hardy boys fan fiction
ALTERNATE REALITIES
PART 1: REAL WORLD AND COMIC BOOKS
hardy boys nancy drew fan fiction
by
Jolly
Chapter 7
hardy boys fan fiction
THE CHAPTERS
And so it was decided that Joe would set off for home to retrieve his brother. The Hopping Gate back to his world had unfortunately hopped away to the Southern Edge of the Painted Desert, according to John. It would be a long journey across several rather dangerous territories. Since he had yet to regain full control over his powers, it was necessary that Abelon accompany him as a bodyguard.
John had passed him a Light Saber. Yeah, a Light Saber, just like in Star Wars. “For self-defense,” John had told him. True to its namesake, the saber was very light indeed. Unlike the Jedi Knight’s saber, this Light Saber had a blade of sizzling lightning. And it could cut through steel as if it was butter.
The journey was action-packed, as expected. And every so often, Joe would find himself fighting for his life yet again. This time, he and Abelon had walked right into an ambush by a gang of twelve Sparti Daemons. This whole thing was getting repetitive.
Sparti Daemons were battle-hardened bullies created in test-tubes, that were all brawn and no brains. Daemons were mutated man-made forms of demons. Demons were minions of the Evil One. And the Evil One was the Alter Ego of the Good One. And so on and so forth.
Sparti Daemons were created by the Sparti Landlords to maintain the anarchic situation, and to collect protection money from just about anyone and anything. Sparti Daemons settled all problems with their titanium fists, pounding most of their victims into bloody pulp without realizing they were dead. Even super-hero victims rarely walked away unscathed.
Joe winced and turned his face as shards of debris hit his face, barely missing his eyes. He had just narrowly avoided being crushed by a Sparti fist. Taking a quick step sideways, he lunged at the feet of the nearest daemon and quickly sliced through the leg tendons with his Light Saber. The daemon went down with a crash.
Not for the first time, Joe was grateful to Frank for dragging him to fencing lessons last year when the French master visited Bayport High. Who would have thought he needed swordplay when the bad guys in good old Bayport used guns? Joe mused as he twirled his saber and turned to face his next combatant.
Abelon was holding his own, happily barbequing the daemons in a dazzling pyrotechnic display. He was the sole descendent of the FireStarter Clan, and a confirmed pyromaniac. He could summon fire, and had immunity against fire. And he had a fiery temper to match his gifts, which was well hidden under his cool, icy demeanor.
“That’s it!” Joe muttered angrily to himself after one of the daemons caught him by his throat and threw him against a rock-hard wall. He might not have any broken bones. He might only have a few bruises. He might barely bleed. But he sure hurt like hell. Joe never thought it would come to this, but having super-powers sucked! No comics ever told him that the ability to take more damage went hand in hand with the necessity to bear more pain.
Joe raised his hands and the next thing he knew, several webs of electricity whipped around him and Abelon. The remaining daemons yelped in agony before disappearing round the corner.
“Cowards!” Abelon yelled out before sending several fireballs after them.
Looking up into the darkening skies, Joe said wearily, “Let’s find somewhere to hole up for the night. We still have lots of territory to cover tomorrow.”
Later that night, Joe sat with his back against the wall, watching over his sleeping friend. It was his turn on guard duty. It did not take long for his thoughts to wander to his family back in Bayport.
How were they? Did they miss him? Were they frantic with worry searching for him? And Frank, how he missed having his big brother around!
Joe was jerked out of his reverie by soft rustling noises to his right. Turning, he gaped at the sight.
He was staring into a horde of snakes.
Mutated snakes, Joe amended.
There were hundreds of varieties of them, and millions of them. And they were all slithering rapidly towards him and his friend.
Calling out to Abelon, Joe gathered his powers and to his surprise, managed to summon several webs of electricity, which he sent careening towards the mass of slithering snakes. It seemed like he was gaining some measure of control over his abilities. Then Joe felt heat passing by him as a moving wall of fire blasted past, scorching everything in its wake. Soon, all that was left was a mass of stinky, smoky, charred bodies.
After a moment of silence, Abelon stretched his arms and legs before saying, “It’s still early, but we might as well get an early start.”
So they continued on their journey.
It was not long before they reached the end of the Sparti Territories and entered the Painted Desert. Joe looked at the landscape before him and shook his head. Why was he not surprised? The desert was really painted. And right before him stretched miles and miles and thousands and thousands of paintings of deserts.
After walking for many long hours through the monotonous terrain, they approached the southern end of the Painted Desert. How did he know? The thick black dividing line before him separated the multitude of paintings from lush green grass. On the black line stood a lone signpost and it read ‘The Southern Edge of the Painted Desert’.
“Okay. We are here. What now?” Abelon said.
Despite all that Joe had seen and experienced, he still gaped at the signpost. This place was unreal. He looked left and right, and saw the black line extending to the horizon on both ends. He stared at the vast expanse of paintings behind him, and the equally vast expanse of greenery before him.
The Hopping Gate was nowhere in sight. Not that he knew what it looked like. And neither did Abelon. He really should have asked John to come along. Or at least he could have asked for a proper description. And he was stupidly really expecting something that looked like Stargate on TV.
“And I still have to be the right man at the right place at the right time!” Joe moaned out loud.
“Ah. The right man at the right place at the right time!” A loud voice boomed cheerfully across the desert. “You may pass!”
With that, Joe saw an intricate bridge form right before him that led into nothingness.
Talk about being ridiculous.
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The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.