[Sama in the MU] Part 5

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                A Chat with the Juggernaut

                “Hey, this stuff is pretty good,” Cain Marko admitted, taking a slice of the fish and tasting it.

                “Credio is a mutant with an enhanced sense of taste,” I informed him, mirroring his actions, and nodding to myself. “It’s totally crippling. His awareness of stuff is so high that even the slightest flavor is like an explosion. He had to eat the blandest food and drink distilled water or he’d vomit everything up. I showed him how to redirect that energy into a Nimbus, and he can now manage his sense of taste from human normal up to as high as he wants. So, he can put some really subtle flavors into stuff, and he can actually eat normal food again.”

                “Huh.” He looked at me curiously. “So, what’s all that got to do with me? I’m not a mutant.”

                “Oh? I didn’t know. The Champion of Cyttorak can be anyone, after all. The two Cassidys are both mutants, so I thought you might be.”

                “Got no problems dealing with mutants. They’re just people who can do other stuff. Some are okay people, some are assholes. Just like the world,” he huffed.

                I lifted an eyebrow. “Very open-minded of you, Mr. Marko.”

                He just grunted. “I ain’t one to call a kettle black.”

                “That’s true. Tell me, just how much do you know about the archdemon Cyttorak?”

                His face changed slightly, but he took the time to take another bite while he thought seriously about the question. “Not a lot,” he admitted. “He empowers a champion, for some reasons of his own, and I’m the most recent. Not a lot of people venerate him, and those who do, it’s more fear then respect, I think.”

                “All true.” I mixed the rice in the sauce and sent it down. I also had enhanced senses, although I kept them below the explosively painful, so I could appreciate the true artistry of his cooking. Piedro knew I could, too, and so took extra care with my dishes. “But, he’s an archdemon. You know what dealing with an archdemon gets you, right?”

                “He gets my soul in the end?” he asked fatalistically.

                I nodded. “You accept his power, your soul is his when you die.”

                He took a deep breath, then picked up the full glass of wine there and slowly drained it. With great control, he set it back down, and I filled it for him. “Kind of figured,” he admitted.

                “But that’s not the remarkable thing,” I told him after I topped him off.

                “Yeah?” He crooked an eyebrow at me.

                “The miracle is that you aren’t already dead.”

                He was quiet for a few minutes, enjoying his meal. I waved to the waiter behind him to bring the next course, which came up in a perfectly braised roast and potatoes a few minutes later.

                “You don’t strike me as the type to try to offend me just for shits and giggles, so why did you say that?” he asked in a grim voice.

                “Because the Champions of Cyttorak generally come to short, bad ends.” He glanced at me, measuring me. “You want some history about your predecessors?”

                “I don’t know much about ‘em,” he admitted. “Go on.”

                And so I told him.

                The majority of them were Orientals, people aware of the demon, whose people had served him, or magicians or apprentices or simply desperate men seeking power. They came to the temple, gave themselves to the Crystal, and got power in return.

                They promptly went out into the world on rampages, destroying all in their paths, giving vent to their desires now that they had the might to take what they wanted. They destroyed armies, ruined kingdoms, slew champions... and in the end, were brought down, their heads cut off, as other champions of other entities came to contest them, or they were sent off into other worlds to face them, and died.

                I showed him images to back them up, demonic forms of armored men against hordes, gods, and demons, fighting to fight, and the image of Cyttorak on his Crimson Throne in the background, leering in glee at the performance of his Champion.

                The explanation took a couple more courses, and he listened intently, not saying much. I made no judgement on him or what he’d done, only told him about the men who had come before him.

                “That’s all pretty grim,” he admitted, only a little perturbed. “Yeah, I get some whispers sometimes, voices urging me to go out and beat on shit, stir up trouble, take what I want ‘cause I can.” He frowned despite himself. “Stupid shit, mostly. Had enough of that kind of crap growing up.”

                “Oh? Get bullied a lot?” I looked him up and down. “I read you as a pretty strong fellow even before that happened. Doesn’t seem likely.”

                He huffed and was silent as the dessert was brought in. The cake was light and fluffy, the dressing melted on the tongue. They gave him half of it, and to nobody’s surprise, he was delighted to eat it all.

                “My dad,” he abruptly said. I stiffened, and he noticed. “Yeah. You were with a couple X-Men, right?” I nodded. “They tell you about their Professor X? Charles Xavier?”

                “Yes. One of the foremost experts on mutants in the world. Never met him personally. Wasn’t too surprised to find he was a mutant himself.”

                “He’s my step-brother.” His big face twisted in old anger and hate.

                I blinked. “I’m not sure what to say to that. Did he... take advantage of you somehow?”

                He heaved a very big breath, and looked away, up at the stars above. “No,” he admitted. “He... wasn’t all that bad, for being a step-brother. It wasn’t that he treated me wrong... it’s just there was no way I could do anything right.”

                I scrunched up my face at him. “What?”

                “My dad worshipped the ground Charlie walked on,” he ground out. “Charlie was damn smart, a great athlete, popular, well-spoken, good looking...” His huge knuckles cracked alarmingly. “And I wasn’t.”

                “Ah, well, shit.” I wrinkled my nose. “Okay, being low horse to the super-gifted overachiever would be bad...”

                “And my dad took it out on me when I couldn’t measure up to him.” His nostrils flared, another huge billowing breath. “Nothing I did was ever good enough.”

