At a certain secret location near the New York Harbour a quite strange scene was being played out. It involved a man standing behind a table in a room that, though it gave some evidence of being a large one, appeared rather small due to most of it being lost in the shadows beyond the small candlelit area in which was the man.
On the table was an odd object, appearing to be made of metal unbelievably old, and shaped like the horn of that extinct species of animal known as the auroch. On it were a series of inscriptions in the runic alphabet once used by the people of the Nordic areas of Europe.
As for the man, dressed as he was in a black business suit with a long crimson necktie, he appeared to be of middle years with his countenance showing signs of handsome distinction despite being marred with the results of lifetimes of extreme unholy wickedness. His hair was long and dark, and his face decorated with a thin moustache and goatee. Most of all, his pale eyes shone with an absolute hypnotic glare.
“Now is the time,” he said to himself, his voice tinged with utter madness. “Now is the time that I shall come forth to take my rightful place as ruler of this world. The power of Niorun is mine, and I shall enter the very dreams of the people of Earth and bend them to my will!”
With this, an eldritch black energy began to issue forth from the old drinking horn, a power of ebon darkness that began to swirl around the area, accompanied with a sound like unto distant rumbles of approaching thunder.
“It is the power!” said the black-clad man. “It is the very power of the goddess Niorun, and it is mine to command. It is the force I shall wield to enslave every human being on this planet to my will!”
As he spoke, the phantasmal swirling power continued to grow in strength around him.
“Soon all will be mine,” he continued. “All will bow before me, and I -- Magister Don Wingus -- shall be lord of all!” …
My name is Doctor Daniel Rumanos, and with the magical technology of the legendary Watchers of Algol, I protect Earth from all manner of menace. I am -- The Daemon-Star! …
“So what was it that got stolen from the Nordic Heritage Museum?” enquired Millie Drake.
“It was a metallic drinking horn,” said I; “one from the age of the Vikings, hmmm? It has a series of runic inscription carved upon it that signify that it is sacred to Niorun, the Old Norse goddess of dreams.”
I was clad in my usual finery that night as we explored that area of docks along the harbour; including a frilled poet shirt, purple velvet suit, jungle boots, Magen David necklace, and one of my favourite opera capes. I held the transonic mezuzah before me with its scanning mode activated.
My companion, Miss Millie Drake, walked beside me. She is an exceedingly beautiful young lady; petite and perfect with luxurious chestnut hair, enchanting violet eyes, and sun-kissed skin. The royal blue mini-dress she wore only served to highlight her slender figure.
Kit-10, our robotic cat friend, had stayed behind at our downtown headquarters to finish some electronic filing from our most recent cases.
“So Daniel,” said Millie, “was this Niorun one of the Wotanians, the aliens who became the gods of the Norse myths?”
“Quite likely,” I affirmed, returning the transonic to my jacket pocket. “The records of the era are fragmented, but it appears she was indeed a member of that powerful extraterrestrial race which is distantly related to our own Aeternusian ancestors. Niorun seems to have been a scientist involved in some kind of experiment involving the Earthlings. Apparently, she was attempting to find out if their psychic abilities could be amplified during sleep.”
As we talked, I was vaguely aware of a strange chattering sound coming from near by.
“But what does the drinking horn have to do with it?” asked Millie
“That was a later development,” I explained, “from after the Wotanians had left Earth. The cult of Niorun continued, and its devotees would become inebriated on mead as worship to the goddess. After a time, the horn itself built up a storage of residual mentalist energy due to the lingering results of Niorun’s experiments. Whomever purloined it from the museum is likely intending to make use of the Wotanian psychic force found therein. Now, according to my scan with the transonic, some power of the type is emanating from that abandoned warehouse, hmmm? We must see if…”
“Daniel, look out!” suddenly cried Millie.
I whirled around to see what had so alarmed my companion and beheld an horror indeed. It was a creature like unto a large muscular man, with most of his body covered with coarse orange hair. He was wearing an incongruous pair of colourful Bermuda shorts.
Before I could even react, the grotesque ape-man (for that is what he was) had his huge hairy hands around my throat!
The ape-man was incredibly strong, and I quickly found myself slipping into what would be unconsciousness if I could not soon break free of his grasp. Millie Drake attempted using her kung fu skills to kick the creature on the back of his head, but it was to no avail. He did not even seem to notice the blows, all the while continuing the strange chattering sound that was his only mode of speech.
I concentrated deeply and rallied my strength. Then, before the creature could succeed in strangling the life from me, I reached up and touched a certain pressure point on his shoulder, causing him to suddenly loosen his grip. I then managed to flip him down hard upon the concrete.
“Are you okay?” worried Millie.
“I am quite all right, my dear,” said I, examining the now-unconscious ape-man. “He will be out for a while, though."
“Daniel,” said Millie, “do you know what this thing is?”
“Let us just say that I recognise the type, hmmm?” I replied. “He is a native of a certain village in Borneo known for its orangutan prostitutes. As you know, we have seen similar hybrid creatures in the past being used as security guards by agents of Spectral Paranormal.”
“Oh my gosh!” Millie exclaimed. “So Spectral Paranormal stole the drinking horn? Daniel, do you think it could be…?”
“Now now, my dear Millie,” I admonished. “Let us not speculate; let us find out!”
