The Legacy Of Eros Dark Son Ch 01

THE LEGACY OF EROS: DARK SON

CHAPTER ONE

By FinalStand

*Editing magic performed by Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*

*This tale is a bit tongue and cheek as well as kinky, so be warned.*

*This story will make a ton more sense if you read 'The Legacy of Eros' first*

*This story arc is VERY sex light; you've been warned*

*Is it better to be desired by a thousand, or lusted after by one?*

[PRELUDE]

{Mentat's lab the next day after the events in The Legacy of Eros}

"So what is with this name?" Dr. Richard Reeds aka Mentat questioned.

"Dark Son is sort of self-explanatory ... I'd hope. I'm my Father's Son, and he wasn't a good guy."

"I knew that," Dr. Reeds grinned, looking up from the screen which was relaying information from my latest physical. "I was wondering why you're pursuing a path of vengeance when you don't have to."

"That should be obvious," I sighed. "I've got some scores to settle ... for my parents."

"I was afraid of that," my Godfather and (former) mentor nodded sagely. "I won't even say this isn't what your father and mother would wish for you -- I knew them better than that. What I am saying is do you want to throw your entire life away -- or don't you feel you can be your own man?"

"He has no one else but me," I reasoned. I meant my Father had no one else, but me to help him escape from his prison confinement.

"Well ... you appear to have the ability to mimic the metahuman manifestations of other supers, but this presents itself as an opposing set of forces as opposed to true mimicry. Also ... are you aware you can clone yourself?" he changed the subject.

"What?" I choked.

"Yes. I'm unsure what limitations present themselves and won't be able to tell until you use that particular power, but I'm absolutely sure you can clone yourself right now. Any clue on what the stimuli might be?"

"Hmmm ... kinky sex," I mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I get the feeling this will only manifest when my particular sex partner wants it to," I unveiled.

"That is rather rare though not completely unique -- intercourse is a powerful system stimulator."

"

Intercourse is a powerful system stimulator

?" I chuckled. "That's one way to look at it. What limitations appear to be with this new manifestation?"

"The cloning -- uncertain. The ability to produce new manifestations based on who you touch -- I would conclude due to the minimal amount of data available this is at least a 'Terrestrial' level power, though you appear to have some self-limiting blocks in place ... most likely brought about by your earlier manifestations."

"Because of what my Father did to me growing up?" I hypothesized.

"Current data suggests that to be the case. You have an excessive amount of power dedicated to your long-standing power suite plus your inherent resistances could be tied in as well," Dr. Richard Reeds nodded. "You are not an inherent telekinetic it would appear."

"Yet I'm still accessing those powers while using this new manifestation as well," I informed him ... though he undoubtedly knew that already.

"This deviation from the prime use of the power seems to be the source of the blockage," he told me. "For instance, your impressive mental defensive array is still in effect as well, which would indicate another blockage, or be a product of your half-alien origin."

"Good to know. My stamina ...?"

"No. Your stamina seems to be independent of the primary manifestation, though they might be tied together as a physical indicator of your metahuman formation." That meant to have the power I had, you also had to have an impressive physical stamina. Considering the massive changes my body might have to go through rather rapidly, an astronomical stamina made sense.

"So ... you don't think this is psychic?"

"Ummm ... no. Data suggests this is a complete biological downloading of another person's memories into your brain ... so normal psychic defenses should not work. Likewise, people resistant to bio-manipulations should be more resistant to what you do."

He stopped scanning the data and looked up at me.

"Until I actually see the power in use, this is as far as I'm willing to hypothesize at this time, Reynard," he stated. "Since the power is invasive, I cannot in good faith ask anyone to engage in such an exchange with you either."

"So this power is a 'bad thing'?"

"Power is power, Reynard," he shook his head. "How you use it makes it moralistic. Your power is an invasive intrusion into another person's mind, memories and personality make-up. It has a much greater capacity to be used for "evil" purposes ... if that is what you are looking for."

"It is just I've used it a few times already and I don't have this desire to keep on using it, or to take over the World ... or other such nonsense," I prevaricated.

"But you are thinking about a way to use this to get your Father out of prison ..." he said what I wouldn't.

"Yeah -- pretty much."

