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Hercules vs. Thundrax in the Arena of Death!
canadascott
Posts: 1,257 Arc User
“This is boring,” Sean Doerksen complained, his thin voice stretched into an irritating whine. The teenage son of Craig’s former Northern Guard leader was not having a good day. “I thought when you were going to show me your business, you’d show me some exciting stuff!”
Craig Carson sighed and pulled at the collar of his business suit. His godson had been in a whiny mood all day, it was one of his less enchanting visits. “For pity’s sake, Sean,” Thundrax replied. “I’ve shown you the new drill bit head for the asteroid miner, our new lunar telescope design, and the plans for the rec center we’re building in Westside.” Craig shook his head. “That’s as exciting as it gets here.”
“It sucks,” Sean said. “It’s boring!”
“Welcome to being an adult,” Craig snapped back.
“Being an adult sucks.” Sean groused, and then a light shining in the corner of his eye caught his attention. “Hey, what’s that?”
A golden portal had materialized in the center of Craig Carson’s normally austere office. It was glittering, from the light and the color, and it sang as it shone. Craig blinked and motioned for Sean to keep his distance.
“Help! Help!” came a woman’s voice out of the portal.
Sean Doerksen suddenly stopped slouching. It was almost (but not quite) enough to get him to put down his cell phone. “We’re coming!” he shouted and he bolted for the portal.
“No Sean, wait!” Craig said, and he tried to grab the nimble young man as he dove into the gateway. But he was too late. Upon touching it, Sean vanished entirely from the world.
Craig muttered a curse and glared at the portal. “Talk to me, Kivioq.” Craig shouted, knowing his AI would hear it. “What the hell is that?” Craig guessed it wasn’t a stairway to heaven.
“It isn’t a technological warp of space-time, although there is a tachyon surge surrounding it.” The AI reported. “Temperature and radiation are consistent with the surrounding area, despite the color shift. There’s no sign that it’s actually there, despite the fact my sensors can see and hear it.” The AI paused for a second. “It’s consistent with other dimensional portals of arcane origin, Craig.”
“Call Billy and Sparrowhawk,” Craig sighed. “Get them to come here and come here pronto. Someone’s in trouble, and Sean’s with them. I gotta go in.” And Craig Carson leapt into the portal and also vanished.
************
“Uncle Craig?” Sean coaxed, prodding him with his foot. “Uncle Craig! Not that I’m panicking, but could you please wake up before the cyclops eats us!”
Craig groaned and stirred, but the sound of a woman’s scream brought him to his feet in an instant. Instincts of a hero, even a dated and chauvinistic one. He wondered what Alex would say, and wondered that again as he spotted a twenty-foot-tall cyclops, club in one hand, flailing and screaming woman in the other.
Craig swallowed a curse, he dove out of the way of the club, catching sight of the white and blue skirt he was wearing. His clothing had transmogrified. Smash! The club fell into the ground, making a small pit, or a hole. Dust flew everywhere. Craig suppressed a cough and focused on the fight.
Think about the skirt later. He’s winding up for another strike, the woman’s still flailing. Go for the knee, Carson. Take out the knee. Crap, flight’s not working.
Craig leapt at the knee, falling short in his tracks. The cyclops, already committed to the blow, fell short with his attempt. Craig rolled to his feet, brushing off the dust.
Damn, can’t fly. Figure that out later. Hit him now and hit him hard.
Bam! The cyclops fell to one knee, howling.
Cyclops on one knee. Damn the heart’s racing. Must be the heat. Double-handed fist, get him in the jaw.
With that, Thundrax took advantage of his opening and, with a mighty crack, felled the monster. The cyclops fell to his back, groaning.
Woman, first, then club. Okay, got her.
“You’re not Hercules!” the woman exclaimed.
“He’s off somewhere doing a labor for Zeus, or something.” Craig quipped, and he pushed the lady toward Sean. He was also clad in a white Grecian tunic, and was still holding his StonePhone. He had a doe-eyed, bewildered expression.
Guess the kid still needs to get used to fights breaking out all around him.
“Get her to safety!” Craig barked.
Sean said something in reply, probably something like “Look out!”, as the cyclops was regaining his footing, his face a mask of pain and rage. Craig saw it. Even his other, normal , non-superhuman body, which needed contacts, could have seen that one. Craig, moving as usual with the grace and skill of an NFL halfback, dodged the blow. He tried to grab the club and wrench it out of the giant’s grasp. It was a struggle.This shouldn’t be such a struggle.
The cyclops, bellowing with a gorgonous growl and giving a mighty heave, swung his club with the hero still pulling at it, and he flung Craig thirty feet. The hero tumbled in the dust. The landing, much to his surprise, scraped his skin. He had landed hard and awkward, hard enough to break bones if he was unlucky. Groaning, he gauged the damage, testing the shoulder he had landed on. He could still roll it, though it hurt like hell.
It’s not dislocated, good. At worst, it’s a sprain. But that *hurt*. That hurt way more than normal.
“Roar!” the cyclops roared, which Craig decided was cyclops for “I’m going to kill you.” He was not the best conversationalist.
Down comes the club again. What an odd motion, almost as if it were frames from a movie? So slow and almost staccato. And swing it like a golf club, you idiot, not straight down! You’re exposing your jaw, again. Better hit it when he drops the hammer. Let’s end this.
With a great leap and a mighty swing, Craig slammed his fist into the cyclops’ jaw for a second time, this time harder than the first. There was another crack and with surprising, almost comic quickness, the cyclops was on the ground in a prone position. Craig did not give him a chance to recover. He barreled into the center of the monster’s chest – the cyclops was clad in rags cobbled together out of animal skins, and bowled him onto his back, like a well aimed medicine ball felling someone too clumsy to catch it. Punch after punch rained down on the cyclops’ face until at last the monster was beaten.
