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Night! A deserted street! Full moon, no clouds to obscure it! The landscape shines in the glittering embrace of white light showering from the terse spring sky. On the street a bar, open late at night, few customers, a lone man in one corner of the bar pouring himself  another glass of Bourbon from a bottle he grasps with somewhat uncertain hands, barely listening from a cracking radio to a song about the "Moon over Bourbon Street". He laughs! His hair are as white as the light bathing the small rural town, whose name he can't recall, loosely falling over his shoulders. His garments have something strange about them, looking both modern and ancient at the same time. His eyes old, incredibly old, carrying in them the weight of centuries and the shade of madness.
For this  man survived through the ages, frozen in a deep cave by powerful magic, but fated to endure, for he has been touched by one of the foulest thing on Earth, the book called The Darkhold. Only in recent years he has returned to life and has been many times an unwilling pawn of the entity behind the Darkhold, the Elder Demon Chthon, swore to destroy all life.
But he has freed himself from the curse, at least he's his own master now. Hollow victory, for he knows that in this time he's still an outcast, a man which does not belong, going down the path of madness, sorrow and despair and ... recently alchol. Always frightened by the possibility of Chthon showing up again to reclaim his life, his soul, forever. All his vaunted magic prowess unable to do him any good.

"What a pathetic creature" thinks (or at least we would refer to that action as thinking) the entity who's been monitoring him for months now in ways even his magical powers, hindered by his constant state of stupor brought by the Bourbon he so frequently drinks, could not detect. An entity who watches (or at least we would refer to that action as watching) from another plane of existence, but we could also feel as if it's looking down from the moon itself. "Still this spineless will of his is just what I need to accomplish my plan".

Lifting his eyes, with a sense of fatefulness, the man, Modred his name, notes for the first time in the evening the waitress, a young woman definitely worth looking at, blond hair, well-shaped body, with all the right curves in the right places and two legs to dream about, pin-up material! "Why is she still in this rathole anyway? She could make a fortune out of her body!" he thinks.
It's been awhile since he's felt lust for a woman. He's become pretty dissoluted, according to his medieval heritage, but who cares? Maybe a woman is just what he needs to leave the bottle for a while and find a little pleasure.
He winks in her direction gesturing in an apparently casual manner, but working a small charm on her. "Well, at least that didn't required that much concentration" and she smiles back at him starting to clean up things before closing the bar.
Staggering to his feet Modred starts chatting in a very boring way with her, but the magic he's employing keeps on capturing her attention and half an hour later they're walking together towards her house.

"The swine! I knew he'd pick up the poor girl! That was predictable" says (or at least ... well, you know by now) the entity and starts focusing its concentration on another plane of reality to accomplish another part of his deadly plan. Well, deadly for someone, but for someone else, who knows?

INTERLUDE

SHE's been here for months now, wherever or whatever "here" may be. SHE recalls vaguely a searing pain, horribly rippling through her body, accompanying her first memory of "here". Her body? Which body? What is a body? SHE can perceive herself as something coherent (at least for now) but not as a material thing. What is matter anyway? STOP!!!!
This toughts leads to madness (if madness is still an option for her)! SHE has to cling on whatever memory of another life SHE might had lived before. Focus on her self-conciousness, not to lose the last bits of identity left in her after the ordeal SHE's been through. The torture! The pain! Then ... SHE's been alone for quite a time now (Time? What is time after all?) Alone in this wasteland, she perceives this state of being as a wasteland. Dark.
What's that? LIGHT??? Silvery, shining white LIGHT??? SHE ponders ...

END OF INTERLUDE

Under the full moon's stare Modred and the girl, what's her name? Cynthia? are strolling down yet another deserted street, uncomfortably bordering the local graveyard. What a let down for a man trying to raise up his spirit (and something else), but that's her neighbourhood.
Surely, he wants to leave the cemetery as far behind as possible and get comfortable in a warm bed with warm company for a change. But then something attracts his attention: the light maybe, increasing a little, or his mystical senses, not yet completely swept away in the river of alchol he's been swimming in during last months. Something's amiss in the fabric of space-time, a dimensional breach opens nearby ... the graveyard!!!! He hurries along with the girl clunged to his side, still under the charm spell he's waved on her (his own pride set aside from lust). He doesn't want to get involved in any of this, he wants to reach her apartment and get things (good things, nasty things) going.
His mind doesn't register that the probabilities for him not being the intended target of said event are slim at best.

"Well, things have been set in motion, now let's see how the players will move" says the entity watching from the moon.
"Soon, my little pet will walk again on earth, but this time around my control will turn out to be better suited to my future plans. SHE will do fine, when SHE's done with her personal revenge". It doesn't laugh but the feeling that accompanies these words would send shivers down everyone's back.

