Showcase: Les Defenseurs

Viva la Resistance

by Starsky Hutch 76

“Father Lucien?” the youth said, fearfully. He walked into the Spartan room carrying a tray of food. His body language said he was terrified to approach the frightening looking creature on the other side that stood by the cathedral window.

“Come in, brother,” Father Lucien sighed, in his incredibly deep voice. “You have nothing to fear from me. I am still the same man you knew before my transformation. I am still a servant of god, though my appearance would now have you believe otherwise.”

“Y-yes, father,” the young man sighed, setting the tray down. From the way he quickly scurried out, he didn’t appear top believe the transformed priest.

The priest turned to look at the tray and let out a groan at the sight of the delicate teacup that had been sat on the tray. He then looked at his own enormous, clawed fingers. “Tabernac! When will they learn? At least they left me the pitcher this time.” He walked across the room to where the tray was and lifted it delicately. The first time he had tried to lift a silver food tray after his transformation, he had accidentally crumbled it in his hands. Now he was more careful.

He chose to ignore the teacup and drank straight from the pitcher. It was practically a teacup in his massive hand anyway. He walked over to the window again, being careful not to knock any furniture over with his tail. He’d never get used to having to look out for that. He leaned his head back and poured the tea between his two massive jutting lower canines, careful not to spill any on the rug. He gazed back out onto the chaotic streets of Paris and returned to his morbid thoughts.

Since being returned to Earth by his Psion abductors, his emotions had become as twisted as his new form. After years spent convincing members of his flock that God still loved them despite hardships in their lives, he too was having doubts. He had always told them God had a plan and that everything happened for a reason. But now, when he couldn’t even bear to look at his new demonic looking reflection in the mirror, he had to wonder what that was. If only he could get some sort of sign to reaffirm his faith.

Just then, an angel flew by his window! He was a 20-something looking young man with broad, white-feathered wings, golden armor, and close-cropped violet hair. He was going at the alien invaders with all he had, swinging a broadsword in one hand and rescuing innocent Parisians caught in the skirmish with the other. He was a magnificent sight to behold.

He had received his sign!

His new path in life was clear. Father Lucien jumped to the windowsill and then climbed out onto the ledge looking for all the world like one of the Notre Dame Cathedral’s many gargoyles. From there, he leapt to the street to join the fray.
***

 

The streets of Paris were in chaos. Even the seedier parts of the city were in turmoil as the invading troops on leave enjoyed themselves at the expense of the populace. Louis D’oily was one such unfortunate soul. He managed to offend three drunken Khunds in Pig Alle and now found himself the fox in a hunt down the back alleys of the worst parts of Paris.

“Haw! Look at him run!” one of the Khunds exclaimed, firing drunkenly. The laser struck the old brickwork, sending shards flying.

“You always were a lousy shot, Narg,” another Khund said, lifting a bottle of wine up to his mouth and taking a swig. “Now watch the master at work. The other two Khunds guffawed at the beam struck a garbage can and the Frenchman let out a panicked cry.

“It’s this wine,” the second Khund grumbled. “It’s throwing off my aim.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re not on duty,” the third Khund laughed. “I say we go find some more. There must be another wine cellar around here we could raid.”

“Not until we deal with this worm,” the second Khund said, firing again. “How dare he insult soldiers of the Khundish Army?”

“Well, in all fairness, you did leave that whore in pretty bad condition and then refused to make recompense,” the first Khund said.

“It’s not my fault these Earth women are so frail,” he snarled. “And he should be honored to have had one of his women to have served the pleasure of a hero of Khundia!” This sent the other two Khunds into fits of laughter.

“Ah Frag the both of you,” he snorted. He lifted his pistol and fired again. Again he missed. Louis let out a horrified squeak as he tripped over his feet in panic and then continued running.

“Nice work, Brag,” Narg snickered. That cat will never trouble us no more.”

“Gah! This earth-dog has the luck of Auron!” the second Khund cursed. An evil grin suddenly crossed Brag’s face. “It looks like his luck has suddenly run out.”

Louis let out a horrified wail as he realized he came face to face with a brick wall and realized he was cornered. “Non!” the pimp exclaimed, dropping to his knees. “Please have mercy! I beg this of you!”

“Mercy is for the weak,” Brag said, raising his pistol.

“I couldn’t agree more,” a voice said from behind him. A look of otrage and pain crossed brag’s face as a black arrow tore through his forearm, causing him to drop the pistol. Two more struck the hands of his companions.