“There you go, ma’am.” Craig said, wiping the sweat off his face. He looked down on his arm. It was bronze, a good healthy tan. He was nearly fifty, and he had never had such a tan in his life, either in Craig form or as Thundrax. He stared at his arm in disbelief.
“If only you had your sword!” the woman gasped. “That brute will awaken any minute! Quick, take a rock and smash in its skull!”
But Craig shook his head and closed his eyes, briefly remembering the past. Incidents that had gone wrong. “I won’t kill him, ma’am. I don’t kill.” he declared.
“Won’t kill!” the woman declared with a gasp and a shocked expression. “Why-- what kind of a hero are you?”
“I’m not a hero, ma’am.” Craig answered. “I’m just a stupid muscle-bound oaf who likes to do the right thing. These days, doing right seems to be heroic in and of itself.”
“But what happens the next time it tries to kill?” the woman protested.
“Hopefully, it’ll just attack an animal and leave people alone,” Craig shrugged, but he was frowning. For some reason, Sean was finding this conversation incredibly funny, and could barely contain his laughter. “In the meantime, we should get you to some civilization. Can you walk? I see that the cyclops tore your dress.”
“Why thank you.” the woman said. “By the way, the name is Paulina.”
“Craig—“ Craig blurted out, and then Sean pushed him aside.
“Actually, it’s Kratos.” Sean interjected.
“Oh thank you, Kratos!” the woman exclaimed.
“Kratos?” Craig winced and he pulled Sean aside for a private conversation. “Isn’t he that big jerk from that stupid video game you’re always playing?”
“Yeah, he’s awesome,” Sean beamed. “Just like you, uncle Craig.”
‘Stop buttering me up.” Craig scowled. “And how do we know the portal didn’t lead into your videogame? And that once your immortal Kratos finds out that he’s being impersonated, he’ll kill us both?”
“This can’t be a game. There was no intro movie,” Sean shrugged. “If we were in a videogame, we’d have seen some sort of intro movie to waste time setting up the plot!” The hero’s son beamed, consumed with his own cleverness, barely looking up from his phone. “It sucks that I don’t have access to the net, but I have enough programs in RAM that it shouldn’t be too bad. And I still have tunes.”
“Movies from home?”
“Yeah. Messages from mom and dad. They kinda suck, but I’m glad I have them now.”
“How much charge do you have?” Craig asked.
“Unlimited.” Sean answered. “Solar charger. My own design,” he added boastfully.
“Good.” Craig said. “We have something even the gods don’t possess. By the way, keep your eye out for anything suspicious,” he whispered. “For example, have you noticed Paulina’s lips?”
“Yeah, she’s wearing an awful lot of makeup.” Sean said.
“Not that.” Craig replied, though Sean was not wrong about the makeup. “Watch when she talks. Her lip movements don’t match her words,” continuing to talk furtively. “It’s like she’s being badly dubbed.”
“Maybe somebody’s running a translation program?” Sean wondered. Craig nodded.
“Or a spell,” the hero said. “I’ve seen them before, but they’re usually not so obvious.”
“Maybe we’re in a Japanese anime dimension!” Sean exclaimed.
Craig growled. “Don’t even suggest it,” he said.
They returned to the woman, who seemed almost oblivious to their presence. “What are we going to do now, Kratos?” Sean asked. Craig flinched at the name. He was still going through with this name crap. And enjoying it, too.
“Look for an oracle.” Craig said. “If whoever pulled us here doesn’t show up first and tell us the reason.”
“The gods are always so vague.” Paulina stated, not seeming to care about the context of Craig’s remark in the slightest. “I guess that’s what makes them gods.”
“I thought their ability to turn us into a pile of mush was what made them gods.” Sean remarked. “Or beating up a cyclops.”
“Yes, that was magnificent.” Paulina said. “A feat worthy of Hercules!”
“It didn’t feel like such a feat,” Craig said. “And I don’t feel anywhere near my full strength. Let’s try something.”
Craig moved over to a large boulder, close to man size, and placed his weathered hands on it, testing its solidity. He discovered that he couldn’t dig his fingers into the surface, and frowned. “How much does a boulder weigh? 150 pounds per cubic foot? A little heavier for granite?”
“It scares me that you know that.” Sean blurted.
“Part of the trade,” Craig answered. “Reliable information beats a good right cross any day.” Again, he turned his attention to the boulder. “This is probably 4’ by 4’ by 5’. That puts it in the 6 ton range.”
Sean nodded.
“Hope you know how to treat a hernia…” Craig said, and he struggled to pry the boulder from the ground. He strained, and groaned, and grunted, and he braced himself, and he put his back into a perfect arc. If there was one thing Craig Carson knew how to do, it was lift. It strained his body to its limits, but shaking and screaming, Craig managed to get the boulder high overhead, and even managed to throw it six feet.
“Ow!” Craig said, wincing as his back spasmed. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” He had definitely lost a lot of his superhuman strength. But not all of it. Why?
“Oh my!” the woman said. “You must be as strong as Hercules!”
“Not really,” Craig said, shaking out his arms. “Ow.” He repeated. “Hercules held up the heavens, at least according to myth.”
“Oh, he’s no myth!” the woman exclaimed. “He’s very real! Why I bet he’s competing at the Olympics right now!”
“Olympics?” Sean wondered.
“Why, they’re being held just down the road!” the woman said. “You can’t miss it! Right below Mount Olympus!”
“But the ancient Olympics were held at the village of Elis. In the region of Olympia, nowhere close to Mount Olympus…” Craig blurted, still shaking out his arms and rolling his shoulder.
“Uncle Craig… I mean Kratos… I think the lady knows her own country.”
“But—but—” Craig continued to stammer.
