Part 7, the Man who could not be killed - Black and Grey, by Scott Ferrara and Jeremy Webb

The crew all piled into Roxanne. Dante, Seamus, Ernesto crammed into the back, while Calico slid into the front next to me. Cuddling up a bit as cats were want to do. If we survived there was always the party, the drinking and the sex. Chalice came to each of us in her own way to offer blessings and hope for our survival. She appeared to me, and me alone, as the blood spattered corpse of Emma.





Chalice – Be strong my knight.



Dante – She’s talking to you now, isn’t she?



Ronin – I’m her champion.



Dante snorted in derision.



Dante – Some fucking champion.



Chalice – Despite her blood, you will always be brothers. Brothers by choice.



Ronin – I miss her so much.



Dante glanced at Ronin, then stared off into the distance, his fist banging gently on Ronin’s shoulder.



Dante – So do I.



Then, as if a chorus, they all appeared.



Beth – To die in service is a good way to die, Golem.

Gabriel – You are no longer the man who couldn’t be killed.

Chalice, Gabriel, Beth – You are the man who wouldn’t die.



I started Roxanne up. The engine roared, like a steed eager for battle. We head to route 112, on a few back roads. Chalice will wreak havoc with local law enforcement. The off to Whiskey road, a twisted artery of traffic where the workers were paid in hooch. Signs of mathematical certainties greater than, less than, dotted the roadside reminding us how it all falls to numbers.



The precinct will have a visitation, a large black man carrying a very wounded little woman in his arms. The desk sergeant will get to work, helping them and suddenly his body won’t be his own, albeit temporarily.





Ernesto – Always a good sign. Once more unto the breach?

Seamus – You know Shakespeare was actually Irish? Prolonged English conspiracy, that.



Ernesto – That’s where you’re wrong.



Dante’s chin dropped to his chest, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to ward off a migraine.



Seamus – And how am I wrong?

Ernesto – He was Spanish, I was a priest I know these things.

Dante- Will you two please not have this fucking argument again?!?!?!



We turned onto another back road. Fresh snow had fallen and the flint grey skies begged for more white. The house was a two story dilapidated mess, surrounded by woods, pine and scrub oak on all sides. Most would rightly assume with the motorcycles out front that it’s a meth lab. A palpable air of agitation will keep most of the locals away. It’s like an irritation, like spiders crawling on your skin. Three servitors were in the woods. The still was outside to the left of the house. A quick IR scan shows, several more servitors, 3 shades and a few victims scattered throughout. The house was on the verge of collapse, missing persons collect in such places as the last refuge of the damned. Seamus placed himself in the tree line. Ernesto, Dante, Calico and I went in. Dante quietly drew a stick magazine from his ammo pouch and slotted it into his AA12. He raised it and took aim at the front door, firing off a ten round burst that drained the magazine in a heartbeat. The FRAG 12 grenade rounds made a mockery of the door and blasted a lethal cloud of fragmentation shards into the foyer behind it, clearing us a toehold into the lair.



Ronin – Subtle, brother.



The deadish arose with a collective moan. They had seen the black on the other side. They had felt the loneliness and isolation. There was no white but the stinging crystals falling from the sky.



We had a countdown until the still was going to go up. Then the children came. All the shade’s fantasies in small immortal bodies, cute as a button, sex toys seeking blood. My Storms bellowed thunder, quick efficient shots. Calico disappeared, to plant the explosives on the still as the place reeked of antiseptic.



Shooting children, even centuries old children, is never easy. There

is only the mission and the cold hand about your throat. Wondering that if there was a just God. You would die now and never see this. Dante was a pro, firing into the crowd. His only god was the black. He smiled and laughed. His shotgun spewing round after round of deadly flechettes and #2 titanium alloy shot. I was looking for the girl. When the corpse assaulted Ernesto there was an epiphany of blood, said to an Our Father. He was Latin old school. Then the Shade appeared, as big as a mountain. His biceps were bigger than my bullets. Silver nitrate burned his skin like an Arizona midday, a dry heat. . Smoke and flesh smelled like a quiet Sunday summer afternoon barbeque. Sometimes even professionals must resist the urge salivate.

It had this hand and a half, a sword of muscle. Dante gave it a taste of shot, then dropped his shotgun and drew his sword, snapping his shield into place with a flick.



DANTE – Find the girl!

RONIN – That’s not my mission!

DANTE – This is my op asshole!

RONIN – You wanna die? Fuck you, do it on your own time!



