The Defenders of the Earth (Collected)

Bangalla, Africa (Six Months Ago)



That night was aggressive in its darkness.

Those who had faced alien despots, mad gods and weather demons had no fear of the dark, even still the black seemed all the “blacker” in the chosen place for the clandestine meeting; closing in around the five figures like a trap.

“Thank you for joining me here today.” A young black woman, the only woman in attendance it should be noted, said, adjusting her glasses. Despite being quite tall and her curly hair in a natural style, spreading out her head in a large halo she affected quite a meek air.

They stood in a loose circle: the woman standing ever so slightly apart, the four men standing two by two on either side of a small portable podium holding a laptop, opened and running some kind of “skype”-like interface with an irritated looking young blond man scowling right in the young lady’s direction.

“I’m usually all for the dramatic flair,” An older dapper man in a black tux, Mandarake, said with a swish of his cape, “but this may be a little much, even for me,” He laughed, “Not that I’m not happy to see you all.”

A tall dark skinned black man of similar age to his right, in a mix of tribal and Western style clothes, Lothar, looked at him a mixed expression of affection and annoyance but said nothing.

“Forgive me,” The woman said sheepishly, “But I’m not supposed to be here and I’m definitely not supposed to share the information I’m about to share with you.”

“It’s okay miss.” Another man, older like the first two, in a purple spandex suit with skull accoutrements and a black domino mask, The Phantom, said, standing just behind him was a younger man, taller, with a similarly colored but far more practical outfit; seemingly makeshift out of athletic gear and goggles were the domino mask should be, “Do go on.”

“And make it quick please.” The blond peeking out from the computer monitor snapped.

“Rick please,” Mandrake shushed and nodded for the young woman to continue.

“Yes, thank you,” The woman said nervously, stepping forward, “As I said thank you all for coming. My name is Josephine Goodspeed. I’m a scientific fellow at the Zarkov Institute. Founded by Professor Hans Zarkov who I believe some of you are familiar with.”

“Yes.” Rick confirmed hesitantly, eyes wary.

“Mr. Gordon I know that you he was closer to your father,” She made eye contact with the screen for a moment, “And your sometimes ally Flash Gordon,” this was addressed to the rest of the group, “and that’s actually why I’m here. As you may be aware Mr. Gordon and Professor Zarkov became acquainted under dire circumstances. Professor Zarkov had been interpreting cosmological phenomena, later proven correctly, as signs of an impending disaster… one that was manufactured by intelligent design. Using his data this disaster, an incursion by the now defunct planet Mongo, and the assistance of Flash Gordon and Dale Arden, was averted.”

“Yes and according to my homework: it wasn’t all invisibility rays and rocket ships with the old man.” The young man looming behind the Phantom said, puffing out his chest “This “assistance” you speak of was procured at the business end of a gun.” As he spoke Rick Gordon even seemed to nonverbally agree with his sentiment.

“Professor Zarkov… had his limitations of character I grant you… I’m sorry I…” Josephine gaped.

“Kit.” The Phantom practically growled.

“Sorry dad.” The tall young man mumbled, shrinking back.

“It’s okay Ms. Godspeed,” Mandrake waved his hand, “His sins are not yours, please continue.”

“It’s just that… it’s happening again. We’ve been noticing similar signs over the past few weeks. Geological events, solar flares… during one of the latter… seven churches across the world experienced unexplained levitation spells… my colleagues have officially said that further study is needed…”

“How ironic Zarkov’s own students would respond in almost the exact same manner that “forced” him to take such dire action all those years ago.” Lothar said in his deep booming voice.

“No.” Josephine snapped, taking them all off guard before she composed herself. “This is a lie on their part. They say that it’s best left to SHIELD or the DEO… among others. They are intent on ignoring the truth.” She said desperately a look of near panic on her face.

“To what end?” Lothar prodded.

“The Institute has become too focused on the Earth. I mean Earth in every sense of the word, not just the planetary Earth but the Earth as it functions in the metaphysical universe: as a representation of material pleasures and rewards. The suit of pentacles, the coin. Money Mister Mandrake. They long for the fame and fortune that the technology we’ve been developing from reverse engineering what little Mongonian tech we’ve been afforded can bring.” She sounded like she had given this speech before, “They have too much at stake to allow themselves to believe… the end is nigh.”

“You sound more like one Mandrake’s pupils than a scientist.” The Phantom jested.

“One of the primary tenants of the Zarkov institute is that magic and science are two words for the same concept.” Josephine said simply.

“So why come to us? What can we offer you that such miraculous machinery and the countless revenue it brings cannot?” Mandrake asked amused.

“I need you, yourself, not your magicks, your weapons or your wealth.” She said to the group, “You are the ones I know will believe me. You are the ones with the longest history with this phenomena. I need all of your help but above all…” She hesitated, glancing for a millisecond up at the computer screen, “I need access to Numong.”

“Well that’s easy then.” Rick Gordon scoffed from the computer’s speakers, “The answer is ‘no’. Conversation over.”

“Rick…” Mandrake began but a cross look from the younger man stopped whatever appeal he was framing.

“I stopped working with the Zarkov institute for exactly the reasons you just listed. They will get no more access to me, the Mongonians or any of our technology.” The blond man said seriously. “When Ming died and my father left I promised to protect these people and that is precisely what I plan on doing.”

“Richard…” Mandrake began in a somewhat paternal tone, one everyone else seemed to immediately realize was a mistake.

“Good to see you all. Don’t contact me again. Farewell.” Rick said, deadeyed, before the screen went black.

“Rick?” The young Kit questioned going over to the computer, he pressed a few buttons before looking up abashed, “He cut the line.”

“I’m sorry miss…” Mandrake started but she raised a hand to stop him, her eyes tearing up a bit.

“No I don’t blame him. The institute has been greedy with what little he’s given us already. They’ve tried numerous times to gain access to Numong since he cut off contact. Hell they’d be ready to go to war and take what they want if they could even find it.” Josephine said darkly.

“Find it? It’s an island… How?” Mandrake puzzled.