“Hercules is wrestling there!” the woman said. “I wonder if you could beat him?”
“Maybe that’s why you were brought here, Uncle Kratos. To wrestle Hercules!” Sean exclaimed.
Craig Carson sighed and pulled at the collar of his business suit. His godson had been in a whiny mood all day, it was one of his less enchanting visits. “For pity’s sake, Sean,” Thundrax replied. “I’ve shown you the new drill bit head for the asteroid miner, our new lunar telescope design, and the plans for the rec center we’re building in Westside.” Craig shook his head. “That’s as exciting as it gets here.”
“It sucks,” Sean said. “It’s boring!”
“Welcome to being an adult,” Craig snapped back.
“Being an adult sucks.” Sean groused, and then a light shining in the corner of his eye caught his attention. “Hey, what’s that?”
A golden portal had materialized in the center of Craig Carson’s normally austere office. It was glittering, from the light and the color, and it sang as it shone. Craig blinked and motioned for Sean to keep his distance.
“Help! Help!” came a woman’s voice out of the portal.
Sean Doerksen suddenly stopped slouching. It was almost (but not quite) enough to get him to put down his cell phone. “We’re coming!” he shouted and he bolted for the portal.
“No Sean, wait!” Craig said, and he tried to grab the nimble young man as he dove into the gateway. But he was too late. Upon touching it, Sean vanished entirely from the world.
Craig muttered a curse and glared at the portal. “Talk to me, Kivioq.” Craig shouted, knowing his AI would hear it. “What the hell is that?” Craig guessed it wasn’t a stairway to heaven.
“It isn’t a technological warp of space-time, although there is a tachyon surge surrounding it.” The AI reported. “Temperature and radiation are consistent with the surrounding area, despite the color shift. There’s no sign that it’s actually there, despite the fact my sensors can see and hear it.” The AI paused for a second. “It’s consistent with other dimensional portals of arcane origin, Craig.”
“Call Billy and Sparrowhawk,” Craig sighed. “Get them to come here and come here pronto. Someone’s in trouble, and Sean’s with them. I gotta go in.” And Craig Carson leapt into the portal and also vanished.
************
“Uncle Craig?” Sean coaxed, prodding him with his foot. “Uncle Craig! Not that I’m panicking, but could you please wake up before the cyclops eats us!”
Craig groaned and stirred, but the sound of a woman’s scream brought him to his feet in an instant. Instincts of a hero, even a dated and chauvinistic one. He wondered what Alex would say, and wondered that again as he spotted a twenty-foot-tall cyclops, club in one hand, flailing and screaming woman in the other.
Craig swallowed a curse, he dove out of the way of the club, catching sight of the white and blue skirt he was wearing. His clothing had transmogrified. Smash! The club fell into the ground, making a small pit, or a hole. Dust flew everywhere. Craig suppressed a cough and focused on the fight.
Think about the skirt later. He’s winding up for another strike, the woman’s still flailing. Go for the knee, Carson. Take out the knee. Crap, flight’s not working.
Craig leapt at the knee, falling short in his tracks. The cyclops, already committed to the blow, fell short with his attempt. Craig rolled to his feet, brushing off the dust.
Damn, can’t fly. Figure that out later. Hit him now and hit him hard.
Bam! The cyclops fell to one knee, howling.
Cyclops on one knee. Damn the heart’s racing. Must be the heat. Double-handed fist, get him in the jaw.
With that, Thundrax took advantage of his opening and, with a mighty crack, felled the monster. The cyclops fell to his back, groaning.
Woman, first, then club. Okay, got her.
“You’re not Hercules!” the woman exclaimed.
“He’s off somewhere doing a labor for Zeus, or something.” Craig quipped, and he pushed the lady toward Sean. He was also clad in a white Grecian tunic, and was still holding his StonePhone. He had a doe-eyed, bewildered expression.
Guess the kid still needs to get used to fights breaking out all around him.
“Get her to safety!” Craig barked.
Sean said something in reply, probably something like “Look out!”, as the cyclops was regaining his footing, his face a mask of pain and rage. Craig saw it. Even his other, normal , non-superhuman body, which needed contacts, could have seen that one. Craig, moving as usual with the grace and skill of an NFL halfback, dodged the blow. He tried to grab the club and wrench it out of the giant’s grasp. It was a struggle.This shouldn’t be such a struggle.
The cyclops, bellowing with a gorgonous growl and giving a mighty heave, swung his club with the hero still pulling at it, and he flung Craig thirty feet. The hero tumbled in the dust. The landing, much to his surprise, scraped his skin. He had landed hard and awkward, hard enough to break bones if he was unlucky. Groaning, he gauged the damage, testing the shoulder he had landed on. He could still roll it, though it hurt like hell.
It’s not dislocated, good. At worst, it’s a sprain. But that *hurt*. That hurt way more than normal.
“Roar!” the cyclops roared, which Craig decided was cyclops for “I’m going to kill you.” He was not the best conversationalist.
Down comes the club again. What an odd motion, almost as if it were frames from a movie? So slow and almost staccato. And swing it like a golf club, you idiot, not straight down! You’re exposing your jaw, again. Better hit it when he drops the hammer. Let’s end this.
With a great leap and a mighty swing, Craig slammed his fist into the cyclops’ jaw for a second time, this time harder than the first. There was another crack and with surprising, almost comic quickness, the cyclops was on the ground in a prone position. Craig did not give him a chance to recover. He barreled into the center of the monster’s chest – the cyclops was clad in rags cobbled together out of animal skins, and bowled him onto his back, like a well aimed medicine ball felling someone too clumsy to catch it. Punch after punch rained down on the cyclops’ face until at last the monster was beaten.
“There you go, ma’am.” Craig said, wiping the sweat off his face. He looked down on his arm. It was bronze, a good healthy tan. He was nearly fifty, and he had never had such a tan in his life, either in Craig form or as Thundrax. He stared at his arm in disbelief.
