Chapter 94: Chapter 94: Into the Land of The Impaler
As it turns out, Dr Doom did not have a Moon-Jet destroyer lazer.
Hooray.
After passing through Hungary they landed in Romania in less than an hour. More specifically, Transylvania.
Brontë could see their targeted mountain region beyond the foggy clouded city-village landscapes further north.
Moon-Knight ended up landing them in a valley surrounded by dense snow crusted forestry. Romania had quite a bit of that from what he saw from above. That was good. Werewolves liked grassland and forestry. Vampires like cities. At least that was his experience.
He'd find out if it was reality soon.
The jet doors swung open and muggy afternoon air welcomed them in all its coldness. It was clean— compared to New York. He didn't smell the faintest hints of rusty metal, body odor and urine.
Instead the afternoon air was rife with wooded scents, rain and blood. It was nice. Familiar. The Canadian alps had a similar smell at certain times of the year.
They all grouped up near the jet. In the silence Mr Knight clicked a button on his watch and the aircraft began to fade.
Cloak technology.
"Everyone remember their groups?"
Robbie locked arms with Mr Knight.
Jack stood behind Blade twisting around a poncho to wear it correctly.
"I'll take that as a yes." Blade concluded, "Me and Jack are going to go find and speak with the leading Pack here. They'll have good information on the Vampires and possibly Mount Wundagore. If they don't, they'll know the Vampires who will." Blade explained.
"We'll talk to the locals and try to locate our special target." Ilyana explained.
"And we'll provide back-up to whoever needs it first." Robbie's skin steamed in the wintery air.
"Everyone good?" Blade questioned.
"Maybe not." Bronte interjected.
Everyone looked him and Ilyana's way.
"When I was asleep on the Jet Khonshu visited me."
"Mhm…" Mr Knight leaned in, unlocking arms with Robbie.
"He's uh….. not satisfied with your performance. I mean— you're still his right-hand man, but he also wants a left hand. He wants another Avatar. And he said he'll find it here. They might be against us…. They'll probably be against us." Bronte explained.
"Khonshu offered the gift to you first…." Mr Knight concluded the part Bronte tried to leave out. He was sharp like that.
"He did."
"And you said no?" Blade questioned.
"Yea, I don't really like people… or gods who play with my past experiences."
"That would've been a good boost in power, slim." Blade smacked his lips repeatedly.
"Power isn't everything…. especially that kind. I'm not going for that."
Mr Knight nodded in understand along with the others. "You would've been a good left hand though…." He whispered.
"Alright." Blade stretched, "Look for Vampires, WereWolves, Cthon's Shrine and Khonshu's Left Hand. This is going to be a long night…."
"And morning." Jack provided.
"Move out."
***
Brontë and Ilyana were on the move for no more than an hour and he could smell city life nearby. No less than a mile away. Ilyana wasn't much of a talker to begin with— and he had a lot on his mind so they moved in silence. Relative silence.
A pack of Wolves and native Hawks followed them while Bronte listened in on Tigra through his earpiece. She'd been more or less silent since they admitted her. Muttering nothing more than complaints shrieks fear. Wherever Daken was, it must've been hell on earth.
Or literal hel—
"Bronte." Ilyana's voice penetrated his thoughts as they walked under the unneeded shade of sky high evergreens.
"Yea, what's up?" Bronte's boots crunched through the snow loudly. Much to his dismay. Then again the Wolves hadn't howled.
"Who called you earlier?" Ilyana questioned.
"Wanda Maximoff." Bronte replied.
"The Scarlet Witch."
"I met her in Wakanda."
"Are you two…. Friends?" Ilyana kept her eyes on the snowed in trail they walked.
"Acquaintances. I raced her brother….. and lost. I think I could win with Mend." Bronte looked down at his arm.
"It doesn't sound like you two were talking about racing."
"Eavesdropping much….. I hope you ain't jealous. She's into bigger…. greener…. guys."
"I'm not jealous. I'm interested." Ilyana looked at him finally.
"I didn't know you swung that way—"
"Bronte."
"Ok, my fault. We were talking about Cthon. Chaos Magic and Dark Magic to be specific…. She was giving me the rundown….. after telling us not to do this. Like very specifically."
"And you didn't listen…" Ilyana assumed.
"Of course I didn't. There's people relying on us. We don't have years…. We can't just not do this. When has that ever worked?"
"I understand. Does it worry you more, though? I mean the Scarlet Witch is a talented practitioner of Chaos Magic. She would know." Ilyana questioned.
"What did I say before?" Bronte held her gaze.
"…..You are always worried."
"Nothing new over here. We got a plan…. We have resources and connections. Let's stick to it and do what we set out to do."
"And if it doesn't go as planned?"
"Improvise. We didn't plan for a sonic android at the docs, did we? Still got the job done." The shadows told Bronte a hawk was flying directly over them both like an aerial guide.
"That is a crazy parallel to attempt."
"You right. Let me cope, though."
Ilyana was silent for a moment.