"Well, that would be a violation of the law, Reynard," Richard shook his head. "I cannot condone such behavior. Your father -- my friend -- was really and truly guilty of the crimes he was charged with. The sentence was harsh, but within the bounds of modern day jurisprudence."

"He'll never see daylight again," I protested.

"Legal and fair are often two separate things, Reynard," he gave me a sad smile. "... now get out of my office. I have work to do and some people from the UN coming by who want to waste a half-hour of my time."

"Thanks, Richard," I slid off the examination table. I had some rather less noble things to attend to as well.

[BUILDING BLOCKS]

"

The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence

." - Charles Bukowski

I was at my local villain hangout gym, working on the heavy bag (the specs said it was rated for three tons whereas I normally hit in the 500~800 lbs. range), when I could feel the whole level of comradery drop by several degrees Kelvin. I surreptitiously looked around for the cause and she wasn't hard to find. The thermometer dipper was a majestic Black woman dressed in battle-scarred boots, worn jeans, a white t-shirt and a brown suede leather bomber jacket -- Liberty Lincoln.

Ms. Lincoln was a vigilante working the poorer sections of Megalopolis, championing the otherwise hopeless and downtrodden. Not only did she look tough, she was tough -- certifiably so. That was why she was here too -- rousting the local wildlife ~ your professional toughs, leg-breakers and step-above the norm criminal henchmen.

We all came to the

Last Stop Gym and Sports Emporium

to get that leg up on the world under the harsh tutelage of Marco 'Ender' Ziegfeld. Ender was a metahuman hitman [Status: Retired] with photographic reflexes & memory. He had taken a mostly successful lethal career sending people on to their final reward and turned it into a 'Thugs finishing school' here in the 'City at the Center of the Universe'.

Now he turned out superior criminal henchmen, professional bouncers at elite underground clubs, and solo criminal low-lives operating in their own right. Liberty showing up was rousting us in our own comfort zone, damn it, and was considered 'hitting below the belt' too. It wasn't like anyone was going to make an issue of it though.

Not only was brawling at the

Last Stop

frowned on by Ender (a possibly fatal life choice in and of itself), Liberty regularly made mincemeat of anyone not in the top tier of the metahuman world. She was one tough bitch. Besides, it wasn't like I had done anything wrong ... or so I had hoped.

She greeted various club regulars she had a 'history' with -- asking about their various former, or current, infirmities, their loved ones, or personal companions and criminal crew friends. I was spared more than a passing glance.

"Still being good, Rey?"

"Still none of your business, Liberty," I replied like I always did.

I almost missed her slipping a card into my shorts. What the fuck! I did my best to act like nothing had happened for a variety of reasons. Not only was I not one of her snitches, I didn't want anyone to think I might be one -- or worse, one of her helpmates. Not only would such an action make me much less welcome here at the gym -- that kind of reputation could get around -- FAST.

Only after I had hit the showers and was back on the street outside did I check out the little 2"x4" card:

Meet me on the top of the Portland Dynamics Toy Company Building at 10 p.m.

Those few words and nothing more ... like the motivation which could entice me to engage in such an adventure.

So, of course I was going to go ... for reasons which went beyond Liberty's full, blush lips and impressive bust, waist and hip lines. Likewise I couldn't bring Angelheart along to such a shifty, and possibly criminal, encounter. Liberty was a vigilante which implied, while she broke the law, she didn't do it for the profit-motive which drove most of us.

Nah, she broke bones, breaking & entered, and generally terrorized other folks because she believed we were bad people who used such methods as our stock and trade -- thus had it coming. What separated Liberty from your standard grim & humorless hero was she didn't try to disguise her actions behind 'fighting the good fight'. She knew she was using extra-legal means to get her results. She didn't lie about it in the least.

Such a distinction earned her respect among those few lowlifes who didn't absolutely hate her guts -- people like me. That and an excuse to get inside her head were the reasons I was going to show up.

[TEN P.M.]

I wasn't early. I wasn't late. I was right on time as I thought everyone should be. Keeping people waiting was rude. Showing up early was a great way to discover things you didn't want to know -- trust me. Being punctual was a surefire way to let your prospective business partners / romantic interests know you were a reliable guy.