“If only you had your sword!” the woman gasped. “That brute will awaken any minute! Quick, take a rock and smash in its skull!”
But Craig shook his head and closed his eyes, briefly remembering the past. Incidents that had gone wrong. “I won’t kill him, ma’am. I don’t kill.” he declared.
“Won’t kill!” the woman declared with a gasp and a shocked expression. “Why-- what kind of a hero are you?”
“I’m not a hero, ma’am.” Craig answered. “I’m just a stupid muscle-bound oaf who likes to do the right thing. These days, doing right seems to be heroic in and of itself.”
“But what happens the next time it tries to kill?” the woman protested.
“Hopefully, it’ll just attack an animal and leave people alone,” Craig shrugged, but he was frowning. For some reason, Sean was finding this conversation incredibly funny, and could barely contain his laughter. “In the meantime, we should get you to some civilization. Can you walk? I see that the cyclops tore your dress.”
“Why thank you.” the woman said. “By the way, the name is Paulina.”
“Craig—“ Craig blurted out, and then Sean pushed him aside.
“Actually, it’s Kratos.” Sean interjected.
“Oh thank you, Kratos!” the woman exclaimed.
“Kratos?” Craig winced and he pulled Sean aside for a private conversation. “Isn’t he that big jerk from that stupid video game you’re always playing?”
“Yeah, he’s awesome,” Sean beamed. “Just like you, uncle Craig.”
‘Stop buttering me up.” Craig scowled. “And how do we know the portal didn’t lead into your videogame? And that once your immortal Kratos finds out that he’s being impersonated, he’ll kill us both?”
“This can’t be a game. There was no intro movie,” Sean shrugged. “If we were in a videogame, we’d have seen some sort of intro movie to waste time setting up the plot!” The hero’s son beamed, consumed with his own cleverness, barely looking up from his phone. “It sucks that I don’t have access to the net, but I have enough programs in RAM that it shouldn’t be too bad. And I still have tunes.”
“Movies from home?”
“Yeah. Messages from mom and dad. They kinda suck, but I’m glad I have them now.”
“How much charge do you have?” Craig asked.
“Unlimited.” Sean answered. “Solar charger. My own design,” he added boastfully.
“Good.” Craig said. “We have something even the gods don’t possess. By the way, keep your eye out for anything suspicious,” he whispered. “For example, have you noticed Paulina’s lips?”
“Yeah, she’s wearing an awful lot of makeup.” Sean said.
“Not that.” Craig replied, though Sean was not wrong about the makeup. “Watch when she talks. Her lip movements don’t match her words,” continuing to talk furtively. “It’s like she’s being badly dubbed.”
“Maybe somebody’s running a translation program?” Sean wondered. Craig nodded.
“Or a spell,” the hero said. “I’ve seen them before, but they’re usually not so obvious.”
“Maybe we’re in a Japanese anime dimension!” Sean exclaimed.
Craig growled. “Don’t even suggest it,” he said.
They returned to the woman, who seemed almost oblivious to their presence. “What are we going to do now, Kratos?” Sean asked. Craig flinched at the name. He was still going through with this name crap. And enjoying it, too.
“Look for an oracle.” Craig said. “If whoever pulled us here doesn’t show up first and tell us the reason.”
“The gods are always so vague.” Paulina stated, not seeming to care about the context of Craig’s remark in the slightest. “I guess that’s what makes them gods.”
“I thought their ability to turn us into a pile of mush was what made them gods.” Sean remarked. “Or beating up a cyclops.”
“Yes, that was magnificent.” Paulina said. “A feat worthy of Hercules!”
“It didn’t feel like such a feat,” Craig said. “And I don’t feel anywhere near my full strength. Let’s try something.”
Craig moved over to a large boulder, close to man size, and placed his weathered hands on it, testing its solidity. He discovered that he couldn’t dig his fingers into the surface, and frowned. “How much does a boulder weigh? 150 pounds per cubic foot? A little heavier for granite?”
“It scares me that you know that.” Sean blurted.
“Part of the trade,” Craig answered. “Reliable information beats a good right cross any day.” Again, he turned his attention to the boulder. “This is probably 4’ by 4’ by 5’. That puts it in the 6 ton range.”
Sean nodded.
“Hope you know how to treat a hernia…” Craig said, and he struggled to pry the boulder from the ground. He strained, and groaned, and grunted, and he braced himself, and he put his back into a perfect arc. If there was one thing Craig Carson knew how to do, it was lift. It strained his body to its limits, but shaking and screaming, Craig managed to get the boulder high overhead, and even managed to throw it six feet.
“Ow!” Craig said, wincing as his back spasmed. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” He had definitely lost a lot of his superhuman strength. But not all of it. Why?
“Oh my!” the woman said. “You must be as strong as Hercules!”
“Not really,” Craig said, shaking out his arms. “Ow.” He repeated. “Hercules held up the heavens, at least according to myth.”
“Oh, he’s no myth!” the woman exclaimed. “He’s very real! Why I bet he’s competing at the Olympics right now!”
“Olympics?” Sean wondered.
“Why, they’re being held just down the road!” the woman said. “You can’t miss it! Right below Mount Olympus!”
“But the ancient Olympics were held at the village of Elis. In the region of Olympia, nowhere close to Mount Olympus…” Craig blurted, still shaking out his arms and rolling his shoulder.
“Uncle Craig… I mean Kratos… I think the lady knows her own country.”
“But—but—” Craig continued to stammer.
“Hercules is wrestling there!” the woman said. “I wonder if you could beat him?”
“Maybe that’s why you were brought here, Uncle Kratos. To wrestle Hercules!” Sean exclaimed.