Barong and Cavalry Sabre drawn I went in. His first hit was an avalanche of

muscle. My jaw SHATTERED. Drop parry, weapon sliding off the sabre. Sidestep

behind him. His man killing weapon was too slow. A quick spin and the blades

went down. Gabe told me to hit hard and fast, Beth be true to your faith. And in the end he couldn’t imagine a mere fleshling fighting him. Mid section sweep and a tuck. Hand roll across the throat. I spoke through a tattered jaw.



RONIN – You ffffuckign head itthhh mine!!!



The servitors came. And I HACKED. Dante spun into the midst of them, alternating between shield punches and efficient cuts, even the edges of the shield were sharp. For a moment I thought he was in the arenas of old Rome and he was a gladiator taking task to the criminals his masters sent to their deaths for the entertainment of the masses. God, he was a scary fighter to watch. “We who are about to die, salute you.”



Freed from the servitors I turned back into the Shade, my heavy blade to those gargantuan arms. Bringing the blades up under the arms and trying to sever them.Seamus fired Bessie, the round bisecting the Shade under its armpit and punching out the other side in a welter of gore and smoke, then traveling into a servitor and exploding it in a crimson mist. The shade looked angry more than hurt, and it had just taken a round from what was in effect an anti tank weapon. One arm came off its body, and I dropped my barong and drew my pistol. Burying my sabre in its guts and firing the storm as I grabbed hold. I ran, carrying the beast into the sun. Burnt meat and embers flew as it held onto me. Ash choked my lungs as its body was engulfed in fire. The burns were covering my face and torso. It kept fighting, hammering with its fist. I ended up with broken ribs and a punctured lung before Dante waded past and took off its other arm at the elbow. It finally went up completely when he spun and took off the head.





Dante – I never said you weren’t brave, brother. A idiot maybe, but a brave one. I know Chalice appears As Emma to you. She always has.



With that I rose and fired. Bullets whippings passed his ears into the oncoming servitor.



Ronin – Looksth like I hith the barn.



Then I fell flat onto my face, the wounds finally too much for me. Massive internal injuries, but the black just didn’t want me.



Seamus/Dante – Lucky shot.



Calico was running through the warrens, taking servitors. Ernesto was with her going through clips for his Garand while he mouthed his Rosary. Both had given up on stealth. Then they found the girl. Ernesto emerged bloodied and bladed. Calico smiled. The lost lonely girl, the one life I needed to save.

She walked over to me and my demolished body. Stroked my hair and shattered jaw. Chalice will expedite the healing.



GIRL – Monstros



Ernesto was going to translate, but I understood.



“Monstros” Was all she said. And I didn’t know if she was referring to them or us.

Lakes

Stillness from the waters edge,
when the the waves caress the shore,
a devine precipice and ledge
whisperes secrets of forgotten lore
the ghostly lady of the lake,
beckons for the final kiss,
still ruined in many a wake
last moments inearthly bliss
the is her shining blade
gleaming steel beneath the rust
for in that kiss a man is betrayed
mistaking watery love doom for lust
but in her embrace mortal men say now
chilling lips sup life's fire
for in the kiss is the swords bloody vow
the lake's own thrist drowns desire.

man who could not be killed part 6

I followed Dante down stairs, much slower than I would have liked. Damn, I must be getting too old for this after all. Maybe Chalice is right…



CHALICE: As always, you see the simple truth.



GABRIEL: The truth is always simple.



BETH: Not to him.



CHALICE: At least there is symmetry.



RONIN: Stay out of my thoughts boss, at least give me SOME privacy!



Dante snorted. Ronin looked at his brother, calm, cool, professional. He felt the pangs of love and respect. Emma and the deaths of those he considered parents.



DANTE: Yeah, like THAT’S ever going to happen.



He led me into the living room, where Seamus had co-opted the entire room to layout all the gear for the hunt. But by the Gods, this didn’t look to be a hunt as much as an invasion by all accounts! Calico reclined as she was want to do.

Her gear simple missiles and knives, another one of Beth's, “If you are small use it”. Ernesto was in his rare form after an act of contrition, aware of the irony. My Berettas were surgically clean. The satellite recon of the complex was spread out on the table.





SEAMUS: Right then my pretties, let’s get to it. What I’ve got here is pretty standard stuff really.



I picked up a massive clip that looked to be loaded with 50cal rounds.



RONIN: THIS is standard? For what, shooting a hole in God?



Calico chuckled. Ernesto crossed himself then slapped me in the back of the

head. Even Dante shared a all too brief smile then snatched the clip from my hands.



DANTE: No, those are standard incendiary armor piercing rounds for Bessie, now pay attention!



