#perhaps the lion curses him with the wish granting ability along with the never having desires fulfilled i.e. no matter how happy he makes

[5-htagonist]

okkkk but demon king!dungeon lord!laios wherein Something Something happens and laios not only devours the lion inheriting the kingdom................ but perhaps the lions curse manifests differently too....

[antics-pedantic]

RALLY CO. #4: THE GATE TO WITHIN, PART 1

Dieter was getting on in years. He scrambled to open another bottle of some vigor or tonic promised to grant greater vitality. He went through these quickly—it had been a guilty pleasure of his to indulge in formulas for prolonged youth. But nothing could compare to his true goal: To return to the secret place he had begun his work in. A place on Earth, yet unlike it.

          But here he found himself in hiding, at the Harbortown ports. It was not so long ago that he had been in Arcadia, Harbortown’s neighboring concrete jungle of art deco. And Dieter had yet more distance to travel. He had to get overseas, away from here. And after that, an even more tremendous distance the likes of which the world had never known.

          “Bumbling oaf!”

          Dieter cursed all the while: Money could buy him the strong arm of thugs. But these local toughs were too clumsy for him. Unforgivably so: He was far more forgiving of his creations. Mankind squandered its potential, where his creations only had the capacity to keep learning. And without complaint!

          “Be careful with my shipment! One wrong move and everything will be ruined!”

          “Cut us some slack, Prof!” wheezed a goon, as they and their gang carefully brought the wide crate down in front of Dieter. “This thing weighs a ton. What’d you get, a new fridge?”

          “Hardly. Once it’s assembled we’ll be home free.”

          The thing in the crate was an archaic archway. The goons were more than a little annoyed at this bout of admiring archaeological findings: They had been expecting something more obviously capable of helping them out of their present situation. That is, until Dieter had started to use his instruments to toy with the stones. The tracing of his instruments over the stones revealed etched grooves. Symbols patterned into each face of the archway’s stones rather than alphabetic characters. Patterns that Dieter had studied for some time now.

          “Dieter Leistung…”

          Even in his anger, the voice that Dr. Dieter Leistung heard now gave him chills. He turned to look in every direction. But could not pinpoint the source of the sound. Nor could his hired goons, who were getting to be on high alert. A prankster would hardly pose a threat to such a watchful bunch.

          But this was no prankster. It was however, one of those times where misdirection made bedfellows of folks and foolishness: For the sting of .45 caliber bullets knocked away any melee weapon or firearm that might have been brandished.

          “Justice finds you, Doctor.” the voice from no discernable direction continued.

          “Impossible! Though I abandoned my work, I left no trail!” thundered Leistung.

          The voice offered laughter. Mocking laughter.

          “Think of me as the guilty conscience you thought yourself above having. Ever-watching, ever-judging.”

          A fist lashed out to send one of Dieter Leistung’s men a couple of steps back. It wasn’t an immediate knockout. But it had them startled, ready to lash out at the first sign of another person close-by. It served to scatter them, despite their boasts to the darkness. If the shadows did not heed them, would they fare any better with their vigilante tormentor?

          “An extra thousand to the man who can gut The Junker!”

          Leistung set about introducing some chemicals and copper wiring to set points on the gate and activating a portable generator. All the while behind him, several of his thugs were knocked around, fighting with their phantom foe. They scored a few punches but only blindly so, never with consistency.

          “I’ve got him!” one goon exclaimed, gesturing to a white scarf he’d grabbed. “Someone grab the tommy gun while I’ve got him all choked up!”

          Another goon dived for the weapon that they’d been disarmed of earlier, preparing to fire. They caught the briefest glimpse of a raven-haired figure in an aviator’s jacket, the white scarf, and goggles. Goggles whose lenses gave off a light green glow. Even for the darkly colored ensemble, this hardly seemed a figure that should have been able to escape their sight. And yet he did, along with all the other senses.

          “AUGH!”

          A swift motion from two gloved hands locked the arm that had held the scarf. What few features of the mystery man that were visible only offered a minute displeasure at having his breathing briefly constricted. This prompted the goon with the tommy gun to cut loose, showering the area ahead with gunfire. The bullets stopped abruptly following two clicks: One of the submachine gun’s ammo drum being suddenly removed, and the second being as the goon reflexively continued to shoot. At least, until he was hit in the mouth with his own ammo drum.

