Full Name: Unknown
Feartigo stepped through the back-alley detritus. His raggedy presence was unsettling enough to an unwary onlooker, but it was his psychic broadcast of raw dread which sent a scrawny drug dealer counting his take fleeing into the night, money fluttering to the ground in his wake. Beneath his sack-cloth mask, Feartigo smiled his ruined-face smile.
He was here to provide an update, and his contact was always punctual. Why Sanguine chose to meet in a filthy alley amid the city’s grime was unclear. It was out of the way of prying eyes, that much was true, but it was not on the bloodsucker’s usual hunting trails. The squalor did not bother Feartigo, he just questioned it, wondering what Sanguine’s angle was. He had found that to succeed in his true mission he had to question every motive and trust no-one.
Feartigo’s mind flashed backwards to earlier times when his circumstances were far different. A minor Petro loa, he had been cast out, cursed to never again to be able to mount a human host. A disembodied spirit, his urges to violence and spread fear were held in check by his lack of physical form. Those responsible were powerful bokor, and eventually those sorcerers founded the Coven. Time drifted by almost without meaning for the spirit, a century, then two. All the while from the shadows between realms the loa watched the Coven grow. Decade blurred into decade as the secret society’s ranks swelled. In time their focus fell on a wretched city on the West Coast, which soon became their main base of operations.
The loa continued to observe. New players emerged, rising through the Coven hierarchy, competing for mastery of the inexorably strengthening cabal. The loa took interest in one such, Papa Zombie. The human was a potent practitioner of voodoo, but out of his depth compared to the true powers behind the Coven. The spirit sensed the human could be useful in some way. The loa followed his quarry through a portal when Papa Zombie was captured by agents of the Necroplane and taken to their blasted world. There the loa watched, unseen, as the Necroplane made plans for an insidious invasion, systematically replacing key figures from Pulp City and across the Earth with Hollow One simulacra, Papa Zombie among them. Seizing his chance, the loa mounted a mindless Hollow One – he could exist in the physical world once again.
What happened next was remarkable, even within that alien world. The once-inert creature’s features flowed like melted wax, before slowly taking greater definition. Within minutes he stood ready before surprised necro-scientists. Feartigo was born, the embodiment of dread once more. In that instant an idea struck him, a perfect strategy. He demanded to meet their master, as he had something to offer, a bargain to make, and his wish was granted.
The plan was simple. Sacrifice the Papa Zombie simulacra as a way to support and deflect away from Feartigo’s own infiltration of the Coven. Revealing a false agent and ‘freeing’ Papa Zombie would allow Feartigo to join the inner circle and rise above suspicion. The plan worked perfectly.
Feartigo’s thoughts returned to the present. Sanguine materialized, taking form from a coalescing crimson mist. These encounters were always fraught with danger. One slip or mistaken detail could be enough to betray him. But he was not afraid. He was the essence of fear.
Sanguine looked at Feartigo with narrowed eyes and a barely concealed aversion. The lead agent of the Necroplane on Earth had refined tastes, and had lived a high life until the invasion was thwarted three years earlier. His shadowy networks remained largely intact, and that made him the ideal handler of Feartigo. The vampire hissed a little as he acknowledged Feartigo.
“I don’t trust you,” began Sanguine, surprisingly candid, “But Tenebrous has placed stock in your operation, and you have delivered useful intelligence. So far.”
Sanguine’s claws lengthened an inch, glinting in the moonlight. Was he trying to provoke Feartigo? Was he following his own agenda? Feartigo did not flinch, making no move to betray himself or provoke action, even as Sanguine took a sudden step forward. He had to see how this concluded, and ensure his best possible outcome. After a long pause, tension ebbed away as Sanguine adopted a more nonchalant pose. Feartigo pondered if he was testing him, and could only assume he had passed.
