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| Morbius 2099UG Issue #6 "Goetterdaemmerung, Part 1" "Coram Deo" Written by Gary M. Miller |
| The 2099 Underground is a project whereby a group of fans are putting together a series of stories continuing from Marvel's fantastic futuristic 2099! Ignoring the ignoble and inaccurate "2099: World of Tomorrow", we're exploring what we feel is the true spirit of 2099 as envisioned by then Editor-in-Chief Joey Cavalieri. Participation is open to all. Comments about this issue should be sent to the author. Or you can visit our message board and post your thoughts on the issue. Anyone wishing to join the mailing list should do so by signing up at Yahoo! Groups. It's free and easy! Simply type in the keyword "Ghostworks" and you're good to go. |
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| Author's note: In SPIDER-MAN 2099 #45, written by Boastful Ben Raab and Terrible Terry Kavanagh, the Marvel world at large was treated to the true identity of the Goblin of 2099: Gabriel O'Hara! But could that have been wrong? Could someone else have been the Goblin? After all, Peter David, the only one with all the answers, left the book the previous month. Believe it or not, you're about to be treated to the real, honest-to-goodness identity of the Goblin as rendered by Peter David himself. Face it, true-believers, you just hit the jackpot! --GMM This story takes place following the events in the 2099 crossover, "The Fall of Alchemax". -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Evil events from evil causes spring." --Aristophanes "I've got a Black Magic Woman, She's tryin' to make a devil out of me" --Santana -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jehovah Kirk has been a not-so-faithful follower of the Christian faith all of his twenty-three years. Looks may deceive; he is a small man, hunched-over and mentally deficient. The man has been homeless for years, but ever since he was a little boy he found solace in the church; in particular he found that peace he wanted so badly since his parents died in a maglev accident. He cried that day and every day following as he watched his high-esteem life flush itself down the toilet piece by agonizing piece. He found himself out on the street, in front of those who tried to care for others but only cared about themselves; the upper city folk never gave him the time of day. He asked for credits but none would give him any. Thus Jehovah retreated from society in the sanctity of the church. His church, Saint Michael's, is long gone now. He'd volunteered to work there every Sunday; religion was the only place where he could find himself, it seemed. But even that started to slip away. He helped the Father of that church and was even being groomed to be the elderly man's successor in some ways. But then crime intervened, and a gloriously ugly fire burned the Downtown church to the ground. He was the only survivor, but he did not blame this on faith. He rejected all his teachings and blamed it on pure, simple luck. No more religion for him. That was five years ago. Now he wanders down to the only other church in the area--but why? He stands before the Church of Saint Patrick's with more than a little fear and hesitation, as he has done every single day over the last three years. He still finds it hard to cope and hard to believe that there is a God; in this day and age not many do, for they believe in the corporate sellouts such as Spider-Man and Thor and new ones, emerging every day. He knows that he should be with them but cannot bring himself to do so. Can one believe in miracles anymore in this day and age? Jehovah honestly doesn't know; but on the other hand, why would he come here every single day and stop by for less than five minutes? The strength of his belief is no belief. Why should that bother him? Why should that matter? Silently, for the first time in years, Jehovah prays to God while peeking in the door at St. Patrick's. He prays for a miracle. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Church of Saint Patrick's, Downtown "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." The man-boy feels awkward behind the veil that hides him from the priest. He feels hungry yet cannot explain why. He came to this place to seek some sort of direction, some sort of redemption. Can he truly find it, as Le'Osha had prescribed? Never has he felt this way before. He hopes he shall never have to feel as he does again. "Tell me your sins, my son. What troubles you?" Father Jennifer asks from behind the confessional. It has been her first regular visitor in days. Religion is slow; religion, many say, is flawed. She believes it as the only true way to save one's soul. "Don't be afraid." "What can I say, Father? I've never much been someone of religion. I've never really believed, for whatever reason." Morbius trembles, his palms sweaty, his hunger gaining on him. "God understands, my son, and he knows you as he knows all of us. Speak freely and with an open mind. God will accept you no