They all turned in shock as a man wearing a black beret, black body suit, and black trench coat approached. In his hand was a crossbow that he slung over his shoulder. His eyes were covered with a black domino mask and a thin mustache covered his upper lip. The beard upon his chin came to a point. “Time to call it a night, non?”

“Le Fantom,” Louis gasped. “I thought you were dead.”

“Rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated,” the man in black said.

“Not for long,” Brag said, jerking the crossbow arrow from his arm. He reached to his side and grabbed his ceremonial battle ax and let out a fierce cry, charging for the man known around the world as the Phantom of France.

The Khund’s cry was caught in his throat as a throwing knife struck him between the eyes. He fell forward, unmoving. Seeing this, the other two drunken Khunds panicked and jumped the wooden fence to the side of them to flee.

“I thought they were supposed to be warriors,” he smirked. He extended a hand to Louis to help him up. “Perhaps the vine makes these aliens sensible unlike us, n’est pas?”

“M-maybe,” Louis stammered.

“You are lucky your girls actually seem to care about you, my friend,” le Fantom said. “If I thought you were abusing them or exploiting them, I might have left you to their tender mercies.”

“I take good care of all my girls,” Louis said.

“Good,” Le Fantom said, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in the pimp’s front shirt pocket. He took two out and lit one for each of them before putting the pack back. “See that you continue to do so.” He handed Louis a wad of colorful bills. “For her care. I will be back to check on her care, so every franc had better go to her recovery.”

“It will!” Louis exclaimed as the mysterious figure departed, seeming to fade into the night. “You have my word! Merci Beaucoup, le Fantom! Merci beaucoup!”
***

 

The Louvre was normally filled with tourists from all parts of the world who have come to see some of the globe’s most prized treasures. Today, it was deserted but for two hulking figures who had come to loot its contents. “I thought you said this place was filled with treasures, Mog!” one of them said. “All I see are a bunch of dusty relics. I was expecting jewels and precious metals.”

“These objects hold some value to the earthlings, Gorg. Like these paintings,” the second Khund said.

“Bah! What do I care for art?” the first Khund snarled. “Do I look like a Tamaran to you?”

“No, of course not. You are not nearly comely enough,” the second Khund said. This sent both of then into jags of laughter.

“We could still get a pretty cred for these Earthling scribblings,” the second Khund added as he took a painting off a wall.. “There are some, like those who watch Earthling transmissions on the Tweener network, who will buy anything having to do with their culture.”

“Halt, foul villain,” a voice suddenly commanded. “Unhand that work of art!”

The Khund’s eyes moved to the image on the painting of four musketeers and then to the speaker. Aside from a black mask covering his eyes, he was the spitting image of the historic figures on the canvas. He dropped the painting, removed his laser gun from its holster, and moved forward.

“What is this? Bringing a gun to a sword fight? Have you no honor?” the Musketeer taunted.

“He questions your honor!” the first Khund said.

“I heard him,” the second Khund said. “I don’t need a gun to deal with the likes of you.” He threw down his gun and drew his sword.”

The two moved across the floor as the second Khund swung his sword wildly and the Musketeer deftly countered each blow. “Your swing is strong but lacks grace or skill, mon ami. That is a sword you have in your hands. Not a hatchet.”

“Keep talking and I WILL pull out my axe,” the Khund growled.

“If you are as skillful with it as you are with your sword, I have nothing to fear,” the Musketeer laughed. To emphasize his statement, he flicked his sword and left a deep scratch on the Khund’s left cheek.

The Khund’s eyes grew wide with rage and he launched forward. The Musketeer dodged out of the way, flicked his sword, and left a scratch on his right cheek. “I’ll carve out your spleen!” the Khund bellowed, spinning around for another charge. “You dare humiliate a soldier of Khundia?”

“Well, since you dare plunder my nation’s riches, of course?” the Musketeer said, bringing a tapestry down on the Khund’s head. He stumbled into the base upon which a bronze bust of Napoleon rested. It toppled over onto the Khund’s head, knocking him unconscious. The Musketeer turned to face the other Khund. His grin faltered when he saw that the other soldier had retrieve the fallen gun and had it pointed right at him.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack and the Khund fell forward unconscious. Behind him stood the Manhunter with his staff held in a horizontal position. “Manhunter, my good friend!” the Musketeer said. “I thought you would never get here!”

“Sorry,” Mark Shaw said. “I was held up by two of their buddies trying to make off with the Venus de Milo.”