Feartigo’s loyalties were not to the Necroplane, that affiliation was simply a convenience. Those who had cast him out were long gone from the Coven, and there was no vengeance to be had. His infiltration had allowed him to swiftly rise within the ranks of the organization, aligning him to the Saints. Mastery of the cabal which had ultimately cast him out could be within his grasp. Obstacles remained, but with the correct choices, they too could be removed. Unknowing rivals such as Vendredi and the true Papa Zombie could be dealt with. The vessel of his past downfall could prove to be his true ascent, beyond the confines of the loa pantheon. Vast power could be Feartigo’s, he just had to act carefully and bide his time. They would not see him coming.
Full Name: unknown
Pulp City, three years ago.
A small band of terrified citizens ran through the night-shrouded streets of Twilight Hills. Behind them the relentless clank-clud of heavy steps – they could not outpace the dreadful creature that pursued them.
In the distance, strange sounds rang out as energy crackled, briefly lighting up the darkened sky. All street lights in the area were out, and the din of battle echoed all around. War had come to Pulp City, and the Hills were its beachhead.
The group ran on and on. They passed other bystanders who cowered in stores along the main street. They ran on, and finally turned into a blind alley, stopping suddenly as they realized all was surely lost.
Within the creature’s form, life-energy rippled beneath a polymer-sheath, barely contained as souls fought against their imprisonment. The trapped souls could be seen, bidding to be free, stretching at the transparent shroud. The shackles of Necroplane technology were too strong, and those poor souls were slowly being burned up as fuel for the hulking brute, a simple-minded mix of resurrected tissue and necro-tech enhancements, powered by life-energy convertors.
The massive beast lashed out at the huddled civilians, powerful pistons driving its arm, smashing one unfortunate away like a rag-doll, and sucking the life out of the corpse as it flew through the air. The cowering people screamed and begged for mercy. The Necro-tech behemoth raised a mighty arm to attack another defenseless victim when suddenly it was knocked aside by a shovel swung by mighty limbs. Mercy had arrived as a figure loomed large, almost as big and almost as terrifying as the mechanical monstrosity which threatened them. An incongruous grin played out on the newcomer’s face.
“Get out of here folks, we got this,” said the giant in as friendly manner as he could muster. Behind him stood a small, stocky figure, armored, and laden with a hefty backpack while holding a mighty hammer in a single iron grip.
The big guy with the shovel proceeded to smash at the beast that had threatened the small group, aided by his diminutive companion. Slowly the two Supremes pushed back the infernal beast, giving the hapless Twilight Hills residents time to flee.
“It’s going to be a long night. This is the third Soul Golem we have seen so far,” said the more powerfully built rescuer. He gripped his shovel tightly before aiming for another herculean blow.
“Yes it will be. Now, less talking young ‘un, and more smashing,” said his smaller ally as his crushing hammer was swung toward the mechanical beast.
Soul Golems are among the greatest battlefield war engines at the disposal Dr. Tenebrous’ forces. Whenever a Soul Golem is deployed, death and destruction follows. There is nothing precise about their use; they have one purpose only, to ensure victory for the Necroplane.
Full Name: Warlock Faustibal
Under shroud of darkness, several cautious figures crept through a yard full of wreckage. Flanked by hand-picked body-guards and two Necro-Servitors, Sanguine picked carefully among the stacks of decommissioned trains and twisted metal that was the railway graveyard of Royal Investments. Something remarkable had occurred there a week earlier, and his Necroplane master wanted to know what lay behind it.
Sanguine sniffed the air, supernatural senses keenly attuned to his surroundings. The yard was clear; he could clearly discern that above the odors of rusting metal and oil. The facility guards had made themselves scarce tonight as instructed after the shooting incident several days earlier. Shots had been fired at a desperate man, yet no body was found. All that was told to the PCPD detectives who responded was that the guards had scared off an intruder, a thief deterred by flying lead. However it was clear that there was a much deeper mystery afoot.
