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Incomplete Fic: Pulped
Eh. Thought I'd post what I wrote tonight. I was sort of inspired by this copy of Kull of Atlantis lying around in my bedroom to try my hand at a pulp style story. That didn't quite happen. I was doing pretty good on the first page or so, but at the point I stopped I was rapidly losing interest. Still, I thought I'd post what I wrote. Feedback, as always is appreciated.
PULPED!
The stronghold of Necros the Defiler floated in the flame-ravaged space known as the 9th Hell.
Within that burning region, the Defiler's stronghold was a black castle, its towers extending up and out
and down in the mad geometry of a powerful and disturbed sorcerer. The stronghold's walls shone like
polished obsidian and glowed with an eerie white light.
And my ward is trapped within, thought Mandragora the Magician. The slim man adjusted the
folds of his black cloak as he and James Valor waited for the third member of their party to finish
scaling the outer walls of the castle.
"If only I had one of the flying boats of Jova," sighed Valor, his copper skin gleaming with
perspiration from the infernal heat. "We could penetrate the walls with ease, Mandragora!"
"Trust in Taru, James," urged Mandragora. "He has reached the battlements of the fortress
even as we speak and penetrated the interior! Soon, we will be within and then . . . "
"Necros will pay for his crimes!" Said Valor with gusto.
The Master of Jupiter wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. He was a slim, blonde man
with hazel eyes and the careless good looks of a film star. His garments were simple: orange bandoliers
crossed his bare chest, joining the belt cinched tight around his waist. A knee-length kilt of reddish
fabric and sturdy, scaled boots completed the man's attire. In his right hand, he held the hilt of a force
blade, a lethal weapon of Jovian origin of which John Valor was an expert. Mandragora had seen the
man clip the wings off a moving fly with the force sword.
Mandragora himself was tall and thin, with a pale complexion, and piercing black eyes. He
allowed himself a pencil-thin mustache that emphasized his expressive mouth. His attire was elegant, a
black tuxedo beneath a long cape of ebon velvet. He clutched a cane in his right hand, its silver head
glowing with arcane power.
From the wall above came a grunt and the two warriors stepped back, hastily, as a bulky form
was flung from the heights. The guard fell silently, his head twisted at an unnatural angle by the third and
final member of their rescue party: Taru the Jungle Lord.
The bestial man waved at the two below before vanishing into the fortress. Moments later, the
iron doorway which they had waited beside swung out and the Jungle-Lord stood there, beckoning
them forward.
Where Mandragora and Valor were slim, Taru was powerfully muscled. His dark hair hung
around his face in thick waves and he was unshaven. He wore nothing but metallic grieves on his wrists
and an animal hide loincloth. His dark eyes shone with a warrior's cunning and he flexed his powerful
fingers, ready to kill.
Mandragora and Valor stepped into the fortress of Necros the Defiler and drew close to their
companion. They conversed in hushed whispers.
"We must be swift and sure," growled Taru. "There are many guards about and it is only a
matter of time before we are discovered."
"Have no fear," said Mandragora. He lifted his silver-headed cane and touched its glowing
head to himself, Valor and Taru. "I have cast a spell upon us so that we will look like the Defiler's
guards to anyone we encounter."
"Clever," nodded John Valor. "Then we can move about freely."
"Can your witchcraft find the boy?" Taru asked.
"The Defiler will have him shielded from me," said Mandragora. "John, can you sense his
presence?"
The Master of Jupiter shook his head. "No. The only thoughts I sense nearby belong to the
Defiler's guards."
Taru grunted. "Then we must search this mad place. Come."
He turned and led the way down the corridor, Mandragora and Valor hurrying to keep pace.
* * * * *
At the heart of the stronghold was a grande room of polished black stone. Within this room, at
its very center, rose a dais of obsidian. Upon that dais stood a throne of monstrous size and
appearance, festooned with precious jewels and decorated with screaming faces. A figure sat upon
that dread chair, his scarred face concealed behind a silver mask. Black armor hugged his thin frame
and a glow of arcane power surrounded him.
Necros the Defiler lifted an armored hand. A guard trotted over to him, his black armor
gleaming in the unnatural light from the Defiler's body.
"They have arrived."
The guard nodded. "We shall overwhelm them, lord."