/
Post edited by canadascott on
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“No, no, no!” Craig sighed, and he suppressed an urge to sob. “Not again! Not yet another stupid gladiatorial combat! Please tell me I haven’t been pulled out of time and space by some second-rate god, yet again, just to play Gene Kiniski!”
“Who’s Gene Kiniski?” Sean asked.
“He was a wrestler, okay? Canada’s greatest athlete. Allegedly. Like Hulk Hogan, only he talked faster. And didn’t call people “dude”.”
“Oh!” Sean said, suddenly understanding Craig’s remark.
“I’m afraid Hercules has gone mad!” Paulina explained. “The gods drove him insane, and he killed his wife and children, and now he waits at the Olympics threatening to kill any man who tries to best him!”
“But why would they let him…” Craig sputtered. “Oh, never mind! This whole stupid fiasco has been set up so I can fight Hercules, or my name’s Donald Trump!” Craig shouted and he stomped off to the side, to privately curse and fume.
“Dude, you don’t have to go over there. That’s nothing I haven’t heard dad say,” Sean called out.
“He seems irritated,” Paulina noted.
“Nah, this happens to him all the time.” Sean replied. “Once he gets it out of his system he’ll be fine. It may take awhile, though.”
It took twenty minutes, though the cursing had turned into sullen brooding after five. Eventually, Craig returned to the group. He said nothing, but immediately started walking down the road in the direction of the Olympics. The others followed.
“Cheer up, uncle Craig,” Sean said. “You may have to wrestle a mythic figure to the death, but at least you’ll look good doing it. That’s an awesome tan!”
“You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?” Craig retorted.
“Just looking on the bright side.” Sean shrugged, almost running to keep up with Craig’s walking pace. “Wait for the lady!” he shouted, and Craig sighed and slowed his pace. “C’mon, uncle Kratos, you’re Thundrax. How many times have I seen you kick someone’s ****? No one can touch you.”
“Thanks for the hero worship, but you need to face facts. I’m stronger than most, but there are still plenty of folks who are way stronger than me.” Craig sighed. “Durak, the Landsman, Brawler, Viperia, Grond, Super Fortress….”
“Der Westgote?”
“Nah,” Craig said. “I’m stronger than that Eurotrash pretty boy.”
“Here,” Sean said. “Let’s get you ready. We’ll start by bringing up your opponent’s theme tune.”
“Theme tune?”
“I think I still got my collection of terrible old cartoons. We were just laughing at them a couple of nights ago…” And with that, Sean’s StonePhone gave a fanfare and began to play its song:
[i]“Hercules, hero of song and story.
Hercules, winner of ancient glory.
Fighting for the right,
Fighting with his might,
With the strength of ten, ordinary men.
“Hercules, people are safe when near him.
Hercules, only the evil fear him.
Softness in his eyes,
Iron in his thighs,
Virtue in his heart,
Fire in every part,
Of the Mighty Hercules.”[/i]
“Sorry if I insulted your favorite cartoon, uncle Kratos,” Sean added when the song was over.
“Oh my!” Paulina exclaimed. “A magic box!”
“That was never my favorite cartoon,” “Craig replied. “It was crap. I even knew it was crap back when I was 5, and I was never the most cynical kid. Especially the annoying centaur. It made even “Speed Racer” and “Vanguard and Friends” look good. Now, as for Hercules… I’m not fighting him. Not unless I need to. We look for an oracle, and we try to find a way home. Hopefully one that doesn’t involve taking you through the Underworld.”
“The Underworld? You mean…”
“Hell.” Craig said. “Not that I want to take you there. First time I visited, I was younger than you are now. But it’s not a pleasant memory, and subsequent visits have gone… badly.”
“Stupid demons.”
“To infinity,” Craig said, remembering his archenemy Zorasto, now banished. I may have been brought here for a cheap brawl – yet bloody again – but I don’t have to dance whomever’s jig this is. The best way to win a god’s games is not to play.”
“Look, we’re coming into Olympia now!” Paulina exclaimed.
“We are?” Craig wondered. “That was fast.” He pondered their travel time. They had only been on the road for a few minutes, barely time for conversation. “Too fast. And you had better leave, miss. The only women allowed at Zeus’s games were vestal virgins. And a few chariot owners.”
“How do you know all this about the Olympics?” Sean asked.
“I read,” Craig answered. “And while I don’t have a photographic memory, my brain cells retain an awful lot. More, I gather, than most folks.”
“You’d think with your advanced healing, you’d heal the neuro-pathways too quickly for memories to form.” Sean speculated. Craig sighed. It was easy to forget just how smart Sean was, that he was in fact, a genius, bordering on superhuman levels. It was too easy to see him as a kid, rather than as the prodigious offspring of genius engineers like his grandfather Wally Thompson, the original Forceknight, and his father Lyle Doerksen, the third and greatest Forceknight, once Craig’s own team leader.
“I’m guessing short term memories form even faster,” Craig said. “Otherwise every speedster I know would have memory issues. But with all the bumps I’ve taken and the concussions I’ve had over the years, I treasure anything that preserves my brain cells.” Craig sighed. He had seen some superheroes without that ability, toward the end of their careers. Thy weren’t a pretty sight, like Muhammed Ali with Parkinson’s. But enough of the physiology lesson. He turned to Paulina. “As I was saying, If I remember my basic Olympic history, you can’t come with us. The only women allowed on the grounds were Zeus’s vestal virgins. That and a few chariot...”
“Why, I just happen to own a prize team of horses! They’re champion stallions!”
Craig’s raised eyebrow would have been worthy of the Rock. “Oh, really?” He said, making note of the plot convenience.
“The Olympics!” Sean exclaimed. “This is going to be so exciting!”
