THE MARVEL KNIGHTS GROUP
PROUDLY PRESENTS...

ISSUE #1 - "Font of Madness"
Written by Ed Ainsworth

Cain Marko lay on his back, arms spread out either side of him, as the crimson tides of consciousness slowly lap at the peripherys of his mind. It wanders in and out of coherent thought, and he slowly ponders his way through his life-line. All the pain he has wrought on nameless other parties.

He wonders for a moment if he will ever know happiness. A fraction was found in the revilement of the town Sirccoro Sprawl, Mexico. Or in the arms of a lover. The closest the large man has come to happiness is the time he spent with Black Tom at the beginning of his super criminal career, as opposed to the revenge driven mindless drone he was at the start. His thirst for revenge, pain, destruction, it all slowly waned over the past few days, fading from him, as though the Crimson tides pulled it out to sea.

"Whosoever touches this gem shall possess the power of the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. Henceforth, you who read these words shall become forevermore a human Juggernaut!"

That sentence, so many years ago, when Cain was in the armed forces change him so much. Gun and, grenades were the way the measure of a man was taken, by how many he could kill, or how much power he held in his good right arm. At least that's how it was for Marko.

He could see himself, wrenching the Crimson Gem from its position on the pedestal, the idol of Cyttorak staring down upon him. It’s features emitting an ominous glow.

Power surged through his body, and Cain felt not only his stature grow, but also his strength. His good right arm was now capable of more destruction than an entire army. Nobody would stand in his way. Not even his little-step-brother.

The temple that Marko found the power in slowly began to crumble due to the realisation of magic and of mystical might. He began to see things for what they were. The government was simply a figure head for bigger, vaster powers. That finally, after all this time he has spent feeling lost, he had a place. Even as rock pinned him to the floor, Marko’s features had curved into a sickening smile.

He Had The Power.

Cyttorak’s mind wandered from its current objective - the vivisection and analysis of the human body, in preparation of the implantation of smaller, Juggernaut power crystals. The crystals glow incandescently, as though they were alive. Cyttorak probed the recesses of the man's split abdomen, searching through the organs he found so interesting. Perhaps, he could take the time to explore the human body and its culture further. Until then, he would have to make do with the humans his followers had recruited.

He turned his huge head, stroking his moustache and watching the viewing portal, some several hundred feet in front of him. Distance meant nothing to Cyttorak. A member of the Octessance. He had immeasurable power.

Marko, pulled himself from his slump against the wall of the underground station, his trench coat tattered, without sleeves, stained with blood, alcohol and beans. A man’s got to eat, after all. He pressed his fingertips against the wall for support. The entire super hero population of this world would be involved if there was some way to get word out, and to not let on that it was him that was in need of help. Yet he still had to face the terror of the Cyttorakian elves himself.

He remembers the first time he faced the world head on. By himself, pushing the mountain of rubble off his back, by heaving his newly hulking shoulders. Rubble rolling off him like water off a ducks back. His powers were instinctive, as though they were another sense. He could see the world for what it was, a realm of the strong pushing and punishing the weak.

He was now one of the strong.

What followed was a long, and varied super career. As a villain, Cain Marko made more money through bank jobs than most people could ever hope to see in a lifetime, and lost it all almost as quickly. He fought against most of the major players of the world, and yet he had accomplished nothing. He was worthless.

He made his way up the concrete steps of the underground station, fists balled. This was the first time he'd felt helpless since his father would beat him. Helpless made Marko angry. Very angry.

Anger always helped him before, it’s how he dealt with being the Juggernaut, losing friends, powers, loved ones. And once Cain Marko feels anger, there isn’t anything in the world that can stop him.

An explosion to the left of him, his head snapped round, greasy hair whipping against his face with a flat slap. There were two of them, Cyttorak’s elves, physical manifestations of the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. Marko’s mouth opened, and a single word escaped his lips.

“Shit.”