I sent a micro-drone ahead of me to scout out my approach and see what was in store for me when I landed. I picked up three lifeforms -- two metahumans and one augmented human. Of the metahumans -- one was Liberty Lincoln (dressed in her street clothes ~ the same jacket, white t-shirt, jeans and combat boots), the second one was another known vigilante -- Arachne in her usual black bodysuit with stylized red spider design on the front and back. The augmented human was an unknown -- not in my current database -- in a white hoodie, jeans faded to white, white high-tops and a white bandana ... with an encircled <|> in black spray-painted on the back of the hoodie.

Someone tried to get cute with their hijacking of my microwave feed from the drone ... piggy-backing on my signal to get a fix on me as well as see what I was seeing. I put the drone on an automatic search pattern then altered my angle of approach to the specified rooftop.

Today, in my true premier as a villain, I came packing all the accessories I could currently muster. Namely, an old battlesuit of my Father's I'd altered to fit my frame and updated to the times. The latter didn't take much doing as 'Dad' had been way ahead of his time nearly a decade ago when they finally managed to capture him and put him away ... for good ... perhaps.

Anyway, I had full body armor except for my 'face shield' -- a transparent piece of lighter protection which covered my lips and upper chin -- and the lower part of my fingertips on each gauntlet -- so I could make skin to skin contact to activate my 'secret power'.

Given more time I was going to create a reactive covering for my fingers so they wouldn't be so vulnerable. The face shield was so I could speak clearly and so people could see my facial expressions. Otherwise my battlesuit was an unremarkable dull grey. I wore no insignia ... yet. I was working on something, but hadn't finalized my designs before this 'grenade' was tossed in my lap.

"Hello," I began, "someone is trying to electronically eavesdrop on this little gathering. Thought you all would want to know."

Arachne looked to Liberty.

"It's okay. That would be another member of this team," she did the minimal bit of explaining.

"Who would that be and I didn't say anything about joining any team," I put the kibosh on the reason for this meeting, if that was it.

"Who are you?" Arachne studied me. For the time being, the fourth member of this crew was remaining silent. I wasn't sure why.

"He's Dark Son," Liberty answered for me, "and he's the muscle I promised you."

"I've never heard of this guy," she turned to Liberty. "Is he going to be tough enough?"

"Web Slinger thinks so," Liberty grinned.

Whoa now!

Okay, for starters, Arachne was an established Megalopolis vigilante going back about a decade. She -- and Arachne was definitely a she as her skin-tight suit attested -- was a female, 5'9" and roughly 145 lbs. ~ svelte and tightly muscled. She fought local super-powered criminal lowlifes with the occasional crossover with other super-teams. She was wanted by the law for various offenses as well.

Web Slinger ... was an Urban Legend for those who hadn't actually met the mysterious internet entity. Usually a friend of a friend's aunt / brother / cousin met the guy / girl on-line and did said entity a favor for a favor, but no one until right now had ever really interacted with said anarchistic being.

What was 'known' was Web Slinger championed the individual / 'Little Guy' against the forces of Big Government and Corporate Greed. Even ANTIFA was too organized (and too political) for this guy / girl to work with. No reliable group I knew of could claim to have worked with the real Web Slinger ... the Lone Ranger / Last Jedi of the World Wide Web.

"The shit you say," I scoffed. "Do you actually believe the Web Slinger is real?"

"Never met the person in the flesh, but I have met enough of their electron feed to imagine I'm working with the legit entity right now," Liberty Lincoln defied my skepticism.

"I believe her," the stranger finally spoke. She was a mousy brunette with furtive brown eyes which held a fanatic's gleam.

"And who are you?" I wondered.

"Lucky Dead," she offered up her hand to shake. Oh ... the <|> was a stylized 'L' and 'D'.

I don't recommend shaking the hand of random, unknown super-type. It is a good way to get your hand crushed, or your psyche taken over. While I wasn't worried about either of those two events happening, there were still a host of other shit 'Lucky Dead' could do to me which could really fuck me up, so I declined.

"She's new," Arachne chuckled, "and apparently you're not."

"I make up for a lack of real world experience by being raised in an asylum for the criminally insane," I grinned.

"Really?" Lucky Dead withdrew her proffered appendage.

"No," Liberty chuckled. "He's Baron Bedlam's son ... and don't ask how I came about that gem of information, Dark Son."

"Fine," my smile turned upside down. "What am I doing here?"