          The Junker loomed over this body, drawing his dual pistols once again to threaten Leistung. But the mad doctor was already going through the archway, as a shimmering effect occurred in the space beneath and between the stone archway that caused his disappearance, before the generator shorted out and damaged the arch.

          But, that wasn’t to say the Junker lacked for an idea as to where Leistung was going. Junker did after all, recognize the patterns of the archway…

X

          Elsewhere, world-renowned occult detective Solomon Callahan awoke from his slumber. He had recalled that he’d traveled to the markets of Morocco after some such artifact or trinket of interest. Perhaps inquire about any local issues with the paranormal, or other exceptional forces that might have been troubling folks. And he did so with the company of his students, all of whom drew closer and closer to being professionals under his guiding influence.

          Almost all of them, at least. Solomon didn’t wish to dwell on that, at this moment where there was little he could do about the past. Not when he was needed here and now as a guide. To put forth all his learned skill as a mystic to use against the forces of evil, as was the trade of investigators and explorers—the noble adventurer.

          “Monsieur Callahan, are you well?”

          Where Solomon’s hair turned snow white from stress, Katrina Kafka’s hair was more of a silver, accented by her favorite red hairband. Her eyes and complexion were like the paled terror of one who appeared haunted. But in spite of that, the former Parisian inhabitant had traveled overseas with her mentor to stay with him while she honed her psychic abilities.

          “I can’t hide much from you, can I dear?” chuckled Solomon.

          But Katrina shook her head. “This is not being the most ideal state, let alone just before important actions are to be taken. And I know it is made worse, by hearing of the Junker.”

          Solomon frowned.

          “That vindicator is all the way back in Arcadia, stateside. I can only hope he’s not stirring the proverbial hornet’s nest.”

          “Yes, but—”

          Katrina meant to ask Solomon more about his ties to the mystery man, before there came a familiar pair of dueling voices: Returning to their shared hostel were two lively sorts: A tall, umber-skinned woman whose pockets were lined with a couple of test tubes, and her shorter companion who might have passed for an escaped orangutan with his messy reddish-brown head of hair and full side-burns about his round cheeks.

          “And I say to ye again, Ez!” bellowed cryptozoologist Tycho Gallagher. “That ye be missin’ out on some mighty fine Turkish coffee. That ladle-thing set in the hot sand. Makes for a stronger drink than most sell it as such elsewhere.”

          “And I say to you, my hirsute accomplice.” spat emininent bio-chemist Esmerelda “Ez” Broughton. “You may enjoy your deplorable bean waters without bringing me into it! Just as I was set to find fine fabrics with which I might set upon making my own fashions. Katrina dear, I’m so sorry that Tycho prevented me from finding a proper souvenir!”

          “Th-that is quite alright, Esmerelda!” chuckled Katrina, nervously. “Might we perhaps resume our original goal first?”

          “Yeah well, I don’t see much stock in it.” said Tycho, as he stuck a tongue out at Ez. “Shooing a lion from a movie theater was all the action I got to see. Nary a true disturbance by cryptid or any other manner of monster. I shoulda stayed back in Arcadia and continued at the university!”

          “Indeed, save us the trouble.” Ez playfully jabbed, as was her custom with Tycho. The two were always friends beneath the taunting. “I for one, have done splendidly on my analysis and restoration of artifacts. Say, has anyone seen Felix?”

X

          Felix Basra was a very serious Pakistani woman, in training since adolescence to become a detective like her aunt Malika, or Solomon. Versed in the martial arts, preferring the use of a hooked rod known as the jutte, perfect for catching blades and striking foes bluntly. And maybe, Felix also had taken to leadership well. For it was her efforts that brought together and now kept alive the adventuring alliance known as the Rally Company. She was following in the tradition Solomon and his colleagues had begun, righting wrongs and using specialized knowledge and skills to tackle strange situations.

