Millennium Man #4:
"Frail"
(Night And Day Act III)
by Jacob Milnestein

A thin arc of blood and gore streaked over the white surface of the counter, running freely before congealing in a puddle dangerously close to the edge, threatening at any moment to spill over onto the clean floor beneath.

Norman Maple lifted the cleaver once more and tore down into the desecrated animal shrine before him.

He had been butcher all his life, just like his father and grandfather before him.

It wasn't that he disliked animals, he just found himself hard-pressed to attach the level of sentimentality to them that others did. Norman Maple knew with cold unshakeable faith that he was at the top of the food-chain and as such he saw no harm in eating those below him. He wasn't particularly fanatical about the matter nor was he apathetic towards the subject. He had the strength of his own convictions and disliked being drawn into lengthy discussions on the matter.

Another blow and the defiled animal opened more fully.

Expressionless, he pushed gloved hands into the newly opened orifice, searching for something inside of it, some hidden treasure, an organic Holy Grail perhaps found only within the carcasses of dead animals.

It wasn't a job for those of a weak stomach but, of course, Norman Maple had always possessed a strong constitution, several nights on the town with the lads would attest to that one.

In the background a television set hummed quietly to itself. Maple looked up, partially distracted by the sound.

On the screen in glorious colours so much more vivid than real life, Christopher Lee reeled from a stake through the heart and staggered to the stone steps, his long red and black cloak trailing behind him like the train of some strange bride on a stranger wedding day.

His eyes glowed an unnatural colour, before bright, poster paint red spilled from his fanged mouth.

The butcher shook his head.

Such imaginations these writers and film makers had, most of them hadn't even been close to a dead thing let alone an undead one.

He sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall.

It was late. He had promised himself a cigarette break more than half an hour ago yet somehow he didn't feel comfortable shutting up shop till he had made sure everything, including the meat, was in order.

A sigh escaped his lips as he lifted the heavy carcass, shorn of any recognisable features, in his arms and carried it out to the back of the shop where the great freezers whispered of their silent contents to one another.

It was then that he caught the scent of something living.

A frown crossed his face.

That wasn't right, there shouldn't be anything living, not out here.

From behind one of the great white freezers a mangy old dog shuffled, shivering slightly in the cold.

Its eyes were big and black; hungry and defeated.

Maple's frown turned swiftly into a scowl.

The living had no place here. He alone was the caretaker and profiteer of this cold graveyard of headless animals. The presence of something living and uncounted for was a disgrace to his profession and to the dead that rested here, waiting patiently for their eternal reward in frying pans and ovens across the whole of Australia.

Suddenly the face of the nearest freezer exploded open.

The impact of the severed door knocked him to the ground, the carcass spiralling from his arms as he impacted with the cold floor, his back twisted at an awkward angle.

"Oh Jesus." He muttered softly.

Deep inside he knew something awful was about to happen just beyond the reaches of his comprehension.

Something big and dangerous uncoiled from within the depths of the great freezer, obsidian flesh decorated by ice and frozen gore.

His breath quickened as the creature stretched to its full size.

It was utterly unlike anything he had seen before, its daemonic appearance unreadable save for the vicious cruelty that resided in the pits of its all-too human eyes.

Briefly Maple reflected that this devil perhaps wouldn't have looked entirely out of place in one of the many computer games his son played into the early hours of the morning.

The devil leant down and he could feel its ice cold breath upon his skin.

Its great mouth opened, revealing several rows of powerful teeth.

Maple shuddered and turned away, screwing his eyes shut and whimpering over and over again:

"pleasedon'tkillmepleasedon'tkillmepleasedon'tkillme"

The devil closed its mouth, thinking better of whatever comment it was about to make.

There was an aching silence, a long period of nothingness. Maple's heart began to slow. Perhaps the beast had gone, perhaps it had just wished to frighten him so he'd relay the message of how terrible its presence was to others.

Yes, that was it. The creature had never intended to kill him. It relied on fear, relied on the dark. It needed him to tell the others about it, to spread word of its terrible, terrible presence.

His muscles relaxed and he opened his eyes slightly.

The devil still stood over him, smiling viciously.

A moment later Norman Maple's skull crumpled beneath the weight of its claws.

His cape billowed out behind him, a trail of red and yellow material against the dark, night sky.

Michael Manly sighed bitterly, continuing his vigilant observation of the city beneath him.

To his right, Charlie Winters rubbed his hand together to ward off the cold, the cigarette at the corner of his mouth threatening to fall at any moment and be dragged away by the overpowering winds.