Cyttorak slowly placed his hand against the chest of one of his many followers. Thousands of them lined the walls of his personal chamber. They stretched for as far as the eye can see. Stoic, and standing to attention, their minds and hearts wrapped in the words of their lord before them. Homogeneous in their form, any human who entered became indoctrinated and transformed into a duplicate of the human next to them. Their uniform designed to strike fear into the minds of men and the hearts of women. A mask to strike of growling hate, eyes glowing from rubies the colour of blood. Teeth as jagged as the morals and sensibilities of Cyttorak himself. A nose set on a slant, as if disrupted from its course by a major blow upwards, coupled lips as cruel as the Fear Lords themselves. Cyttorak’s eyes glowed with pleasure as he surveyed his troops.

“Do you know why you are here, my followers?” The question boomed in a thousand voices, the long crystalline stalactites shaking with the force of his voice, yet it was not the air particles that vibrated.

For there is no air in the Crimson Cosmos.

Laws of science do not belong in the arcane. The followers answer in unison, their voice a booming echo of respect and fear.

“No, master!”

“You are here BECAUSE I will you to be. I am Cyttorak, the true Lord and Master. I should be known and revered around the universe. I require knowledge, entertainment and above all…worship.”

He pausesd for a moment, to needlessly eviscerate a follower in front of him. Parts of his body torn asunder by the Seven Crimson bands of Cyttorak. The demon raised his forefingers to his forehead, pointing to the Gem of Cyttorak.

“Within this Crystal there holds limitless power. Mystical might. The Seven Bands of Cyttorak.”

He opened his right hand, a band carrying the former follower’s face, minus any skull bones, to his palm. Cyttorak squeezed it gently, blood flowing between his knuckles.

“I wish to take Earth, my followers. And you are my army. Prepare. For your master.”

“Holy CRAP ALMIGHTY!” Cain Marko exclaimed as he fell over himself. He landed hard on his hands and knees, falling onto his side into some trash cans. His breath was ragged, run to its limits. The fall had scraped his palms and knees of flesh, leaving crimson streaks on his jeans. He gasped and looked up at the clock above him.

He’d been running for twenty minutes.

“This ain’t no fun. No fun at all.” He pushed the words, as though tangible through his gritted teeth. He appeared to have given the elves the slip over the last couple of blocks. He pushed his fingers deep into his trench coat’s pockets, and pulled out a few coins.

He pushed the first quarter into the currency receiver of the phone. He dialled the numbers slowly, his brain having a hard time remembering the exact sequence.

“Hey, Ya reached the Voice Mail of Flint Marko. If it’s tha Cop’s, don’t leave a message. I’m a MEMBER OF THA AVENGERS NOW, YA HEAR? A GOOD GUY! Sandman ain’t a baddie n’more, stupid cops and their always tryin’ ta make me look like a fool, I’ll show them, I’M AN AVENG-”

The raving was cut short by the beep to signify that Marko should leave a message.

“Shit, Flint. You’re a Nut.” His tone was deadpan as he pressed the button on the phone down, hanging up on the voice mail. He pushed another coin into the receiver, glancing over his shoulder in case the elves should come after him a second time.

He dialled a second number. Only two coins left.

“Hello?” the disembodied voice on the phone questioned.

“Trapster?” Marko inquired, not sure the Trapster would know him.

“Uhh…What If I am?”

“I need yer help. I’m being chased by Cyttorak’s elves, and they won’t lay off. I ain’t got my powers no more, so I can’t fight ‘em back, and I’m getting crapped on out here,” pleaded Cain Marko, for the first time in his life he required aid from another.

“I can’t help you, there, buddy. I don’t even know who you are let alone who this Cyttorak guy is,” Trapster uttered wearily down the phone to Marko. Apparently, a person in danger was of no real importance to the Trapster; however, he is a Super Villain.

“I’M THE JUGGERNAUT, YA DUMB MOOK!” Marko yelled down the phone at his would be saviour. “I AIN’T GOT MY POWERS, SO DO SOMETHIN’ TA HELP ME, OR I’LL TEAR YOUR FACE OFF WITHOUT ‘EM!”