The smell of dried blood carried on warm air to the vampire, its coppery taste like a beacon through the night. Caution abandoned, Sanguine strode forward. In the heart of the mass of derelict metal he found the broken hull of a train marked with the name-plate emblazoned with ‘Francesca’. This was it, he knew without doubt.
Sanguine ran his fingers across the place where the blood had dried on the hull. There was a rent here in the side of the engine, as if metal had been torn free by some inhuman force. Something magickal had happened here, something that could potentially be twisted to the will of Tenebrous. He set the Necro-Servitors to work while his body-guards kept watch.
A year later, deep in a Necroplane citadel. A storm of purple lightning raged outside.
Screams echoed all around a dark chamber lit only by sporadic green light emanating from equipment scattered around the room, casting an eerie glow on proceedings.
At the heart of the room was a gurney tilted to a forty-five degree angle, and strapped to it a bizarre amalgamation of man and machine. The man in question, what was left of him, screamed out in pain once more, before at last his spark of what passed for life in the Necroplane finally gave out.
Looking on, Dr. Tenebrous pondered for a moment then signaled to a Necro-Servitor to remove the equipment that had been fused to the dead man. A whirling blade did just as commanded with speed and surgical precision. Another Necro-Servitor carefully and thoroughly washed bodily fluids from the operating table.
“Next subject,” commanded the lord of the Necroplane, inpatient for this experiment to succeed.
“Subject seventeen, proceed. Warlock Faustibal. The warlock has undertaken all the required rites and undergone blood-cleansing. The subject is ready,” intoned an emotionless Necro-Servitor.
Tenebrous locked his gaze with the warlock. Like the magician’s entire ilk, he was ambitious, yet in this one the fires of ambition raged brighter than any Tenebrous had encountered before. A sinister smile played across Tenebrous’ thin lips.
The warlock was carefully strapped onto the surgical table. He knew what was coming. There would be no analgesic for this procedure as the subject needed to be brought to what passed for death in the Necroplane for the experiment to succeed. He let out no scream as the first saw blade tore into his flesh.
Hours later, Tenebrous stood satisfied, as he glanced upon his latest creation. A towering mix of blackened-iron and once-living being was before him. The last energies of the warlock would be siphoned into the armor to sustain it, for how long was not yet certain. However, what mattered most was what now remained; a powerful fusion of near-lifeless husk and magick-imbued metal.
“I call you Doom Train, and in you there is great potential now as you serve me,” said Dr. Tenebrous as he let out a malevolent laugh. Those fools in Earth’s Heavy Metal had worked to foil his plans, but little did they suspect that the power one of their own would be turned against them.
Full names: unknown
Fragments of fears frantically bolted across the desolate Plain of Nightmares, splintered echoes of tormented dreams from worlds beyond the Necroplane.
As they cascaded across dank lands, those wretched imaginings were corralled by nightmare herders, their task to catch all the dark dreams that coalesced into the Necroplane from other worlds, and then to feed them to the armies of the dead. Principal among the herders was Night Fright, an agent of the Necroplane whose murky origins are lost to himself, like a dream forgotten.
The herders are not simple plains farmers of dark dreams; no, they are skilled gatherers of the dark stuff of souls. This soul fuel is used to empower the armies of the Necroplane. Hulking Soul Golems are fed dozens of those shadowy eidolons, their outer shell of necro-mechanical armor and their peculiar necro-dermis shackling the tormented shards of unwitting psyches. Necro G.I.’s armed with weapons powered by the dark dreams. And worst of all, the Supremes of the Necroplane drink in the misery and pain.
It is the task and twisted honor of the nightmare herders to gather fuel for the armies of the Necroplane, and foremost among them is Night Fright. It was he that had already drawn out more of the slivers of abject imagination than any other, and it was he that Dr. Tenebrous frequently dispatched to worlds targeted by the Necroplane to sow greater terror and thus feed their world ever more.
