The Wounded World
A Story of Mantra
By Aladdin
Originally written 2006
Posted March 22, 2022

Edited by Christopher Leeson

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CHAPTER 21

THE ROAD TO HELL

Folly is an endless maze;
Tangled roots perplex her ways….

William Blake.
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A magical swap put me back inside my golden armor. I was willing to fight a fire in my black suit, but it wasn’t up to snuff for taking on a magician of Gus’ caliber. I don’t wear that ridiculously erotic golden armor to make a fashion statement, but rather it's because it magnifies my mystic power. In many of my past battles, I’d depended upon such magnification to save lives – including my own.

"Here I am, Gus!" I yelled telepathically. “Come over and we’re talk about a truce. You won’t be harmed!"

"I don't want to hit a girl,” came back his reply, “so I'll let my friends do that for me!"

What friends, I wondered? The only friends of his I’d met were those nerdy kids he did video gaming with. Did he intend to send against us some hapless people whom he’d mind-controlled?

Aided by my wizard sight, I discerned a distant shimmering. At the edge of the park, a troop was congealing out of thin air. The surreal mob looked like a costume party celebrating a low-budget Nintendo game. Gus was levitating at a height of about twenty feet, shouting orders and brandishing a joystick.

Lauren told me how the boy had created such beings before. The Tibetans called them "tulpas" – pseudo live forms manifested from mystical energy. In fact, the first ultra enemy Mantra had ever fought had been that type of creature -- a mock-fairy called Kismet.

“Get at them!” the lad bawled to his soldiers and started them on their way -- ninjas, thug knights, aliens, G.I.'s, golems, zombies, barbarians, fish-men, karate babes, and something that looked seafood gone bad.

I called out to my hidden allies: “They’re not really alive. Destroy them!”

My three compatriots burst from cover. Yrial joined me up front, while Hardcase and Strike assumed positions on either flank.

Wanting to find out how tough these constructs were, I took out a pair of them using magical bolts. As soon as they went down, they got right back up again. Gus was using his power to keep his playing pieces on the game board. But that gave me an idea. We could reduce his stock of power by attacking his soldiers. I preferred that than having us all attack him together.

The tulpas came on as a ragged mob. We advanced out to meet them, with Hardcase and Strike giving the host a right and left hook, while Yrial and I struck at them head-on with magical firepower. This was set up as a sort of Indian-wrestling competition to see who could last the longest. We really tore into the tulpas, incinerating limbs and blast torsos, but the missing body parts were rematerializing with amazing rapidity. So far, I couldn’t be sure that Gus was showing any sign of fatigue.

That didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Gus couldn't possibly be the repository of so much magic; he had to be refueling by means of some outside energy source, in the way that I’m nourished by the bio-fields of living things. Logically, his energy source was the unknown cosmic energy that shooting through the skies, manifesting itself in the green bolts now crisscrossing the sky.

If that was the source of his backup, there was a good chance that he could outlast us. What then? Running for our lives? But Lauren’s earlier adventures inspired me. I launched a spell at the tulpas intended to do the same thing Lauren had done to N-ME. I enveloped the entire troop with a ghosting spell and, all of a sudden, their fists, blades, zaps, and bludgeons started passing through us harmlessly, as if we were empty air.

"Good thinking, Mantra!" Yrial shouted, but on the inside I was feeling chagrin that my idea had been borrowed from a high-school kid. Overhead, Gus was visibly reacting with alarm. The boy, an inexperienced general, now seemed unsure what to do. His confusion caused his defenses sag and – once more inspired by Lauren -- I aimed a narrow bolt at the Nintendo stick in his fist. It stung his hand and the boy dropped the object with a yowl. As it had with Lauren, the loss of his security blanket put him off his game.

"Hardcase, the plan!" I yelled.

On cue, Tom Hawke charged in. Holding a gas grenade in each hand, he bounded up to Gus’s altitude and set the bombs off. The ultra’s nearly invulnerable fists were not harmed, but the force of expansion and the knockout gas sent the boy tumbling to earth. Yet, somehow, he got command of himself in time so as to land on his feet.

The novice wizard’s resiliency continual to surprise me. But the attack hadn’t been a total loss. The gas had started him coughing breathlessly.

“Hit it!” I yelled to Strike and the mercenary launched what was a rocket-propelled capture-net. It dragged over the grass and enveloped the boy, trapping him while inflicting to a series of electrical stun-pulses.

We hurried in to constrain him, but the lad’ magical bolts shot out in all directions, breaking up our rush. But what made me more afraid were his anguished cries like a wounded, trapped animal.