“Alright. Alright. Calm down, Jesus Christ…the Juggernaut himself. Without any powers. You sir, are Fucked. With a capital “F.” Christ. Hold on a moment. I know someone who can help you. Old friend of mine.”

Marko memorised the number of The Wingless Wizard, and after thanking the Trapster he hung the phone up. Before he could dial the other number, the phone box exploded into a cacophony of glass and twisted metal as a Four-by-Four smashed into it's structure.

“LET GO OF ME! NOW!” exclaimed District Attorney Sachi Yama as she was dragged by the AIM Scientists toward her intended prison.

“You may feel some discomfort as your soul is ripped from the earthly shell, and placed inside the armour, Miss Yama. I can assure you, it will hurt a great deal, and you may not survive the experience. After all, the last seven subjects didn’t. Though the results were varied.”

His underlings held Sachi down and strapped her to a long, thin stainless-steel table. Slowly, they snapped tight, uncomfortable clamps over her thin wrists and ankles. She struggled against them, trying in vain to try and claw her way free. She quickly found that she was unable to free herself, not for wont of trying.

A smaller man, without the A.I.M. yellow costume, hobbled over to her. He slowly and carefully, placed electro-sensors on her temple, two across her breasts, and one on each palm and sole.

“Procedure ready,” stated the older man

“Why are you doing this?” Sachi asked, as the machine ignited into whirs, clicks and beeps. The end of a long laser jutted from it's resting position and began to heat up. Crackling energy jumped from it's staggered end into the steel table and across the granite floor.

Then, all Sachi could feel was pain.

Cain Marko had seen the truck coming toward him. He threw his size-able bulk through the paned, glass phone-booth out onto the street just as the truck collided with the booth.

The explosion of the vehicle itself had thrown him into a wall, several of his ribs we’re cracked and his head was spinning. He swam about like a beached-whale in the ocean of garbage around him.

“GoD…WhAt…?” His mind was hazy and he couldn’t quite make out the small shapes moving toward him with increasing speed. Then, with the sudden clarity, the adrenaline spurt allowed him to once again regain his fighting spirit.

“Elves…You little bastards are gonna get what you deserve…”

Marko raised himself to his feet, holding onto a battered pipe in his left hand, and a dustbin lid in the other. He raised the pipe, which leaked dirtied water over his torn trench coat, and swung at the approaching elf.

The elf, which obviously had greater reflexes than those of the former Juggernaut, gracefully weaved through the pipe itself, and exploded out the centre, spraying shards into Marko’s face, tearing his flesh.

Marko screamed, dropping to his knees, feeling his face with his dirt encrusted hands. His face was merely scraped, no actual deep damage had occurred. He rose to his feet slowly, grinding his teeth together, anger rising in him.

Once Cain Marko’s rage had ruled his life, it had made him the most powerful super villain on the earth.

“YA GODAMNED PIECE OF HORSE-SHIT! LOOK AT WHATT’YA DID TA MY FACE!” He lashed out with his dustbin lid, tossing it the way a warrior would throw a discus.

It arced through the air and clattered off an elf's chest. The tiny creature fell down to the floor and crashed with a weight that surprised Marko. He watched in surprise as the elf slowly lost it's cohesion and became a long, crimson ribbon of energy, which promptly fizzled away and back to it's home.

The other elves struck out with increased ferocity. Their number only two now. Marko dived away as the elves formed tiny swords from the bands encircling their miniature bodies, slashing outwards at him They cut tiny grooves into buildings and metal, as they sliced wildly, fraught with frustration. Marko pushed himself to his feet quickly, and began his sprint down the street. His mind was whirling, spinning, as blood dripped over his eyes.

He had to think of a strategy. Something. ANYTHING.

He bolted past a cinema, where he saw an advertisement.

“Relive your Nightmares, for an Eternity. Nightmare on Elm Street 7.”