“Trust me, we’ve tried.” Josephine said definitively, “Rick Gordon means what he said, he took his people, his tech and almost any trace of Mongo that still existed on Earth and vanished. The Island is cloaked, perhaps even moved somehow. Completely undetectable and unreachable.”

“Phantom?” Lothar turned to the purple clad hero.

“It could be true. I haven’t been back there since it was still called Luntok Island. I gave it to him, he can do what he wants with it I suppose.” The Phantom sighed.

“Say we believe you.” Mandrake said looking back to the young woman, “Never mind the Institute, what do YOU think these “signs” mean? The first time it was because Mongo was colliding with Earth but Mongo is gone…”

“It was gone… it may be coming back.”

“Coming back?” Kit scoffed, “Planets don’t grow back like a tree…”

“Perhaps but perhaps you haven’t heard the binary life theory.” She said excitedly, skating over her implied accusation of guilt she so clumsily lobbied in his direction, “At the Karkov institute we’ve been reviewing the connections between Earth history and the few records with have of Mongonian history. The parallels are astounding. Take Ming for instance. His name is inherently tied to Chinese culture, he and his family all are not only humanoid in appearance but have distinctive pan-Asian features. Their attempted conquest of Earth coincided with the rise of “yellow peril” propaganda. Some have suggested that there is some great cross-universal mental link. The fears of the Caucasian elite influenced life on Mongo and possibly vice versa. Some have even speculated that Mongo died, so that Earth may live.”

“And now?” Mandrake asked.

“Now that there is now Mongo, that what was left of that mighty planet has found safe and secluded harbor here on earth. It’s like a reverse Siamese twin. Rather than the cell dividing it’s come back in on itself like a malignant tumor. My theory is that the universe is compensating and a new Mongo is being materialized.”

“So is this the part where you whip out your pistol and insist me and my lady fair follow you to the stars?” Kit laughed, “You weren’t kidding about history repeating.”

“No… no of course…” Josephine took a breath, “Listen. This is all just stuff bouncing wildly in my head, I just think… I know if I can talk to the Mongians, see real Mongian tech not just guesswork. I could maybe stop this or get to the bottom of it…” A look came over her face, like she realized how insane she sounded but didn’t know how to reverse course.

“Miss… I feel for you I do.” The Phantom started, her heart dropping at what she knew was a let down, “But if Rick Gordon has closed off Numong I don’t know what we three could do?” He son narrowed his eyes at his father’s seeming exclusion but said nothing.

“Please talk to Mr. Gordon. I know I can do… something.” Her voice faltered.

“That’s just it isn’t it?” Lothar said, “There’s a lot of ambiguity in both your theories of supposed dangers and your “plans” if they can even be called that, to fix those hypothetical problems… I cannot abandon my people for that.” He and Mandrake shared a look as he said this.

“Mandrake? I know you understand. You have to understand…” She pleaded.

“I’m sorry Miss Goodspeed. You may conflate magic and science but the magic I know is so far from alien planets and elusive technology. You said yourself that the Institute has turned their findings over to higher authorities on these matters. I think you need to trust them.”

“No…” Her voice broke, “You don’t understand. They won’t… I know in my gut they will miss this. They will not be able to circumvent… please! I know you are the ones to do this. If you ignore it and the worst happens… how will you feel?”

“I’m sorry.” Lothar said. “I gave you my answer. You all will have safe passage through the Thirteen Nations when you decide to leave. Until the next time we meet,” Again the larger man made eye contact with his former partner in crime Mandrake, sharing an uncertain look, “Farewell.” Lothar gave a halfhearted wave and vanished into that deep darkness.

“If you’ll forgive me, I need to catch up to his majesty the chief and discuss matters. I do wish you luck.” Mandrake nodded with a swish of his cape, Josephine desperately trying to form the words to stop them as they left to no avail.

“Phantom…” She nearly whispered.

“I am but a ghost Ms Goodspeed.” The older man shrugged, “A simple man of the Jungle. Me and mine know nothing of reforming worlds and cosmological theory… Perhaps if your own people aren’t sufficient offer your services to those groups who you have so little faith in. Maybe you can help them.”

“It won’t matter. You will see… but only when it’s too late.” She said dejectedly. Slowly fumbling over to collect the laptop, not looking at either of the remaining two men as she did so, she looked outward… eyes darting madly.

“Do you need us to walk you back to your transport?” Kit offered a thrum of pity welling up in him.

“No.” She said simply, “That’s not what I need.” She sighed as she took disappeared into the black.

“What are you thinking dad?” Kit asked with a shrug.

The Phantom was silent for a long moment.

“I think… this jungle night is still young, how’s about a hunt?”

“Now?” Kit laughed.

“Now is as good at time as any my boy, there be all the time in the world for the end of the world… some other day.”

Laughing the father and son two walked on into the black… leaving nothing but darkness.



Bangalla, Africa (Present Day)



Ghosts don’t age, but men do. The jungle is full of dangers, dangers you don’t need a PHD in metaphysics to theorize about, but none more dangerous than the one Kit Walker Sr., carried with him: the slow, simple passage of time.

Like many of his animal charges, like his many enemies… like Kit himself; time was a predator. Not as vicious as the ones Kit was used to perhaps, but that’s where its true danger lay. It was slow and subtle as it eats away at you… often before you can even notice.

It was this predator, not the Singa Brotherhood, the Eastern Dark or even old Baron Grover who finally defeated the Phantom.

It began not with apocalyptic events as foretold but instead with a lone, run of the mill poacher making his way down a slope audaciously close to the Skull Cave. Even rumors of the “ghost that walks” were losing their potency. That’s what the great Phantom got; no grandeur or flair just a hirsute lowlife, middle age spread an all, ungraciously trying to rape the wilds of their splendor. In this case a small grouping of silverbacks, nestled beneath a low hanging branch with the alpha male sitting just in front of the rest, poised proudly.

Just as the fiend got into position to raise his rifle the Phantom struck. He set upon the man as he would any of his greatest foes albeit ever so slightly slower than he may have in the past. His limbs not responding as fast as they should, his form as he moved wasn’t as graceful as it had been and soon, much to his own disbelief, he felt the man gain the upper hand.