“Yeah,” Craig said. “The stench and smoke of animals being sacrificed all the time, the obscene graffiti, everyone running around naked…”
At that point, a pair of runners came over the horizon and passed them. They were wearing the same skirts as Craig.
“But… but…” Craig stammered.
“They don’t look naked to me!” Sean exclaimed. “Thank god…” he added.
“But, but…” Craig looked at Sean in bewilderment.
“That’s so silly,” Paulina laughed. “No one goes naked at the Olympics!”
“But--- but—all the art! All the records! Even the word “gymnasium”…” Craig said, and suddenly he slapped his forehead. “Holy crap! I’ve been an idiot! Stupid Craig, stupid!”
“What’s wrong?” Sean asked.
“I thought we’d travelled back in time,” Craig said. “We haven’t. We have crossed[i] genre[/i]. We’re in a fricking [i]peplum[/i] film!”
“What’s a [i]peplum[/i]?”
“These skirts we’re wearing.” Thundrax explained, briefly tugging at the garment covering his loins. “It’s the name of a film genre. Do you remember all those ultra-cheezy early 1960 Italian muscle flicks? Hercules Unchained, Samson and the Slave Queen, Hercules vs. Maciste in the Vale of Woe?”
“Vale of Woe?” Sean winced.
“Jack and I used to watch them all the time on channel 13 when we were kids. Bad dubbing, cheezy monsters – come to think of it, that cyclops looked more like stop motion than real -- But why us?” Craig wondered. “Why not someone from within the film? Why summon someone from outside the film?”
“Oh, men and their questions!” Paulina exclaimed. “I am just a silly woman who cannot wrap her head around such matters!”
“Definitely not a modern woman.” Craig made an aside to Sean. “It also explains why every word she’s spoken sounds like bad exposition or a contrived film aside. And why we suddenly got to Olympus so quickly, like a film cut. And why the Olympics are in the wrong place – the writer didn’t do his research.”
“I really want to get home.” Sean said. “Uncle Craig, you realize what you have to do, right? If this is a story, you resolve the plot. You’ve got to beat Hercules!”
“Do I?” Craig wondered. “What if ending the movie means everyone goes away? To nothing. Including us?”
“Damn.” Sean realized. “How do we get back?”
“Well, let’s speak to the oracle.” Craig said. “That’s probably the best conduit to the film’s writer.”
“If there is one. An oracle may not be necessary to the plot. And what if this film is being written by Incubus, again?” Sean asked, referring to a previous adventure where a cosmic imp had propelled Craig into a fight with a fictional but extremely powerful hero whose name began with the letter “S”.
“Then we are so screwed,” Craig replied.
They came into the Olympics only to find people languishing on the ground, moaning in pain. The ground was a sea of wounded muscle, as bodybuilders moaned and writhed in indiscernible injury. Standing above them, with his hands on his hips and laughing was a figure that looked remarkably like Steve Reeves.
“I am Hercules!” he exclaimed, as if the scene needed exposition. “Is there no one fit to challenge me? Have the gods no champion worthy of the mighty Hercules!” Knowing the secret of the world only made his words ten times more laughable in Craig’s ears.
“He challenges you!” Sean exclaimed, pointing at Craig. Craig sighed. He wished the kid hadn’t have done that.
Hercules advanced on the trio, circling them like prey. Craig glared back. If anything, his physique was more than a rival for the 1960s bodybuilding champion; then Hercules’s height and build shifted, matching Craig’s. He was glistening, as if he had just finished oiling himself. “Interesting,” he said. “A golden warrior of the north.”
“That’s what people call me,” Craig quipped.
“But a golden fool, if you think you can match the matchless might of Hercules!” the bodybuilder proclaimed, thumping his chest. Again, Craig winced at the dialogue. “And what have we here? She’s a pretty thing! Perhaps Hercules will take her as his own!”
Craig pushed him back, purely out of instinct. Hercules laughed, and advanced on Craig. “I am going to enjoy crushing you.” he said. “And taking your woman.”
"I thought Hercules was the good guy." Sean whispered to Craig.
"Most of the time he was. Though he wasn't in "Vale of Woe". I guess he's also a bastard in this picture too." Craig whispered back, and he addressed the hero, looking him squarely in his leering face. “I didn’t come here to fight,” he said.
“A coward too!” Hercules laughed.
“Uncle Craig… I mean Kratos… is not a coward!” Sean insisted.
“Sean, maybe you should go back to playing your game,” Craig sighed.
“We need to advance the plot if we are to have any hope of getting out of here. Worry about the climax later…” Sean whispered, and he pointed at Hercules. “He challenges you to a test of strength!”
Hercules asked. “He does? And why should Hercules accept such a challenge?”
Craig sighed, finally accepting his role. Man, this sucked. He loved a good scrap – it was perhaps Craig’s biggest weakness – but he hated taking the role of protagonist just for someone’s amusement. “Would Hercules pass up a chance to humiliate his opponent in front of his woman?”
“Very well!” Hercules exclaimed, and he and Craig suddenly found each other with fingers locked, in a test of strength. Craig could swear he could hear the bad background music as they tussled. They grunted and gritted their teeth and sweated like horses. Craig could feel his opponent match him, strength for strength. This was stupid. This was futile. But there was a part of Craig that enjoyed this, an awful lot more than he cared to admit. After more than thirty years, fighting had pretty much become engrained in the hero’s DNA. It was the paradox of the hero: loving peace, loving the fight, principles and passion locked in a bitter rivalry. There was a part of him that wanted to fight forever, even in a world as shallow as this one.
“I am stronger than you!” Hercules said.
“I think this is where I make a lame quip about you being stronger smelling.” Craig answered.
“Impudent dog!” Hercules snarled, continuing to sweat like a spent horse. The two men glistened homoerotically in the sun as they wrestled. Sean was getting uncomfortable urges watching them.