Dante set the clip down next to the biggest damn rifle I’d ever seen. A Barrett M82A1, the one riflein the world he would deem fit to use. I had to say it,cleaners definitely don’t arm light. Ernesto looked at it with the quiet appreciation of amateur artist staring at a Jackson Pollack and feeling dirty for coveting the talent. But he and his own rifle had a torrid history all of their own.



SEAMUS: Bessie and I will provide cover for the entire action. Her scope’s been specially made by me, infrared tagged at the much colder range the leeches and their pets live in. You lot will show up as blues while they are nice and red.Now then, you each get your standard kit, shotguns with wooden flechette rounds,flash bangs, silver nitrate spray, and each of ye will be carrying a few o’these beauties.



Seamus held up a coffee can with an odd little box on top.



RONIN: Coffee?



DANTE: Sterno, packed over a core of Tannerite explosive. The timer is the

really fun part. Seamus rigged up of all things the timer from the old game

Perfection to set off a .22 slug that blows the Tannerite, which in turns makes the sterno go all ‘asplodey on the leeches.



RONIN: Why Sterno?



SEAMUS: Because precious, the military version is called napalm. They have a still.



RONIN: Essentially, a bomb.



SEAMUS: Give the man a ceegar!



Dante reached into his com vest pocket and took a few Cubans. He threw one to each of us. Beth always taught us the importance of ritual.



The things these two knew, it was enough to give you nightmares. Or give

nightmares to nightmares.





DANTE: Allright, Seamus on overwatch, and the rest of use in two teams. Primary is containment of the next and it’s destruction, secondary is the girl along with anyone else they’ve got still alive and untainted.



Dante held a finger up at me, knowing I was rising to my feet.



DANTE: Stow it hunter- this is now a cleaner operation, and my call. IF we find the girl and can get to her without losing a leech or his stenches, then fine,but don’t think for a second I won’t blow the whole place with you in it if I have to in order to cleanse this mess.



CHALICE: Spare him a little child, he has his faults, true. But he means well.



Dante looked right through me, the death stare all too apparent.



DANTE: You made the rules boss, now I get to enforce them.



Dante went over the details of the approaches, possible exits from the nest,likely trap zones. He was in his element, as if time had not passed as it had and he was still in his old Ranger unit. His was a life of never ending conflict, and he LIKED it that way. Once he finished up, everyone got to gathering their gear. Seamus hefted Bessie, along with his Weatherby revolver. I swear he kissed the receiver on Bessie like she was his best girl- which knowing him she probably was. Calico gathered her blades, and tucked a compact Walther into her right boot top. Ernesto took an immaculate looking M1 Garand from a kitbag he’d brought into the room, going over it with practiced hands- like I said, he and his rifle had a history all their own. I took up my Berettas,noticing small boxes under the barrels.



DANTE: We took the liberty of adding UV targeting lasers to your guns there Ro.Given how lousy you shoot, they will at least help you hit closer to the middle of that broadside you always seem to miss.



Seamus chuckled and I flipped them both off. Dante loaded up a few drums for his AA12, then slung up his Gladius style blade over his right shoulder and strapped a strange looking device on his left forearm. It looked like a small drum of metal, with a slender stack of fan shaped blades running up his forearm.



RONIN: What is that thing?



Dante looked up at me, then clenched his left fist. The fans snapped around in a blurring arc, locking together into a perfect buckler style shield. I was duly impressed.



DANTE: You never know…



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YGGDRASIL and THE NINE WORLDS strike thrust patterns

YGGDRASIL and THE NINE WORLDS

Yggdrasil - The home cosmic 'Tree of Life' that binds the universe together, the world ASH

all thrusts are to the sternum for this drill


1. The Eagle

Asgard - The home to the Gods and Goddesses of the Aesir

Head – High X siniwali and thrust

Alfheim - The realm where the Light Elves dwell

Eyes cut – and thrust

Vanaheim - The home to the Gods and Goddesses of the Vanir

Throat – and thrust

2. Ratatosk

Midgard - The home of the mankind

Mid X siniwali and thrust

Jotunheim - The realm where the Giants dwell

Collar Bone Strike and thrust

Muspellheim - The world of primal fire where the Muspilli Fire Giants dwell

Ribs cut – then thrust

3. Nidhogg

Niflheim - The "world of mists" and primal ice

Low X siniwali and thrust( the knees cut from the cripple cut)

SvartAlfheim - The realm where the Black Elves / Dwarfs dwell

Genitals horizontal cut – then thrust

Hel - The land of the dead, ruled by the goddess Hella.

Femoral cut then thrust

If it stings it’s working

If it stings it’s working

There is an old saying that flies free in the face of conventional medical thought in the Ferrara house and Phil's Dojo.