"Move, Mantra, now!" Yrial shouted. She was right. We had to overwhelm the boy so we could stop hurting him.

Between the gas and the electricity, Gus had lost the initiative. His tulpa army was fading as he diverted his power away from them and his shooting was unaimed and wild. To end the danger quickly, I sent a fainting spell against the lad. Strike stood by tensely, waiting for my signal to cut the current.

But as bad as Gus had it, he was throwing at us all he had! His green energy bolts kept coming, lashing around us like whips of lightning. One of these lashed my magical force-field, bleeding through with enough pizzazz to make me cry out in pain. I persevered with my sleepy-time spells nonetheless, wishing that they could be more swiftly effective. If this wild fight didn’t end speedily, someone would surely be killed.

Suddenly, Gus’ lightning storm blinked off, as if a kill switch were thrown. Hardcase bellowed: "Strike! He's out of it! Turn off the charge!"

Yrial dodged past me shouting: "Stand back, Mantra!"

"Quick, Yrial!" yelled Hardcase. "Do your thing!”

The witch, intoning alien words, made air passes with her arms. Suddenly she cried out, "M-Mantra, something’s wrong!”

Both of us stopped spell-casing immediately and sprang toward Gus.

"Watch it, ladies!" Strike warned.

I didn’t listen. My hands went swiftly to the boy, feeling for life signs, but his bio-signs seemed as inert as clay.

The stricken child needed resuscitation! I clenched one of Gus’s arms and sent my own life-force surging into his little frame, trying to refuel his faltering life-spark. It did no good. His body was like an oil lamp that refused to draw. Like a lifeguard losing a drowning victim, I continued with my life-saving techniques beyond their point of usefulness.

My companions crowded up around me, none of us knowing what to do. At the last, the reality became so obvious that not even a mother could deny it.

The flame was out.

Gus was dead.

Dead.

#

Time hung in abeyance. My shoulders shook and my tears on my face felt cold. The landscape swung around like I was riding a kid-park roundabout. My mind in a fog, I felt Strike’s arm lifting me, with Yrial offering support from the other side. I tried to fight them off, not wanting to let go of Gus, refusing to accept the truth.

My plan had been a disaster.

Had I done the wrong thing?

What should I have done instead?

"What should I have done instead?!" I repeated out loud.

"Nothing, Mantra,” Strike told me.

“I hurt him!” I exclaimed.

“No,” said Tark. "It's no one's fault."

I wanted to get violent. I wanted to harm the people with me -- for helping me to harm Gus.

How could I have been so crazy as to bring a child into battle against heavy-hitting ultras? I should have done nothing at all. Even if Aladdin had snatched him away, it would not have been so bad as what I had made to happen.

"We can't leave the little fellow lying here," Yrial whispered. "S-Somebody has to call the police.”

In my state, I was hardly aware of Strike’s and Yrial’s continuing grip on me. Hardcase looked like he understood my loss and pitied me.

"S-Someone has to stay with him," I stammered.

"We'll all stay," said the world’s most seasoned ultra.

I shook the three away from me. "I can’t! I have something to do."

"Mantra...?" began Yrial.

“When a loved one dies in battle, an enemy warrior has to be killed upon his grave."

What I’d said surprised even me. I was suddenly thinking like a Dark Age warrior again. Strike understood, but Yrial couldn’t. She knew me only as a modern-day ultra. But my words must have sounded even more bizarre to Hardcase, who’d sized me up as a suburban homemaker. "Mantra, what are you saying?” he asked. “You're not thinking clearly."

I swatted his outreaching hands away. With my soul sliced to shreds, the last thing I wanted was comforting.

"Mantra," Hardcase urged, "you didn't cause this. Gus’s young body wasn’t strong enough to channel so much power. He kept fighting, kept drawing it into himself until he burned out like a fuse during an electrical surge. Don't damn yourself, and please don't do anything rash."

I shook my head. "His sister’s in danger, too. And enemy is waiting to feed off her. If that witch makes her move, Evie could follow her brother to the grave--"

Strike grasped my arms. "Easy, Mantra. This isn’t the right moment for revenge, not while you’re in such a state."

I fought free of his grip and staggered out of reach.

Tom Hawke came up again. "What enemy are you talking about, Mantra?"

"Necromantra!" I said.

Hardcase frowned. He already knew that Necromantra had killed my lover.

"Dear friend," spoke up Yrial, "the mercenary speaks sense. You will mourn, it will hurt, and it will be a bitter thing, but you will endure. You must endure. The worst possible result is to lose the person you truly are. No matter how evil Necromantra is, a good person must not use it as an excuse to commit intentional murder."

