Picking Up The Pieces *UHF* *SHORT*
By Steven Booth, Blue King.
His eyes darted around the once grand ballroom, with its high ceilings and
priceless tapestries, which now was little more than a room submerged in
rubble, with the occasional patch of distinct red liquid symbolising the
resting place of the dead. Instinctively he opened the immense barriers of his
mind, but was met with an over powering static. Wincing, he closed his mind and
remembered what had happened. With difficulty, he summoned a telekinetic aura
around his bruised and bloodied body, cursing to himself as he noticed his hand
made Italian silk Armani suit was in tatters. If he weren’t the richest
man on the earth, he’d be pretty annoyed right now. But there was a more
oppressive matter on his mind. As he threw the rubble off him, the Black Bishop
sighed, taking in the total devastation of the ballroom. This room has seen so
much in three hundred years, the time when the Black Hellfire Club mansion was
built by Arnold Silver, the first Black King. Crowning of kings and queens had
happened here, not to mention an execution of an odd monarch as well. But all
that history was now destroyed, purged from the world.
“Hello?” Steven Booth called out in a fragile, tremulous voice, his
English brogue ringing out loud, “is anyone alive?” Inside, he
kicked himself. Why did he hold the Inner Circle meeting in here instead of the
conference room? Then he realised that the destruction was widespread
throughout the mansion. No matter what room they were in, the fate of the Black
Hellfire Club members would be the same. Luckily for him, being an External,
the initial blast that disintegrated his body didn’t vanquish his mind,
allowing him to come back to life. Slowly, he could feel his powers tingle to
life, and within seconds he summoned his ruby tipped cane into his hand, and
began to walk through the room. His pale blue eyes widened in shock as he came
to the Black Knight, Deadpool, lying on the floor unmoving, a steady ooze of
crimson trickling from the deep wound in his chest, caused by an extruding
steel girder. Without doing a scan, Steven knew he was dead. Besides him, her
hand locked in his deathly cold grip, was Sharon Stokes, better known as
Blackfire, the Black Princess of the Outer Circle. She, unlike her friend, was
still breathing. Steven immediately teleported her to the hospital wing.
Impaled by several shards of glass, Steven knew the Black Prince, Avalon was
also badly injured, but not dead. The Black Bishop fought back the tears that
began to form in his eyes, a mixture of grief and anger. Someone would pay for
this. He glanced over to see the Black Assassin and one of his dearest friends,
Ian Fitzroy lying on the ground, his eyes ajar, his chest inflating and
deflating rapidly, his hand covering a deep wound.
“Are you okay?” Steven said as he kneeled down besides his friend,
removing his blood caked hand from the cavity. He shuddered as he saw the
fragments of glass that curt in so many different positions inside the
Assassin. “Hang on Ian, I’ll teleport you to the hospital wing.
You’ll be okay.”
“Though you’d survive,” a hoarse cackle bellowed,
causing Steven to swing around violently, wielding his cane defensively above
his head. Nytshade laughed as a bolt of energy erupted her deathly cold eyes,
knocking the cane out of Steven’s eyes.
“Jon, you decorated whore,” Steven growled, his eyes flashing with
purple energy, “where in the nine rings of Hell is Silver and Nemesis? I
felt the Queen’s powers go berserk before I passed out. Lucky for me, my
abilities are much more advanced than your meagre telepath, so I don’t
think I was affected. But I am getting an immensely painful telepathic
scream.”
“They’re both dead,” the former Dark Priestess said as she
rose to her newly re-grown feet, a cruel snicker wiping over her face,
“and that diminutive little midget Gomurr has gone to find out what
happened. Meanwhile, we’re stuck here playing Florence
Nightingale.”
“Heartless bitch,” Steven whispered under his breath as he began to
tend to the sick. Having a fistful of PhDs sometimes helped in these
situations.
A Day Later, BHC Conference Room
“I cannot express my sympathy enough Jack,” Steven said as he saw
the son of the late Black King, Jack Silver Jr. enter the room, his tear
streaked face filled with a red colour, his silver hair shining in the dimly
lit room. Despite barely scraping 30 years old, his hair was completely grey, a
side affect of his mutant ability to control and manipulate the molecules of
metallic elements. The young man walked over to Steven, thrusting his head onto
the Black Bishop’s shoulder, allowing him to sob quietly. Steven winced
as he realised he’d have to have this suit dry-cleaned after this ordeal.
One of the drawbacks of wearing hand made Italian silk suits.