It had been Manly's idea to use the Pacific City Tower as their base of operations (since the Winters' hotel room had been strictly declared as off-limits by Charlie's disgruntled spouse), the logic being that from the tower you were pretty much within reach of any place in Pacific City within the shortest time.

It was a nice central location from which to stand guard and watch for ShadowWraith.

Winters himself disliked it, which was expected. The former English hero complained of the winds at such a height, bemoaning the fact that it was difficult to light a cigarette in the face of such resistance.

Manly smiled quietly.

Charlie Winters was the only person he knew who avoided using his superpower for the simple reason of convenience. When Manly had asked how he didn't simply run everywhere, Winters had replied that he didn't like to as it left him out of breath.

A small smile formed at the corners of Manly's lips.

"So what exactly are we doing up here?" Winters shouted out to him above the wind, carefully holding onto his cigarette and looking down at it every five minutes to make sure it hadn't gone out.

"Waiting." Manly answered in a far sterner voice than he had intended.

Winters smirked derisively.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just go down there and flush the bugger out?" He asked.

"That was my original plan," Manly conceded. "But you didn't want to 'waste time running around' I believe you said."

Charlie Winters shrugged.

"You try running faster than a speeding bloody bullet when you've been smoking 60 a day since the age of 14." He scowled, taking a long drag on the end of the cigarette anchored between his fingers. "This ShadowWraith, big bloke is he?"

Manly shook his head.

"So why are you pissing your pants about all this?"

Michael Manly turned and looked at his companion, frustration and anger boiling up within him.

"I'm not pissing my pants." He shouted. "ShadowWraith has access to powers that may very well exceed my own. He's a dangerous criminal."

"Yeah, but you nailed him last time didn't you?" Winters argued.

Manly bowed his head.

"Not without certain. repercussions." He answered, voice soft enough to almost be drowned out by the wind.

There was a silence between them.

"Everyone I've fought against recently - the Bowler, Majestic Man, the Imperial Magistrate, you even - have proved to be better than me."

"But you killed Majestic Man." Winters added. "And it was only that Mysteria tart that really saw much of the Imperial Magistrate...and me for that matter."

The anguish rose up inside of Manly once more.

"I killed someone who looked very much like a dear friend. Majestic Man exhibited powers that I can only dream about."

Winters sighed angrily.

"Jesus Christ, change the bleedin' record, will you?" He snapped.

Manly looked up, a wounded expression on his face.

"Ever since me and the wife got here all you've been doing is bitching about how you weren't chosen to be Millennium Man like you thought at first. So what? Let me tell you something, mate, I never wanted to be able to run faster than a speeding bullet and I never gave two tosses whether I could jump buildings in a single bound or not. You're taking this responsibility rubbish far too seriously. You're only one bloke, Mikey, stop trying to do the job of a whole bloody team of super-gits."

Manly nodded slowly.

"You're right." He nodded.

A sudden explosion echoed from the streets below.

Both men turned suddenly, eyes darting to the small crater that had torn apart the glass and metal face of a small shop.

Somewhere near by a dog was barking frantically.

"He's down there." Manly whispered, setting his jaw with determination. "Let's go!"

"Hang on!" The other shouted abruptly.

Manly turned and looked at him, frustration clearly visible upon his features.

"Give us a lift." Winters beamed.

The beast's unholy visage was illuminated in the twisting of flames that curled like serpents up through the decimated butcher's shop.

It was not a significant target, not in the beast's grand scheme of things yet it knew that somehow its enemy would need to be drawn out. Those were the rules and, perhaps more than any other 'hero' or 'villain' in Pacific City, ShadowWraith understood how important those rules were.

As a young man it had been enamoured with the ideals of chaos theory, the idea that each action taken or ignored could have over a million possible ramifications. It was cause and effect taken to the most extreme possibilities, a framework for human understanding that transcended all normal sciences and basic, mundane conceptions of how the world worked. Chaos theory was freedom.

Its young disciple yapped nervously at its heels.

ShadowWraith grunted and looked down at the dog.

The animal's ears were pressed back firmly against its skull, mouth open and displaying two rows yellow and black teeth.

The devil snorted and turned its head upwards, a smile playing across its face.

Descending down from the heights of the great tower was the shape of its nemesis.

The enemy looked different from last time, older, less sure. The costume had changed marginally and the useless curtains of blonde hair had been shorn away leaving nothing but stubble...and there was another accompanying it, an older man with long, silver hair and a trailing, black coat.

This was not allowed, the struggle was to be between the enemy and itself, no others were allowed to interfere.

It tensed its muscles and prepared to leap into the sky when the sudden whimpering of the dog cut through its concentration.

