The King didn't arise unnoticed

Somewhere in Greenwich Village, New York was the Sanctum Sanctorum and within slept the current Sorcerer Supreme. Doctor Stephan Strange or more commonly known to the world as merely Doctor Strange awoke, startled by his magical senses to a strong magical presence.

“But what is this…the power?” the sorcerer wondered aloud, “Who…what?”

Not only was the magical presence strong but steeped in ancient evil based on what he felt. There was only 1 person he could visit to converse with on what he sensed. The Doctor Strange then took a meditative stance and then his astral projection left his home to call on a unique colleague in the mystic arts.

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Located in Salem, Massachusetts was the Tower of Fate, At the top of the tower sat Kent Nelson, the current Doctor Fate for the last few decades. He had immediately sensed the strong magic in the “air.” The power felt familiar like had known it for years. The old man wasn’t surprised to see Dr. Strange’s spectral form standing before him.

“So, I take it by your presence here, Stephan,” began the older sorcerer, “is that you sensed it too.”

“Yes, I did,” replied the younger of the two.

Doctor Strange was easily in his fifties but Mr. Nelson was decades older and years more experience in the mystic art as well as life.

“If it is whom I think it is,” said Kent, “Then we might have trouble on our hands.”

“What do you mean by whom?” asked Stephan worriedly.

“I hope I’m wrong but it’s a power with origins in Atlantis,” answered the Elder, “however I don’t want to make assumptions until we have all the facts.”

The two stood silently together, not knowing what exact actions to take.

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Meeting of acquaintances was currently taking place within Brooklyn, New York this fine night. Sitting together in a room were two figures, they sensed his presence. The King of their kind had reappeared, neither knew how other than they had not detected him since 1976.

“So, Jean, that’s your new name now, right?” asked a male voice in an almost bored sounding fashion.

“Correct, Professor Jean Roman,” answered the feminine voice, “but you didn’t call me down here to talk names, Hannibal.”

“Look Marilyn, we both know how long it’s been since he’s been around,” continued Hannibal King, PI, “What do we do about it; I mean he disappeared with Blade and Rachel on his tail years ago, and now only he appears again.”

“I know, Hannibal, but there’s nothing we can do right now but see what he does,” reasoned Professor Roman as she put her copy of Frost Poems into her purse, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. King, I have a lecture to prepare.”

Professor J. Roman PhD stood up and left and could only hope to protect her drama protégé Mary Jane from his lusts.

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Somewhere in Chicago, Illinois 2 adversaries were facing off, the beautiful red-head Mary Queen of Blood as she came to be known and her ex-lover Andrew Bennett. Andrew could see the fear in his former Beloved’s eyes. he had risen and his power was the only nosferatu Mary had ever feared.

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Within a Las Vegas hotel suite slept 2 lovely young women with dark hair, immediately their eyes snapped when their magical senses picked up the evil power coming from the other side of the country. The 2 Homo magi had never felt anything of this magnitude before; 1 would think that their experiences with the Avengers and Justice League would have prepared them for this kind of power.

“Z-Z-Zee, w-what IS that?” asked 1 of the women in fear.

“I dunno, Wanda,” Zatanna replied to her cousin, the Scarlet Witch.

Neither of these descendants of the Hidden Ones knew that they would eventually meet the source of this power soon enough for his vengeance from their ancestors.

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This night was like any other in London, England except for individuals of the supernatural variety. Sitting at a small diner was a man in his fifties staring into the British night.

“Need ‘nother drink?” asked a cute waitress, she was clearly forcing the smile because the dark rings under her eyes told of her exhaustion.

“No…no thank you,” answered the gentleman.

Just then a figure approached from behind, “Are you alright Barnabas?”

The man turned, “Ah, it is only you, Quentin.”

“No one else,” replied the new arrival jovially, “It is I…Quentin Collins II.”

Barnabas just smiled and turned back towards the starry sky; he then scowled as he thought back to when he sensed that powerful presence in the world. He was sure all of the undead could feel it as strong as he had.

“He is back, Quentin,” stated Barnabas to his lycanthopic cousin, “the King…has returned.”

