Crossover Earth '98
Arcane's Journal--King of Wands Ken St. Andre
I met another one of the world's supervillains today. I believe it was the man-monster called Mongo.
I was in downtown L.A. attending a protest rally about the environment when suddenly this uncouth giant appears and smashes through the building door in front of me like it was paper. The crowd around me panicked and quite sensibly ran away, some of them shouting, "Mongo, Mongo!" so I knew it was the simple-minded man-beast who has been so much in the news these last few months.
I would have run away, too, but I got that old tingling feeling from the cards in my shirt pocket, and knew that once again the Gods of Tarot demanded my intervention. So, I followed Mongo into the skyscraper.
It wasn't hard to determine which way he had gone--a trail of destruction marked his progress through the bank. Finally I saw his broad back ahead of me, and knew I had to do something fast.
I pulled out my deck and cut it, and who should appear but the King of Rods--a stalwart man of Herculean physique carrying a quarterstaff. A man of action--this called for a physical approach.
As I wondered how this was going to help, the little king stepped off his card and grew into a figure half again as big as me. Giving me a wink, he strode rapidly forward and poked the man-brute in the ribs with the end of his staff.
The man-brute quit terrorizing the black loan officer and turned on his new tormentor. He groped for the King's quarterstaff, but a lightning like series of blows and slaps with the heavy wooden cudgel let Mongo sucking his knuckles.
Mongo stomped forward, swinging his fists like windmills. The King of Rods skipped back and delivered a rattling series of blows to Mongo's arms, chest, and abdomen. The blows didn't really hurt Mongo, but he thought they stung and rocked him from side to side, and his thick features bore the expression of a man who is taking a beating, but is determined not to quit.
I was getting a hell of a headache. Every time the King of Rods slapped Mongo in the head with the staff, it felt like he was hitting me. I think there is some law of karma involved--something like "as ye give, so shall ye receive". I wasn't doing a thing except thinking, and I was taking the beating I was giving to Mongo.
This must have gone on for five minutes as the King of Rods and Mongo waltzed all around the lobby of the bank. Finally, I heard sirens and decided I'd better put an end to this fight. No matter how hard I seemed to hit Mongo, I wasn't doing any real damage, and so he would never go down. I, on the other hand, was already on my knees.
My concentration lapsed for a second, and Mongo sprang forward and tagged the King right on his square, bearded chin. This seemed a chance to end it all, so I let the blow take effect. The King was knocked sailing through the air and into the far wall, where he slumped bonelessly unconscious. That's about how I felt.
Mongo pounced across the floor and stood above his vanquished foe. The King of Rods lay apparently unconscious, breathing shallowly, his handsome face one big bloody fist print. "Ha, Mongo wins!" cried the brute.
Then he heard the police sirens and the squealing of brakes outside. "Why Mongo fight stickman?" he asked himself. "No matter, Mongo win fight, time to go!" He looked around and then suddenly smashed through a plate glass window that could have bounced a runaway car, and galloped off down a side street.
I let the King of Rods fade away. Nobody seemed to be watching.
"Mister, are you hurt?" The question came from a teenage boy who had just run into the bank. "Did that monster hit you?"
"Oh, no, he just brushed me aside when he ran in," I lied, struggling to get my tarot deck back into my pocket. "I have a horrible headache--a migraine, I think, but I'll be okay if I can just lay down and get some rest.
The loan officer ran up to us babbling something about helping the superhero with the stick. We all looked around. The King of Rods was gone now--no superhero could be seen. "What are you talking about"" the kid and I asked at about the same time.
After giving a brief statement to the police about what had happened, they let me go. I went home, took six aspirin, and slept like a corpse for 12 hours.
After waking up, I got a bean burrito and checked my deck. Only 77 cards--the King of Rods was missing. My guess is that the card will be found somewhere on the bank floor. I wonder what that loan officer will think if she sees it.
to be continued . . .