We then entered the abandoned warehouse and, soon enough, found that which we were seeking. In the dimly lit interior we found an old table on which was the missing drinking horn, hoary with age but still resplendent with its metallic construction and runic carvings. Behind the table we beheld the figure of a dark-clad man.
“Greetings, Rumanos and Miss Drake,” he mocked, weird flashes of black energy around him. “I have been expecting you. You are just in time to witness my greatest triumph.”
Of course, I recognised him immediately. I recognised him as the most dangerous and wanted criminal in all of Time and Space, the renegade Algolite terrorist who has become my own greatest enemy.
“Don Wingus,” said I. “Of course. I should have known. The leader of Spectral Paranormal himself. So you did escape from the Club of Hercules, and it was you that so deftly robbed the Nordic Heritage Museum -- stealing this drinking horn of the cult of Niorun!”
“Indeed, you meddling spy for the Kosmikos,” replied Don Wingus. “The drinking horn is mine, and with it the powers of Niorun; powers that I shall use to enter the dreams of every human being on Earth and to bring them under my will -- that I may become supreme ruler of the world!”
“It was also you that sent that ape-man against us, hmmm?” I continued, ignoring his mad boasting. “Really, Wingus old chap. First a native of Borneo then a Nordic relic. It appears that you are getting rather multicultural these days.”
“I will have none of your flippancy, nor your interference!” announced Wingus. “I have gained the power of Niorun, and I shall use it to shred your very mind!”
“Wingus,” I countered, “you cannot control the Wotanian energies of Niorun. They are…”
“I can and will, Rumanos!” insisted Wingus. “I call them forth now to destroy you!!”
With this, the eldritch energies suddenly increased an hundred fold and, with a sound like unto an echoing clap of thunder, they headed directly to-wards Millie and me!
“Now, Rumanos and Miss Drake,” exulted the evil Don Wingus amidst peals of his utterly mad laughter. “You shall experience the Wotanian powers of Niorun; powers that I have augmented by my own Algolite superiority -- creating a force of energy fully capable of destroying you! You will die, Daniel Rumanos! Die! Die! Die!”
It occurs to me to wonder, my most appreciated readers, if you can even commence to comprehend the sheer ungodly terror, in sooth the extreme unmitigated horror of the situation in which we then found ourselves. There we were, the lovely Millie Drake and me -- Doctor Daniel Rumanos of Algol. There we were, facing the intergalactic felon known to eternal infamy as Don Wingus, who planned to utilise the psychic power of the stolen drinking horn of the cult of Niorun in his plan to rule the world. There we were -- as he unleashed the same darksome power directly at us!!
“Now you shall die, Rumanos!” repeated the villain. “You shall die by the power of Niorun, and I shall be free to establish myself as the supreme potentate of this world!”
The powers had hit us hard, their force more of the psychic than of the physical. In this, they caused a pain like unto the deepest depths of depression, a long-lingering trauma of utter horror that I knew would soon weaken us both beyond easy cure.
“Daniel,” Millie gasped, “I don’t think I can stand this.”
“Fight it, love,” I counselled, myself bristling from the mental pain. “Fight it. We must break free, and…”
Then an odd thing occurred. The ape-man, having recovered from his state of unconsciousness, suddenly bound into the area. He knelt down before Don Wingus and, with his subhuman chattering, began imploring the criminal for forgiveness for failing to keep us from entering the building.
“You brutish idiot!” bellowed Wingus in annoyance. “I have no time for your animalistic supplications! I must keep control of the power from the drinking horn, or…”
But it was already too late for Don Wingus. The darkling Wotanian powers had by now shifted -- no longer attacking Millie Drake and me but in stead heading directly to-wards the evil Wingus himself!
“No!” cried Wingus in sudden terror. “You cannot do this to me! I am Don Wingus, the rightful ruler of worlds! I am the one who should command this power! I am…! No! No!! Nooooooooo!!”
The powers grew ever stronger, with a din like unto a raging thunderstorm. They completely surrounded Don Wingus and the ape-man, soon hiding them from sight. Then, with one final roar of noise, the energy vanished -- taking with it the evil Don Wingus and his hairy henchman!
I glanced around the interior of the abandoned warehouse. All was quiet, and there was no sign of the horrors we had experienced. The drinking horn itself now lay upon the table like unto the harmless old artefact that it actually was.
“Are you all right, my dear Mills?” I enquired concernedly.
“Yes, I’m okay now,” she affirmed “What happened?”
“When the ape-man distracted Wingus, the Niorun power turned upon him in its full force. The resulting clash took them out of this reality, to a place of darkness and non-existence. I did try to warn him, hmmm? The Niorun powers are far too chaotic, due to the nature of the Wotanians. Although part of the Aeternusian heritage, they chose not the ways of philosophy like did the Algolites and the later Olympianoids. They were always warlike and frenzied in their dealings amongst themselves and with others. Even in their scientific endeavours, they were aggressive and antagonistically violent.”
“But what about the drinking horn?”
I did a quick scan of the horn with my transonic. “This experience has drained the last of the residual power from it. The horror is finished, and it will now be safe to return the old relic to the Nordic Heritage Museum.”
***** DANIEL RUMANOS AND MILLIE DRAKE SHALL RETURN