Then she added, "…. Well… we also didn't plan for a radicalized Sorcerer to send Mercenaries to raid the Sanctum Sanctorum when we went searching for a cure for Vampirism. We still got it done. Sort of."
Brontë grinned, "Exactly…."
They reached the edge of the snowed in forest path and found themselves stumbling down into a beat in stone street that led straight into Sighisoara. A historically rich village paramount to Transylvania's identity. Which wasn't at all obvious from the giant old world brick fortress gate. No sign, no people. Just three corridors barely large enough for cars to drive through.
"Are you ready to show me around?" Ilyana questioned.
"Of course." Bronte turned away from the entrance and found a pack of Wolves seated at the edge of the forest. Their dull yellow eyes watched him intently as hawks and crows rustled the evergreens. Brontë clicked his teeth and made a circular motion with his finger.
They all spread out.
"They can't escort us into the city. Id imagine these people are going to be very superstitious." Ilyana explained, in reference to the Wolves and birds.
"They can run the perimeter, though. It probably obeys their pack territory anyway. Let's go."
Brontë led Ilyana into the city.
It was beautiful. In that old medieval fantasy kind of way. The buildings and architecture was nothing like New York. The world wasn't died in artificial colors and steel blues and greys. There were no high rises. The roads weren't black and pungent with chemicals.
Each building they passed was stone and covered in natural paints that were both vibrant and aged. Uneven and sunkissed with splotches of brighter hues. Shingled rooftops outlined by snow were lined by the largest icicles he'd ever seen.
The roads they walked on looked like stone puzzles tightly held down and together by their own weight. It kind of reminded him of some of the rural northern cities in Canada.
The locals— of which there were barely any, watched them with a potent mixture of fear and paranoia.
"This place is about as welcoming as I thought it would be." Ilyana mumbled.
"Not for no reason…." Bronte mumbled as he scented the air.
"What do you mean?"
"Khonshu said this place didn't have heroes. Only Hunters and Monsters…" Bronte flicked his head upward.
Ilyana followed his gaze and found a number of rooftops absent of snow and groups of bats hung sleeping from scaffoldings in the alleyways.
"Should we call the backup?"
"What? No. I'm supposed to be showing you around." Bronte replied. His slightly more animated tone made an old women across the street clutch her bag tighter as she passed them.
Ilyana looked ready to protest as she looked from him to the previous sighting of bats.
"Those were regular bats." Bronte tapped his nose.
Ilyana grinned in a sort of speculative way that sent lightning up Bronte's legs. "Ok…. But how are you planning to show me around a place you've never been to?"
"Trust. I know where and what everything is for the next five miles all around us." Bronte sped up his walk and waved her along, "Like around this corner…. They got something with beef and spices I've never smelled before."
The two rounded the corner on the long stone street and found themselves facing a small concession stand and flame grill with an assortment of meats straight from the butcher shop no more than six minutes ahead.
A few locals were in line buying their cuts and making orders under colorful flags when the chef eyed them. He was old…. But also not. His skin was pale and grey hairs were sprinkled along his full black beard. But he still moved fluidly. Even so, he felt old.
"Tourists! At the tail end of Epiphany Day's celebration! Just getting rid of the festival cuts. Come have your pick…. On the house." The man wore a fur longcoat and stocking cap as he hunched over the grill diligently seasoning and searing each piece. The shadows born from the coverage of his cart and outstretched awning would've swallowed him whole if not for the bright festive colors everywhere.
Brontë and Ilyana walked over, parting the— shallow, sea of locals tearing away at their grilled meats.
Brontë sniffed the grill. His stomach growled as he pointed out his order and tried to keep his hands still. "I'll take that right there, sir."
"Lamb! Choice of the wolf…." The chef said jokingly as he used his tongs to grab a cut of seared lamb. "And what for the stunning young lady?"
Ilyana blinked flatly, "Steak is fine."
Along with the steaming cut of meat on a plate he handed to Ilyana, the chef also put a strip of basil. "That's to go under your pillow. They say it helps in finding a husband." The chef winked obviously at her after whispering the message.
They said their thanks and left. Sharing a glance between eachother once on the way out.
Brontë and Ilyana walked in silence before finding a wooden bench placed in front of a bakery. The smell of freshly cooked dough and flour was heavenly. Even more so, the abundance of people made it almost feel welcoming. Despite them all leaving once they sat….
"Don't…."
Brontë laughed, "Alright fine. I'm just saying you still have the basil."
"I do. And what of it? I respect peoples beliefs and superstitions…. Usually." Ilyana replied as she held her plate with nothing but steak grease and basil leaves.
Brontë looked around once to make sure everyone was gone.
"Even Vampires?"
Ilyana dropped her plate, "What gave him away to you?"
"Smell. He's smart to hide behind cooking meats and seasonings. It probably keeps the Werewolves off his back. What about you?"
"His whole body was covered. Even though the carts interior was hot enough to steam like a sauna. He's still cautious of the sun."
"Meaning he's not high up in Daken's ranks… if at all." Bronte finished.
"So our next issue is why." Ilyana started.
"Why what?"
"Why are Vampires working regular jobs here in the middle of Romania?"
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