"No," said Necros. His voice was light and hoarse, his tone imperious. "Reposition the
guards. Let them find their way to my throne." The evil man laughed, deep in his chest. "I have . . .
plans for them."
* * * * *
"I have a scent!" declared Taru. "Young and clean!"
"Johnny!" Mandragora surged forward. "Can you follow it, Taru?"
The Jungle Lord nodded. "Of course."
He turned then and sniffed the air, once, twice. A slow grin spread across his face. "Come. I
have it."
Grinning, Taru led them deeper into the obsidian citadel.
* * * * *
An hour later, the Jungle Lord led them to a vast room of polished black stone, dominated by a
grotesque, bejeweled throne. The room was empty. Taru took a deep breath and frowned.
"The boy's scent ends here."
Mandragora strode into Necros the Defiler's throne room. He swept back his cloak with one
hand and raised his cane with the other. The silver head blazed with light, illuminating every corner of
the room. Shadows flowed around them.
Valor's head jerked up and around. "Ambush!"
He gripped the hilt of his force blade and swung it around himself. There was a shriek from
empty air and a moment later the torso of an armored guard collapsed on the stone floor.
The guards were appearing now, around the room, rushing toward the three men. They
shouted their battle cries in half a dozen alien languages. Valor did not need his telepathy to know what
they wanted. He could sense the bloodlust rolling off of them in black waves. A cold smile fixed itself
upon his face and he gestured with his blade, humming now and barely visible.
"Come on, you bastards! Who dies next?"
Taru did not wait for the guards to leap at him. With a bestial roar, the Jungle Lord was
suddenly among his enemies. Despite his small size, he was fast and powerful. His bare hands
punched with bone-breaking force, while the metallic bracers upon his wrists rang with the impact of
blades. Roaring, he attacked his foes like a whirlwind of flesh and bone, leaving devastated corpses in
his wake.
Mandragora stood upon the lower steps of the dais, firing spellbolt after spellbolt into the
rushing mass of armored men. His magical attacks sent men flying back, slamming into the ground or
each other with bone-crunching force. Even as he attacked, he swept the chamber with his eyes,
looking for any sign of their enemy.
"Necros! Coward! Come out and face us!" The Jungle Lord bellowed from the now gory floor.
Valor dispatched the last of his foes with a final swing of his force blade and turned toward the
doorways, poised for more bloodshed. His wintery smile remained fixed in place, white and gleaming
through the mask of blood he wore.
PULPED!
The stronghold of Necros the Defiler floated in the flame-ravaged space known as the 9th Hell.
Within that burning region, the Defiler's stronghold was a black castle, its towers extending up and out
and down in the mad geometry of a powerful and disturbed sorcerer. The stronghold's walls shone like
polished obsidian and glowed with an eerie white light.
And my ward is trapped within, thought Mandragora the Magician. The slim man adjusted the
folds of his black cloak as he and James Valor waited for the third member of their party to finish
scaling the outer walls of the castle.
"If only I had one of the flying boats of Jova," sighed Valor, his copper skin gleaming with
perspiration from the infernal heat. "We could penetrate the walls with ease, Mandragora!"
"Trust in Taru, James," urged Mandragora. "He has reached the battlements of the fortress
even as we speak and penetrated the interior! Soon, we will be within and then . . . "
"Necros will pay for his crimes!" Said Valor with gusto.
The Master of Jupiter wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. He was a slim, blonde man
with hazel eyes and the careless good looks of a film star. His garments were simple: orange bandoliers
crossed his bare chest, joining the belt cinched tight around his waist. A knee-length kilt of reddish
fabric and sturdy, scaled boots completed the man's attire. In his right hand, he held the hilt of a force
blade, a lethal weapon of Jovian origin of which John Valor was an expert. Mandragora had seen the
man clip the wings off a moving fly with the force sword.
Mandragora himself was tall and thin, with a pale complexion, and piercing black eyes. He
allowed himself a pencil-thin mustache that emphasized his expressive mouth. His attire was elegant, a
black tuxedo beneath a long cape of ebon velvet. He clutched a cane in his right hand, its silver head
glowing with arcane power.
From the wall above came a grunt and the two warriors stepped back, hastily, as a bulky form
was flung from the heights. The guard fell silently, his head twisted at an unnatural angle by the third and
final member of their rescue party: Taru the Jungle Lord.