This was not how it was supposed to work and yet he felt himself fall back when he meant to lunge forward; the man heaving over him, breath putrid and eyes frantic.

This was how he died? The thought of it horrified him all the more. His father, the Phantom before him, stood in the shadows of his memory, eyes downcast in disappointment, at the image of his son being finished off in such shame.

“But only when it’s too late.” The mournful voice of Josephine Goodspeed came to him unbidden.

Luckily the poacher’s own insecurities, likely the impetus for the choice of profession he found himself in, aided the Phantom. Instead of finishing the “ghost” off with his bare hands he of course attempted to pull back far enough to use his rifle. The brief respite of the assault of the other man’s revolting presence as he had pressed against him gave Walker a small second wind and to his further humiliation he did something he would normally save for only the greatest threats, his own insecurity bubbling to the surface as he broke through it.

“By my jungle birthright…” Kit heaved, willing the energy to flow through him again as it once did in his youth. In his mind’s eye he could feel it straining to reach him, his old favorite the tigers were farther off then ever he hadn’t even been to India in years… no with how flimsy the connection was he needed something more direct: “I call upon the power of ten… gorillas.”

For a moment nothing happened, it seemed that perhaps he could no longer draw strength from the wilds, all he felt was the tightening of his chest as the man pressed down on him but then, finally, he felt that old familiar rush as the power came back to him. Crashing into his soul like a wave, but he wasn’t used to this anymore: the power came on too strong… too fast.

He felt the energies of those same animals that the poacher had targeted now benefitting him instead, the irony of which was lost on the Phantom in the heat of the altercation but may haunt him… should he survive of course.

He growled, lunging forward, knocking the gun from the felon’s hands and reversing their positions, adrenaline pushing him forward even as his own heartbeat filled his ears and drowned out his thoughts.

He knew he had to push passed the pain, passed the uncertainty, passed the feeling in the back of his mind telling the “connection” was faulty and give into the anger. Pull from that image in his head of the gorillas he now channeled beating their chest and manhandling any who dare cross them. That’s who he needed to be, not some feeble old man. There was no skill or grace involved in his attack, he was beyond that now: pushing at the poacher with rough hands, beating him against the ground.

“Dad stop!” The voice was foreign, almost didn’t even make sense. The same chatter from the hairless apes… but no… he wasn’t a silverback defending his young. That’s right, so easy to forget when the Jungle bleeds through you… he was the Phantom; wasn’t he?

The rustling of the leaves, the blood in his ears, his sight narrowed down to a dark point… just beyond there was something else. Something only the animals knew… like rats from a ship. A danger that he couldn’t describe in human words. He felt the “image” of it rather than saw it…

“Dad!”

Defending it’s young…

As if he was releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding in; The Phantom allowed the strength to fade away and his after an endless second his mind cleared, he looked down at the bloodied man… still living but barely and up at the one who had stopped him: His son, Kit Jr.

The young man mocked his father with his very existence: where the senior Walker was sinewy and broken, the junior Walker was toned and unblemished. Young and just beginning to hit his prime. He stood proudly in a more modern makeshift version of the famous purple Phantom garb, all but rendering his father’s as yet made decision to pass the title on to him irrelevant.

“I don’t even know if he can hear me Hel…” Kit the younger said to someone out of sight, his eyes wide with concern… and something else the Phantom didn’t dare guess at.

“Tell your sister, who I know is listening, to mind her business and you’d do well to mind yours boy.” The Phantom spat, the hint of an animalistic growl still in his voice as he reluctantly accepted the young man’s help in rising to his feet again.

“Well I guess he is back because gorillas aren’t that rude.” A female voice laughed inside Kit Jr.’s mind, he ignored his sister.

“Dad…”

“Don’t say it.” The elder Kit murmured, not even looking at his son. Instead he turned his attentions to the poacher.

“We’ll alert the proper authorities back at the cave.” The Phantom growled, “Or rather I will.” He said finally turning to face his son, “I want you to do something for me.” This he said with a surprisingly softer tone, almost vulnerable even: such that any objections or arguments his son had prepared faded.

“What’s that?” The young man asked, stepping forward.

“You and Heloise go find Jedda, bring her home. I need to go to the Thirteen Nations for a bit… talk to an old friend. We’ll meet back at the Skull Cave. We need to have a family meeting.”

“Of course but dad… is this bad news? Or…?” His voice faded but both men knew what he was about to say, knew how eager he was for that old torch to pass at last to him.

“Just go. BOTH of you.” The Phantom growled again and Kit Jr. shrank back with a nod, disappearing down the slope with a grace that could have made the old man cry, which nearly did in fact but he bolstered his strength and made to turn back, with one last look at those gorillas, particularly the alpha. It may have just been the Phantom’s imagination but… he seemed smaller than before.

All the time in the world.







#1 - Who Defends the Defenders?




The Collegium Magikos, Tibet



Hidden away from the pesky eyes of mortals, not to mention the pesky satellites of google earth, was a secretive and highly selective school of sorcery almost as infamous as its most notable alumnus: Mandrake the Magician.

Once the very picture of the classic idea of a stage magician, even in his advanced years he held on to his thin mustache and his dapper manner of dress but had relaxed a bit on the dress blacks and top hats. He sat cross legged on a high podium, the room was darkened but the ash columns and rose and cream colored marble walls around him reflected the blank look on his face, distorting it even; where every reflection seemed to present a different emotion… even to move on their own, mouthing words into the aether.

Just in front of where the great prestidigitator meditated sat a long dais, holding aloft the, seemingly real, mummified body of an old man. The corpse was adorned in ceremonial dress, white robes and intricate sashes, and in its gnarled hands it held aloft a shimmering crystal sphere, this is apparently what cast the array of light causing Mandrake’s myriad of distorted reflections.

Silently the great Mandrake called out to the beyond and deep down he felt something out there trying to call back, he just couldn’t reach it.

“Sir?” A manic knocking accompanied by a contradictory quiet voice pierced his trance pulling him back to the cold touch of reality a bit too quickly.

