The air was crisp and cold. The kind that settles at night when the ground is covered in snow. Where the exhale of someone’s breath can be seen. There were no clouds in the sky. The night was illuminated by the stars. Only the whirling of the wind could be heard for miles. Crumbled concrete was scattered on the street. Its pavement was stained in old blood. War-torn buildings created darker shadows. Burnt cars and trucks lined the roads. The Great Lake along the city shoreline, which once reflected high-rise skyscrapers and bordered by life-giving trees, was dried up with dirt and debris. Where there was once life, was now only silence. The beating of one’s heart deafened in such a disaster. The Black Sun provided the only light during the day. There was no sunshine. For that was life in Crazy Vault.
Crazy Vault was once brimmed with delight despite its name. The city burgeoned with bright minds that were capable of shaping the world. Loving families frequented its beautiful parks and festivals. Young people crowded the streets every weekend to party as hard as they worked. Homelessness was a distant memory. Churches provided support and care for those in need. No one was divided by politics. It served as a utopia for anyone lucky enough to live within its borders.
Unbeknownst to its citizens, Crazy Vault was one of the seven battlefields in Luc’s rebellion against God. Its soul was up for grabs in a high-stakes game of chess. Like any other battlefield, Crazy Vault could only be accessed by those who were called to it. Yet, unlike the other remaining battlefields, no one was coming to Crazy Vault. It had fallen into the hands of the demonic Monsoon and his Crimson Queen.
Crazy Vault’s City Hall rested in the heart of downtown. It was a large building with four rows of stairs that led to the entrance. Enormous pillars lined up on its front. Steel gates surrounded the outside. Inside the building, the hallways were dimly lit. Pearl floors reflected the firelit lights that hung from the walls. Monsoon and The Crimson Queen resided in what used to be the Mayor’s Office on the second floor. The office did not give much of a view over the city. Monsoon and The Crimson Queen didn’t need a view. There wasn’t much life left in Crazy Vault outside the demons and vampires who called it home.
Monsoon sat in a tall throne-like chair that stopped a few inches short of the ceiling. It was lined with curved spikes that kept the unwanted at a distance. Its plush, velvet cushions accentuated the regal nature of the throne. Its height gave him an overview of the room. It was a throne only worthy of the merciless demon general who occupied it daily.
He wore black silk pants that stopped at the ankles of his bare feet. A black bandana covered his head to hide any traces of his hair. Flaming tattoos covered his chest, arms and back. His eyes were completely black. He had a full beard that was neatly trimmed along his jawline and mouth. He was a black man with a dark chocolate complexion.
The Crimson Queen sat next to him on a throne of her own. A Hispanic woman with a smooth and silky caramel complexion. Her red pupils were the only trace of color in her black eyes. The Queen’s hair was lush and black and ran just below her shoulders. Her black lipstick covered her thick lips. The Queen’s thin build was outlined by a black lace dress. Her black fingernails slowly stroked Monsoon’s arms. Her red jeweled gold crown was perfectly placed on her head.
A figure walked down the hallway toward their office. The Queen’s Brigade, that served as security, bowed in the figure’s presence. He wore black pants and a button-up shirt. His red tie accentuated his shirt along with his red suit jacket. His trimmed goatee and black sunglasses were symmetrically fitted on his face with a complexion that hid his ethnicity. His footsteps were light and quiet. The scent of burning ashes trailed behind him. He radiated heat that only intensified the closer one inched toward him. He approached the door and slowly opened it.
Monsoon kept his eyes closed while the door crept open. He raised his head ever so slightly and caught a whiff of the burning ash that scented the room. His upper lip raised as he subtly snarled under his breath. The Crimson Queen fixed her contemptuous eyes on the figure as he entered the room. Her face softened and she sat back, taken by surprise.
“Luc!!!” shouted The Crimson Queen.
Like a father who had been gone for too long, she joyfully jumped from her throne and ran into his outstretched arms. Luc was the only man, aside from Monsoon, who warranted her devotion. His smile was wide as he embraced her with a hug. Monsoon opened his eyes and watched while he remained stone-like and seated.
“For what do we owe of this visit, my Lord?” Monsoon growled.
Luc momentarily glanced at Monsoon before returning his focus to The Crimson Queen, who beamed in his presence. Luc held her hands and stepped back to look her over. He took a minute to soak in her beauty while she gleamed a prideful smile and curtsied. Luc gently stroked the side of her face with his hand. The Crimson Queen pressed her face into his hands to feel the fullness of his touch.
“You are such a wonderful creature. You become more beautiful every time I see you,” Luc complimented.
The Crimson Queen kissed the inside of his hand and slowly moved her hand to take hold of his. She walked him toward Monsoon, who was still unmoved by Luc’s presence.
“My Lord, for I am only beautiful because of the gifts you have bestowed upon me,” The Crimson Queen responded.
They stopped in front of Monsoon and she stepped to the side. Luc straightened the front of his suit jacket as he and Monsoon locked eyes. Like an old western showdown, they waited for the other to make a move. Luc confidently stepped away and looked around the office as Monsoon’s eyes followed him.