          And that included this one, in which she had personally set about finding back alley leads on the crime cult of the Golden Shadow. A supposed necromancer, but for certain a gangster of mystery. Felix specifically wanted revenge against the assassin that injured her aunt, forcing her out of investigative work. Felix owed this to her after Malika cared for her like Felix was her own daughter.

          She deftly avoided the thrust of several daggers, their steel clanging against that of her jutte. The battle was back and forth for a time until finally not one, but two of her would-be slayers erred and got their blades caught on the hook of the jutte. A strong twist later, they were disarmed of their knives. The remainder sought to throw their blades, Felix just barely catching their glint in the light as she drew her revolver and fired. When the gunsmoke cleared, every cheap hitman in the room had been subdued.

          “The Golden Shadow. Who are his most favored assassins?!” demanded Felix, huffing all the while from her exertion, as well as her anxiety over finding answers.

          “We don’t know! They come and go so swiftly through our neutral grounds.”

          “And outside of it?”

          “Fool! Rival assassins are at each other’s throats all the time. Any who might know would never live to tell the tale.”

          “Then why did your lot work so intently on those?”

          The assassin turned: Nearby was a large set of large, lidded vases. And Felix pointed to them, seemingly for no reason.

          “Have you gone mad?”

          “When I walked in it was the only container with holes drilled into the lid.”

          Just then, the container in question tipped over and was smashed open to reveal a fellow wearing a poncho over surplus military gear.

          “You oaf…” grunted the assassin. “I can’t believe we paid him so much to come here—AGH!"

          Felix shoved aside the assassin to address the foreign mercenary.

          “The mercenary, Duke Luke, I presume?”

          The man threw his poncho at Felix in the hopes it would give him the chance to get up to his feet. He lunged, trying to go for a pistol hidden under a desk. Felix dived for cover behind a sofa, revolver in hand. Duke Luke was at a disadvantage: He was afraid. If Felix hadn’t gotten such a workout from fighting off those assassins just now, she might have captured the mercenary by now.

          “Give it up. Even if these killers weren’t writhing in pain, I’ve smashed your illusion.”

          “The hell you have! I’m a soldier of fortune. I’ve fought in conflicts around the world!”

          “Mm. And always lived to tell about it. You’re a smart little chicken, aren’t you?”

          Duke Luke roared. He emerged from his hiding spot to fire. There were only a couple reports from his weapon, bullets drilling through the furniture Felix was behind as she gave off an anguished cry. Duke Luke’s laughter was boisterous, as he approached to confirm his kill. So boisterous that he almost missed the sound of Felix’s foot kicking the gun from his hand.

           “Damn you! I’m going to make it out of here! They swore it!”

          “Swear all you want, Duke. You’re going to tell me all about your time as an employee of the Golden Shadow.”

          Felix finally had a lead. This was it! While the rest of Rally Co. had managed to find the artifact being smuggled, she had pressed the possibility that the Golden Shadow’s gang was behind this caper. She did have to wonder why Solomon was not as forthcoming with that information as he should have been though.

          And then a velociraptor broke through a padlocked door.

Duke Luke screamed, Felix’s own vocal chords freezing in fear. She turned her gun to fire, grazing the beast. Duke Luke saw something in the room it emerged from, and sprinted towards it while Felix rolled out of the path of the raptor, adrenaline pushing her to avoid its tooth-and-nail attacks, as she received a few fresh cuts and some spots on her jacket were torn. Finally, Felix forced a chair into the jaw of the beast, before running into the room after Duke Luke.

And there stood the carved stones in an arch, not unlike the one she’d seen the Golden Shadow attempt to use not so long ago. Within the center of the arch was a shimmering light that also seemed to move like the surface of troubled waters. She could make out greens—even purples and other shades of jungle foliage along with craggy rocks and dimly lit tunnels. There she saw Duke Luke sprinting with no regard for his own safety.

The wooden chair Felix had used to stave off the velociraptor was broken to splinters. The dinosaur charged ahead at her, aiming to whip her with its tail. Felix dived to the side as the tail lashed upon the stone arch, with sufficient force to damage it as it stumbled through the portal just before it closed.

Felix would have to find the nearest payphone or teletype: The others had to get here immediately to examine this before it was too late. The trail couldn’t end here, and perhaps it was leading to something bigger.