[i]It’s the film, dude.[/i] He told himself. [i]Only the film.[/i]
Finally, after several minutes of ultra-manly struggle and sweat, it was time to end this. Craig sighed, closed his eyes, and then allowed his opponent to force him to his knees. Act Three setback, right on schedule, right to formula. Hercules laughed.
“I have already beaten you!” he shouted. “Tomorrow, in the arena, I crush you forever! And then he grabbed Paulina and laid a deep kiss on her, laughing again as he let her go.
“God, the antagonists here are almost as annoying as the ones back home.” Craig sighed. Paulina scampered off to the convenient tent she didn’t have until two seconds ago. “I guess I’m supposed to chase her and have some overly staged quarrel and a lame romantic scene.”
“She is pretty hot.” Sean said.
Craig sighed. “They did make some smouldering hot actresses in Europe in the early 60s. Still, she’s a terrible actress, even if she doesn’t know it. I probably have more romantic chemistry with Hercules.”
“Dude, even uncle David would pass on that guy.” Sean quipped, referring to his other godfather, the superhero Justiciar.
"Well, David does have standards. But this genre is pretty homoerotic. We're bound to feel it."
"No homo." Sean said.
"It'll be good if you broaden your perspective," Craig said. He hadn't taken the kid to task for his earlier remarks, but there was a lecture on tolerance brewing up inside him. Another time. It was just disappointing when kids repeated the same mistakes he'd made as a teenager.
“I don't see how I could broaden my perspective in this place. Everyone is so [i]shallow[/i].”
“Yeah. Characters as Potemkin villages,” Craig said. “All façade, like a Trump speech.” Sean rolled his eyes at yet another unnecessary political comment from uncle Craig. Sometimes being around him was like watching MSNBC. “But are we any different? What if we’re fictional characters too? Would we be any different? Is our "genre" just as shallow, or maligned? Would we recognize ourselves as fictional, fleshed out to anything beyond a stereotype only by the skill of the author?”
“Fiction within a fiction? Dude, what if they’re not real? Fiction within a fiction within a fiction?”
“It’s the illusion paradox, all over again.” Craig sighed. “There are illusionists out there who are so skilled at making mental constructs that they become indiscernible to reality. We might have been living in one, and never know it. Every punch we throw, every step we take, we may actually be harming an innocent. But if we’re constantly questioning reality, we’ll never achieve anything. So, we just go on living, and hope there’s no one behind the curtain to yell “Gotcha!” when everything’s done.” Craig sighed.
“I think I liked it better when you talked politics.” Sean said, never liking it (as noted earlier) when Craig talked politics.
“Well, I’d better get this over with.” Craig sighed. “Stay here. I’ll meet you at the next scene transition.”
********************
The evening passed. Craig emerged from the tent he now conveniently owned in defiance of continuity, bleary eyed, to greet the bright Grecian sun.
“How’d last night go?” Sean asked. “Bad as you thought it would?”
“Worse.” Craig sighed.
Sean laughed. “C’mon Craig. You’ve got a fight to win.”
Craig stepped into a huge amphitheater, more like a Roman Colosseum than anything constructed by the Greeks. The anachronism was not lost on him, but, screw it. The sound of horns greeted them as they entered the arena through a long tunnel. Sean stayed on the sidelines to cheer on his mentor. Craig winced as the historical inaccuracies seemed to accelerate as the conflict reached its climax.
An announcer stepped forward and raised his arm. Trumpets sounded. Craig limbered, spotting his opponent, who glowed with bronze magnificence in the burning sun. He greeted Craig with an upturned lip.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said.
“I thought we were fighting, but if you want to change your mind and do something more fun…”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hercules replied.
The combatants were introduced, with Hercules given many names and titles, and Craig referred to simply as “Kratos, champion of the north.”
“Go get him, Kratos!” Sean yelled. Paulina, who did not enjoy the previous night’s scene, remained silent. So much for the wonderful love interest.
“We fight for the woman.” Hercules said. Craig flinched.
“The women I know back in the real world could kick your **** so badly,” he told the muscleman. He’d give a lot to see Alex, Faye, or (God help him) Emily put him in his 1960s chauvinist place.
They locked up. For an ancient Greco-Roman combat, it looked an awful lot like professional wrestling, though centered on grappling and feats of strength. On the feats of strength, the two men were evenly matched; sometimes (much to his horror) Hercules would be pushed back, while at other times, Craig would be hurled on his keester. They threw each other, many times, and exchanged punches that would have felled beasts. Their bodies and breaths sagged from pain and injury and a literally herculean effort, but neither man gave an inch. They were making legend, one punch at a time.
“Well,” Hercules said after one exchange. “The gods have sent me an almost worthy opponent!”
“Ah,” Craig mocked. “True love at last.”
“Then let me show you my affection, Kratos…” Hercules said, clamping a bearhug on his opponent. Almost immediately, the pressure caused Craig’s ribs to burn. “Where are your jests now, Kratos? Silenced by the iron grip of Hercules!”
“Not silent yet,” Craig grunted.
“You will scream for me!” Hercules vowed. Craig did not, nor did he make the obvious double entendres. The hero groaned, and squirmed; his efforts only doubled Hercules’s determination to squeeze the life from his foe. But Craig did not scream, though the pain was excruciating. Yet neither could he escape from his foe’s grip.
“You are fading!” Hercules smiled. Craig pushed back on his opponent’s face, and drove his forearm into the bridge of his nose. He broke the nose. Hercules only grinned.
"Not fading yet." Craig grunted.
"Ah Cratos. Such a magnificent liar. But the arms of Hercules shall elicit the truth," Herc grunted back. He could sense the kill in the air, and even the gods couldn’t have pried him loose.