“I have to assume you’re here for a reason,” said Monsoon.
Luc wandered around the office and carefully observed everything Monsoon and The Crimson Queen did to the room. A bristling fire sparked from the fireplace across the room. Red carpet that was thick enough to be a pillow for one’s feet covered the floor from wall to wall. The back wall was a row of windowpanes that oversaw the now-desolate Crazy Vault underneath The Black Sun.
Monsoon raised his eyebrow and gripped the armrests of his throne. His cheeks twitched as they tried to fight back any semblance of emotion. “Well…,” said Monsoon.
The Crimson Queen flashed a cautious glance at her husband. Her eyes found his as she took a step toward him. Her hands were outstretched along her sides. “Honey, stop!!” The Crimson Queen interjected.
“You should take lessons from your lovely bride,” Luc arrogantly quipped as he continued to stroll around the room.
Monsoon frustratingly lowered his head. He pursed his lips and gritted his teeth as he took in Luc’s comment. He glanced at his wife’s eyes that had become worrisome. Monsoon took a breath and squeezed his armrests again.
“I apologize, my Lord. I am only anxious to hear you,” said Monsoon.
Luc turned and gave them a wry smile. He stood next to The Crimson Queen and gently stroked her shoulder. She nervously eyed his hands and stood with bated breath while Monsoon sneered at Luc.
“No, Monsoon. You assumed correctly. I have a mission for you both,” said Luc
The Crimson Queen’s eyes lit up. Her breath quickened at the mere mention of Luc’s words. She placed her hand over her chest as it heaved up and down. Monsoon loosened his grip and sat up straighter. He shared a wonder-filled glance with his wife before returning his focus to Luc.
“What can we do for you, my Lord?” The Crimson Queen asked.
Luc stepped aside from The Crimson Queen and stood before Monsoon again. He rolled his shoulders back and raised his chin, savoring their anticipation. “I need you to destroy another one of God’s champions. Bring eternal darkness to Carnage Coast,” Luc told them.
Monsoon sighed and slouched back into his throne. He looked away from Luc and glanced back toward The Crimson Queen. She frowned upon seeing his disappointment. She couldn’t stand to see her beloved so upset. She walked over to him and massaged his shoulders. Luc was bewildered by their apparent disappointment.
“My Lord, I apologize for my husband’s disrespect. We are happy to do whatever you need of us,” The Crimson Queen responded.
Monsoon sulked and looked everywhere else except at Luc. The Crimson Queen noticed that Luc studiously watched their reaction. She held Monsoon’s hand and reached out to Luc. She began to approach him but was stopped as he raised his hand. He flashed her a heartfelt and approving smile. He looked at Monsoon, who struggled to maintain his composure.
“Say what you need to say, Monsoon,” urged Luc.
Monsoon glared at Luc and clenched his fist. He was seething. The Crimson Queen looked upon him and read his eyes. She had been married to him long enough to know what would come next. She gently squeezed his hand before letting go and stepping to the side.
“This is bullshit!” snapped Monsoon. “We’re the best that you have, and you’ve kept us on the sidelines. We’ve defeated God’s champions, and this city has been yours. We did that. Yet you’ve left us here to wallow away while you use others. This is an insult. Your plan failed, and now you’re coming to us. We are not the clean-up hitters. We’re the smashers. We’re the destroyers. We deserve better!”
It had been years since Luc had seen Monsoon and The Crimson Queen. Monsoon was correct. He and The Crimson Queen had defeated everyone who stood in their path. They were loyal to him. Luc could hear the conviction in Monsoon’s voice. He glanced at the Queen, who stood by her husband’s side. Her eyes were filled with sympathy. She momentarily glimpsed at Luc and faintly nodded her head.
“I apologize to both of you,” stated Luc.
The Crimson Queen quickly raised her head to see Luc. Her eyes widened, and her lips hesitantly took the shape of a smile. She looked at Monsoon, whose fists had unclenched. His mouth was slightly open as he tried to process what he heard. Luc’s apology echoed in his ears. He wondered if he had heard it or if the words were a figment of his imagination. Monsoon continued to eye Luc and searched for any signs that he was being disingenuous.
“Thank you, my Lord. Your apology is more than enough,” The Crimson Queen nervously responded.
“You’re a good woman sticking up for your husband, but he is right. I have insulted both of you. I thought Sensation would’ve been enough. Her work was not a complete failure. The Free Love Movement divided the city and The Iron Warrior has been weakened. He’s stronger than I thought. I need you two to finish him off as only you can. Carnage Coast is on the brink of its downfall. It’s the final city I need to conquer before I can take control of this world. God’s presence there is hanging on by a thread. I need you to give the city one final push to give me this world once and for all. The fall of The Iron Warrior and eternal darkness will drive any hope of God out of that city,” explained Luc.