Another place, a mystic place, full of mystic artifacts. A man (or at least a being who resembles a man ... with some differences) well-versed in the mystic arts senses a ripple in his reality. A puzzled look on his face. He's experienced recently various attempts from an unknown source to break the dimensional boundaries between his home and ... the Earth?? Again??
And THIS time it has succeeded. Storming out from his Sanctum the sorcerer known as Belasco pinpoints the location of the breach and starts to gather his magical energies for the obvious upcoming confrontation, waving protective spells around his person. "This intruder shall pay for bothering me" He thinks in anger and expectation.

INTERLUDE

Yes, SHE sees light, silvery white light ahead! Should SHE follow? What? Follow what? Where? When? STOP!!!!
Stay calm, remember your training, stay focused. SHE knows that if not for her professional skills SHE'd have already dissipated into nothingness. SHE must keep her thoughts straight and focused. Whatever this new occurrance may represent it's still an actual chance to ... escape?? this predicament.
SHE feels better, more her old self, determined, adamant in her project, ruthless ... OK! Those are comforting thoughts. Keep on, keep on, follow the light .... SHE moves ... gracefully ... sensually ... dangerous!

END INTERLUDE

"Blast!!" curses Modred talking to himself. He didn't want to mess with this strange lightshow in the graveyard and yet he's already broken in to check out. "What's with you, man? Wanna play hero?" he tries to find some clue for his irrational behaviour. Cynthia follows him like a faithful pet, her mind not her own.
And then he sees it, the rift in the dimensional continuum, brilliant, as if reflecting and amplifying the radiance coming down from the silvery moon above. The rift is hovering in mid-air, and just below it ... "What's that?" asks himself Modred ... but before he can clear his sight to look closer he's struck from what seems a bolt of eldritch flame coming from the rift itself.

"What do we have here?" Belasco's voice resonates coldly in the moonlight "The delusional lackey of Old Chthon trying to test his pityful magic against someone who's his better?" He mocks and chants another spell wich forms sharp blades of mystic energy hurling them towards the still surprised (and quite drunk) magician.

"By the Darkhold!!" Modred calls forth the power of the book he so despise but which is also his greater magical stength and a magical shield appears, saving him from being sliced by the razor-sharp blades ... but he HAS forgotten something or rather someone, as a death cry fills the moonlit graveyard. "Cynthia ??" Modred turns to see the bleeding body of the unfortunate waitress slumping to the ground just below the dimensional rift. "Curse me a fool!! I forgot to extend my shield to protect her! Little damage though, I didn't care after all!" An evil look in his eyes strats as he whispers an ancient magical song that have the resulting effect to make portion of the soil around to be hurled towards Belasco distracting him. And the magical clash between the two evil sorcerers escalates in fury.

"Perfect" thinks the unknown entity "none of the two noticed that the body fell just above the rock under the rift, concealing it from view and making things easier for the unfolding of my plans. I only hope that SHE's moving closer to the rift" A grin of appreciation could be seen on its visage if he had one.

Belasco has easily disposed of the chunks of debris from Modred's incantation thanks to his previously prepared protective wards and has counter-attacked using the more classic Bands of Cyttorak to squeeze the life out of the drunken enemy.
"I wonder why you've been so stupid to launch an attack on me without being ready to have at least a small chance for victory, on the contrary you tries to respond to my attack with a clearly disrupeted concentration and carrying that extra human baggage I already disposed of".

Modred is unbalanced from Belascoì's spell and fall back raising a last-minute protection against the Bands dispelling their threat. He levitates himself to have a better chance to manouver and starts to think about Belasco's words. "What's the madman saying? I couldn't hear well through the sounds of our spells clashing! What does he want ... ?" His thoughts are interrupted as Belasco hits him full-force with another Eldritch bolt, catching him in mid-air and hurtling him backwards away from the rift.
Modred knows that in his drunken state he has fewer chances to survive this battle. To make matters worse he doesn't know anything about Belasco, who au contraire seems to be well-informed about him and his magical tricks.

Belasco leaves the rift behind and follows his stunned opponent, pressing his advantage, knowing that something is wrong with him and he can be quite sure the full fury of the Darkhold cannot be unleashed upon himself.

INTERLUDE

SHE sees the light growing bigger and stronger, silvery moonlight. Like a moth captured from the spell of a swirling fire SHE progresses till SHE sees ... the Earth??? Can it be? Can it really be the Earth? Could it be another elaborate ploy from her captor to torture her and make her plunge deep in the clutches of despair?
SHE peers into the opening rift but SHE can't see well. Though SHE senses ITS presence. IT is near.
SHE is filled with joy, SHE almost weeps, but her calculating mind reasserts its control. SHE can't waste this chance  but SHE has to be careful, real careful. IT is near. IT will be hers again. IT must be.