Suddenly Marko remembered. The battle with Nightmare in the Dream Dimension. The spell he had cast to bring Nightmare down to his size,* perhaps if cast on a person smaller than he was, he could somehow level the playing field.

(*You can see these events in Doctor Strange v1 #182!)

He spun on the balls of his feet, pressing his forefingers flat against his palms. Silent though the spell was its power was still just as potent.

The elves slowly grew in size and stature, confusion writing over their faces as they tried to understand what was happening. Soon they were the size of normal women, though they were red and completely naked. Red rings encircling their bodies, twisting and spiralling around their limbs in a repeating pattern.

Marko grinned, and pulled his fist back. With their extra size the elves were confused and out of their element, wobbling in the air as though they were unsteady and now unsure of how to navigate. One of the elves attempted to dodge the onslaught of Marko’s rage-induced right hook, but the blow struck plainly across the jaw, snapping it out of place.

The elf hit the floor with a satisfying crumple, leaving the remaining elf rather dumbstruck.

“What now, darlin’? Ya gonna try’n fight me?” He raised his fists preparing to fight her, despite not having any powers. He snorted and spat on the floor, his saliva tinged with blood.

The elf turned tail and flew. It’s fallen partner dissipating the same way it's sister had, by loosing its cohesion and turning into a long, thin ribbon of energy.

“Nah. Didn’t think so,” He spat another large globule of blood onto the pavement below, and walked towards the city centre to try and find the apartment Trapster had also given him the address too.

Somewhere in Ireland…

Bridget Malone had fought against the poverty and famine in her home country for many years. Her life was hard, difficult because her country was torn by militaristic actions. Ireland once a place of great beauty had been torn asunder by the bombs and shooting of factions.

Now Bridget finds herself crawling knee-deep in the muck of her country. The ground had just previously given way, causing her to fall screaming into the semi-gelatinous mud that now coated her body. She gasped and coughed, hacking mud out of her trachea onto the rubber like surface of the porous former clay material. She slowly waded through the muck, cursing to herself, swearing to all the gods she can think of.

There was light ahead. She thanked the gods she so easily spurned, in an effort to appease them before they came down on her, removing the light they had just given.

She reached the emanations of the light and muffled her gasp with her gloved hand. She choked on a piece of mud and hocked it up over the floor.

The object called out to her, its shaft was long, indented thrice and ending in a carving of a kestrel. She knew instantly what the object was. What power if held, and she reached for it. She was not worthy, but the Kestrel Key of Krakken was not choosey…

Marko knocked on the door of the small, run down, badly designed apartment in the middle of a rough neighbourhood.

A small bearded man opened the door, looking worse for wear. The door itself, half on its hinges, half-removed by the ages of decay and lack of maintenance.

“What?”

“I’m lookin’ fer the Wizard. You ‘im?”

“What If I am?”

Marko pushed his foot into the doorway and walked past the older man, pushing him aside with a larger hand, palm into his sternum.

“I’m Cain Marko. Was tha Unstoppable Juggernaut, now I ain’t got any powers to start. Ya gotta help me, these things’re chasing me.”

The Wizard looked at Marko lopsidedly. Why? The question occurred to him, but he had heard of the Juggernauts escapades. He had no idea the being before him was Cain Marko. What a pathetic excuse.

“I had thought your powers to be natural, Marko? Appears I was wrong.” He cupped his chin in his long, gnarled fingers, and lets out a high pitched sigh. “Why do you need me?”

“My powers…they’re gone and I’m being chased by these fairy things. They’re the ‘embodiment of Cyttorak’s mystical powers’ or somethin’. There’s seven of them. I just mashed up three of them. I need somethin’ which I can use to fight back in…I need some armour.”

“Then you have come to the right place, dear boy.” The older man pressed a button that was concealed underneath the lampshade, apparently only there for decoration, as it lacked a plug to allow it to light the room with its artificial splendour. The wall revolved revealing a vast workshop of weaponry, suits and advanced technological advancements.

Cain Marko’s jaw dropped open and only one word escaped his lips.

“Shit.”