This isn’t the way it’s supposed to go! Craig screamed inside. He was the hero! He was the protagonist, the champion of virtue! He had to win! He had to.... It was the formula. He made one final surge of effort, almost breaking free of the hold.
Almost. And then Craig passed out.
After several rib-cracking seconds, Hercules finally loosened his grip and let Craig slump to the dirt. The triumphant strongman raised his arms in triumph and basked in the crowd’s cheers. Awash in sweat and exhilaration, the victor gleamed in the sun. After several joyous, rapturous breaths, the strongman stood over Craig’s prone body and flexed his massive, shining bicep, exalting in the display of masculinity, in muscular peacock splendor. Then, seeing Craig lying helpless in the dust, he decided one last act was required. He grabbed his prone opponent, raised him high overhead, and held out his knee.
“Now I break you!” he shouted.
“Stop!” Sean said, and he ran out onto the field and held out his hands. “You can’t do this! He’s a good man!”
Hercules growled. “Out of the way, you foolish pup! I’ve beaten your master. Now I break him, and I’ll do the same to you if you don’t step aside!”
“No!” Sean shouted, and he held his ground. “He’s a hero! Just like you! You’re supposed to be on the same side! He’s helped thousands of people! Whole cities owe him their lives! You just can’t kill him over a stupid wrestling match. You’re a hero too, a figure of legend! I’ve heard stories about you my whole life.”
“Did those stories tell you how I killed even my own family?” Hercules bellowed.
”You weren’t responsible for that!” Sean yelled back. “And you made up for it with twelve labors or something. People remember you as a good man, a great man, a hero. People remember you as this….”
And Sean flipped the switch on his phone.
[i]“Hercules, hero of song and story.
Hercules, winner of ancient glory.
Fighting for the right,
Fighting with his might,
With the strength of ten, ordinary men.
“Hercules, people are safe when near him.
Hercules, only the evil fear him.
Softness in his eyes,
Iron in his thighs,
Virtue in his heart,
Fire in every part,
Of the Mighty Hercules.”[/i]
Hercules gasped. “That is how I’m remembered?” Not as the killer of his wife and children?
Sean quickly shut it off, so Hercules wouldn’t notice the disparity in their voices – or the fact that he was beardless in the cartoon. “Yes. Only the evil fear him. Craig isn’t evil, he’s as good as you, as good as you could be, if you tried. Put him down, please. Gently. Put him down and be the hero you were meant to be.”
“Well,” Hercules said. “I suppose I could let him live. So he can fully appreciate his humiliation.”
“That’s a start,” Sean said. “But dude, you could be such a great hero if you really wanted! The gods think they’ve broken you, turned you into a nothing. Why not prove them wrong? Why not do so many legendary deeds of goodness that people will forget about the gods and just celebrate your greatness?”
Hercules pondered his words. “Yes! Yes, I’ll do it!”
With that, thunder roared out of the sky and a great voice bellowed. “I AM JUPITER!” Even Sean noted the disparity in the king of the Greek pantheon using his Roman name at the Olympics, and had to bite his tongue. “YOU HAVE DONE WELL! YOU HAVE PERFORMED THE TASK YOU WERE BROUGHT HERE TO ACHIEVE, HERO!”
“Wait,” Sean said. “Craig’s the hero here.”
“THAT MAN?” Jupiter said, breaking into uproarious laughter. “NO, HE’S JUST YOUR SIDEKICK! ANYONE COULD HAVE PLAYED HIS ROLE! YOU WERE THE TRUE HERO HERE!”
“****…” Sean said. “Uh, what was this big task I was supposed to do?”
“WHY, YOU WERE APPOINTED BY FATE TO RETURN MY SON TO THE PATH OF HEROES! YOU HAVE SUCCEEDED ADMIRABLY! NAME A REWARD AND IT SHALL BE YOURS! MIGHTY THRONES, PRICELESS RICHES, BUXOM LADIES, THE POWER OF A GOD…”
“That last one is pretty tempting,” Sean said. “But I’ll settle just for a lift home.”
“LET THE HEAVENS PART, AND SKIES OPEN UP THEIR DOORS THROUGH TIME AND SPACE AND THROUGH THE FABRIC OF REALITY ITSELF! SO COMMANDS JUPITER!”
“Geez, nobody told me the gods were this loud….” Sean muttered, as a golden portal formed in the center of the amphitheater. “Hey Herc, can you throw the big guy through a portal here? Uncle Kratos is kind of heavy.”
“Can’t I keep him as my slave?” Hercules asked.
“Goodness, Herc. Goodness. Focus.”
“What’s so evil about slavery?” Hercules asked.
“There’s a lot of assholes who agree with you these days,” Sean replied. “Just do it for me, okay?”
“Very well,” Hercules sighed, and he lifted the unconscious Craig and unceremoniously threw him through the portal.
-------------------------
“And that’s what happened, Uncle Craig. And we’re home again, and portal free.”
“Really? “ Craig asked skeptically. ”You talked Hercules down?” The hero moaned, fingering his ribs. They still hurt like the dickens. “Well that bearhug was no story. A pity I lost the tan, though. I’m pale again.”
“Yeah, that was a sweet tan.” Sean said. “Uncle Craig does this adventure make you my sidekick?”
“This time.” Craig said. “But never again.”
“But uncle Craig, you’re a bachelor. And you need a kid to throw you in the old heroes’ home when you start going senile.”
“I think we’d better phone your dad,” Craig snapped. “You’re overstaying your welcome.” Sean laughed. “Anyhow, you did good. Seriously, really good. Whoever thought the crappiest cartoon ever made would save my life?”
“Me!” Sean shouted, and he ran around the office, singing the theme song of the Mighty Hercules cartoon, the perfect weapon of torment for a friend. Craig sighed and offered the young man, the young hero, some cold pizza. It was only fitting to have Italian tonight.