“Yes Bedelia?” Mandrake asked groggily, awareness gripping him all the tighter with every breath.

“They’re here.”

“Yes,” Mandrake sighed, “How could I be so thoughtless, my meeting, I remember. Give me a moment and then please let them in Bedelia.” He gestured, rising to his feet.

The nervous young student nodded, darting from the room.

Mandrake cracked his neck as his limbs adjusted once more to movement and even as he stretched he gestured with his hands, murmuring under his breath. As he did so the air in the room seemed to shimmer and ripple like water… casting a warmer glow around the room in general but more fantastically causing the mummified corpse that served as the room’s macabre centerpiece the fade out like a candle flame, leaving no trace it was ever there: just as it vanished Mandrake thought he saw the crystal in the decaying hands blur with smoke ever so slightly.

He didn’t have time to ponder this as he heard the frantic knock of Bedelia once more. Next her shock of violet hair popped in the room. He nodded at her and she flew the door open revealing the procession of men and women behind her; the group came in as irreverently as Mandrake had become accustomed to. They treated this, and most likely thought of it as, a “business” arrangement: coming in like it was a loose ‘Mad Men’ style board meeting. They swaggered in in a “silicon valley”-esque manner of dress, that mix of business formal and college casual, where hoodies meet neckties.

In the lead was a man he was sadly all too familiar with. A somewhat slovenly redhead who was one of the better dressed but balanced this out with his sheer lack of grace; high end jacket misbuttoned, designer shirt untucked… and so on, almost as if it was on purpose and of course it probably was.

“Mandrake!” The man exclaimed with vigor.

“Earl nice to see you.” Mandrake said warmly, the master of illusion more than capable of faking a smile.

Much to Mandrake’s chagrin they did the informal handshake/sidehug that Earl and his ilk were so fond of.

Mandrake had never fully been on board with Earl Sump even before he joined up at the Zarkov, back when he was still just their “biggest fan”. Now he was something else, still a threat as he always had been from day one but now one with more cards to play.

“Any word from Josephine?” Mandrake always asked the same question to begin, every time they met. He had initiated a relationship with the Zarkov institute shortly after the former Defenders initial meeting with the aforementioned Josephine and hoped it would be her he’d be conferring with but she had vanished shortly after that not-so fateful night.

“Jo Jo?” The redhaired man literally belly laughed his beer gut shaking with each ‘snort’, “Of course not. She’s probably off perfecting the tinfoil hat.” He laughed again, the other joining in with artificial laughs of their own, “I wouldn’t want you to think that her work represents the Zarkov institute. That’s the old way, there’s no viability in fairytales Mandrake.”

“Now, now Earl, remember our arrangement, I’m not here for money or to make more money for you. I will continue to help you when the mystic end of the science-magic spectrum you traverse becomes too much but in exchange you are to continue her work and keep me informed…”

“Yes, yes I remember but I’m sure you didn’t call us here to give a lecture.” Earl snapped before slowly recapturing his car salesman smile.

“Not today anyway…” Mandrake smiled, “No, no… I stumbled upon a solution to your little issue. Bedelia?” He called, the jumpy young pupil bounding forward; papers at the ready, “My corrections on your notes for the trifold working blast sphere and why invoking anti-sylph gale daemons to power it is probably a mistake.” The magician laughed as spoke, hands waving in the air: images flowing out… three dimensional spheres flowing into each other, figures writhing between them, eyes glancing out at the scientists… causing most of them to shrink back.

“Thank you…” Earl shuddered slightly but fought to maintain his grin.

“And your end of the bargain?” Mandrake asked, the fading light of his illusion as it dissipated casting him in a somewhat sinister light.

Earl was struck dumb for a moment but then snapped his fingers causing a pretty but tomboyish young woman in glasses to roll her eyes and rise to her feet. She wore loose fitting men’s clothes that seemed to fit her all the same; black slacks and blazer over a white dress shirt with a loose tie swinging around her neck.

“I’ve been going over her reports for months. Nothing solid. Mostly because she only write half of it legibly. Astronomical movement is slightly irregular but nothing truly horrifying has come to light as of yet.” The woman spoke confidently but oddly seemed to try and hid behind her long sandy hair, letting it fall into her face as she spoke. Nonetheless Mandrake couldn’t shake a sense of déjà vu that seemed to reverberate as she talked, “There may be something there. We can almost make it out by the effect it has, like recreating an image from the negative space…”

“You know what the missing piece is…”

“Mongo… Numong…” Mandrake sighed.

“Finding Numong, gaining entrance… it may be in both our best interests.”

“I’m aware of that.” Mandrake sighed once more turning away from Earl for a moment, a wary look to where the now invisible mummy was.

Suddenly the sounds of Avril Lavigne’s “Rock N Roll” picked up just as it seemed a tense interaction was about to take place.

“Sorry.” Evangeline whispered abashedly, “That’s me.” She grabbed her phone and swiftly exited the room to answer it.

“Maybe we should cut this off here then.” Mandrake said his gaze steely.

“Fine.” Earl said finally, it had appeared he may put up a fight but they could see the wind leaving his sails even as he spoke.

Mandrake walked with them as they headed to the door. The woman’s, Evangaline, voice growing louder as they did so.

“Alright bro, I’ll be there soon.” She snapped as they headed out into the hall, hanging up the phone quickly, “Sorry about that.” She said awkwardly, adjusting her glasses.

“No worries, we’re leaving.” Earl sighed, “Just think Mandrake… all of our problems could be gone in an instant...” He said without looking back as Bedelia showed them out. The aging magician walked back into his study with a heavy heart, unconsciously letting the illusion that hid the mummy from sight slip away.

“I know you heard that.” He said turning to the still smoking ball as the mist within dissipated, “You could at least tell me what you think…”

But there was no response, the sphere quickly became crystal clear once more.

“No I suppose not.” The old man sighed to himself, “All of our problems...”





