The sands of Alcateia Island felt the weight of a legion of demons, all following the imposing march of Kan-Yara-Lath, an ambassador from the infernal depths. At that moment, Kan-Yara-Lath took a deep breath, absorbing the aroma of peace and serenity that Earth offered. "Do you sense that, boys?" - he inquired of his dark horde.
He continued, his voice weaving a contrast between hell and that earthly paradise: "This world has corners that make us question our eternal damnation and long for an existence here. However…" A dramatic pause preceded his sinister smile, "in a not so distant future, this place will become an extension of hell, and surely, our father would condemn me for deserting my post."
The legion of demons, confused, barely understood the words of Kan-Yara-Lath. They were consumed by a single sensation - the unmistakable odor of humans.
"Well, anyway," Kan-Yara-Lath went on, his voice resonating with a sinister calm, "I think I can rest a bit on this island, after exterminating all the insolent ones from the pentagon."
Suddenly, he felt it. Presences moving in unison, converging towards a single destination. "Ah, the villains have arrived," he murmured, releasing laughs that sounded more like grunts. The idea of humans fighting alongside him was incomprehensible to him, as absurd as a zebra offering its foal to a lion.
But then, a new sensation assaulted him. Presences descending from the skies. Raising his eyes, Kan-Yara-Lath spotted silhouettes landing. "More villains?" he questioned himself, followed by an impatient click of his tongue. "With so many intruders, I almost feel tempted to return to hell and let these villains deal with the prodigies. But…"
He knew this plot well. He knew that, one way or another, they would fail. And so, Kan-Yara-Lath knew that the task of eradicating the prodigies would fall upon him. It was time to act.
---
So there I was, about to embark with the Retaliators on yet another suicide mission – because, of course, who needs safety when you have style? And then, I ask Alva, with my irresistible charm: "Hey, Alva, you beauty, how about teleporting us to the island? It'll be faster than saying 'chimichanga'."
And her response? "Dean, darling, I'll give you a plane and parachutes. You'll arrive there like fallen angels… or meteors, depending on your skills." Ah, Alva, always so optimistic.
Now, picture the scene: Viktor spinning in the air like a top, probably thinking he's in the next 'Fast & Furious' movie. Jack, with his parachute "customized" by the drone – spoiler: it's not going to become a trend. And James, choking, the genius who decided that falling from the sky was the ideal time for a peanut snack. Seriously, someone give this guy a Darwin Award.
Caroline, on the other hand, was trying to be the Baywatch of the skies, swimming through the air to save James. Spoiler: it didn't work. And Kant? Well, he was more like a modern Robin Hood, falling with style and precision – all that was missing was the epic soundtrack.
"Retaliators, activate your parachutes!" I yelled with all the charm of a Pokémon trainer in the midst of the Indigo League. And like good pocket monsters, they all obeyed. Viktor, with his parachute on backwards, looked like an alternate version of Mary Poppins, if she had entered a mirrored dimension and forgotten how to use an umbrella.
He looked back at us, who had stayed behind, with that look of "I should have read the manual," as he descended to the ground. He touched the parachute in front of him, hoping to activate the magical device that would save him from gravity, but what he didn't realize was that the parachute cord was behind him, probably playing cards with Wally – because, yes, no one could find it.
The ground was approaching, and from above, I could only place both hands under my black mask in a dramatic gesture and yell as if I were in a silent movie: "Activate the parachute, you…!" But, of course, he couldn't hear me, because, on top of everything, the physics of sound also decided to take a day off.
Viktor began to beat his chest, perhaps hoping that the parachute was touch-sensitive or had a panic button. In a fit of rage, he grabbed the parachute and pulled it, tearing the strap that held it to his chest. And with the parachute in hand, he noticed a cord and began to laugh as if he had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But just as he was about to pull it…
Puff.
There I was, doing my best acting while holding back the urge to redecorate the inside of my mask with breakfast. And Kant, poor thing, couldn't handle the sight of Viktor post-parachute disaster. "Breakfast is coming back," he announced, before giving a new definition to 'acid rain'.
"Great, now he's going to need hydration and a bathroom," I commented sarcastically. "Congratulations, Dean, for bringing a child to a battlefield." Because, of course, nothing says 'superhero mission' like a chain vomit.
As I maneuvered my parachute towards the mansion, James, Jack, and Caroline cast tense glances at what remained of Viktor. Death wasn't in the script today, but there we were, facing it head-on. "Come on, Retaliators," I said, trying to keep morale up. "The worst is over. Or it's on the ground, depending on how you look at it."
