#brian pike

ARTWORK: Tommy Kinsman’s Pop Shop - Medley’s (Fontana)

Four or Five Tracks moulded together into a medley over this LP, including The Beatles, The Kinks, Manfred Mann & more.

A sequel to Resurrection.

The newly reanimated Confederate stalked through the forest along the road towards town. Experimenting with his newfound power, he willed his old uniform back into existence. Brian’s new and improved body ripped the old uniform to pieces when he tried to pull it over his muscles, so he grew it to match his body. He flicked through the memories of the strange creature that had bonded with him. Strange things had happened since he had died. Horseless carriages, candleless light, and automatic weapons. He was excited to see the many strange things that awaited him in his hometown. But he was saddened and angered as well, furious at the loss of life and property to the Yankees. Nocturne City and Atlanta had been burned. Countless Southern lives had been lost, and the states had suffered under federal occupation. He growled angrily, furious, struggling to control his newfound might.

He spotted a pair of people he could vent his fury on. He found he could somehow instinctively tell they were both northern. Bits of their conversation wafted over to him, carried by the indifferent wind. “I told you this road leads us to Nocturne City, back to the hotel!” “No, this leads to the town, where our car is! What’s the point of going to the hotel if we don’t have the car?” “Well either way, were lost, it’s almost 2 in the morning, and this road has to lead somewhere! I say we just follow it, and came back to the town in the morning.” Brian smiled and stepped out of the tree line, and began walking down the road toward them, flashes of his uniform visible as the moon slipped out from the behind the clouds for a moment. “Uh, hello sir! Can you give us...” One of the two young Yankee men trailed off upon seeing what he was wearing. “The Civil War ended nearly 70 years ago friend.” One of them said, the taller and more muscular of the two. Brian smiled. “Sorry, I’m part of a group that re-enacts battles, any time, day or night. I’m just headed home. Y’all lost?” The smaller of the two men said “Uh, yes. We were touring the towns old battlegrounds and got very lost, as you can tell. Where’s Blackwater Hollow?” Brian pointed in the opposite direction. “That way. You’ve been heading into the forest. Ya don’t wanna be there after dark. Don’t worry, I’ll protect y’all. I know this place like the back of mah hand.”

The Yankees began to argue amongst themselves and Brian couldn’t take it anymore. He had to do something. He grabbed the arm of one of the Yankees, the shorter, weaker one, and spun him around so he faced his friend. He started to protest, only for Brian to effortlessly break the wrist, cutting him off in a scream of pain. He tried to escape the iron grip of the soldier, but was unable to. He willed his old LeMat revolver into existence, and fired a single minie ball into the Yankees leg, hobbling him so he couldn’t escape. He approached his taller friend, who was trying to run.

Brian vanished before reappearing directly in front of the fleeing Yankee, smirking as he bounced off his hard chest. “Alright, pathetic Yankee piece of shit, your not the worst of your kind. Your not half-bad lookin. I’m going to improve you.” He grinned as he grabbed the Yankee by the neck, lifting him up effortlessly. “I am going to rip out and devour your soul. Then, I’ll fill your pathetic body with one of my brothers.” He sarcastically said “It won’t a bit.” He smiled sadistically as he tightened the grip on the throat, choking, strangling him with just one hand, the vise-like grip slowly applying more pressure. “Your ancestors burned down cities, starved my people, and raped our land and women. But don’t worry. I’m gonna get my revenge. Tenfold.” He felt blood trickling down his fingers from where his nails were penetrating the skin.

He smiled as the Yankee squirmed. It’s pain delighted him. He focused for a moment and the Yankee instantly stopped moving, breathing, or doing anything at all. Brian tilted his head back and moaned, feeling the weak soul of the northern man flow into him like water running down a gutter, being ripped apart and devoured by him. His muscles stretched his uniform, and he inched up taller. Then it was time for the tricky part. Summoning the soul of one of his old brothers in arms. He concentrated hard, thinking. The Yankee body started changing in his hands, stretching taller, a little thinner, thin but strong wire-like muscles forming up and down his arms and legs. The body became tall and thin, posture becoming erect and straight, befitting of a gentleman, albeit a 6 foot 4 gentleman. Lt. Alexander Lockwood, 29th Virginia Infantry awoke, remembering only darkness where a Yankee sharpshooter had killed him. His eyes opened, briefly flashing the stars and bars before turning a cool blue. The former Yankee looked around as Brian set him down, already aware of the change to the world since his death, thanks to Brian. He stared at Brian in awe, only for Brian to stride towards the other Yankee, the one he’d shot.