Quentin scowled, the only other vampyr Barnabas truly feared, and rightly so, had returned.

“Not good,” he said shaking his head, “not good at all”

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Deep in the Atlantic Ocean was the sunken city of Atlantis, ruled over by who the surface dwellers call The Mariner and his lovely queen, Mera. This night the magical Queen of Atlantis was up late researching some ancient archives which told of an age-old mystical sect, known as the Darkholders. It told of how they created new type of resurrection but it backfired on them, and wiped them out. It told of the resurrection’s first attempt on 1 member, Varnae.

“Nos…nosfer…nosferatu?” the beautiful Queen read aloud the ancient Atlantean dialect, that was the name given to the new creatures that the resurrections created.

Just then, a wave of power was felt immediately by the Mera and her head shot upwards to face the ceiling. The power felt ancient and evil, with Mera’s experience in the magical arts she knew that this would be trouble.

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Within a hotel room in Houston, Texas a Natalia Mitternacht known to through the media as Nocturna sat within an arm’s reach of Lilith Drake, the day-walker that changed her to begin with. Natalia’s eyes shot open and shivered, she’d never felt anything like this before. The power she felt was indescribable; she glanced towards Lilith in hope of getting an explanation.

“Well, well, well, it looks as it…Daddy-dearest has come back,” Lilith sarcastically chuckled, “It looks as if that van Helsing and her dhampir failed.”

“Van Helsing? As in…Abraham van Helsing?” asked Nocturna, “As in, Dracula…the book Dracula?”

“None other,” replied the day-walker with an amused grin.

It was always funny the book made the man famous, but most never knew about his family’s centuries old blood-feud with her father. Lilith knew that there was no way Natalia knew that she was talking about the granddaughter, Rachel van Helsing. Their eyes wandered over to a voluptuous figure in the doorway when they heard the sounds of someone walking.

“Well, looks like sleepyhead’s awake; you sense him too?” Lilith mockingly chuckled, “How was your sleep, Vampi?”

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In the quiet suburbs of Greendale, were a magical duo living with their young niece; the women were sleeping soundly but a familiar and evil power arose, causing the women’s eyes to shoot open. But before either could say anything, they heard a scream from the other room.

“SABRINA!” they cried and rushed out their beds to check on.

The redhead and green-haired woman quickly entered their niece’s room with concern; sitting down on either side of her bed, they embraced the shaking blonde. They could tell by her expression that she had sensed the evil too.

“A-aunt Hilda?” said the teen, turning toward the red-haired sorceress, “W-what d-did I j-just f-feel?”

This power was new and utterly terrifying at the same time; it was permeating and felt ancient. There was nothing the teen had experienced that could compare it to. But her aunt’s concerned expressions going from her to each other did not go unnoticed by the blonde. Something about their silence terrified Sabrina Spellman.

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Lydia’s aged face shot up as familiar presence of the king had alerted itself and looked to her companion. Millie ran her hand through her strawberry-blonde hair as she continued to straddle and ride Lydia’s current husband as the man groaned in pleasure of his 7.6-inch erection buried in Millie’s cold snatch. Handsome as he was, Bryan, like all the other gold-diggers before him, would soon lose his usefulness to Lydia.

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The ancient faery hybrid awoke with a start, the mystical energies she was detecting brought Varnae to mind. As Morgana felt the power, she remembered that the first nosferatu had left the world and his “throne” to his successor.

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Sister Mary looked the sky as she sensed his return; she had arrived in Richmond more than a year ago and had settled in. Masquerading as a nun certainly had its advantages, most of the world believed the old story from that religious book. She had not survived all these centuries for nothing; centuries, was that how long it was? Her scarlet eyes looked up at the construct of a man that was supposed to be of her long dead son, Yeshua.

“Jesus,” she scoffed with a fanged smile at the German mispronunciation of her son’s name, “If only these humans knew the truth of their virgin Mary.”

Turning around, the Israeli vampyr returned to her quarters where she allowed her current prey to rest. The girl was one those runaways that would never be found once the undead predator had decided to dispose of her leftovers.