---
There we were, the Retaliators, with our feet planted in the sand of the beach that served as the backyard for the mansion. The air was so charged you could cut it with a knife – and look, I have experience with that.
James had that look of a dog that fell off the moving truck, you know? That kind of expression that screams "teleport me home, please." And Kant, oh Kant. The guy has a thirst for revenge more than a soap opera character, but at that moment, he looked like a rookie on his first day of work, looking into the abyss and thinking "is this really what I wanted?".
Caroline? Not even worth mentioning, He was looking up, perhaps questioning fate for having put him in this mess.
And Jack, poor thing, was staring at me with eyes so big I almost asked if she wanted me to autograph her parachute. She was trembling more than a green twig in the wind, and I could swear she was one step away from asking for unpaid leave.
I sighed, because let's be honest, these high court assassins that Alva got me were more like lost lambs than big bad wolves. "Listen up, Retaliators," I said, trying to inject some spirit into that disheartened troupe. "I know the situation is uglier than a brawl at a nightclub door, but we're tougher than a cheap steakhouse steak. But just look at us. We're the guys who jump out of planes without looking down, who come face-to-face with demons with a smile on our faces and a joke on the tip of our tongues."
I took a look at James, who seemed to want to trade his uniform for pajamas and binge-watch series on the couch. "James, my buddy, I know you'd rather be doing anything but this. But remember why you wanted to be part of this mission?"
"The money, I need the mission's money to pay for my daughter's college." He replied like a robot, as if he repeated it all the time.
"That's what I'm talking about. Family!" I shouted enthusiastically.
I turn to Kant, who has that look of someone who just discovered the boogeyman is real. "And you, Kant, with a thirst for revenge like the Count of Monte Cristo. You're not here by chance. You're here because you're tough, because you have more grip than a cat on moving day."
Ah, Caroline, the man with a name that carries a story worthy of a comedy of errors. "Caroline, my dear," I would say, with the tone of someone who's seen a bit of everything, "you may have the name of a princess, but you have the courage of a king. Your mother might have been frustrated, but I bet she'd be proud now to see the warrior you've become."
And Jack, poor thing, is more nervous than a horror movie protagonist when the music gets tense. "Jack, look at me. You and those drones of yours are more badass than any video game villain."
I take a deep breath and let out one of those sighs that say 'let's do this'. "We're not just high court assassins or whatever Alva thinks. We are the Retaliators. We make the impossible look easy. We fall from the sky and rise in the sand as if it's just another day at the beach."
"So, let's go. Let's show these demons that they messed with the wrong group. Let's make them regret getting out of bed today. Because when the Retaliators arrive, even hell takes a vacation."
Suddenly, in the midst of that tension you could cut with a katana – and believe me, I know what I'm talking about –, I realize that my team of Retaliators is more frightened than a tourist in a haunted house. Kant, our brave warrior, is shaking so much that I'm considering swapping him for a maraca. And James, our dear family man, has that look of someone who just saw his bank account balance after the holidays.
Caroline, the man with a princess's name, is stepping back so fast that I'm starting to think he discovered time travel. And Jack, our fearless warrior, is stuttering more than a cartoon character. "D-Dean," she starts, and I already know this conversation isn't going to end with 'pass the salt'.
Me, with all the calm of a Zen monk – if that monk were armed to the teeth and dressed in red –, relax my shoulders and ask: "There's someone behind me, isn't there?" Because, of course, it wouldn't be a normal day without a bit of movie drama.
James begins to describe our uninvited new friend with details that would make a horror movie director blush. "It looks like Samara, only uglier, with sharp, large teeth, and it seems like a bowling ball was thrown at its head and its eyes popped out."
"Hmm, what a description," I murmur, thinking that maybe it's time to update my Tinder profile – after all, it seems I'm about to have a new picture for the 'friends' album.
And turning around, there she is, the creature that seems to have come straight out of a dentist's nightmare: teeth that would make any shark envious, eyes so big I'm wondering if she's a distant relative of Gollum, and a face that, well, let's just say not even a mother could love.
"Look, I'm no fashion expert, but I think the 'just came out of the well' look went out of style about two decades ago," I say, trying not to laugh – because let's be honest, if you can't laugh in the face of danger, you're definitely in the wrong business.
The creature before us, with a smile that looked more like a sketch of a nightmare, uttered a phrase that made the air freeze and the adrenaline surge. "Do you want to play with me?"
"Play, huh?" I respond, with a smile that I hope is as confident as I'm trying to pretend. "Well, I've always liked board games, but something tells me you're not talking about Monopoly."