matter your belief." "I hope that's true, Father. Over the last several days, things have happened to me. Strange things, horrible things. Perhaps I should start at the beginning. "I never knew my parents. As far as I know my only existence has been here, alone, in Downtown. I don't really know why my parents left me. Perhaps it was because they didn't really want a child. Perhaps it's my..." He stops for a minute. "Go on, my son," Father Jennifer urges. "What is your opinion on being different, Father? I ask that because I am not like other teenagers. I have never been what any man would label 'normal'. I am quite the opposite,and have been shunned. Is this why my parents rid themselves of me?" "People do odd things, my son. They fear that which they do not understand. They fear intelligence, they fear reason, they fear--" "Ugliness? I think that is what they feared about me. I don't know what I would do were I to meet my parents this day. I shudder to think it. They left me and I had to care for myself in the streets of Downtown. Eventually I was taken in by an old blind woman. She showed me what it was to be human, to be a citizen of New York. She taught me how to speak, how to communicate. I don't know what I would have done without her. But, I believe, it was only because she could not see that she took me in the way she did, for as long as she did. Are people that naive?" "My son," Jennifer continued, "beauty, or ugliness, is not something to judge by. God dictates that there is no sense in it; that the heart is what matters. Surely you had a good heart, otherwise she could not have given you all that she obviously has." "I guess you are right, Father. But she died, a few years ago, as all people do sooner or later. I was cast out without a clue as to my existence, with questions, not answers, about who I was and why I am. No one would help me. I was alone, homeless, and heartbroken. I do believe I loved the old woman, if nothing else than for opening me up to the world. "I have had no formal education, only the old woman's help and aid in the space of seven years. I go on with her teachings, and I attempted to learn more about myself and even find my parents. I could not find anyone who would even seem to have born a child such as me. So I wallowed in filth and disgust, looking occasionally to other places for salvation but never really finding any." "How old are you at this moment, my son?" "I am all of sixteen, Father. And I am in possession of too much torment than a boy of my age can bear." "Elaborate, my son. Surely you came to the church for a reason, this reason. God can help you. Many do not realize this. In your heart I sense something special about you." "Then," he laughs, "I'm afraid you don't know me at all, Father. Some have said, many have said that I am the Devil's child. I never dreamed some day they all would be proven right. That's what happened a few days ago..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The European structure of the Church of Saint Patrick's draws Jehovah Kirk nearer still. He looks up at the parapets, each having an odd-looking stone creature sitting upon it. He looks skyward and sees rain begin to fall. A few drops, drip drip. Then it seems a torrent lets go in the Uptown region of New York. He hears the thunder, fears the lightning. Rain slips through the cracks of the horizintal boundary that separates Uptown from Downtown. It has been happening more often, ever since the flood that occurred not long ago (see SPIDER-MAN 2099 #43-44), and it is a sign that nothing gets better in Downtown; it only gets worse. On the parapet the gargoyles seem to stare down at old Jehovah. He looks up and sees many lined along the church. He even sees a space where there should be a gargoyle, but curiously enough, there is not. He looks again, walking around the church in awe of these figures whom he never realized were there. He feels he can see into the past of the church, looking beyond the physical and transcending time in favor of something metaphysical. Jehovah wonders what it would be like to be one of those gargoyles standing above it all; an inanimate object seeing everything; something that could not be destroyed. Something immaculate; something...ugly. Jehovah puts his hands to his own face, trying to get a mental image as he had so many times of himself. He is a handsome man; but what had that quality given him in life? Nothing, absolutely nothing. He looks again at the creatures of stone and silently wishes to be up there, with them; part of the grand scheme. Directly above him, something wishes to comply. The stone, or whatever material of wonder this building was designed from, starts to melt, almost liquefy away around the base of one of the gargoyles. It congeals and leaves the beastlike statue nowhere to go but down. It topples from the heights of the church, hurtling downward at the rate of precisely 9.8 m/s^2, and lands with a crunch on top of the body of Jehovah Kirk. "Thy fondest dreams can all come true..