another piece from another comic book story
[This is an excerpt from a story I'm writing that acts as a dissertation on the history of mutant pornagraphy and its effects on society. It is a good example of the type of writing I do when I've sequestered in the Holy Land]
While my research is not entirely comprehensive, it is one of the most thorough readings of the subject. The material available, much like the incidence of genetic anomaly, grows exponentially with each decade, starting with the Thirties. Some have theorized that it was our abrupt entrance into the atomic age that sparked this growth, and that the baby boom of the forties and fifties, followed by the civil rights and sexual liberation movements that cemented it so that now, mutants, which were practically unheard of a century ago, are an accepted part of society. This is just conjecture, of course, but I personally think that there may be some merit to it.
Anecdotally, I've heard some say that the fabled isle of Atlantis produced a radioactive ore, that in the end sunk the great nation but only after giving rise to the cyclopses, shapeshifters and strongmen of Olympus. There is absolutely no proof to this claim but I've always felt it an interesting concept, in a Chariots of the Gods way, that so many of our stories, stories that provided the basis of religion and history, could have been the result of a couple of freak genes.
There is one old tale that may or may not be true. It is one of the first written stories, and one of the first stories printed on movable type, and in both cases it was already a very old story, perhaps the oldest written account of a shapeshifter. There are so many versions of the story that there is no way to tell which region or culture it originated from.
In Europe, the story usually involves a powerful man from the East, a Moslem holy man, a Sumerian king, a Magi wizard, et cetera, riding four horses into town with an old satchel slung over his shoulder.
He demands an audience with the king, offering a gift to prove his allegiance. With piqued interest the King accepts him, whereupon he removes a brick of clay from his satchel, telling the king that he will breath into the clay actual life, and that the king may choose three forms for that life to inhabit, and here the details diverge like branches of an old tree, and like the wizard's gift, I will give you three versions of the story.
In one account, an early Spanish king is met by the king of the Arabs, and though incredulous of the offer, and hoping really just to kill his visitor as soon as his tricks were brought out and revealed, asked for three wives. The first was to be as delicate and exotic as the oriental women of the Far East, the second would possess the voluptuous strength of a woman from the thick heart of the African subcontinent, and the third was to be as fair and as beautiful as his own perfect daughter. To insure himself against any high trickery, he stipulated that the three women must be of vastly different heights but share the same size foot.
The Arab stroked his beard majestically and laid out the clay and with a single utterance of Unshallah, closed his eyes and snapped his fingers. From within the cube, two hands stretched out and tugged at the block's sides and corners, forming it into the body of a beautiful woman with thin eyes and long black hair, no more than four feet tall with long toes that stretched as if to escape the length of her feet. Another snap and she was a towering, dreadlocked Afrikaan, swaying to and fro on too small feet that forced her to stumble into a curtsy before another snap rendered her the new Queen of Spain: pale ivory skin, eyes the color of Spring, brown freckles that gathered around her cheeks and elbows, perfect feet and curly hair that just touched her shoulders but when pulled, showed to be the same lengths as the coifs of the other two women. The king had his three treasures and Spain had opened up trade with the Moslms.
When the Celt met with the Sumer, his requests were slightly different. Again incredulous, he grinned as he made his requests. He wanted of the block of clay, a strong-backed woman he could fuck all night, for a strong-calved horse he could ride into battle, and for a snarling dragon, a monstrous winged lizard with glowing eyes, to protect his kingdom as he slept.
Apparently, one got more use than the others, and on its few appearances, the dragon was so terrifying that the king never once had to ride his horse into battle and, not caring for the Persian sport of polo, spent most of his days fucking his strong backed woman as his wife ruled the kingdom. The story never says what the Sumer got in return.
The final version of this story happens much later and concerns the Russian Tsar Ivan IV Vasilyevich, better know as Ivan Grozny or Ivan the Terrible. To tell it, however, I must first digress, as I warn you now I will do many times from this point on.