The two of them bound the two Khunds for the police and then headed for the exit. The Musketeer clapped his arm around the red and blue clad hero and said, “Manhunter, mon ami, I could use a flagon of ale after this hard work.”

“If you mean beer, I’m with you,” Manhunter replied.
***

 

If the youth assigned to Father Lucien had been intimidated by his demonic appearance, he seemed even more so by the angelic sight of Azrael. His hands shook as he leaned in to pour him a cup of tea. Azrael grabbed his hand to keep him from accidentally pouring the steaming liquid on him and a yelp escaped from the boy.

“Calm down, lad,” Father Lucien said. “At first, I too thought he was an angel. He is but a man, the same as I.”

“Yes, Father,” the youth said, but his expression said he didn’t believe him. He lifted the tea tray and backed out of the room staring at them nervously.

“Poor lad,” Father Lucien said, sipping his tea from a pitcher. “I think being my serving boy shall make him old before my time.”

“This place seems so familiar to me,” Azrael said.

Father Lucien looked at him and let out an amused snort that made smoke issue from his nostrils. “If you had been a resident of Notre Dame, I believe I would have remembered you.”

“Not this cathedral, perhaps,” Azrael said. “But there is so much about it that seems familiar. As if I had been somewhere like it.”

“C’est possible,” Father Lucien said. “You certainly look like an angelic warrior.”

“Perhaps that is what someone wanted everyone to think,” Azrael said. “I just wish I knew the truth.”

“Perhaps we can help you find it,” a voice suddenly said.

Father Lucien and Azrael turned to see a short, swarthy man clad in a suit and trench coat standing in the door. “Evening, Mes Amis. I am Dupin. I have a proposition for the two of you.”
***

 

“Are we all here?” Manhunter asked as he approached the heroes assembled upon the rooftop.

“Le Fantom is late,” Fleur de Lis said.

“Why am I not surprised?” the Musketeer smiled, shaking his head.

“He’ll be here,” the Crimson Fox said. “He’d never miss a fight.” She turned to Father Lucien and said, “I’m surprised to see you here, though, given your profession.”

“You mean my former profession,” Lucien said, spreading his massive clawed arms. “I’m hardly in a position to be holding mass. I’d empty the pews very quickly, no?”

“You have a point,” she said.

“The Lord has found a new way for me to protect his children, as Le Gargoyle,” he said. Azrael, who stood silently beside him, smiled at his friend’s ability to stay optimistic after everything that had happened to him.

“Did his winged messenger here tell you that?” a voice suddenly said. Azrael and the others turned to see the black clad figure of Le Fantom walking towards them as he lit a cigarette.

“You’re late,” Fleur de Lis said.

“Apologies, mon capitaine,” Le Fantom said. “I had some business to take care of before joining you.”

“What could be more important than launching an offensive upon the enemy’s stronghold?” the Musketeer said, gesturing dramatically with his sword towards the large building across the courtyard from them.

“This,” Le Fantom said. He withdrew a remote control from his trench coat, hit a button, and the building suddenly exploded.

The Musketeer nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to Le Fantom in horror. “All those people…”

“Those aren’t people,” Le Fantom said. They are Khunds. The enemy. Or should I say… they were. Dupin said for us to take out their stronghold in France. I have done that. Now, shall we stand here and make small talk? Or shall we go on about the mop up?”

A look passed among the rest of the group that would now known as Les Defenseurs. There was nothing more to be said. As they moved towards the stairway, all of them wondered what exactly Dupin had led them into.

Epilogue

Armand Ackart slumped heavily in his recliner, a bottle of wine in one hand and a photograph in the other. The picture was of a man and woman. The man was his younger brother, Remy. The woman was his wife, Sabine. They were both smiling happily at the photographer, Armand. Little did they all know, the happy times would soon end.

When the authorities had found their bodies, Remy had been so badly burned that they had thought the corpse was him. (*) Papers around the world had announced the death of the Phantom of France until he had turned up later among the injured.

[(*) Editor's note: See Justice League of America: Between Sea and Sky.]

Armand traced his finger over the lines of the woman’s face and said, “I made them pay, my love. I made them pay.” It was a chance he never thought he would get. He never expected the invaders to come back so soon. They did, though, and it had been his supreme pleasure to bring judgment day to them.

He took a swig of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He sat the photo on the end table next to him, rested his head in his hand, and wept silently. Le Fantom may have had his revenge, but it didn’t make the pain go away. His wife and brother were still dead.