Interlude 1: A distant memory, like watching faded impressions of someone else’s life. Images come unbidden to Night Fright’s mind, of a world other than the Necroplane. Earth? War rages across a city; an invasion by the Scourge and the legions of the Necroplane? In the heat of battle he is in a grassy park full of stone and bronze memorials, and there he faces an oncoming tide of dead soldiers…
The herders of the Necroplane ride the wastes aboard brutal Nightmare Engines, crafted when dark dreams become so powerful that they lead to the death of their hosts. Called paradigm nightmares by the Necroplane, those dreams take distinct form in the Necroplane, and seek to re-enter other planes of reality, to afflict the tortured dreams of yet more hosts.
The most powerful paradigm nightmares are transformed into Nightmare Engines when they are shackled in carapaces manufactured by necro-scientists. Powerful jets are mounted to their bodies and nightmares their fuel. Although bound by death-force technologies, Nightmare Engines are unruly creatures, needing a strong master to break them and keep them under control, and Leech required the most cunning and determined of riders to be kept in check.
The dark rider known as Night Fright had seemingly managed to contain the untamable; Leech was the most aggressive of Nightmare Engines, and before being claimed by Night Fright he had disposed of at least half a dozen herders, and had consumed the lives of countless dream-hosts. When the duo met, they knew instinctively that together they could bring greater pain to every world that the Lords of the Necroplane turned their gaze towards. Where other Nightmare Engines were mastered, Leech was Night Fright’s equal. Together they formed a whole greater than their individual parts, and in this Dr. Tenebrous in particular was pleased.
Interlude 2: Betrayal. An ally, a trusted friend, has warned the invaders. Twisted machines fly forth from the advancing horde, maniacal, leering deathly riders precariously riding those contraptions like twisted demented surf-boards splitting the sky with lopping arcs. They fly towards him. His companions are terror-struck and transfixed. One of the flying metal machines strikes him with incredible force and then blackness follows…
In a vast citadel, the Scourge gathered. Mourn swooped above his team-mates, eager to sow screaming terror; a Soul Golem lumbered into position; Supreme Zed crashed heavily to ground. Portal devices were put into operation, and on the other side awaited Sanguine, the Necroplane’s Earth-spawned agent. Necro G.I.’s lurked in readiness, and canisters of zombie plague toxins were ready to convert some of the indigenous population into instant Necroplane agents of war.
Night Fright gently eased Leech into a turn towards the primary portal. They were both ready to feast on the horrors in the souls of any unfortunates whose paths crossed their own. Yet somewhere deep down, Night Fright could not escape the feeling he had experienced something very much like this once before.
Full Name: previously known as Mr. Supreme
From Dr. Tenebrous’ Research Log:
Day 3: Finally! The patient, Subject Z, is recovering from his death. After my agent Wonder Wight (disguised in the persona of War Woman) successfully implicated him in genocide, and revealed his true identity to an unsuspecting world, it was but a matter of time before events would spiral out of the subject’s control, which of course to the slaughter of his Earthly mother and father. Subject Z then met his end in his Antarctic base when he tried to reveal our conspiracy; an assault by Necro-tech weapons began to convert his tissues to an unliving state. When he understood what was happening, he took his own life.
As commanded, Harvesters recovered his lifeless body, immediately placing it in stasis, while the defenseless Earth was stripped of death-energy. Subject Z has provided an impeccable experimental focus. This revival has surpassed all previous attempts with other trials. His body is literally glowing with all of the necro-atomic fuel we filled him up with, as his dead tissues absorb the energy with seemingly unlimited capacity, thus powering his newly granted life.
The transition has evidently caused serious and significant lasting cerebral damage. The patient seems to be at significant cognitive loss, much more than projected, although that may have useful secondary benefits, and from time to time it behaves as if it was searching for something.