The bestial man waved at the two below before vanishing into the fortress. Moments later, the
iron doorway which they had waited beside swung out and the Jungle-Lord stood there, beckoning
them forward.
Where Mandragora and Valor were slim, Taru was powerfully muscled. His dark hair hung
around his face in thick waves and he was unshaven. He wore nothing but metallic grieves on his wrists
and an animal hide loincloth. His dark eyes shone with a warrior's cunning and he flexed his powerful
fingers, ready to kill.
Mandragora and Valor stepped into the fortress of Necros the Defiler and drew close to their
companion. They conversed in hushed whispers.
"We must be swift and sure," growled Taru. "There are many guards about and it is only a
matter of time before we are discovered."
"Have no fear," said Mandragora. He lifted his silver-headed cane and touched its glowing
head to himself, Valor and Taru. "I have cast a spell upon us so that we will look like the Defiler's
guards to anyone we encounter."
"Clever," nodded John Valor. "Then we can move about freely."
"Can your witchcraft find the boy?" Taru asked.
"The Defiler will have him shielded from me," said Mandragora. "John, can you sense his
presence?"
The Master of Jupiter shook his head. "No. The only thoughts I sense nearby belong to the
Defiler's guards."
Taru grunted. "Then we must search this mad place. Come."
He turned and led the way down the corridor, Mandragora and Valor hurrying to keep pace.
* * * * *
At the heart of the stronghold was a grande room of polished black stone. Within this room, at
its very center, rose a dais of obsidian. Upon that dais stood a throne of monstrous size and
appearance, festooned with precious jewels and decorated with screaming faces. A figure sat upon
that dread chair, his scarred face concealed behind a silver mask. Black armor hugged his thin frame
and a glow of arcane power surrounded him.
Necros the Defiler lifted an armored hand. A guard trotted over to him, his black armor
gleaming in the unnatural light from the Defiler's body.
"They have arrived."
The guard nodded. "We shall overwhelm them, lord."
"No," said Necros. His voice was light and hoarse, his tone imperious. "Reposition the
guards. Let them find their way to my throne." The evil man laughed, deep in his chest. "I have . . .
plans for them."
* * * * *
"I have a scent!" declared Taru. "Young and clean!"
"Johnny!" Mandragora surged forward. "Can you follow it, Taru?"
The Jungle Lord nodded. "Of course."
He turned then and sniffed the air, once, twice. A slow grin spread across his face. "Come. I
have it."
Grinning, Taru led them deeper into the obsidian citadel.
* * * * *
An hour later, the Jungle Lord led them to a vast room of polished black stone, dominated by a
grotesque, bejeweled throne. The room was empty. Taru took a deep breath and frowned.
"The boy's scent ends here."
Mandragora strode into Necros the Defiler's throne room. He swept back his cloak with one
hand and raised his cane with the other. The silver head blazed with light, illuminating every corner of
the room. Shadows flowed around them.
Valor's head jerked up and around. "Ambush!"
He gripped the hilt of his force blade and swung it around himself. There was a shriek from
empty air and a moment later the torso of an armored guard collapsed on the stone floor.
The guards were appearing now, around the room, rushing toward the three men. They
shouted their battle cries in half a dozen alien languages. Valor did not need his telepathy to know what
they wanted. He could sense the bloodlust rolling off of them in black waves. A cold smile fixed itself
upon his face and he gestured with his blade, humming now and barely visible.
"Come on, you bastards! Who dies next?"
Taru did not wait for the guards to leap at him. With a bestial roar, the Jungle Lord was
suddenly among his enemies. Despite his small size, he was fast and powerful. His bare hands
punched with bone-breaking force, while the metallic bracers upon his wrists rang with the impact of
blades. Roaring, he attacked his foes like a whirlwind of flesh and bone, leaving devastated corpses in
his wake.
Mandragora stood upon the lower steps of the dais, firing spellbolt after spellbolt into the
rushing mass of armored men. His magical attacks sent men flying back, slamming into the ground or
each other with bone-crunching force. Even as he attacked, he swept the chamber with his eyes,
looking for any sign of their enemy.
"Necros! Coward! Come out and face us!" The Jungle Lord bellowed from the now gory floor.
Valor dispatched the last of his foes with a final swing of his force blade and turned toward the
doorways, poised for more bloodshed. His wintery smile remained fixed in place, white and gleaming
through the mask of blood he wore.