Most scientific journals categorize shapeshifters in two specific camps. They're not the most appropriate terms to use but they are the most common; they are simply fortunate and unfortunate. A fortunate shapeshifter is fortunate because their mutation is near undetectable. Not only can they look as normal as you or me, they can choose to look much better, which for decades now has led to supermodels fending off paparazzi hoping to catch a "natural" photograph and questions of is she or isn't she. A fortunate shapeshifter can change their shape for as long as they choose, as often as they'd like. You may have learned in school that if someone were to be able to control all the muscles in their face, that they would be able to look like anyone. It's like that but on a molecular level. It's a voluntary reflex, like blinking or giving a thumbs up.
While an unfortunate shapeshifter can do all of this, it is not as easy. The whole tenure of a shift is done with complete knowledge of every atom, every molecule stretching to some unnatural length or shape. Imagine holding your arm out and bending it at a forty-five degree angle while holding a small book. While it can be easy for a few minutes, it does not take long for the act to become excruciating.
In the third version of our story, Ivan Grozny is greeted by a mysterious stranger shortly after the death of his first wife, Anastasia Romanova, and receives an unfortunate shapeshifter named Illyana who, while quite becoming as her first, second, and third incarnations as blonde, brunette, and redhead and even a handsome brick of clay, was quite homely in her natural form, with ratty hair that would change color of its own accord, dumpy breasts, and jaundiced skin that was badly pocked. Though she was nearly always suffering physically, it was preferable to the life she would lead as a peasant. Though her husband was brutal and paranoid, and had taken more than a few lives with his own hands as the country's first Tsar, he was kind to her and showed her genuine tenderness.
While history is full of stories of crooked or vengeful wives of kings cuckolding their husbands while they were away on matters of state, Illyana was faithful to her master and when he was away, she would simply lock the door, draw a bath, return her sore body to its natural state, soak, apply aloe, and enjoy a chance to cry from her own eyes. Unfortunately for this unfortunate, despite her piety Illyanna must face the same fate as these other famous women of history when Ivan returns early, agitated, and ready to jump into bed. She had neglected to lock the door and failed to hear him arrive and he surprised her there in the tub, and she, in turn, surprised him.
She quickly tugged her muscles into a familiar shape, that of the redhead whom the king liked the most, and even though she sat in the tub her makeup was exquisite and her hair a work of art. Ivan, enraged spat out, "Liar!" She tried to explain herself, nd to bribe him, promising to be a million different girls for him, all infinitely faithful. She pledged her very real love and devotion, but the knowledge that she could change at will, that she was not some enchanted hag who was truly given three forms with which to serve him, only enraged him further.
"Liar!" he shouted, more vehemently than the first time. "Whether what you say is true or not doesn't matter because if you can be anyone, then you can be a spy and I'd rather not spend my whole life looking over my shoulder wondering if the girl I'm fucking was the dignitary who's just implored me to sign a peace treaty or the bird on my windowsill or the bojar that poisoned my wife. You must be put to-" and because good soldiers don't tend to explain themselves during battle, Ivan Vasilyevich never said the word death. He just drew his blade and plunged it into her.
If you haven't studied shapeshifters before, you might not know that shapeshifting is something of a natural defense mechanism, and nearly all shapeshifters die of old age. If a shapeshifter's arm is cut off, they grow a new one like a starfish. If a shapeshifter is being eaten by a lion, then they may make sharp spines grow out of their leg or abdomen or head so as to render the part unchewable, and if a shapeshifter is stabbed, there are any number of things they may do to protect themselves. For example, they may tighten the wound around the blade so as to stop its progress and keep it from being retrieved, and at the same time shift over any endangered internal organs or encase them in thick fat or muscle.
When Illyanna let her master, Ivan Vasilyevich, the first Tsar f Russia, stab her she did none of these things. When she accepted his blade, she had resigned herself to this fate, and done it out of love.
Still, Ivan was never quite sure that he could believe that Illyanna had died really, or anything that he'd ever seen with his own eyes, and it had driven him quite mad. It's unknown exactly how many peopledied because of his paranoid rages, or who it was that finally got close enough to poison him. A few years after he murdered Illyanna, Ivan the Terrible died in the middle of a chess game with his top advisor. Ivan's first son, born to his long-dead first wife, became the second Tsar of Russia, and the Romanovs would hold their place at the top for the next two hundred years.
