Eye of a Boy: Blood Wars

Robert Cousins was an ordinary, adolescent pupil at St. Joseph's High School until he encountered a malevolent Hell-hound on a mission to slaughter two innocent men. Or so he thought. With him and his friend's gaining powers by the day, will he be able to scrape a victory at the eleventh hour?


9. Darth Sniffer


The derelict exterior of Greg’s Comics hardly differed from the grungy interior. Discarded comics books were littered around the cluttered shop, each one of them containing an exclusive adventure situated in another dimension. Despite the ability to delve into another world, people treated comic books with the lowest reserves of respect. Pasted to the crumbling walls were enlarged scenes from classic cult films depicting such astonishing events as the untimely demise of Spock and the revelation of the relationship between Anakin and Luke Skywalker. The only citizens who dared to enter the shop were geeks without any future prospects.

    That was why it was a congregating point for Robert, Ben, Eve and Anne, the self-proclaimed founding members of the Geek-Allegiance. 

    Upon the fourth Friday of any given month, Greg’s Comics’ top geeks would meet in the shop’s compact basement to discuss current affairs in the ever-expanding world of science fiction. Only the most devote geeks were enlisted to attend.

    On top of the four adolescents was Yoda Jr, representing the Intergalactic Death Star Clan. Clothed in fabricated garments that represented those of pre-original saga Obi-Wan Kinobi, he occasionally brandished a fluorescent lightsaber that he used to bring peace when things got tense in dire circumstances at the meetings.

    Beside him was Peter Parker (a man who had adapted his name to match that the Amazing Spider-Man) who embodied the name of the Wall-Crawling Cult. A Spider-Hoodie hung over his wiry frame. He frequently arrived in a Bentley suited out to resemble the infamous, critically despised Spider-Mobile.

    Finally, the founding member of Greg’s Comics, Gregory Van Dyke was perched upon a juniper seat at the top of the spherical table. He had changed allegiances over the years; sometimes he sided with the controversial Spockites but, more often than not, stood alongside the multicultural Wakandians.  

“I welcome you all today,” greeted Greg, nodding courteously to everyone who had assembled. “With the utmost respect. We have been sent thorough apologies from the Hobbits due to the fact they are currently on a pilgrimage, trekking the supposed journey that the valiant Bilbo Baggins once dared to take alongside the egotistical dwarves.”

    Sombrely, everyone in the room, bar Robert and company, bowed their heads with civilest respect. Despite Robert’s nerdy status, he would not stoop so low as to venture out into the mountainous regions of New Zealand to follow a fictitious, some would say vertically challenged, character. Fortunately, no one challenged his view on the matter with anything more than a vulgar snort from Yoda Jr.

“Now, does anyone have anything to bring to the table about current affairs in the world of Sci-Fi?” questioned Greg quizzically.

    Following this remark, the huddled group began to debate the ethics of Darth Vader during the reconstruction of the Death Star. Following this was a heated argument on the aesthetics of the limited edition ‘Ring to rule them all.’ Their next discussion was on the proposition of peace between the various super teams and their penultimate topic resulted in a heated argument over whether Spock could still be alive as a remnant of a ghost.

    It was as things got heated over Vulcan reproduction that Robert heard a beckoning whisper echoing throughout his head.

Excuse yourself.

    Bewildered, Robert glanced around to see whether any of his accompanies had heard such an oddity. Their blank faces and monotone voices suggested otherwise.

Are you fricken’ deaf?

    Now the noise was certainly bugging Robert.

Say you have constipation or something!

    The voice seemed aggravated by Robert’s lack of response. Assuming Robert wasn’t loosing grasp on his psychology, he came to the conclusion that it would be no harm to merely dismiss himself from the table.

Gradually make your way to the out-of-order masculine toilet and ease it open.

    Once more Robert committed the notion. The others were so enveloped in their pitiful debate that they failed to notice his abnormal actions. Checking back briefly, he could see how all of his friends had been shaken by a catastrophic event in the last few days. Despite his empathy with them, he could not console one of them. Why? Because he faced an unsolvable predicament that would result in him being nothing more than a vagabond come the festive season.