                “Well... shit.” Somewhat to his surprise, I gave him a lopsided smile. “So, some demon whispering in your ear telling you what to do doesn’t go over too well...”

                Despite himself, he smiled back. “Fucktards lording it over me because they have power, trying to make me what I ain’t...” he growled, and then sat back as I pulled out two mugs, one of them double normal size, and his eyes glittered with approval when I dumped a whole lot of Guinness stout in his.

                “By the way, this Disk here is pretty cool,” he admitted, looking down at the silvery thing that was taking all his weight, with no legs, and even had a backrest for him.

                “That’s why I have one,” I winked at him. “It is damn convenient just having something around to set stuff on when needed.”

                “Yeah.” He took a long draw of the Guinness, and smacked his lips. “So, you heard about me and my bad blood with Charlie. You saying that’s why I ain’t gone crazy like them other Champions?”

                “You’ve got none of the demonification, the spikes, the horns... so Cyttorak doesn’t ‘like’ you yet. So, you’ve only got the basic kit. But,” I held up a finger, “that means that if someone else gets the gem, they can take your place, just like that, if Cyttorak thinks they’d be a more fun Champion.”

                He frowned, obviously troubled at that idea. “That could be bad news...”

                “Yes. However, the job opportunities for superstrong and invulnerable people aren’t immense in this world, and the fact is, Cyttorak’s Champion is geared towards destruction. Cyttorak wants his Champion to show his strength and his power, for his name to get out there and his status to rise in the eyes of his peers and rivals. He’s a vain, petty, and arrogant bastard, as the demon princes are, and you’re just a tool to him.”

                “Huh.” He sipped and thought about that. “So, he wants me to run around fighting and destroying everything, making a big scene and spectacle, until someone manages to kill me, at which point he’ll find another schmuck to do the same thing again. Which in this day and age, won’t be too hard.”

                “That’s basically it.” I kicked up my feet on the table, the waiter had long departed. “So, given what you’ve shown... I’d like you to remain the Juggernaut damn near as long as you can.”

                He shot me an appraising look. “Sounds like a job offer.”

                “You’re with Black Tom, so you’ve got experience doing shady merc work, which means you haven’t been too picky with employers. However, your Interpol record is clean of death... you beat shit up, and you do property damage, and you scare the shit out of people... but you haven’t been killing them... except for a few notable bastards who deserved a bullet in their heads.” I shrugged, and his grim smile flashed and was gone.

                “Can you afford me?” he asked.

                “I dunno, but I’m pretty sure Worthington can.”

                “Worthington? Angel?” He grimaced despite himself.

                “He’s not happy with the X-Men right now. There’s underlying tensions between the old guard and the new after the death of Jean Grey. He was hinting that him and Iceman might leave the team, and the West Coast is a nice place for a pretty boy like him.

                “You’re not like Black Tom Cassidy. Cassidy is someone you can hire for a job, and he’ll do it, and he’s perfectly willing to break all sorts of rules to do so as long as the money is right.” He had a dangerous look in his eyes, but just huffed and didn’t refute it. “You’re also willing to break rules, but you carry through on your promises. Key point... you finished your military service. Tom got drummed out for insubordination. He simply does not respond well to superiors!

                “I would be VERY willing to employ Tom, given his abilities. There’s things his powers can do that he’s not even aware of. But... I’ve seen his psyche profile, too. He’s always looking for the next big score, and if he screws his current employer on the way to his next, he really doesn’t care. No matter how much he was paid, he’d want more, and he’d be figuring his next way to get it.

                “So, there’s no way I can employ him for the long term, and there’s no way he’d tolerate someone employing him for the long term. He can’t stand being used by others, he wants it all for himself. And if you aren’t someone he calls a friend, he will screw you hard without any compunctions whatsoever.

                “If you’re someone he hates... well, he’ll steal your daughter from your dead wife, not tell you about her, and raise her without telling her her dad is still alive, just to fuck with you and prove your wife should have married him, not you.”

                Cain Marko sighed long and low. “Yeah, that was a pretty dick move,” he admitted neutrally. “He really does hate Sean, though.”

                “Career criminal and decorated noble Interpol agent. Someone he could never measure up to in the eyes of the family. Can’t imagine why the two of you would get along,” I snorted, and he spluttered in the middle of a long draw, spraying brew everywhere. He glared at me, and I put another six-pack on the table in reply.

                I won. He sighed and handed over the mug. Pop, pop, glug, glug. With a newly filled oversized mug, he was mollified despite himself.

                “So, lemme get this straight... I’ll be working for you, but Worthington would be paying, and I won’t be working for Charlie?” he finally asked after a few minutes of thinking.

                I held up a finger. “Importantly. I’d be finding fights for you.”

                He glanced at me. “Yeah?”

                “Hopefully big fights. Powerful opponents. Lots of property damage. Publicity.”

                “Huh,” he grunted, but my tone said I wasn’t catering to him. “You want to keep the demon happy.”

                “There’s a thing about harnessing evil things for good purposes. It’s VERY hard to do. But you’ve already shown you can tell Cyttorak to fuck off. I think it’s worth the risk.” I raised my mug to him. “I don’t know what people have been telling you your whole life, Mr. Marko, but it is a very, very rare kind of man who can do that.”

                He smiled grimly despite himself. “Call me Cain. Can we talk numbers?”

                “We can.”

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