<<>>





The Thirteen Nations, Africa



Sometimes it seemed that as the jungle waned, the Thirteen Nations grew. Once the Seven Nations, they grew to be the Twelve and finally now the Thirteen as they had embraced the lost Lionmen and Hawkmen tribes from the late Mongo.

Too “wild” for the city life of Numong they had said as they pled for clemency, they were taken in by the resiliently archaic tribes with a hesitant but ultimately warm welcome.

It was this area of the Thirteen that the Phantom had arranged to meet his old friend Lothar and the Lionmen and Hawkmen made for quite the sight as he made his way to the tent that had been set up by Lothar’s entourage: winged shadows overhead and the rustling in the brush, golden fur peaking through with interest.

“Kit my friend!” Lothar bellowed from the mouth of the tent, smiling happily. Kit returned to smile, though his was dimmer, reflecting his uneasy mind.

The two sat and Lother dismissed his attendants kindly, thanking each of them in turn by name. A gesture Kit noted fondly.

“Now my friend,” Lothar as he offered the Phantom a drink, who declined with a gesture, “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve had… a moment of crisis Lothar. It’s led me to rethink a lot about myself and my career as the Phantom and… the Defenders.”

“What about them?” Lothar asked warily.

“I think we’re needed again.” Phantom said bluntly.

Lothar regarded his old friend for a moment.

“What is this about Kit? What happened?”

“I was nearly defeated… by some insignificant poacher. When I called upon the power of the jungle to aid me… I felt something… a great danger closing in.”

“What kind of danger?”

“That’s partially why I’m here…” The word ‘partially’ hung in the air, Lothar’s eyes narrowing at its utterance, “I hoped to speak with the former Mongonians. The hawks and lions… this thing I sensed… it was when I was channeling the power of animals… the instincts. If I could take with those who walk that line naturally… I might clarify a lot for me.”

“Of course.” Lothar said heavily, “That’s not what you are carrying with you though.” Lothar pressed.

“You’re right…” The Phantom sighed, “I can’t get this thought out of my head… what if… what if that woman from the Zarkov Institute was right? If some cosmic threat comes… and we’re too old to stop it? What then?”

“Even if she was…” Lother began, “There are other heroes now. Younger, brighter even.”

“They’re not us. They are not a part of this in the way we were… the way we are. We need to reunite the Defenders.”

“No…” Lothar said finally after locking eyes with Kit, “I abandoned the Thirteen Nations for so long to “defend the Earth” which really meant white western civilization, I’ve made my choice I won’t leave them again.”

“That’s not the way it was…”

“Yes my friend it was,” Lothar sighed, “I loved travelling with Mandrake, our adventures, forming the Defenders… but it was a narrative that I was never truly a part of, not in the right way at least. Let’s say she was right, our own society creating our enemy in the form of Ming and all that… is that why he seemed so interested in America only? In Central City specifically even? Because of the belief that that is the only part of the world that truly matters? Again I say: No.”

The Phantom wanted to challenge so much of this but knew it would be hollow, knew he’d only make it worse, his white privilege was as much a color on this recounting of Lothar’s history as anything else.

“I wish it were different but I understand Lothar, I do. If you do not wish to take part I respect that. What about your son? He fought beside us before. Where is LJ?”

“LJ… is following another path.” Lothar said ominously, looking down.

“Oh…” The Phantom said taken aback, imagining harrowing fates at the tone Lothar took, “Well I hope he finds what he’s looking for.”

“I hope you do too my friend.” Lothar smiled after a moment. Silence once more falling between them.





<<>>





Upstate New York



Being the son of the so-called “strongest man alive” was a hard standard to live up to, not to mention that abdication or no he was still considered a prince in some parts of Africa. So all in all, Lothar the Eleventh (or LJ as he was more commonly known) tried to avoid even attempting to fill those shoes.

Despite being born in the loose structured, only vaguely organized, collection of tribes known as the “Twelve Nations” and expected to follow in his father’s, grandfather’s and beyond’s shadow as the “King” of those nations, he had been raised primarily in America; Central City to be specific.

Went to a normal high school and despite getting his black belt before his driver’s license and going on adventures for a short time with the “Defender of the Earth” for what little time that grouping had stayed together he led a mostly average life.

Then they won and he lost.

The Defenders scattered and his father decided their life among them had been too long away from a “home” he’d never known.

To his father’s horror he found he was not made for that life. He was too enmeshed in what the elder Lothar referred to as the poisonous succor of the West. He however knew what the clincher was no matter how his father was loathe to discuss it…

Sometimes even in his happiest moments, his father’s disapproving face came to him unbidden; like a shadow on a sunny day.

This happened as LJ entered the Xanadu compound that had once been the home of said father when he was the “assistant” to Mandrake the Magician and was now his own.

The place had certainly changed since those days.

Instead of antiques and pagan items being held behind cold displays, they now spread out: Egyptian shawls sprawled over the sofas, a Nordic shield hanging off the back of a chair… not just that but the modern world had snuck in while Mandrake was gone; DVDs filling an apothecary cupboard and the voice of Lana Del Rey filling the halls as LJ walked through, removing his coat and hanging it on a the arms of a statue of Ishtar.

“In the land of gods and monsters

I was an angel

Living in the garden of evil…”

The music following him, emanating from the walls as he walked, looking for someone. Finding his quarry in a disordered study, with more wall hangings than wall: Boars’ heads and aboriginal masks, furs and tapestries, not just on the walls but covering the furniture as well.

In the center of the cacophony of eccentricity was his Kshin. A young man, younger than LJ but not a boy. Asian, and handsome, long raven locks falling back as he lounged in an ancient looking cream colored chaise. Bare feet over the other side, clad in a strangely appealing combo of faded denim skinny jeans, a high end black blazer and no shirt.

“Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed

Shining like a fiery beacon…”

As the song continued the young man was lazily patting a creature curled up by his side, one that in the dim lighting some may mistake for a dog with dyed fur but to those who took a closer look they’d see… it was something entirely alien. A purple furred animal, about the size of a bull terrier, seeming to share some elements of both a lizard and a fox. It made a strange whirring sound as it “purred” leaning into the young man’s touch.