“Oh my God,” Jack rasped in between sobs, “what’s going
to happen?” Steven tapped the young man’s head lightly. The Black
Bishop had been like a second father to Jack, training him how to use his
mutant powers and educating him. He was also there when his dad was too busy to
look after him and here his problems. It hurt him to see his ‘son’
so distressed. Steven glanced around the room at the rest of the Black Hellfire
Club. There they stood battered and broken. It was going to be a hard few
months, but they’d get through it. They always did.
Jack pulled away, rubbing his eyes and smoothing his steely grey hair. The
Black Bishop looked compassionately at him, before turning to see the rest of
the Club. “I have called this meeting today for a good reason,” he
declared, taking his seat in the decrepit room. Despite the cleaning operation
that had gone underway only hours after the explosion, the mansion was still
shook to its core. “As the highest ranking member of this establishment
as well as the longest standing member, I am assuming command of the Black
Court by electing myself Black King.”
There was a murmured wave of noise that emitted from the members before one of
the spoke up. “Don’t we have a say in this?” DarkWolf said, a
tone of annoyance in his voice.
Steven smiled sweetly at him, a gesture that wasn’t in the slightest a
good sign from the Black Bishop. He used it to cover up his anger or just to
plain intimidate people. And being the former King of England, owner of the
richest company on earth as well as being the most powerful psi alive, it
usually worked. “There is little to discuss, I am entitled to the role,
and I thought that you lot would be too fractured and upset to make any
decisions.”
“So you made them for us?” Rogue interjected, a furious scowl
across her normally beautiful face, “you are so full of sh…”
“NOW come on Abbey,” Jon Toilliver, the Dark Priestess said in her
silky, lethargic yet threatening voice, “there is little doubt that
Steven is most eligible.”
“It still would have been nice to have been kept informed,” she
said, folding her arms over her chest, a sulk forming on her face.
“I know, but I knew you’d have better things to worry about and
didn’t want to distract you,” Steven said, in a cooler, more
paternal voice, “anyway, I have worked out the new roster.” The
atmosphere in the room suddenly became a washed with interest. Steven smirked.
“Because of the unfortunate death of both the King and Queen, two
officials have had to be elected to take their place. I begrudgingly take the
King title, and to help me in my task, I have elected Nytshade as Black Queen.
She was the former White Queen before she joined the now defunct DarkFire
Court, so she has experience. To honour the memory of his father, we invite
Jack, or Silver to be our Black Bishop, my old title. Since Deadpool was
slain, we invite DarkWolf to take his title, which leaves the title of Pawn
open, something we offer to Blackfire. Rogue shall remain as the Black
Rook.”
There was an exchange of ideas about the new titles, most of them
congratulations, but there was still a lingering feeling of anxiety in the air
as the Outer Circle members eagerly waited for their titles to be announced.
Nytshade began to speak. “Our Black Prince shall remain Avalon. Since
Blackfire has been promoted to the Inner Circle, we are leaving the title of
Princess open. Havoc1 will remain as our Advisor, Rahsas our Black Mage,
Psishot our Paladin, ShockWave will remain our Scribe. Our Hellion roster and
administratorship shall remain the same, with Catanna as Headmistress and
Gomurr, who is currently investigating the disturbance that killed some of our
ranks, as Headmaster.
“A state funeral will be held for the fallen BHC members,” Steven
announced in a sombre, almost depressing tone, “I swear to you all, I
will do everything in my power as Black King to bring these people to justice.
For now, we have to stick together and be strong for one another, to carry on
the work Silver and Nemesis started. We survived the Millennium events
involving the Ascension without any of us leaving or breaking under the
pressure.” Steven stopped and grinned. “And without any of us
dying. Now, I want you all to get some rest. Please relax, we have a lot of
work to do.” And with that, the newly re-instated Black Hellfire Club
filed out of the room.
Steven sighed with a breath of relief as they door slammed shut, leaving him
alone with Nytshade. A wicked grin crept over her face. “They’re
putty in your hands,” she laughed, “now we can make the BHC the
Club it deserves to be.”
“Indeed,” Steven can, “but I think you mean I can make
the BHC the Club it deserves to be. You are only here to help, and don’t
forget that.”
“For a moment there, you had be going,” Nytshade, laughed, her tone
low and threatening, “just remember to watch your back. There are a lot
of people out to get you.”
Steven smiled. “Let them come and get us Jon,” he declared,
“Anyone who gets in our way shall be destroyed.”
The End
