate what was going on. But then he saw the pool of crimson blood that flanked the woman on all sides. Blood! She needed medical attention and fast.
He stood there on the rooftop, his head lowered, his flame extinguished. “I surrender. On one condition!” he declared forcefully.
“Name it,” she chimed conversationally.
“That Ms. Silverback receives emergency medical attention! Right away!”
She smiled once again. “As you wish.” By this time the squadron of grays had appeared on the roof weapons drawn. “Take, Mr. Torch here into custody of the Fuhrer himself.” Once the Torch was in a special set of bonds that Zola had created, which erected a force field around the Torch making him unable to activate his flame, she said, “Discard the body!”
“No! You lied!” He tried to combust into flame only to feel his body being singed with several volts of electricity.
“I wouldn’t try that again if I were you, that’s a fifty gig-a-watt force field, I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”
“To hell with you!” Torch spat, watching helplessly as the body of Robin Silverback was being thrown over the building’s ledge and into a set of waste tanks on the ground.
The Nazi woman laughed satanically and walked off.
Captain America darted on the catwalk with the utmost of ease. Upon arriving there from the corner of his eyes he saw the motionless form of Namor on the main catwalk, chains covered him, binding him in place. But he could not pay any attention to that right now he had to worry about taking out this trigger-mad sharpshooter.
He leaped through the air, his boots slamming into his gut. The boy staggered backward and lunged forth with the weapon, about to smash the patriot’s skull wide open. Cap quickly ducked from the head out assault, moved under the young man’s raised arms and gave off a powerful uppercut that sent the boy doubling over. His head collided against the iron railing, plunging him into darkness.
Once the captain checked the young boy’s vitals to make sure that he was still alive, he turned around to see utter horror. The Whizzer lay there crumpled on a catwalk across from that of his own. The Nazi who was manning the tower at the time was now slumped back against the railing; blood soaked his dusty brown uniform tunic. He looked at the main catwalk and saw several German officers – reinforcements – were standing there, their weapons smoking from the recently discharged barrels. Namor was no where to be seen, no doubt removed from the field of battle.
“Cap . . .” Whizzer’s voice was weak and faint, soon to collapse, “get out of . . . here! Now! Save your . . . self . . .” And he passed out. Captain America was unsure if he had merely blacked out from the pain of the bullets shredding apart his legs that bad or if he had given up and merely died. And at that point he was afraid even to find out.
“No!” Captain America was about to charge down to the main catwalk and deal with these reinforcements himself when he got no more than three feet down the latter, when it exploded. It gave way, sending the star-spangled avenger plummeting toward the ground below. Upon hitting the cement floor, twisted metal fragments of debris cascaded upon his back, sending shards of pain coursing through his vary being.
Captain America found himself in a predicament: For he could find no energy to pick himself off the ground and to continue to the good fight.
His sprit longed to but his body failed him.
His vision fazed in and out of reality, darkness shrouded his tunneled vision and the last thing he saw before the massive explosion of pure white light was a pair of black boots approaching him. A familiar voice from the grave called out, “Ahh, Captain America, you are so easily it is to draw you and your comrades into a no-win situation.”
The hideous voice laughed.
Then darkness came.
The main gathering hall everyone had was assembled.
Hitler had just stepped down from the speaker podium and stood beside it, his hand out stretched for him to take his place and address the gathered. And he did, the man clad in pure black, save for a small red arm band that stood out on his right arm, a pitch black swastika standing boldly on it.
Applause rang out from all assembled. Soon they died down and not a single soul spoke. In all of the thousand guests, no one dared interrupt the Red Skull! Not even the almighty Fuhrer Hitler himself.
“Greetings, all assembled!” he started off. “We originally had gathered here today to mark the celebration of the birth of the Nazi party and Nazism in general – under the watchful hand of Adolf Hitler, our glorious Fuhrer! But today we mark the capture of one of the Third Reich’s greatest most feared enemy!” Red Skull swung his arms for all to look behind him, and they did. Only to see a thick Nazi curtain. The curtain descended earthward revealing the battered and bloody remains of the greatest threat ever to face Nazism. “I bring you the capture of Captain America!”
And the masses rejoiced. “Hail, Hitler! Hail, Hitler! Hail, Hitler!”
To Be Continued . . .
Thank you for reading this chapter of Marvel/DC: Shards of Destiny! This story concludes in issue #13. Visit the Marvel/DC Cosmic Crossovers Archive for previous editions. Now, be sure to send us feedback below or by e-mailing firstname.lastname@example.org
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