It turned and looked down at the dog, noticing how the anger had suddenly been replaced with concern. Perhaps the rules had not been broken after all for as certainly as the enemy had brought a companion with him so had ShadowWraith.

The devil snarled, frustrated by the constraints of its own internal logic.

The enemy and his companion landed awkwardly on the pavement before them and the beast's smile widened as it watched them exchange confused expressions.

"You said he was a little bloke." The enemy's companion whispered.

The enemy himself said nothing, merely taking in the hideous sight of the creature's new appearance.

"S-ShadowWraith?" He finally asked.

The devil snorted and laughed loudly, a deep, guttural mirth that shook the ground before it. Perhaps the gods had not been as cruel as it had first believed, perhaps their goals were simply to give it the strength it had not possessed last time.

Smiling still, the beast held out its giant claw, dark talons gleaming in the light of the burning shop.

"What happened to you?" The hero whispered, stepping hesitantly forwards. "Who did this to you?"

He took another step.

"Careful, mate." His companion warned but the hero paid no heed.

"ShadowWraith, I want to help you. Tell me what happened to you so we can...restore you...make you human again."

Millennium Man reached out a hand towards the black flesh of the creature's shoulder.

"I want to help you, ShadowWraith. We don't have to fight." He whispered, coming closer.

The devil could hear the tremble in his voice, see the uncertainty that played across his face.

The hero, the great righter of wrongs and protector of justice, was scared.

It smiled and lifted its vast, malformed head.

"Your...godsss...are...not...my...godsss...Mil...lennium...Man." It announced.

With a single movement, the talons expanded from its hand and punctured the soft tissue of the hero's shoulder.

Millennium Man screamed, his knees giving away as the claws tore through muscle and shattered bone.

ShadowWraith through back its head in laughter, its chest rising and falling. Bone twisted within its chest and fractures appeared, thin trails of black blood seeping between the layers of flesh as its body convulsed once more.

Teeth extended as its neck shrunk into its shoulders.

Spikes of pure darkness pierced its skin, growing from its spine and bursting out of its back. From the fractures of its chest and stomach a multitude of additional limbs unfurled, each one tainted by its own blackened blood.

Millennium Man lay on the floor at its feet, his eyes flickering in horror as the beast transformed before him.

In her dreams, the telephone was ringing.

It took several minutes and the thinly veiled complaints of Trevor to wake her from her slumber and reach out to pull the receiver from its cradle.

"Hello?" She murmured into the phone, half- suppressing a yawn.

"Regina Darling?" A nervous voice at the other end on the phone asked anxiously.

"Yeah." Regina muttered. "Who is this?"

"I, ah, I just thought you should know that there's a fight going on down on 11th and Carnival Street."

"What do I care?" Regina snapped, awake enough to register the fact that she was annoyed at being woken.

Hands scrabbled for the alarm clock and its familiar red LCD read out.

"3:41, Jesus." She whispered angrily.

The voice on the other end of the phone ignored her.

"Millennium Man's involved." It said, more urgently this time.

Instantly her journalistic instincts took over.

"What was that? Millennium Man? Who's he fighting against?" She demanded, suddenly wide awake.

The phone line went dead.

Cursing her luck, Regina Darling swiftly hauled herself out of bed and began dialling a new number.

"Bill? Yeah, this is Regina. I need you to meet me on 11th and Carnival. Bring a camera, looks like we might me able to get some real footage for tomorrow's show."

She nodded once and then dropped the phone down without saying goodbye, hurriedly leaning over and kissing Trevor lightly on the cheek before searching for her clothes.

"Sorry, honey," She smiled. "Duty calls and all that."

His vision was blurred, obscured by the dark shadows that writhed before him.

In his head, a phantom pain raged across the surface of his brain. He remembered what it was like as they shaved his head, remembered catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, pale and gaunt, head completely bald of hair. He remembered being wheeled into surgery, staring up at the great composite insect eye composed of blinding light bulbs, the hushed assurance, the medical diagnoses.

But most of all Michael Manly remembered the pain.

Blistering headaches that greeted him in the early hours of the morning, making sleep impossible and movement an equal chore. Even the slightest movement, the slightest flicker of light in his darkened bedroom flared the pain up once more.

He remembered all of these things and, with terrifying clarity, understood that he couldn't go through it a second time.

Grunting, he dragged himself up from the cold pavement, left arm hanging limply onto cords of exposed muscle, his broken shoulder bone jutting up through the flesh.

Another human being would have passed out by now but Michael Manly refused to let himself be any other human being.

