The Return of the Holy Terror

The Return of the Holy Terror

Mark A Davis

287

A papal ghost floated over the city of Hobokken New Jersey.  Black and red robes decorated with skull motifs billowed in the wind.  There was a demonic-looking skull mask and a tall pope's hat.  The priestly spectre's arms spread wide, as if offering absolution to the world at large, or perhaps poised to embrace the world in darkness.  Trailing behind was a floating fortress the size of a Range Rover.  It bristled with futuristic cannons and turreted death rays.

In the distance across the water one could see the Manhattan skyline.

"Tremble, Hoboken!"  The eerie voice echoed across the city, amplified beyond what one would encounter at an outdoor heavy metal festival.  "Tremble in terror before the Pope of Pain!"

A bright beam of light shot from the fortress and stabbed the ground.  Several buildings exploded in a cloud of dust and rubble.  The demonic pope cackled like a five-year-old with a 101 Party Jokes book.

In the distance an object appeared.  As it drew closer, it resolved into a small flying saucer.  It approached the papal apparition and then paused, about a half mile off.  There were three such saucers often seen around the New York area -- two that belonged to the League of Two-Fisted Justice, and an older, less impressive version that belonged solely to Grandpa Anarchy.  Those familiar with them could clearly see this was the latter.

Inside the saucer, Grandpa Anarchy, world's oldest hero, peered out.

"Well," he said, "that didn't take long.  Six weeks ago I was helping him out of the gutter, and now look at him:  flying about like a ghost, lording it over a city with his fancy schmancy floating death ray guns.  You gotta give the old guy credit -- once he got clean and sober he got right back on his horse!  I feel almost like a proud Papa -- you know, apart from the blowing stuff up and taking over the world bits."

As usual, Grandpa was dressed in a rumpled gray suit with a silver anarchy symbol stitched over the left breast.  The fedora, black leather gloves, and the black diamond mask were optional extras -- he often didn't wear them, but today he'd donned the full costume.

Grandpa's sidekick, a young boy dressed head to toe in red and white spandex with a hood that exposed only his face, piloted the ship.  He was known as the Poughkeepsie Paddle-Baller.  His massive battle paddle-ball weapon lay nearby.

"Annie Two," the sidekick said, "please tell me about a villain known as the Pope of Pain."

A holographic image of a young woman dressed like a 19th-century librarian appeared.  "This is an alternate name for The Holy Terror, a villain who dresses as a demonic pope," she replied.  "Primarily an enemy of Grandpa Anarchy, he was active from 1975 until about 1995.  His specialties were death rays and attempts to conquer the world.  His villainous activity came to an abrupt halt when his funding from the  International Injustice Institute was pulled, after which he fell into alcoholism and wound up on the street."

"We've got to stop him!" the sidekick exclaimed.

"Today, Hoboken," the booming voice exclaimed.  "Tomorrow, the world!"

Grandpa frowned as he stared out at the Holy Terror.  "Well, someone has to stop him, at any rate," he said.  "Can't have villains taking over the world."

"Just tell me what to do, Grandpa!" The Poughkeepsie Paddle-Baller exclaimed excitedly.  "I'm ready to leap into action!"

"That's great, Kid," Grandpa replied.  "Just park the saucer right here, for now."

Grandpa pried open a package of Mother's Circus Animal cookies.  He shoved several of the pink and white iced cookies into his moth.  "Want some?" he asked, offering the bag to his sidekick.  "You know, you can't get these on the east coast anymore, but Black Dahlia brought me a case."

"Now is not the time," replied the Paddle-Baller, frowning.  "And Grandpa, It's a flying saucer.  I can't park it up in the air."

"You know what I mean," said Grandpa.  "Just hover here where I got a good view of everything."

"Roger!" exclaimed the sidekick.  "What are you going to do, Grandpa?  Are you going to use a jet pack and battle him in the air?"

"Nah," Grandpa replied.  "Didn't bring a jet pack.  The last one I had got destroyed by that hovering octopus monster, and I haven't yet replaced it."

Annie Two said, "Noted.  I have just placed an order for a new jet pack."

"Then did you bring the hover bike?" the kid asked.  "I've been wanting to see that in action!"

"Nah," Grandpa said.  "Ever since Death Medal crashed it, that thing's been needing repairs."

"I have now scheduled repairs for the hover bike," said Annie Two.  "You really should tell me these things earlier, Grandpa."

"Well he's too far away for you to just leap at him," the kid replied, frowning.  "I could get closer...."

"Nah, this is close enough," said Grandpa.  He stuffed several more cookies into his mouth.

"Then... maybe you're going to fire a long-range grappling hook, entangle him, and reel him in like a fish?"  The sidekick seemed dubious that such a plan would work, but he watched Grandpa's face hopefully.

"Never could get the hang of grappling hooks," Grandpa Anarchy replied.  "You fire 'em off, and then what?  They bounce off things and fall to the ground.  Useless, I tell you -- at least they never worked for me.  Not like you see in the movies or with your flashier heroes.  Now, Guy Shadow -- he could fire one of those things off and it would wrap itself around some outcrop or pole or whatnot every single time, neat as you please.  Every.  Single.  Danged.  Time.  Don't know how he did it.  I never could.  Perhaps it's just as well -- swooping about on ropes like Errol Flynn, that was never my style."

The boy in red and yellow spandex was by now quite confused.  "Then what are you going to do to stop him?" he asked.

"Stop him?" Grandpa repeated.  "Who said anything about stopping him?"

"But he's destroying buildings...." the sidekick suggested.

"Well, sure," said Grandpa.  "But in Hoboken.  I'm more of a protector of Frosthaven, NJ, you know.  I wouldn't want to overstep my bounds...."

"Sir!  You are an international superhero!" exclaimed the Poughkeepsie Paddle-Baller.

"Sure," Grandpa replied, "and you heard the man, right?  Today Hoboken, tomorrow the world.  If tomorrow comes and he hasn't been stopped, then maybe I'll step in.  But if you ask me, poor Holy Terror is really behind the times.  He's out of the loop -- don't know what's what.  I mean, picking Hoboken of all cities to attack first...."

The sidekick frowned.  "Annie Two," he said, "does Hoboken have a...."

"I see you, Grandpa Anarchy!" the villain boomed.  "Why don't you come out of your flying saucer so we can fight mano a mano?  I have a Papal Death Punch with your name on it...."

A beam of light shot up from the ground, piercing the flying fortress, which exploded in a fiery ball.  "What..." the Holy Terror began, before a second beam of energy struck him.  The villain tumbled backwards.  His pope hat and skull mask flew off.  Then he plummeted to the earth.

A figure flashed up from the ground, catching the falling villain.  It was a man clad in silver cybernetic armor resembling that of a medieval knight.  Wrapped around the top of the helmet was a white cloth turban, fronted by a golden sarpech set with rubies.

The man circled about, waved at them, then descended until he was out of view.

"See," said Grandpa Anarchy, "our town has a villain as mayor, but Hoboken has a mayoral hero -- the Sikh Knight.  Really talented guy too, so I knew he'd have this.  We only came to watch."

After a momen, the Poughkeepsie Paddle-Baller shrugged, and stuffed several frosted animal cookies in his mouth.

FINI