All injuries fall under the category “Minor” and can be fixed with items from the shed or through escrima training.

YOUNG BOY SCOT – Dad/Phil , I’m hurt

“Minor” Injury - Dad's/ Sensei's Set answers –



Bullet wound

– Dad - calk gun, suck it up

Phil - why you bleed on my floor. Whack

Severed limb

– Dad -Duct tape, get me a beer

Phil - you got hit it's your fault.

Fire

– Dad - roll around in dirt, I was in the service

Phil - Fire is not the flow, be like water and put yourself out.

Dog Bite

– Dad - Bite the dog back, wussy

Phil - Kill dog and put head on rattan stick as warning to the others.

Decapitation

– Dad - Staplegun, who needs directions

Phil - You cannot fight without a Head.

Shock

– No passing out on my watch. Oh and what’s her name called.

Phil - Shock is like Pity, escrimadours feel not these things.



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The Right’s Heroes for Summer Movies are all Jewish

The Right’s Heroes for Summer Movies are all Jewish.

I love telling this to the right wing tea party Birthers. Guess what? “ Heroes this summer are Jewish. “

I speak a few languages, Korean, Middle English, Shakespeare, American English but sadly my mother tongue is White Trash Long Island. My parents didn’t teach it to me. I learned it from the delis, parking lots, street corners and classrooms. So to hear a guy railing against people of Jewish faith. As he talks about looking forward to the super hero movies this summer while drinking from a Thor cup. I had to point a few things out.

If you are stupid enough to believe in the vast Zionist conspiracy, go no further than your multiplex. Superheroes are American icons of truth, justice, honor, virtue. And they are all Jewish.

Thor is a Norse / pagan god, developed by a man of Jewish ancestry. Became a Christ figure during the Christian conversions in Scandinavia.

Captain America, a Brooklyn kid weak who became strong after a scientist of Jewish ancestry enabled it to happen, the character also developed by men of Jewish Ancestry.

Superman, a technically illegal immigrant, developed by men of Jewish ancestry who’s name in Kryptonian is Kal’El, or power of god in Hebrew

The X-men, mutants, who face racism and intolerance, also developed by men of Jewish ancestry. Where one of the main characters is a holocaust survivor.

Green Lantern – Alan Scott version, co created by Bill Finger. Also Jewish.

SO righties when you throw around your little vile comments on the popcorn line about those “people who own everything” Guess what? They made your heroes. And they are direct descendents of Homer and Ovid, Dante and Shakespeare. If only you righties could claim such ancestry.


What inspired it…. Drive – Clear –Head

I believe the reason the ancient Neanderthal Ferraras created the wheel was to drive to the next cave to clear their heads. It's a tradition passed down from my father, when annoyed " Drive clear head", DCH has saved more lives than the red cross. I went for a drive and passed both my brothers and my father going for a drive to clear their heads.

I teach language, and language is nothing without context.

This guy in 7-11 was throwing around the K-word ( in reference to people of the Jewish faith) and the N-word ( yep you guessed it). I made mention earlier of my mother tongue being White Trash Long Island. Again this is not the way I was raised or what my parents taught me. My father “ a former detective” is probably the most tolerant person I’ve ever met. My mother, a woman of southern roots, also doesn’t think in separatist terms. But growing up I freely admit when I was a young troglodyte idiot. I used those words freely, with purpose and sometimes acidic zeal. Along with the F-word ( for homosexual, historically traced to middle english a term used to light fires when people were burned t the stake) the D- word ( for lesbian ) the S-word ( for people of hispanic abstraction ) the C- word ( in reference to female genetalia) also Pollark, Mick, Ginnea, Kraut. SO I was wondering what changed in me. How come I am not this man? When did the words stop. It was the heroes who would never think that way. I wanted to be them. After talking to a former student who I wanted to check on. People are loyal to their options. Then I thought to my master.

Don’t give them a target.

I am not this man because Ignorance is the afterbirth of bad education. I am not this man because the target was removed and if ugliness was going to spill out. It was replaced with a clear head and a drive.

I’ve been adopted by african american jewish southern western italian british kiwi saffer korean irish japanese homosexual cultures. They were my education. And it was a good one.

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mother moon for tiffany

Votarice Mother moon
Silvered in dark mourning
Shadow changing ever soon
As both request and warning
Brother sun never learning
From a crime and eternal chase
Her light is his burning
The wounds upon her face
If Phoebe’s tears are dreams
All salt and cold and ash
Dust away what seems
In thunderous passions clash
Reveal bright eyes form the cowl
My love of sky, night and star
And for your glory I will howl
And would gladly bear your scar