"Are you up for a little villainy?" Liberty posed, her hands on her hips suggestively.

"Everyone starts somewhere," I shrugged.

"We need to steal something ..." followed by a long pause.

"From who?" I waited.

"From Kori Ivankov," her grin became positively predatory.

"Kalashnikov Kori?" I looked for confirmation. She nodded. "The head of the Russian Mafia on the East Coast of the United States -- that Kori Ivankov?"

"Yes," Lucky Dead grew angry. "Don't tell me you are afraid of that normie!"

"I don't have anyone I love who can't take care of themselves, so I'm only mildly worried about that monster of a mobster," I regarded her skeptically. "The man is without remorse and never forgets a slight."

"I heard you were sort of fearless," Liberty's smile lost all its warmth.

"There is fearlessness and then there is stupidly brave," I shook my head. "Plus, my records show Mr. Ivankov to be a metahuman ... just one who can't be normally detected ... which is a neat gift in and of itself."

"What?" Liberty lost some of her arrogant poise. "What does he do?"

"I don't know. I do know my Father used an alternate way -- beyond the ken of my understanding -- to detect metahumans ... and his scan revealed Ivankov to be a metahuman."

"Well, that shoves a monkey wrench in the spanner," Arachne frowned. Now everyone was frowning.

"We've got to do this," Lucky Dead turned to Arachne, pleading.

"The window on this is limited," Liberty added. "We either go tomorrow, or the opportunity passes."

"Fine, what are we going to do -- and don't say '

kidnap him

', please," I relaxed enough to ratchet down the tension a degree, or two.

"No, we are going to steal something from him -- something he values," Arachne revealed.

"What would that be?" I inquired.

"The fewer people who know the specifics, the better off the rest of you are," Liberty intervened. I didn't like the sound of that.

"I'm not into kidnapping," I let her know.

"Good to know. Besides, the Code of Thieves doesn't allow for family, or didn't you know that?"

"Rules one and two," I acknowledged I too knew the Russian Code of Thieves. "That doesn't mean they cannot have any 'bi-blows' though (aka bastard offspring)."

"Then you know you have nothing to worry about," she curtailed that part of our discussion.

"You fuck me over this ...," I half-threatened.

"You'll what, College-Boy?" she got in my face.

"Fuck me over badly enough and I'll kill you," I promised. In that moment I owned I was Baron Bedlam's son and he would have never let such a slight pass without demanding payment in blood.

"You think you can?" her eyes narrowed. Really nice deep brown eyes too.

"Are we are going to find out?" I leaned in until our noses were only a few centimeters apart.

There was another long pause.

"I like your grit. You don't play around," she grinned. "Still, if you cross the line in my neighborhood we are going to find out just how tough you really are."

"Was that really necessary?" Arachne came our way.

"Yeah ... yeah, it was," Liberty nodded. "See, unlike the rest of us, Dark Son here is one of the Bad Guys and he's only helping us out for the pay day -- nothing more."

"Oh," from Lucky Dead.

"Seriously?" Arachne tilted my chin her way. "Kori Ivankov is one bad dude and needs to be taken down a peg, or two."

"Kori Ivankov is one bad dude and is going to come gunning for anyone attached to this job," I corrected her assertion. "I'm not sure how we can take him down a peg, or two, when I don't even know what is to be stolen."

"He stole from me first," Lucky Dead moped. I gazed passed Arachne seeking more so she added, "He stole my girlfriend -- a human trafficking ring of his."

"I suggest you get over it and find a new paramour," I advised.

"He stole my pain and I'm going to give him all that and more until he gives me my girlfriend back!"

"What is your superpower again?" I asked of Lucky Dead.

"I'm immortal."

"Good for you. Some of us aren't though and should take into account our limited lifespan."

"Lucky isn't exactly immortal," Arachne explained. "She creates a new body when her old one is killed. She remembers everything about being killed though -- including the pain ... and she is still willing to go ahead with this."

"Let's cut through all the moralizations and get down to it -- how much am I going to get out of this?"

"Everything else in his safe room that you can carry," Liberty Lincoln offered. "Everything except the one thing we are after."

"And that would be?" I poked again.

"I'm not telling you," she responded.

"If that 'thing' is the only thing in that room, you won't be able to tell just how angry I will be," I grumbled.