It was trying to crawl away. Brian grabbed him with as much ease as grabbing a pillow, reaching into the bullet wound and yanking it out, heedless of the damage he was causing, taking a dark pleasure from the Yankee screams. He held him by the neck. “It will be over soon. You will make me stronger, so I can slaughter your friends and family like the animals you pathetic Yankee shits are.” He smirked as the Yankee continued to scream before falling limp as his soul was absorbed and devoured. Brian felt his uniform growing tighter on his body, getting taller, more muscular, his powers increasing, and he grinned. A moment of intense concentration later and the lifeless body twitched as a Confederate soul took possession of its new home. The body in Brian’s hand stiffened, then started to swell, growing, stretching, getting bigger, taller, more muscular. The body stretched upward, bones cracking and resetting as the entire body warped to suit the desires of the Southern God that Brian was. The body became taller, muscles piling onto it. The bullet wound instantly healed, before being covered with muscle as the body became large, both muscular and beefy. The waifish young man who had been there was now swelling into a 6 foot 1 country boy whose body was packed with muscle and beef. His brown eyes briefly shined, the Confederate flag briefly visible in the eyes, then they returned to a normal. The reborn Confederate soldier flexed, pleased with his new body, a wry smirk crossing his face. Pvt. Grant Hughes, 46th Virginia Volunteers, smirked, exceptionally pleased with his new form, eager to get revenge on the Yankees. He saluted his new commanding officer. “Hello boys. Let’s go home, shall we?” Brian said, any hint of malice now gone. The three started heading towards the small town of Blackwater Hollow, intent on making every man in the town a strong proudly Southern behemoth. The wind picked up, as if heralding their approach, and the moon vanished behind the clouds again as Brian Pike returned home, at long last.

It was a cold, moonless night in 1929 when the Meld occurred. The night was cold and all-embracing, surrounding the party in the graveyard and eagerly snatching up the light of the lanterns that dimly illuminated the headstone of one Brian Pike, date of birth 1837, date of death, 1862.

The young man had died defending the town of Blackwater Hollow from advancing Yankees during The War Between The States. The town, a small one near Nocturne City, was nestled in between the black-watered swamp that bordered Nocturne and a forest, and had contributed what little it could to the Confederate war effort before being quickly occupied. It briefly saw use as a command post during the failed offensive through the swamp towards the strategically important port of Nocturne City of 1863, which culminated in the strange deaths of several Union officers and an outbreak of The Walking Plague. It had been contained, but the offensive was thrown in chaos by this, and the capture and infamous burning of Nocturne City delayed by a year.

The young Thomas Pike had expressed a desire to see his ancestor and fellow soldier. He, being of an unusual sort, had sought out a group of spiritualists willing to try to call forth his spirit from beyond. They succeeded. But something else came through as well.

The group watched in awe and horror as the decayed skeleton started repairing itself, the ravages of time became undone. The skeleton was wrapped by tendrils of flesh curling up the pale bones, solidifying into flesh, then becoming pallid skin. Brown hair grew from the head and near the mouth to form a chinstrap beard, a pair of pale blue eyes appeared, glazed and dead. The 5’1 waif of a country boy had been reborn. It took a loud, rasping breath, lungs still being mended.

Brian Pike had been killed by a minie ball to the head, cleanly penetrating the skull and imbedding itself in the brain. The last thing the young soldier perceived was taking a breath, unaware of the projectile that had ended his life almost instantly. He found himself in a graveyard, in a grave, covered in dirt, men and women in odd clothes staring down at him with horror and shock. He took a deep breath, looking around, confused and feeling very very stiff. Then he felt something very very painful. It was as though something was crawling into his stomach, breaking into his heart and brain, ripping him open from the inside out. An agonized scream echoed through the trees from the corpse-things mouth, as it became host to two souls, one of them its original, the other something much, much older and more malevolent. Unable to cope with the stresses of this, the body lashed out blindly like a covered animal, not recognizing the people around it as southern, ignoring their screams. The corpse-thing expanded, arms flailing about. In an instant, it had crawled from the grave and was attacking the medium that had brought it into this world, savagely beating it with its cold hands and fists. It soon turned on the others, killing everyone present. Then something curious happened. The bodies began to move, seemingly drawn towards their killer. The flesh was absorbed and consumed by the body. Instantly, the waif-like Brian grew a foot taller, then 2 more inches. Its muscles expanded, becoming hard and powerful. It felt a stirring in the loins as its cock expanded by a few inches. In life, Brian had been small and undernourished. Now, in a strange undeath, he was a towering example of Southern strength.

While this physical metamorphasis occurred, the two entities struggled for control of the body. They merged, attempting to destroy each other from the inside out. What was born was something better than both. The Meld opened its glassy eyes, seeing the world. It had the memories, personality, and thoughts of Brian Pike, but the power and intelligence of the malign entity. The Meld looked down, saddened by the death of these innocents at first. It soon realized their deaths had been worthwhile. He had been born, and now he would return home. Leaving the site of the graveyard massacre, the lanterns slowly dying, the Meld walked into the cool October night towards home. It would revenge itself upon the Yankees, help the men of the town become strong, finish what had been started many decades before. The wind picked up and the lanterns died, letting the night swallow up the open grave and the shredded clothing and the earth stained with crimson.