While my research is not entirely comprehensive, it is one of the most thorough readings of the subject. The material available, much like the incidence of genetic anomaly, grows exponentially with each decade, starting with the Thirties. Some have theorized that it was our abrupt entrance into the atomic age that sparked this growth, and that the baby boom of the forties and fifties, followed by the civil rights and sexual liberation movements that cemented it so that now, mutants, which were practically unheard of a century ago, are an accepted part of society. This is just conjecture, of course, but I personally think that there may be some merit to it.
Anecdotally, I've heard some say that the fabled isle of Atlantis produced a radioactive ore, that in the end sunk the great nation but only after giving rise to the cyclopses, shapeshifters and strongmen of Olympus. There is absolutely no proof to this claim but I've always felt it an interesting concept, in a Chariots of the Gods way, that so many of our stories, stories that provided the basis of religion and history, could have been the result of a couple of freak genes.
There is one old tale that may or may not be true. It is one of the first written stories, and one of the first stories printed on movable type, and in both cases it was already a very old story, perhaps the oldest written account of a shapeshifter. There are so many versions of the story that there is no way to tell which region or culture it originated from.
In Europe, the story usually involves a powerful man from the East, a Moslem holy man, a Sumerian king, a Magi wizard, et cetera, riding four horses into town with an old satchel slung over his shoulder.
He demands an audience with the king, offering a gift to prove his allegiance. With piqued interest the King accepts him, whereupon he removes a brick of clay from his satchel, telling the king that he will breath into the clay actual life, and that the king may choose three forms for that life to inhabit, and here the details diverge like branches of an old tree, and like the wizard's gift, I will give you three versions of the story.
In one account, an early Spanish king is met by the king of the Arabs, and though incredulous of the offer, and hoping really just to kill his visitor as soon as his tricks were brought out and revealed, asked for three wives. The first was to be as delicate and exotic as the oriental women of the Far East, the second would possess the voluptuous strength of a woman from the thick heart of the African subcontinent, and the third was to be as fair and as beautiful as his own perfect daughter. To insure himself against any high trickery, he stipulated that the three women must be of vastly different heights but share the same size foot.
The Arab stroked his beard majestically and laid out the clay and with a single utterance of Unshallah, closed his eyes and snapped his fingers. From within the cube, two hands stretched out and tugged at the block's sides and corners, forming it into the body of a beautiful woman with thin eyes and long black hair, no more than four feet tall with long toes that stretched as if to escape the length of her feet. Another snap and she was a towering, dreadlocked Afrikaan, swaying to and fro on too small feet that forced her to stumble into a curtsy before another snap rendered her the new Queen of Spain: pale ivory skin, eyes the color of Spring, brown freckles that gathered around her cheeks and elbows, perfect feet and curly hair that just touched her shoulders but when pulled, showed to be the same lengths as the coifs of the other two women. The king had his three treasures and Spain had opened up trade with the Moslms.
When the Celt met with the Sumer, his requests were slightly different. Again incredulous, he grinned as he made his requests. He wanted of the block of clay, a strong-backed woman he could fuck all night, for a strong-calved horse he could ride into battle, and for a snarling dragon, a monstrous winged lizard with glowing eyes, to protect his kingdom as he slept.
Apparently, one got more use than the others, and on its few appearances, the dragon was so terrifying that the king never once had to ride his horse into battle and, not caring for the Persian sport of polo, spent most of his days fucking his strong backed woman as his wife ruled the kingdom. The story never says what the Sumer got in return.
The final version of this story happens much later and concerns the Russian Tsar Ivan IV Vasilyevich, better know as Ivan Grozny or Ivan the Terrible. To tell it, however, I must first digress, as I warn you now I will do many times from this point on.