END INTERLUDE

The mystic battle rages on. Modred is barely managing to stop Belasco's renewed attacks. The man/demon is caught in a frenzy of enchantments, spells and incantations. Belasco seems almost losing it to the heat of the battle. He's clearly pushed beyond his control. Something is amiss here. Even in his weakened state Modred realizes that this could turn the tide in his favor. By now Belasco should have already defeated him, considering his drunken mind can summon only a portion of his might, and yet he's still alive and although pressed, battered and unable to launch any offensive he knows his mind is clearing enough for him to try something ...

Belasco is furious! He can't accept that this second-string magician dared attack his home dimension with repeated efforts. This must not go unpunished. He will make a good example out of Modred for all those other petty sorcerers and sorceresses out there. That stupid Margali for example, thinking she stood any chance against him even with the Soulsword. Bah!!!
His rage is fueling him with new strength but is making his thinking a bit confused. He can't even start to think about the possibility for them to be only pawns in a greater scheme.

"Delightful" is the thought crossing the mind of our yet unknown entity "the little mental manipulation I used is making them forget to check the main reason of this match. And they are moving further away from the rock and the body. They are so easily manipulated, this magicians, so sure about their magick, they can't worry about other kind of powers, psionic in this case. Now is the time for action! Now SHE has to move!".

THE RIFT

SHE has to try something, SHE knows it. IT is out there. SHE can feel ITS power calling back at her. SHE moves ...

Belasco conjures the Roving Rings of Raggador to trap Modred but he protects himself with the Flames of the Faltines.
"Good to learn some tricks from that bothering Dr.Strange" he thinks smiling.
Then he responds with a powerful blast of chthonic energy, dark and maddening, engulfing Belasco with it and making the demon's defences to falter for the first time.
The madness in Belasco's eyes increases! He waves his hand and claws and rips through the shields protecting his foe with the Hook of Hoggoth, then follows up with another Eldritch blast.
Modred is hit hard but he still manages to use the Images of Ikonn to confuse his opponent, filling the graveyard with replicas of himself while regaining his breath.

"Now" the entity speaks "while they are completely distracted by the battle"

SHE reaches out of the rift and perceives IT. The moon is hovering seemingly motionless high in the night sky. SHE bathes in the satellite's refreshing radiance, feeling herself powering up. SHE goes down. IT is here. IT is now!

The entity smiles pleased from the moon.

It's the climax of the magical battle. Modred is regaining force and fights back fiercely but Belasco is holding his ground and then some. Both strikes with unaccountable force, Belasco entreating the might of Satannish and Modred the power of Chthon.

The rock shines brighter and brighter absorbing the ambient magical energies resulting from the battle and starts melding into the corpse of the waitress. SHE moves forwards. SHE senses the rock, SHE reaches for IT. SHE ... IT ... rebirth !!!

The two powerful magical blasts hits with deflagrating force. Both magicians sense that the magic is now raging out of their respective control as if with a life of its own. They istinctively protect themselves and then  ... it happens. The force of the blast catches Belasco and spins him towards the rift where his magic combines with that of the dimensional portal phasing him through in his own dimension and closing the entrance. He finds himself in his Sanctum, shaken and furious but now completely unaware of the entity behind the whole affair. The same blast propels Modred at high speed against a concrete wall, he quickly utters a hurried spell of teleportation just inches from the killing impact and disappears in a flash of dark light ... to end up miles away, stunned but safe in a Field of Gold flowers. As darkness falls upon him his mind seems to lose its grips on recent events, making them blur into a strange dream.

Cynthia's corpse rises to her feet. No wounds to be seen. Her lovely form shining in the moonlight. She istinctively changes her attire in her old white and yellow costume, than again in the golden one she wore more recently than again with a malicious smile in a ghostly-looking silver one. The colour of the moon above. She smiles again. Her features are those of Cynthia Bart but someone very careful could easily recognaize Karla Sofen's smart mind gleaming in her eyes. The Moonstone buried again in her body, charged again with power.

"I don't know how things could went so well, but that's a problem for another time. Now it's time for a little payback, dear Helmut, a carefully planned and sadistically horrible revenge for your untimely disposing of me. Moonstone is not one to mess up with. Then it will be the turn of all those other traitors, to end with poor Belasco, the one who tortured me so mercilessly."

With an evil grin on her beautiful face she takes off.  A ghost in the night, shining like the Moon over Bourbon Street.

Next issue: How is Moonstone planning to gain her revenge against Baron Zemo II? Who will she involve in her twisted plot?
What's the identity of the entity that went to such trouble to resurrect her? This and much more in the second part of our Moon Trilogy, coming soon: Walking on the Moon.

Hi folks! This is the first one from me! It was really enjoying to write! Let me know what  you think about it.
But pls, be kind :)) e-mail your ideas to: AlexM@mclink.it.