Day 5: Progress has been much faster than I expected. Subject Z may see its first field tests in less than one month. The first observations from combat room exercises show great promise. Upon facing a group of five hand-picked elite Necro G.I.s, the subject received a volley of necrorays, stood up, blasted two of them with its eyebeam and smashed the next two together with its powerful fists. I am noting down a faint trace of emotion, some hint malice in his actions. It grasped the last Necro G.I., flew up all the way to the ceiling and smashed the wretched unliving soldier through the floor, only to continue the slaughter in a room below the combat area. In that chamber were another half dozen Necro G.I.’s and a dozen servitors; they too were brutally torn apart by the subject.
Day 12: All damage from combat room exercises has been repaired. The success of the revivification process has informed how to proceed with other subjects. Subject D, N and R will undergo modified revival processes based on those of Subject Z. Since in life neither D, N nor R had the inherent durability of Z, the levels of necro-atomic energy that will be used has been reduced accordingly. If all three subjects undergo successful revival, the ranks of the Scourge will be swelled, and other options will become available. Optimism is heightened following the apparent early success with Subject Z.
Day 18: Each new investigation into Subject Z’s capabilities seems to serve to underline its vast potential. Its damage-threat level has produced ratings comparable to that of a Soul Golem. Even in a Supreme-class battle environment Subject Z will be almost peerless. If its limited intellect can be harnessed and Subject Z be given suitable direction and focus, it could prove almost unstoppable.
Day 22: Further testing has revealed potentially unparalleled Supreme-level strength; incredible resilience; flight capability remains intact; and even a limited capacity for regeneration.
Day 25: The first field test is over. The exercise was a partial success, involving the subject, now codenamed Supreme Zed, supported by Mourn, a Soul Golem and a cadre of Necro G.I.’s
During the mission Supreme Zed was beheaded by the Blood Watch’s leader, but that didn’t stop Supreme Zed from destroying two National Guard tanks, and battling the accursed Six Feet Under to a standstill. I ordered evacuation of the deployed Scourge Team after V.H.’s blade first maimed then decapitated Supreme Zed; probability did not favor a prolonged and protracted battle at this stage of investigations.
Personal note: I had not anticipated just how powerful the subject could be after less than one month; how powerful will it become in just a couple of weeks more? And it already has begun to hate the detestable Blood Watch?
File # Nec/5678 (briefing)
CODENAME: NECRO G.I.
The salvaged being identified as a ‘Necro G.I.’ is one of the rank-and-file troopers terminated during the last Necroplane assault on the Twilight Hills (02.06.1987). It is a biped with an unusually high percentage of muscle mass. DNA analysis proves that most of the creature’s bodily tissue and organs ceased chemical and biological processes approximately 36 months ago and since then has been stimulated by electro-charges on the cellular level. It is unknown whether the physiological structure of the Necro G.I.’s has been further modified from its base form other than the addition of the electro-charge stimulator.
The recovered Necro G.I. sample resembles homo sapiens on many levels though its brain is much smaller, as most of its cranium is filled with extra layers of bone and shock absorbent fluid. It has longer-than human proportion upper limb appendages and a slightly bent-forward spine, which allows these creatures to launch surprisingly fast attacks, despite the inherent limitations of apparently necrotic bodily tissues.
Each of these creatures carries a small battery-reserve of energy of unknown source, although there is speculation made by the Supreme named Six Feet Under that this is a ‘mystical’ energy type, which is scientifically not proven in any way and as-yet undetectable; he claims they are powered by life energy gathered by the Necroplane harvest ships from living beings. Apparently this energy is distributed evenly to all body parts and is responsible for stimulating through conversion to electro-charges any Necro G.I. activity and their remaining bodily processes.
Weaknesses: Necro G.I.’s possess low level of battlefield independence. It is therefore recommended to eliminate their leaders to easily overcome even huge groups of these alien invaders. Only the destruction of the energy backpacks or removal of their grafted weapons and armor can assure that individual Necro G.I.s are eliminated from the battlefield permanently.