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "My problems began with the smallest of things, Father Jennifer. Only over the last several days, and the last several encounters I have had with people, have these things become more and more prominent. I daresay I'm scared. Scared, Father. Me, the boy who has always been antisocial and who has gone without a father or mother, who has been hideously deformed." "What brought these changes on, my son?" "Adolescence, Father; that's as far as I can tell. The onset of some rather ... interesting abilites happened when I neared sixteen. I have seen things that not many are privy to -- my sight has changed to accomodate darkness as well as light. I could see plainly -- like a bat or other nocturnal animal in the black of night. My eyes -- they swelled red. I seemed to grow stronger than normal people. I learned that lesson when I accidentally killed a small rodent by simply petting it. "I wanted to run away from everything. What I could do to others was unfathomable. I now had -- have -- the strength of ten men, easily! I was becoming more freakish every moment. Just when I thought I was the worst of all, I saw something that changed my mind. "I saw some men on the streets of Downtown, a few blocks from here actually,a nd they seemed to be drugged, high on something. It could not be Rapture though; it made them die. And then it made the men come back as something else. As vampires. I saw them take on characteristics similar to myself; I battled them, one at first, and another of my new feelings began. I grew fangs like a vampire, and defeated the drugged thing easily. I felt the drug in its system somehow, though I knew not what it was. The thing dissolved into goo before I could get any answers." "What answers did you feel you could receive?" Morbius thinks for a moment, then: "I thought that I could get answers as to why I was this way. Why those things, those beasts looked so much like me and acted so much like me. I wanted to know who gave them this drug and where they were selling it." "Then?" "Then I would exact vengeance in whatever way was deemed necessary. I wanted to know if the drug made me this way those years earlier. I wanted to know if there was a cure for this condition." "And you have not found such a cure?" "No, Father. I tend to think, however, that I have been very close. That, and I believe I am beginning to be able to cope with others now. When I first learned of my condition, I stumbled into a church owned by a gypsy woman named Le'Osha. She helped me examine my life for what it was, and informed me of the ways of the vampire. I tried to shun her but more and more I find she is a good listener. She is like a mother to me. She knows of my strengths and weaknesses, or at least seems to. She keeps near even though I am what I am." "Why do you think that is?" "Because I need the help? Or perhaps that she does?" "Perhaps, my Son. You say you were getting near the answers to your condition. How is this? And have you had any more ... strange things happen?" "I learned what feeds me. The energies that give life in others give me strength." "That's some power. But do you take the lives of others using this ability?" "No, Father. I have not. To date I have only taken the energies of those who prey on the innocent. Criminals. And I do not take enough of their energies to kill them. I refuse to bring myself to do that, although there are times when I feel so sorely tempted. I am no murderer. None should accuse me of being such. But what happens around me is a different matter entirely. "Since I have obtained these abilities, many around me have suffered and some have died, inadvertantly due to my actions. There has been Halloween Jack, an enemy who may have held the key to my origin; a Doctor at Alchemax who may have shed some more light on that; and the brother of Hallween Jack, who headed the company which manufactured the drug which turned others into pseudo-vampires. And there have also been those unfortunate souls who have consumed the drug, many of whom disintegrated into sludge. All these have been around me." "So you consider yourself a focal point for evil things?" "I just mean people have a tendency to die when I'm around. I seem to bring out the worst in everyone when I'm near." "Well you won't find anything evil about me, my Son." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Power." "Beyond thine wildest dreams." "What...?" The blood pours out the open wounds on Jehovah Kirk's frail and fragile body as he lies on the ground outside the consecrated St. Patrick's. His eyes stare blankly at the sky above and he feels the rain drip-drop, plip-plop on his head even though he is unconscious. He should be near death; no, scratch that, he should *be* dead with all the damage his body has taken. The damage to his chest and head has been catastrophic, with every main artery and vein bursting with blood, expunging itself from his insides. The blood runs around his body, flowing around him and encasing him in a deep red color. His body lies (by coincidence? by something else?) in the sign of the cross. "Thou hast a purpose if thou so choosest, Jehovah Kirk. Thou hast the Lord's name and thou hast the righteousness of His cause. Of my cause. Thou hast the devotion required to fulfill my tasks." The blood pours in the (dead? alive?) man's mouth as he begins speaking. "What ... do I need ... to do?" The voice, although gargled, is audible (inaudible?). "Thou needest to obey the word of the Lord, Jehovah. Thou needst to devote thyself to the cause of light. The cause of this church. Mine Cause. I shall appoint thee to be my herald. Tell the people that I shall be coming. Tell them that I am here. And thou shalt need to accomplish one task before thou preach'st any of my gospel." "Anything." It is one word but a powerful one. "Thou wishest to be redeemed in my name?" "Yes O Lord." "SO BE IT!!!!!!" A bright flash consumes Jehovah Kirk's body. He ceases to exist. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I need to know, Father, after all that has happened -- the powers coming, the drug infecting me and changing me more, the misled quest for answers at Alchemax and my run-in with Spider-Man, and the finality with which I destroyed the Vamp- X factory -- what more is there to do? I still have no idea how my powers work exactly. I have inklings but have not trained myself rightfully to have any proficiency. I know how to feed and survive. Can you help me, Father?" "You can only help yourself, my Son. The powers that are in you can be used for good or they can be used for evil. The decision is yours and it has always been thus. If you are asking God, God dictates that you use the powers to help others. Try surviving without the hunger, try to refrain from hurting anyone. Punishment is not for you to mete out. Everyone gets theirs at Judgment Day. Your powers? You should find a cure. I can tell that although things have happened recently to make you consider leaving, answers may be closer than you think." "That's what Le'Osha said." "You believe that you will find answers. That matters now. As does your problem with friendship. You should seek friendship more intense and personal instead of pining in this group of followers you have. Do that and I believe you can finally become someone who is whole and of value to society. But your faith and your belief in God is the first step. He is there for you; accept his teachings and his help and you will become better in mind and body. He knows the way." "Thank you, Father. I guess I needed to hear that. I need to examine what I have left now that vengeance has been exacted. I need to find something to hang on to and do it with all the strength I have. No matter what." Morbius begins to open the door to the confessional to allow himself exit but he is stopped by Jennifer. "I don't believe you've done much wrong, other than losing your way, my Son. Be careful and believe. That is all the advice I have for you today. This is what the Lord wants. Good-bye." "Good-bye, Father. Thank you again." Morbius then swiftly opens the confessional and grants himself a way out. As he leaves he makes the sign of the cross at the doorway. He dabbles a finger in the holy water by the door and leaves. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Morbius walks down the street in the rain as opposed to flying. He does not want to alienate himself from other men. He wants to be with them, and he wants to try what Jennifer said. Try to suppress the hunger. Try to suppress the desire and hurt. The agony and filth and lust and enjoyment that feeding brings. He walks by the buildings where his many followers are stationed. On the steps of one of the buildings he sees a dirty, filthy old man in obvious need of something. Morbius intends to find out what. "What troubles you?" Morbius asks, sounding a bit like Father Jennifer. "I don't know anymore. I used to. I was employed by Alchemax. Research division 2080 or somewhere around there. I was involved in so much, and here I am involved in nothing. I need--" "Excuse me, did you say R&D of 2080???" Morbius nearly faints. He sits beside the man who is seemingly unafraid. "Yes, sir. Research for all the unorthodox experiments Alchemax had been playing around with. Not all of them, mind you, but--" "Who are you?" Morbius asks, intrigued. "My name is Fielding. Jerry Fielding." "Tell me more about this--" Morbius tries to bring his eyes away from the scene a few blocks away but cannot. He sees a black object trailing fire in the direction of St. Patrick's! When he is so close, things always go wrong! Why? Morbius asks himself this over and over before he hears the rumbling of the ground beneath him. Something is definitely going on. "Stay here," Morbius says, sprouting his wings and flying off. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Morbius crashes into the Church with a fury that has never been before. The stained glass windows surrender and break apart into many shards which toss themselves freely about the house of the holy. Morbius lands in the center of the church in between the rows of pews. What he sees at the altar is something unbelievable. Two men are fighting and crashing against the walls of the church! They tussle back and forth, one being on a strange glider while the other is seemingly propelled under his own wingless power. In fact, Morbius recognizes one of the two fighters from a previous encounter -- Goblin!!! "Get the shock out of here, hero! You don't belong!" the Goblin yells out as he is struck by the other creature. Morbius looks to see the creature garbed in black and red tones. He wears a cloak and a hood, and under the red armor glares like nothing ever seen. It looks like blood. What seems most significant about the armor is that the sign of the cross is emblazoned on the breastplate. "He's right, thou know'st," the other says, taking notice of Morbius. "But if thou shalt eagerly help me with my noble cause I shall thank thee forever and ever." "Who are you?" Morbius asks as he flies to the altar and tries to grab at the armored one. He is smacked away like a flea. "I am the Kirk, the personification of God's justice. Through me He acts and through Him I understand more of life and death than anyone else! Praised be He and praised be me! Begone or I shall have to smite thee away! Thou art not part of this assignment!" "The shock I'm not," Morbius says and once again dives toward the Kirk. He claws across the Kirk's breastplate but it does not do any harm. Morbius chooses then to take the Goblin away from the Kirk and fly to the other side of the church. With some effort he accomplishes this, and after hitting the Kirk once in the jaw, they are free. "What are you doing? You interrupt the battle for my very existence!" The Goblin is apparently not too happy about being taken away from the conflict. "Your very exist--? Listen, Goblin, I thought we could put aside our differences. I don't like what's happening here any more than you do. Besides, where's Father Jennifer? She wouldn't let you do any of this here!!!" "She is safe, Morbius, which is more than I can say for you. Get out of my way!" He struggles to free himself. Morbius holds him fast. "Why are you battling here? Tell me why you've violated the sanctity of the church!" "I have because it is a matter of this very church and the very faith that lines this Downtown region. I must be that which saves our society from the evils which corrupt it! I must do this no matter the personal cost and no matter who gets in the way! I warn you, get away, for you are not wanted here." "I'm sure Father Jennifer wouldn't want that." "I'm sure she would," the Goblin says directly before a beam of light hits Morbius in the back, forcing him down unconscious to the ground. The Goblin sloughs his body off and crawls uneasily to his feet. Before he can mount his glider, however, the Kirk blasts that as well. It crumbles into ashes. "Damn you!" the Goblin yells at the Kirk before lunging up, using his wings to lift up into the air. He uses one of his hand-blasts but it is ineffectual. So he begins a fist-fight. They punch each other back and forth in the air while Morbius lies unconscious. Finally one of them falls. Goblin. Morbius is groggy and dizzy as he begins to open his eyes. He wanted to protect the church and Father Jennifer. He could not do the latter, but perhaps the former. Where was Father Jennifer anyway? She gave him faith. He needed to reciprocate that. He needed to pay her back for showing him what life was worth. But now he stands helpless at the feet of the Kirk. The Kirk floats down to the broken body of the Goblin and picks the writhing villain up, holding him high above the ground. "I shall now take my prize and solidify my position as the herald of God!" he says, laughing. His one hand clutches Goblin's chest while the other goes for his head. He tugs at the Goblin's face until it becomes clear to Morbius that this Goblin wears a mask. As he pulls harder and harder the mask begins to come off. The Kirk had not expected the task to be so difficult. But as he continues trying to unmask the hell-fiend, something grows apparent. The body of the Goblin begins to change. Slowly at first, the body within begins shrivelling mystically and contorting itself to a new shape, one that no one thought would or could be. The legs become less muscled and thinner, the arms small and fragile, and unusual curvatures find themselves to the Goblin's hips; two bulbous protrusions from the Goblin's chest. The Goblin's whole body miraculously changes into something indubitably...feminine? Finally the mask comes all the way off. Morbius sees it but cannot believe it. He sees the long flowing hair and the gentle features of someone whom he had trusted. The Kirk stands above, grasping in one hand the Goblin's mask -- and in the other hand, he holds the body of Father Jennifer D'Angelo, dressed in the costume of the Goblin, by the neck. The Kirk applies still more crushing pressure to Jennifer's neck. And Morbius cannot move a muscle. Too weak. Too weak. Next issue comes the ORIGIN of the Goblin!!!! |