Most scientific journals categorize shapeshifters in two specific camps. They're not the most appropriate terms to use but they are the most common; they are simply fortunate and unfortunate. A fortunate shapeshifter is fortunate because their mutation is near undetectable. Not only can they look as normal as you or me, they can choose to look much better, which for decades now has led to supermodels fending off paparazzi hoping to catch a "natural" photograph and questions of is she or isn't she. A fortunate shapeshifter can change their shape for as long as they choose, as often as they'd like. You may have learned in school that if someone were to be able to control all the muscles in their face, that they would be able to look like anyone. It's like that but on a molecular level. It's a voluntary reflex, like blinking or giving a thumbs up.
While an unfortunate shapeshifter can do all of this, it is not as easy. The whole tenure of a shift is done with complete knowledge of every atom, every molecule stretching to some unnatural length or shape. Imagine holding your arm out and bending it at a forty-five degree angle while holding a small book. While it can be easy for a few minutes, it does not take long for the act to become excruciating.
In the third version of our story, Ivan Grozny is greeted by a mysterious stranger shortly after the death of his first wife, Anastasia Romanova, and receives an unfortunate shapeshifter named Illyana who, while quite becoming as her first, second, and third incarnations as blonde, brunette, and redhead and even a handsome brick of clay, was quite homely in her natural form, with ratty hair that would change color of its own accord, dumpy breasts, and jaundiced skin that was badly pocked. Though she was nearly always suffering physically, it was preferable to the life she would lead as a peasant. Though her husband was brutal and paranoid, and had taken more than a few lives with his own hands as the country's first Tsar, he was kind to her and showed her genuine tenderness.
While history is full of stories of crooked or vengeful wives of kings cuckolding their husbands while they were away on matters of state, Illyana was faithful to her master and when he was away, she would simply lock the door, draw a bath, return her sore body to its natural state, soak, apply aloe, and enjoy a chance to cry from her own eyes. Unfortunately for this unfortunate, despite her piety Illyanna must face the same fate as these other famous women of history when Ivan returns early, agitated, and ready to jump into bed. She had neglected to lock the door and failed to hear him arrive and he surprised her there in the tub, and she, in turn, surprised him.
She quickly tugged her muscles into a familiar shape, that of the redhead whom the king liked the most, and even though she sat in the tub her makeup was exquisite and her hair a work of art. Ivan, enraged spat out, "Liar!" She tried to explain herself, nd to bribe him, promising to be a million different girls for him, all infinitely faithful. She pledged her very real love and devotion, but the knowledge that she could change at will, that she was not some enchanted hag who was truly given three forms with which to serve him, only enraged him further.
"Liar!" he shouted, more vehemently than the first time. "Whether what you say is true or not doesn't matter because if you can be anyone, then you can be a spy and I'd rather not spend my whole life looking over my shoulder wondering if the girl I'm fucking was the dignitary who's just implored me to sign a peace treaty or the bird on my windowsill or the bojar that poisoned my wife. You must be put to-" and because good soldiers don't tend to explain themselves during battle, Ivan Vasilyevich never said the word death. He just drew his blade and plunged it into her.
If you haven't studied shapeshifters before, you might not know that shapeshifting is something of a natural defense mechanism, and nearly all shapeshifters die of old age. If a shapeshifter's arm is cut off, they grow a new one like a starfish. If a shapeshifter is being eaten by a lion, then they may make sharp spines grow out of their leg or abdomen or head so as to render the part unchewable, and if a shapeshifter is stabbed, there are any number of things they may do to protect themselves. For example, they may tighten the wound around the blade so as to stop its progress and keep it from being retrieved, and at the same time shift over any endangered internal organs or encase them in thick fat or muscle.
When Illyanna let her master, Ivan Vasilyevich, the first Tsar f Russia, stab her she did none of these things. When she accepted his blade, she had resigned herself to this fate, and done it out of love.
Still, Ivan was never quite sure that he could believe that Illyanna had died really, or anything that he'd ever seen with his own eyes, and it had driven him quite mad. It's unknown exactly how many peopledied because of his paranoid rages, or who it was that finally got close enough to poison him. A few years after he murdered Illyanna, Ivan the Terrible died in the middle of a chess game with his top advisor. Ivan's first son, born to his long-dead first wife, became the second Tsar of Russia, and the Romanovs would hold their place at the top for the next two hundred years.
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