    Precariously, Robert waded into the forbidden room. But instead of uncovering yellowing urinals, moss on a biblical scale and corroding walls, he was awaited by a spiral staircase descending into the unknown.

“Anyone there?” stammered Robert, wishing that it were just a delusional state of mind that had made him clamber into the eerie area.

    To Robert’s obvious dismay, he received no clarification for his hypothesis. Therefore he, reluctantly, began to scramble down the stairs. Never had he been a devote catholic but he found himself continuously uttering an ‘Our Father.’ He just hoped that he would not hulk out once again.

    What he anticipated as he clambered down the stairs was nothing more than a grimy sewage pipe that lead into the depths of nowhere. Maybe he would see petite mice scurrying around the cobbled floor in any direction possible and enlarged Tarantulas scaling the walls, leaving a trail of web in their wake.

Instead he encountered a vibrant laboratory that was equipped with an array of weapons residing in the corner and theoretical diagrams scrawled on an ancient blackboard. The only equation that did not dumbfound Robert was a simple cuboid with a gleeful face on it. Facing away from Robert was a velvet, pivoting chair.

“I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Cousins!” cackled Arnold Sniffer malevolently as he rotated on the chair to face Robert. In his clenched hands struggled a whining gerbil.

“That is so cliché,” complained Robert. “And vermin; aren’t dramatic antagonists meant to own sleek cats?”

“Cutbacks,” Sniffer shrugged his shoulders as if this even resembled a satisfying comeback. “Anyway – aren’t you supposed to be questioning me on how I located you?”

“I’m assuming you didn’t locate us because this looks like a permanent residence!” retorted Robert.

    For a moment Sniffer just glared at Robert in despair and hatred.

“So, Smarty Pants!” eventually snarled Sniffer. “I bet you can not comprehend the cumulative effects of your abnormal inclination in your intermittent genes.”

“Well,” Robert sighed pitifully. “You got me on Human/Cow biology!”

“I’m not a cow,” Sniffer cursed under his breath.

    With that, the writhing Gerbil managed to wriggle out of Sniffer’s grip and began to scamper away from its callous owner. For a moment Sniffer looked sad at its departure.

“Now I’m never going to know what occurs when you splice a Gerbil’s DNA and combine it with that of an Arachnid!” drearily sighed Sniffer before resuming his caustic ways. “Where was I? Oh yes – a young Cyclops. In a galaxy far far away…”

“Cut to the chase!” snapped Robert aggressively. “I just want to know what on earth is happening to me!”

“Okay,” Sniffer succumbed to Robert’s desperate plea. “Your body is undergoing a complex procedure not that dissimilar to puberty. Genes are activating in your body that will have repercussions for the next few years of your life. When faced with exhilarating aspects of your existence, you will feel a surge and you’ll let rip – in your case, you’ll mutilate until you become a Cyclops. Your acquaintances are facing similar circumstances but are undergoing different procedures; ones that affect Skeletons and Vampires.”
”So why aren’t you telling them this crap as well?” sneered Robert, clearly unconvinced by Sniffer’s presumed explanation for these events.

“That is an decent question,” Sniffer praised. “Which results in a decent answer. You see, Cyclops like you haven’t surfaced since the culling of your kind after one of them provoked the Nazi Party!”

    Robert pondered over what the peculiar individual was informing him of. Was it truly possible that he wasn’t even remotely homo sapien? Did his Father know?

    But the questions could wait till later – after Sniffer digressed the full truth.

“Please continue,” Robert insisted.

“When your Monster Genes become more prominent in your system then the Chairmen of the Beasts beckon you to contemplate whether you want to discard your monster genes or whether you request that your transformation becomes a permanent affair. In the meantime you might experience sexual tension, suicidal thoughts, disruptive behaviour and sporadic transformations. I assume you haven’t experiences any of these?”

“No,” lied Robert through his teeth.

“Okay dokey,” sniggered Sniffer. “Any questions?”

    Hesitantly, Robert raised his spindly hand in response.

“Well we’ve got one!” cackled a maniacal voice from behind. “How long can you hide from our onslaught?”

    Swivelling around, Robert and Sniffer came face to face with the temperamental, cynical Iota and the terminating artificial intelligence known as Delta.

“The answer is…” Delta continued. “Not much longer!”        


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