Threats: Necro G.I.’s are relatively well armored, and their battle-gear is equivalent in capability to that used by elite Earth troops. The unusual alloy and fiber used to manufacture the plates and weaponry points to the only one location on Earth; if forged on Earth then it is strongly believed that these items must had been manufactured by RedCo, one of Royal Investments auxiliaries. (NOTE: intelligence services are to investigate that thread further). There is no way to “disarm” a Necro G.I. as their weaponry and armor are grafted into their flesh and any attempt to remove them may instantly terminate the being.
Though at this point there is no proof, the Necro G.I.s biological weapons have been reported as being able to simulate “the resurrection sequence” on fallen Earth’s defenders. Please report back if this is found to be true.
Full Name: Unknown
Blacksmith’s voice was gruff as ever as he continued the education of Youngblood, Blood Watch’s newest recruit. Youngblood was absent-mindedly playing with the warding charm around his neck, and Blacksmith gently patted the youngling vampire’s hand, both to capture his attention and to stop him weakening the wards bound within.
First off lad, some gruesome facts about the Necroplane; that evil realm of existence that neighbors our world is a horrid parallel of the reality we know. Everything, starting with the landscape, is twisted as if some macabre visionary succeeded in translating his nightmare into a material world – even Hieronymus Bosch would be impressed.
The same applies to Necroplane’s Supremes. To join the ranks of the scourge or the Necroplan’es other Supreme agents, most of them were super-sinners in life, earning enough favor from the Lords of Necropolis to be granted supernatural powers.
Mourn’s true name was never known, as far as we can tell, though some claim he used to be a blood-thirsty dictator in a remote country. He ended up in the bowels of Hellrock Prison under charges of genocide.
On the walls of his cell were hung the flayed skins of all of his victims. They tormented Mourn past the limits of sanity, chattering, whispering and shouting curses at him. Each day, each waking moment was filled with their relentless mind-breaking babble.
At last, after two years, silence finally descended. The door to his prison-cell burst open and what was left of Mourn’s mortal body walked out of the cell, shrouded in a moving cloak of shifting, howling faces. When the prison’s guards tried to stop him, the tortured souls embedded in the living fabric of his cloak clawed at them, shattering their bones, their screaming unhinging the guards’ sanity.
Only one mortal witnessed Mourn’s rebirth. In a nearby cell was chained Six Feet Under, our hulking giant who somehow managed to escape Hellrock on that same fateful day as Mourn did.
Six Feet Under reported that Mourn was granted the powers of a malign spirit, a baen sidhe. After a few encounters we think that actually Mourn is a host of several baen sidhe, acting like a beacon that transmits and directs their destructive cries. We think that their minds are a collective that directs Mourn’s activities. The souls in the cape most often have contradictory ideas, arguing and screaming among themselves, so that the flying Villain rarely acts in a predictable way. He may look weak, but he is dangerous.
Mourn seldom speaks; he hisses few words and more often lets his cape of souls speak for him. His arrival is heralded by thousands of whispers, building to a crescendo as Mourn floats like a huge airborne manta above the field of battle. He then selects and closes on his prey and lets loose an unearthly scream, the mourning song of his past victims.
So be warned, lad. Mourn is a threat that should not be underestimated, and if we can free his victims’ souls, then all the better.
Full Name: Dr. Tenebrous
Arguably, the creature known to the citizens of Earth as Dr. Tenebrous is one of the most powerful beings in the world.
Lord Tenebrous was born a mortal long before the cursed land of Necroplane took shape. He was a blood seneschal of a dark king Asurbanipal, an angry deva that rebelled against his kin.
Asurbanipal was so powerful no weapon could have slain him, so the righteous devas conferred with other nations and they decided their world would be safer if the dark king’s essence was split into 3 parts and hidden in a locked prison plane.
All of his allies were banished as well.