Kshin’s attentions however were more drawn to a unnerving antique marionette in the shape of a monkey wearing old-fashioned circus attire, it was strung up by its strings to the ceiling and its hands held a crystal sphere identical to the one in the hall of Mandrake the Magician, in faraway Tibet.

“You got that medicine I need

Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly…”

Kshin’s face grimaced at what he saw in the smoky orb.

“Put your hands on my waist, do it softly…” The song mixed with various sounds of people talking coming from the sphere. One voice in particular emanated out clearly:

“I know you heard that.” Mandrake’s voice called, “You could at least tell me what you think…”

“Me and God we don't get along, so now I sing…”

Kshin waved his hand sourly, the crystal fully clearing as he did so, and sat up with a grunt only to finally notice LJ watching him.

“You know you could at least talk to him if you’re going to eavesdrop.” LJ winked as Kshin rolled his eyes at him, getting fully up from the chaise, much to the strange creature’s displeasure, and walking over to the other man.

“He doesn’t actually want to know my opinion, he just wants to tell me I’m wrong.” Kshin sighed to the taller man as he clasped the sides of his neck pulling him down for short but warm kiss.

“You could give him a chance baby.” LJ sighed.

“Yeah right.” Kshin scoffed, flopping back on the chaise, the alien creature screeching as he did so before curling up again, “The bastard’s talking with Earl fucking Sump about tracking down Numong you know.” LJ’s eyes widened at this but he quickly schooled himself.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Didn’t even bother to hide even though he clearly knew I was listening.”

“He get anywhere?” LJ as sitting in the arm the chaise, patting the alien creature absentmindedly.

“Hard to say…” Kshin rolled his eyes, “They were both being cagey. Forked tongues wagging like dogs in heat.” Kshin laughed.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” LJ asked.

“Do? Nothing. I just like to keep tabs on the old man. Make sure he’s not doing anything he shouldn’t. If I’m gonna be the new “Mandrake”, I need to be better than the old one. Ten steps ahead and all that.” Kshin smirked.

“You know if not Mandrake himself you could talk to some of the other people at the Collegium Magikos, or there are other magic users out there… you don’t have to try and hold this wide and crazy world together all on your own…”

“I’m not on my own.” Kshin winked, playfully nudging LJ’s bicep with his foot.

“You know what I mean,” LJ smiled affectionately, “I’m always here for you but martial arts don’t do much against metaphysics and interdimensional magic…”

“I’m okay.” Kshin insisted rolling his eyes.

“Hey,” LJ said seriously, forcing Kshin to make eye contact, “I worry about you because I care.”

“I know.” Kshin said softer, sitting up to clasp the other man’s face, “Same here, you know that.” He kissed him once more, “I’m gonna take a shower.” Kshin said popping up off the chaise, his flippant tone returning.

“Okay.” LJ said sliding into the empty spot on the chaise the other man had vacated.

“Try not to worry so much.” Kshin winked, removing his jacket and tossing it over a nearby decorative cat skeleton.

“Try to trust other people a bit more.” LJ retorted.

“Why on Earth would I need to trust anyone else? I have you.” Kshin laughed blowing LJ a kiss and vanishing from the room.

LJ smiled at him but soon his face fell, looking guilt stricken as he looked out to make sure Kshin was well out of ear shot before pulling his phone out, hitting a button quickly, calling up a number, the name flashing underneath it: ‘Rick Gordon’

“Hey it’s me…” He said in a hushed tone, “I have an update…”





<<>>





The Dakk Region, Africa



No matter how the human race may try to erode it the jungle remains a big place. Wild and wondrous for so long as it lasts. So the odds of the Phantom’s estranged daughter Jedda stumbling across the very same poacher that so bungled her father are pretty astronomical and yet…

She had been doing some of the charitable endeavors that so filled her with purpose and stumbled upon the man as he was being prepared to be airlifted to a hospital after the savage beating her father had given him. She had taken this as one of many signs she had received from the universe about the greater purpose of life.

It was this sense of satisfaction that she carried with her as she used her telepathic prowess on the medical staff to get him released into her custody and all evidence that either of them had been there erased.

With help from her people she was able to not only render him unconscious without too much notice but made away with him into the darkness of the forest. Making the journey to Dakk in record time, some would say their flight aided by the deity for which they labored so.

Just northeast of Bangalla the Dakk region was riddled with urban legends and horror stories of its black magic, taboo crimes such as cannabilism, human sacrifice and pretty much the worst one’s imagination could conjure but to Jedda it had come to hold the comfort of home, as much as any place that as not the fabled Skull Cave could.

The Eastern Dark, the notorious devout caste of the region had once been regarded as one of her family’s fiercest enemies but it had been a long time since they had reared their tribal masks, at least as long as the Phantom was concerned and little did he know: that was thanks to his very own daughter.

Jedda Walker was technically the eldest of the three siblings, by a little over a minute, followed shortly by her brother Kit Jr. and finally by Heloise. All their lives Jedda however found ways to set herself apart, not necessarily acrimoniously or even on purpose; it just seemed to happen by itself.

She loved her brother and sister, her parents, but more and more she seemed to drift away from them.

As a youth where her siblings loved following their mother to the UN, learning about the vast world outside of Bangalla, Jedda preferred to venture further into the wilds. She became enmeshed in the culture of the Bandar Tribe, her family’s closest allies.

Their mysticism had led to the empathic ability to pull strength from animals her father now boasted, putting him in a superhuman class unparalleled by previous Phantoms and to her own telepathic prowess: She preferred to share herself with the fauna around her rather than take from them.

As time went on these differences only increased. Her brother and sister were already in posh boarding schools where she refused to leave the tribes and sought schooling through more unorthodox means. Then when her father was conscripted into the famed “Defenders of the Earth” and temporarily relocated to Central City she was forced to follow suit and finally undertake a “normal” education alongside the fellow children of the Defenders; Lothar Jr., Kshin and finally Rick Gordon. The “adorkable” son of the dashing intergalactic hero Flash Gordon himself, something of a childhood sweetheart of hers and the one responsible for her first moments of doubt about her place in the jungle.