Not Henry Burke, not Bruce Todd, he was Millennium Man.

Briefly he glanced behind him, searching for Winters.

The other 'hero' was nowhere in sight.

Manly snarled. It was all true. There was no one he could depend on. In the end they all left.

Filling his lungs with air, he let out a scream of fury, hurling himself at ShadowWraith, the fingers of right hand blistering as sun-bolts burst into being at their tips.

His hand connected with the monster's blackened flesh, burning into it with such concentrated force that it would have reduced a normal human to ash on the spot.

Victoria Burke...

The flesh crackled and burnt, peeling away as the sun bolts dug their way into the warm flesh within.

Charlie Winters...

ShadowWraith howled in anger, falling back a step, limbs flailing.

Regina...Darling...!

His entire right hand transformed into a glowing ball of fire and hurtled towards the monster's head with all the force of a freight train..and then stopped.

He gasped and looked up.

Encompassing his right hand was a knot of shadow tipped with darkened talons.

The creature's hideous face broke into a grin and once again bellowed with laughter.

Manly tried to free himself but found he couldn't. He was stuck, anchored to the spot.

Slowly, the beast began to twist his arm ever so slightly.

Pain erupted in his fingers, travelling up the nerves of his body and exploding behind his eyes.

He felt more and more pressure being applied, felt the bones of his arm protesting, the flesh splitting with every turn of ShadowWraith's giant claw.

He screamed out once more, this time in pain rather than anger.

Once again the familiar image of Majestic Man flashed before his eyes.

Clenching his fists he let out a scream of fury, his eyes rolling up and turning white, muscles bulging and costume splitting.

A flame of ethereal fire surrounded him as the superhero enlarged his size several times over, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging under the strain.

Energy crackled about his very being, churning up the pot-holed loam before and creating a crater that almost threatened to swallow the gathered soldiers that stood in close proximity to him.

"Now," He smiled confidently. "You will witness the extent of my full power."

Manly raged against the memory, against his own impotence.

If only he could achieve the power that Majestic Man had displayed, if only he could ascend!

With all of his might, Manly tore his one good fist from ShadowWraith's grip taking the creature's additional limb with him.

It howled once more and clutched the bleeding stump of flesh where one of its many arms had been.

He stood panting for a moment, drawing breath deep into aching lungs.

A calm spread across ShadowWraith's dark features.

"What...are...you...so...happy...about?" Manly snarled between breaths.

Slowly the beast parted its fingers revealing the stump once more.

Something sickly pulsed beneath the surface of the flesh, something large and vicious. The flesh bulged and then exploded, birthing a new arm to replace the one it had lost to its adversary.

Manly's eyes bulged.

"No." He whispered. "You can't do that."

The beast nodded its head mockingly, slowly advancing towards him.

"You can't." Manly whispered, shaking his head. Tears formed like crystal in the corner of his eyes, running down the black material of his domino mask. "You can't do that!"

A claw slammed into him, knocking him sideways.

His body smashed through a layer of glass and impacted against the metal counter of a closed shop.

Alarms began ringing as they registered the shattered glass as a break in attempt. It didn't matter. The police, the media, everyone would already know what was happening and everyone would be doing their best to stay on the outskirts of the action, not daring to come any closer least the beast turn its attention upon them.

He couldn't see them but he knew they were there.

In the skies above the sound of helicopter blades drowned the footfalls of the oncoming creature.

God, he wished it was the police, the military, anyone but he knew it would only be the media. Regina Darling probably, smiling and clutching her microphone and telling the world about his latest failure.

He staggered, pulling himself to his feet, his costume in shreds, exposing masses of scars and cuts.

The beast continued to advance forwards, shoulders thrust back and head high, the flames dancing behind it. The perfect backdrop for its malformed, daemonic guise.

He hauled himself out of the shattered window front, pride and body in shreds.

"Come on then," He shouted out at it. "Come on and finish me, you bastard! COME ON!"

His face twisted with desperation and anger.

The beast stopped directly in front of him, still smiling.

Slowly it raised its hand, preparing to strike.and the space where its heart should have been erupted in a slow blossom of black blood.

Regina Darling's knuckles were whiter than snow, hands clasped around the microphone as if it were a religious icon that could guide her through the horrible scene unfolding before her eyes.

"Oh my God." She whispered softly.

She watched as the broken form of Millennium Man staggered from the broken glass face of the smashed shop, watched as the creature he was fighting advanced steadily towards him.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

She had never felt like this.

Quietly, scanning the faces of the crowd she saw that they all felt the same. None of them had ever believed that Millennium Man could actually die.