Monsoon sat back and contemplated Luc’s explanation. He waited years for an acknowledgement of the work they had done. Luc’s apology was swift. Almost too swift for Monsoon. Doubts of Luc’s sincerity lingered in his mind. He pushed those thoughts aside and considered their new mission. It was an opportunity to do what he did best. To unleash the monster inside of him that had sat dormant for too long. It needed to come out again. His wife needed to live again. Monsoon rose from his throne and walked toward Luc. He extended his hand in the form of a handshake.
“The Iron Warrior and Carnage Coast will fall. This world will be yours,” Monsoon assured.
Luc smiled and shook Monsoon’s hand. He stepped back and raised his hand toward an open space in the room. He spread his fingers that created a tear in the space. A whirling, circular opening formed like a black hole. The void whistled loudly. The floor reverberated from its ever-growing power as it became larger. It was a portal to Carnage Coast. The Crimson Queen removed her crown and walked toward it. She placed her crown inside and it began to close.
“I’ve been so hungry. I finally get to eat!” she exclaimed.
Chapter 2
Beads of sweat dotted Leslie Martinez's forehead, and strands of her long brown hair clung to her face, even though it was tied back in a ponytail. Her breath was heavy from exhaustion. Her bottom lip was busted for the umpteenth time. The linings of her red tank top were darkened from sweat and sagged loosely from her superbly fit frame. Athletic tape covered Leslie’s hands and wrists up to her forearms. Her finely manicured fingernails were chipped and adorned with new scratches. Her elbows were reddened from fresh mat burns after rigorous striking to hone her skills. Her red toenails highlighted feet hardened from years of striking men and women’s bodies. Her calloused feet were the result of years trying to make a name for herself in a sport that was suddenly on the rise. No matter how tough she had proven herself to be, Leslie was still very much a lady. She dreamed of being a lady and a champion.
It had been an hour after Muay Thai practice, yet she was still recovering from the intensity of the day’s workout. The pink and orange twilight filled the sky as she drove frantically on the road. She took in the beauty of it all while driving faster than the speed limit. Carnage Coast had the best sunsets. She could’ve easily pulled over to the side of the road and taken it all in. She couldn’t, though. Leslie was running late. Her dedication to becoming a better fighter led her to being late for many things. Leslie wished she could manage her time better, but it was one of the few things she couldn’t handle alone. She knew how important it was to take moments for herself, but her passion meant more.
It was her grandmother Sylvia’s 85th birthday. It was shortly after seven and she needed to be there by seven thirty. Leslie loved her grandmother and didn’t want to miss her birthday for the world. Her grandmother was the glue that held their family together. Sylvia was wise and gave guidance to every member of their family. Every major family event was held at her home. She cooked every major meal and taught her daughters how to care for a family. Sylvia was the embodiment of what love looked like to everyone who came into her presence. The celebration for her meant everyone would be there. Leslie couldn’t be the last one to show up.
She arrived at her grandmother’s house at 7:25. Her cousins were hanging out in front as she raced up the walkway.
“Oooohhhh, you just made it! You are so lucky,” chirped her cousin Hector.
“Shut up, Hector, I made it,” Leslie joked while she playfully nudged past him.
Hector laughed as Leslie entered the house. She noticed her hands were still taped. Before she could try to undo it, her five-year-old niece, Yovanna, bearhugged her leg.
“Tia Leslie! You made it!” shouted Yovanna.
Leslie picked up Yovanna and showered her cheek with kisses. Yovanna’s joy was infectious and made Leslie smile. She was a source of boundless energy. Leslie always gained an extra pep in her step when she saw Yovanna.
“Of course I made it! You didn’t think I was going to miss Abuelita’s cumpleanos?” Leslie asked.
“No, but Mama said you were going to be too busy fighting,” Yovanna answered.
Leslie sighed but tried to keep smiling. She straightened out Yovanna’s shirt and straightened her hair. She didn’t want Yovanna to get a hint of her annoyance.
“Why do you fight, Tia?” Yovanna asked.
“Because your Tia feels like she has something to prove,” a voice chirped.
The voice belonged to Leslie’s sister, Valerie, who approached with a food tray. Her head glistened with sweat as she rushed to get dinner ready. She motioned for Leslie to put Yovanna down and handed her the tray. Valerie wiped her hands on the powdered apron tied around her waist. Yovanna ran off to play with her cousins in the house. Leslie stood with the tray in hand, completely unprepared to help with dinner. Valerie observed Leslie’s confusion and shooed her into the kitchen. Leslie sarcastically rolled her eyes and adhered to her older sister’s instruction.
“I’m not trying to prove anything, V,” Leslie responded as she set the tray on the kitchen table. The tray was neatly organized with treats, just like their mother had taught them.
Valerie organized more food trays and moved at a frenetic pace. Her hair was frizzy after cooking in the kitchen for so many hours. “Oh really? Why else does a beautiful woman want to fight, huh?” asked Valerie. “It’s not for women to fight.”
“Not for women to fight? You realize women have been fighting and headlining fighting events for almost a decade now. Women fight and are good at it,”