That was a long time ago.

Now she was a woman, no longer that waifish girl who followed behind the Defenders or made doe eyes at Rick Gordon… and most importantly that girl who had idolized her father.

She had a new idol now.

Many knew Jedda Gordon as a heroine, anthropologist and a philanthropist but few knew her true role: High Priestess of the Eastern Dark. Those murderous fiends that had so bedeviled her family through the centuries now deferred to her, bowed to her even.

Like the others she cared for diligently she had found them starving, clinging to their old ways like a lifeline and unlike her father she met them not with fists but with a kind and steady hand.

The major divide between her and her father was the way they invoked the supernatural gifts they’d been given by the peoples of the Bandar Tribes. Her father took from the jungle, used its power for his own. She however gave of herself, let her mind and spirit flow into others.

When she did so with the Dakk tribesman she didn’t see pirates or cannibals, she saw lost children.

She helped them restore their idol to Zaal, the great god of destruction and rebirth, patron of the Jungles themselves, the very manifestation of the cycle of life and death.

In the past they would burn a sacrifice to Zaal, sacrifice meaning any poor person they could get their hands on. These crimes were put to rest by the Ninth Phantom who destroyed their idol and their way of life. The survivors mingled with those from Dakk who had “modernized” and found a new way of life in the drug trade, as many who have been systematically torn down in the past. This new way was disrupted by her grandfather and then finally her father, leaving them scattered once more.

She however had taught them a new way: to embrace their past, their traditions but with wisdom and cunning. To celebrate that same cycle of life and death but not at the cost of innocent life.

That’s where this poacher came in.

She had her people take him to the darkest part of their jungle. There stood Zaal as he always was, idol or no, ever present and now flourishing, thanks in no small part: to her.

They, Jedda included, helped lift the squirming man onto the bier in front of the idol. As she laid hands on the bound man, images of his life bled into her mind. The lives he’d taken; apes mostly, but the nearly every animal group was represented among his trophies. She secondhand felt their fear… their pain… and his own joy at causing it. As she did she ripped his gag from his mouth.

“Let me go you stupid bitch!” He spat, only for her to grin smugly back at him and trace her hands over the bruises on his face, seeing in her mind her own father delivering the blows.

“Now,” She said loudly, still facing the poacher but clearly not addressing him, “From the hands of the blasphemer we will return what little strength this monster has left to the Jungle he has so raped and pillaged.” She swanned turning back to the group. They smiled and clapped, cheered and thrust their fists in the air but unlike priests and priestesses of the past there was no bowing to her or praising her in lieu of Zaal, she was not their master nor officially even their leader: She was their guide and importantly… their friend.

“Hey, don’t! What are you…” The man babbled as one of the Dakk stepped forward torch in hand, “Are you crazy?!” He screamed.

“Do it Darr.” Jedda said meeting he tall tribesman with a warm smile, which he returned and giving no quarter to the man’s pleading screams, he lit the bier.

“STOP! I’LL DO ANYTHING! STOP!”

Once more she ignored him and let herself sink into the minds of her people and vice versa, let her spirit fly out as the fire grew and his screams quited… felt the energy as it went through them back into the jungle. So easy to lose herself in that same great cycle that Zaal himself represented but as she did so an image came to her unbidden. Once more that night she was seeing her father but not as the great Phantom… he was weak and feeble, slunk back in his throne struggling for breath. She felt that same flow of energy but it was draining from him much as it had that poacher… leaving him too quickly.

She stumbled back and woman of the tribe, one she knew as Saora, was quick to catch her. The others looking at her with concern.

“I’m fine.” She said lovingly, caressing Saora’s face and clasping Darr’s hand, “Stay, enjoy this night. You have earned it. There is something I must attend to.” She smiled, moving to the underbrush separating the clearing they now stood in from the wilds.

“Do you need us to come with you?” Darr asked, the fire lighting behind them as she looked at the group causing their image to blur into one. Symbolic she felt, with a smile.

“You always are. All of you. But this? This is for me to do.”

And with that she vanished into the jungle night.





<<>>





Bangalla, Africa





The young Kit Walker paced appropriately by the entrance of the Skull Cave like a jungle cat.

“Calm yourself, she has arrived.” A female voice said jovially, emerging from the dark with a cellphone as her “torch”.

“You’re so beyond “a little late”.” Kit scowled.

“Sorry my “meeting” went long.”

“How was it Evangeline?” Her brother teased.

“Don’t call me that.” Heloise Walker snapped, Now that she had removed the fair wig she wore in the Zarkov Institute’s meeting with Mandrake, revealing her natural dark hair as well as losing the fake glasses, cutting a rather finer figure in the same suit, “It was fine. Mandrake was cagey as usual and he still didn’t recognize me.”

“When he last saw you in person and not just in my head you were twelve.”

“Still… am I that forgettable?”

“I wish!” Kit laughed as they walked inside the cave as one. Their home was quiet and dark, not altogether unusual but for some reason this discomfiting air matched with the somewhat portentous “summons” from their father, left the siblings feeling a bit apprehensive.

“You love me.” Heloise rolled her eyes trying to keep the tone light as they walked through the halls, looking for their father, “So what do you think this is all really about?”

“Dad wants to see us all. He wants to talk to us.”

“Yes Kreskin, I got that, about what?” Heloise laughed.

“Do you think it’s time?” Kit asked sheepishly.

“Time?” Heloise asked knowingly.

“Time to pass the mask.” Kit sputtered.

“Oh that time.” Heloise smiled, “Yeah probably… Well I guess I should say: congrats, it’ll look good on you.” Heloise said giving her brother a playful push on his shoulder.

“It could be you… or even Jedda.” He responded weakly.

“Oh please.” Heloise rolled her eyes but there was no heat in her voice, “We all know how this is gonna go.”

“Do we? Out of the three of us I’m the one without superpowers.” Kit sighed.

“You forget dear brother the majority of past Phantoms had no powers till the Bandar let our family in on the scoop of the ways of the Jungle spirit. Besides my only “ability” is a tenuous mental link with yourself, dumbo, at least Jedda eventually graduated from just talking to old Kisa the panther, I seem to have hit a brick wall… no offense.” Heloise laughed.