For the first time in her life, Regina Darling was speechless.

And then she saw him, standing on the rooftop of a near by building, smug grin and cigarette smoke.

Shirley Winters stood upon the rooftop in her dressing gown and slippers, arms folded over her chest in a desperate attempt to keep out the cold.

She hadn't had time to change into anything more suitable. One minute she had been dozing quietly in front of the television, the next her husband had charged in like a force of nature, emptying boxes and suitcases they had taken with them from the abandoned helicar onto the floor of their hotel room, frantically searching through nostalgic collections of better days.

She asked what was going on, shouted at him but he had remained infuriatingly dedicated to the task at hand, only pausing to scoop her up in his arms and carry her with him on his return journey.

Shirley half suspected this was due to guilt at not being able to explain the situation.

When they arrived (just in time to witness Manly being booted through a glass window) Shirley had felt that perhaps seeing it for herself was the best explanation anyhow.

Charlie watched the creature with grim determination, raising the bow and adjusting the arrow.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Shirley asked, not entirely certain of her husband's plan.

"It has to." He replied with a singular focus upon the task at hand.

She could feel her heart beating in her chest as he adjusted the arrow, moments that seemed to stretch out for hours.

"Aim true, my darling." She whispered.

Charlie Winters beamed proudly.

"Cheers, gorgeous."

The arrow exploded from the bow, flying through the air at speeds so fast she was unable to keep a track of it with her naked eye.

The soft thud of impact echoed through the silent streets and the beast began to howl.

ShadowWraith staggered, clutching at the arrowhead that pierced its heart.

Desperately it tried to steady itself, floundering against its surroundings, face contorted in a tragic expression of pain and anguish.

It reached towards him, trying to strike a final blow but not having the strength.

Eyes that flickered between shades of complete darkness and deep blue humanity rolled up in its skull and the beast collapsed, silent upon its bed of broken glass and torn rubble.

Manly stood, panting as he watched the fallen creature.

A stray dog padded sadly up to the beast, tail between its legs and whimpered, softly nuzzling at its master's side before finally falling down next to the great monster and howling with sorrow.

Deep inside, Michael Manly felt his heart breaking.

Carefully he adjusted the costume.

It was several sizes too big for him but it was late and this was the only costume the fancy dress shop had that even vaguely resembled that of the Pacific City protector. He had made a few modifications, dyed the colours red and white and added the cloak and that was good enough.

Smiling he adjusted the domino mask and looked at himself in the mirror, giggling loudly.

The twisted face of Millennium Man smiled right back at him.

"W-What happened?" Manly gasped, tentatively pressing a palm against the fleshy shreds of his shoulder.

Far below, the crowds began to mingle around the body of the beast, tentative police officers pumping sedatives into it and preparing to cart the slumbering body to a new cell within the twisted corridors of Alhazred Asylum.

Charlie Winters shrugged.

"We used to hang out with Chastity in the '60s, she taught me a bit of archery and stuff. Never was much good at it though, not until today anyhow." He calmly lit a cigarette and tossed the packet to his wife who nodded gratefully and lit one for herself.

"But how could one arrow have succeeded where I failed?" Manly questioned, voice distraught with his own perceived failure.

With shaking hands he removed his mask and looked up at the couple with questioning eyes.

"It's a magic arrow." Winters smiled. "Obsidian tipped and dipped in the blood of John Dee. I nicked it off the Galactic Stranger a few years back. Its supposed to create a binding spell around whoever it hits, anchoring them to whatever they fear most. Apparently our ambidextrous friend down there's scared of going to sleep." He shrugged. "Either way, you won, Mikey."

Manly shook his head.

"No." He whispered. "I failed...again."

Charlie and Shirley Winters exchanged worried glances.

Gently Charlie reached out and placed a hand on his good shoulder.

"Come on, mate, let's get your wounds sorted out, yeah?"

Michael Manly nodded dumbly but said nothing.

The beach again.

He staggered beneath the empty skies, his all too human weaknesses apparent in the cold desolate wilderness of that strange dreamlike realm, crying out for an answer.

Beneath him the sand was hot, though there was no sun to warm it and above the gods watched impassively, eyes hardened to his plight.

Falling to his knees, the man known only as ShadowWraith screamed in frustration.

From behind he felt hands wrap around his neck and force his head down into the sand...or the water...or the fire.

He didn't need to turn, he already knew who it was just as he knew that they had all of eternity to play out this same scenario.

"In dreams you never quite die, you always come back just before the brink of nothingness...and then it all begins over again." His brother whispered.

Above them, the gods watched on in passive silence.