I rounded on her. "You never met the person I truly am. You’re yourself a death-witch. How do your people honor the slain?"

She shook her head. "My ancestors were unwise. They left us a terrible legacy that my people are still struggling to escape."

"I don’t understand, Mantra!” said Hardcase. "What does Necromantra have to do with anything that’s happened tonight?"

"Forget, it!" I declared. "I don't need anyone to understand. Killing her is something I should have done a long time ago."

"You already have my advice," said Strike, "but if you’re so determined, I'll go along to back you up. I only hope that you can think better of what you’re doing before it’s too late."

"Thanks," I replied. In the ghastly place I occupied, I wanted company -- as long as he didn’t try to stop me.

"I have a cell phone, Mantra," offered Tark. "Should I call an ambulance?"

I nodded. "Yrial, Hardcase, can one of you stay with the boy?" I couldn't bring myself to speak of Gus as a mere body.

The pair searched one another’s face and found accord. "We'll both wait for the medics to come," the man assured me.

"It will be most terrible for the child’s parents," Yrial remarked wistfully.

"Yes," I answered. “Losing a child is like dying inside.”

I should know.

"I need to go," I told them, "but please do one thing for me: Don't mention that you saw Mantra tonight."

Hardcase and Yrial traded glances again.

"I'm not dodging responsibility," I explained. "It’s that Aladdin was hounding me, up until they arrested the wrong person, thinking she was Mantra. She’s an international criminal, but Aladdin is torturing her to make her tell them things that she doesn’t know. If the world ever get sane again, I want to rescue her, but do it in a way that won’t put Aladdin back on my tracks again."

"It will be as you say," replied Yrial. Her tone suggested that she was humoring me. I fought down a flare of anger.

"Thank you," I said and then turned toward Strike. “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

"Where are we going?" he asked edgily.

"I'll guide you. Do you have passenger room on that hog of yours? I need a rest."

"There’s always room for a friend," he affirmed with a nod.

#

A quarter-hour later, Strike and I were stopped within a shadow along Hollywood Boulevard. Before us stood a decaying 1950's-style warehouse. According to Lauren, this was the lair of Necromantra. My passive senses affirmed so much; strong magic was leaking from within the weathered structure. What the nature of that magic might be I couldn’t ascertain.

"Are you sure about this, Eden?" my driver asked.

"I sense a wizard in there. It has to be Thanasi.”

“Thanasi?”

“Didn’t I tell you what her real name was? The two of us were best friends.”

"Best friends?"

He didn’t remember things he should have. Maybe the local Mantra and the local Tark hadn’t had all of the same conversations that I had had with Warstrike. “Forget it. I probably mentioned that to someone else.”

“I guess,” he replied. "Are you sure you’re up for a fight? You’ve been ground down tonight and Necromantra's no pushover – not if her new body is as powerful as yours when she had it.”

"It’s powerful, but I don’t intend to fight fair, Brandon. There isn't going to be any chivalry, no turn and fire. This is going to be simple pest control."

"If you were such friends, aren’t you afraid that you’ll choke at the wrong moment?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm past that."

Strike shook his head. “I know where you’re coming from. I ran into Necromantra just once and it left me wanting to kill her myself. I should do the dirty job. I don’t have your kind of baggage, Luke. Whenever you do something that you know is wrong, you carry a load of shame for a long time."

I balled my fists. "Yes, it’s a dirty job, but I’m the one who deserves to get muddy. If you're so worried about saving somebody’s soul, start with your own."

Strike blenched. "Actually,” he said, “I think I’m a Dead-End Kid. I won’t be getting much better than I am now."

I touched his arm and spoke as it these would be my last words to him. "Don’t think that way. You once told me that no matter how badly things have turned out for me, I was always doing the best I can."

He smiled. "I don’t remember that. Maybe you were told that by other guy you were talking to."

I shrugged and looked away.

"I've been wondering," Strike added, "who, exactly, is Thanasi's spirit possessing this time?"

He had the right to know, but I could hardly put the ugly truth into words: "My... my daughter’s."

That threw Tark for a loop. "What? Evie? You mean --?!"

"No, not Evie. Eden and I had another daughter. Marinna."

"So when did you two find time enough to make a daughter from scratch?"

"I can't talk about it now," I told him.

"If you say so. But if the witch is actually your daughter, how...how can you even consider --?"

“She’s not my daughter. She’s only using her body. My real child never had a chance to live. What Necromantra did is just another reason why I have to kill her."

Tark didn’t press the subject.

And I was glad that he didn’t. The loss of Eden Blake and my daughter on the same day has always been a thing too terrible for me to put my mind around.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 22