“You’ll excuse me if I do take a little offense, the comparison to our sister’s late pet isn’t at all flattering never mind that to a brick wall.” Kit grumbled.

“The fact that you find being compared to one of the Jungle’s finest creations insulting may mean you’re wrong for the job.” The familiar yet surprisingly unsettling voice of their sister Jedda proffered from behind a shadowy corner, stepping into the light with a smile and a subtle wave.

“Jedda! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“The Phantom wouldn’t have had a heart attack…” Heloise jibed.

“Maybe that’s just not you little brother.” Jedda said patting Kit’s cheek a touch condescendingly.

“God help us.” Heloise laughed, “If he’s not the Phantom does that mean we have to rearrange the family chore list? I call no bathroom duty!” Heloise snickered.

“No it’s fair Hel.” Kit sighed, “Just cuz you don’t want to be the Phantom doesn’t mean Jedda doesn’t.” Kit whirled on Heloise before returning his glare to their wilder sister, “Hell Jed, you WERE the Phantom at one time.”

“For barely a day.” Jedda shrugged, “I thought Dad was dead, the Defenders were active and it seemed… it seemed like the thing to do.”

“The point stands.” Kit sighed, “I always thought… it was gonna be you.”

“That’s flattering,” Jedda smirked, “Really it is but… that’s not me anymore. I’m meant to give back to the jungle not… well it doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t just brush it aside.” Kit said suddenly, “For once can’t we have a real conversation about this?”

“What is there to talk about?” Jedda said, “You’re it Kit.” She winked, “We all know it. To every Kit Walker another is born, along down the whole heinous line. It’s like someone put Dad in a Xerox.”

Kit just kept staring at her and for all her wisecracks Heloise seemed at a loss for words too.

“Okay,” Jedda continued, “Maybe… there was a time I wanted it but… times change. I see it differently now. Dad may not like to admit it but he’s… changed it in ways I don’t think our forefathers, the other Phantoms, would appreciate… “By my jungle birthright I call on the power of ten tigers…” How fucking ridiculous. Birthright? He’s the white son of a Hollywood actress and the descendant of Christopher fucking Columbus! Tigers aren’t found in Africa by the way but I don’t know why I’m complaining because it’s not like I’d prefer he drain some local animal of their strength either…” Her voiced faded as she felt herself losing control, breathing heavy before laughing with a sigh.

“Jeez Jed… tell us how you really feel.” Heloise smirked as they walked into their father’s “throne” room.

Kit was about to respond when they finally heard a sound, that of a whimpering animal. Lumbering as quickly as he could down the hall was their father’s dog Neron; limping and bleeding profusely. All three Walkers ran to it.

“Oh god what happened?” Kit asked horrified, lifting the animal’s leg carefully.

Jedda did not stop however, kept moving in a seeming trance, further into the room. Heloise following behind, casting an anxious look back at her brother and Neron every few moment only to shoot that same fearful look at her sister as well, caught between two unpleasant things but she pressed on.

They had entered their father’s “throne” room, holding the ceremonial stone chair of all the Phantoms past and deep down all three knew what they’d find.

There sat the ‘Ghost that Walks’ bloody and near lifeless, an angry red hole in his chest.

“Dad!” Heloise screamed, her voice filling the cave… finally that signature irreverent smirk had vanished from her face, she ran over to him already scrambling to remove some first aid supplies from her many pouches. Jedda made her way over as well, slower, her wide eyes finding her father’s own… as they moved.

“Jedda he’s alive!”

Jedda said nothing but closed the gap between her and her father even as she heard Kit Jr.’s steps from behind her. She grasped his hand and she felt no urgency in his grasp, no life.

“Hey dad…” Jedda said nearly soundlessly every angry word she had intended to say vanishing as her vision came true before her eyes. She plastered a smile on her face as their eyes remained locked, her other hand going to his head; pushing back the Phantom cowl to rest on his bald head, “Hey it’s me. You wanted to see us right? We’ve got a lot to talk about… Dad…”

He almost looked like he was about to speak but no words came he just kept staring at her.

“Jedda look into his mind.” Kit’s voice, wet though it was, sounded clearly.

Jedda nodded, still not breaking eye contact, and reached out with her thoughts to find her father’s own. They were a jumbled whirlpool, barely connecting, flashes of images and fragments of words “There must always be a Phantom.” Something he had said to her a long time ago. She tried to zero in on the most recent, what had happened… who had done this?

But there was nothing.

“Dad please hang on…” Heloise begged, still scrambling with her medic pack.

“Hel…” Kit whispered to no avail… the words dying in his throat.

Their father’s right hand moved, he was seemingly trying to raise it. Trying to reach towards his face but just as swiftly his hand fell back down.

The Phantom was dead.

For a moment all three of his children stood in stunned silence.

“What did you see Jedda?” Kit asked quietly, “Did you see who…?”

“No. There was nothing. Nothing about that anyways there was a thought ringing through his mind though…” She said reaching forward towards his face as he had done and taking his domino mask in her hand.

“Jedda!” Heloise snapped.

She ignored her sister and stood, turning on her heel and handing the mask to Kit who took it reluctantly.

“There must always be a Phantom.” She echoed, cupping his cheek once more with a sad smile. This time at least no one argued, there was a strange sense of serenity about the decision, a decision that none of them really even made; it just was.

“What now?” Heloise sobbed.

“Now we find who did this.” Kit said definitively, “Or what… that doesn’t look like any regular bullet hole.”

Jedda allowed herself to really look at her father’s body, not just his face, to take in the scene… the scent of death and… something else.

“That smell…” Jedda said suddenly, moving closer to her father once again, moving her hand to the level of his wound, stopping just before touching it, “I know what did this. I’ve smelled this smell before, seen blast marks like that before…”

“What then? What was it?!” Heloise sounded exasperated like she was nearly at the end of her rope.

“The ray guns of Flash Gordon…”



TO BE CONTINUED…