Young Tenebrous, a scholar that spent years in the libraries of Philosopher Kings, used the years of the imprisonment well. While other seneschals were feasting on the blood of their fallen lord and scheming the revenge, he studied the recovered tomes from the lost library of Alexandria and honed his skills in the field of arcane engineering. He found the tomb of Vikshi and recovered all of the artifacts, including the tome of necromancy that taught how to animate the dead.
When the seals broke and the people of the dark lands took their revenge on their former jailers, Necroplane was already an established tyranny with a feudal system, ruled by a caste of blood seneschals who named themselves as Lords.
The plane was a huge military organism and after the war came to the end, it was obvious that it needed more bloodshed to keep its violent citizens occupied and to justify the further development of the military industry. All of the denizens were no longer human, most of them led a life in the suspended animation and constant blood craving. The huge furnaces of war factories were not fueled by gas or oil, they were running on the soul and life energy of enemy prisoners. Even though the essence of a powerful knight could keep the engines running for days, it soon turned out that the cells of Hellrock prison were less and less populated.
While the Lords of Necroplane still sustained themselves on the blood of Asurbanipal, the extensive warfare industry of the dead plane drained all of the resources and left some of its denizens starving without life energy.
Tenebrous was the first one to suggest an alternative way of harvesting the energy that would let Necroplane develop.
Using the arcane technology that imbued the artifacts of the sage Vikshi, Tenebrous and his scientists were able to reconstruct the energy draining powers and graft them onto the flying vessels of the Necroplane’s air navy.
The harvest ships, as they are now referred to, carried a death ray cannon that snuffed any life (similar to neutron bombs) and captured the fleeting essence into the energy containers.
The dreadful sight of hovering hulks sweeping across the ravaged cityscapes was the last thing that the citizens of Marro XII remember, just as those of the worlds of Axtor, Llay and Thar.
The process of “reaping” a world was not just a simple invasion. Sometimes it took years to infiltrate the society, exchange some of its most powerful dwellers with Hollow Ones and open the door to harvest ships from within. For instance, Tenebrous established a formal diplomatic link with the US and UN, choosing the tolerant Pulp City as his headquarters and laying low under his human disguise for almost 3 years, bribing the politicians and some Supremes until the right day for invasion came. Necroplane Lords learnt how to be patient. Earth, or to be precise one of the parallel Earths in which we live, taught them how to lose.
The first portent came out of nowhere. Ken Meyers, the only survivor of the Necroplane invasion of his home world, escaped from the Hellrock prison and warned the Earth about the invasion to come.
Dr. Tenebrous, warned by one of the so-called Heroes, had to drop his disguise and speed up the invasion but even that didn’t help.
As the ships came through the portal at the Twilight Hills, the Heroes of the Earth were ready. Many lost their lives, but Necroplane learnt the lesson the hard way, losing 80% of its navy.
Tenebrous is even more careful these days. Though he will never admit this in front of the other Lords, his feelings for Earth and its citizens are very ambiguous. He dearly hates all of the pesky Supremes that stood in his way, yet he admires the pathetic culture, its love for violence and all things superficial.
He loves the idea of the prestige held by Earth’s super heroes, as he knows only fear that he spreads. It was Tenebrous’ idea to create the villainous Scourge of Necroplane team that is a mockery of the Supreme teams he knows. He is the one that spends days in Hellrock, bending the will of the prisoners and transforming them over time into new recruits. Each new recruit is an epic story on its own and current agendas take Tenebrous across the space and time. Snatching one world’s most powerful Supreme and turning him into Supreme Zed or resurrecting the notorious 30’s gangster Frank Gatsby as The Deadliner, are just two of the most recent ones.
The dark tentacles of Tenebrous’ agenda reach beyond Necroplane and its schemes. If the Supremes were ever aware of whom his contacts are among the Supremes and politicians on Earth, they would be afraid to ever fall asleep.