The farmhouse was silent and dark. Maximilian Keller lay sleeping in his four poster bed, his significant other for the evening huddled beside him. His larg bedroom was tastefully decorated in grays and browns; the dresser and other furniture were fashioned of dark oak. A large window on the northern side of the room let in light from the full moon.
Suddenly Keller sat up, instantly awake, he ran a hand through his blond hair and looked about the room, part of his mind searching for what had awakened him -- there it was. A presence. In the house. Keller slid out of bed, and silently padded across the carpet to his dresser. He opened a drawer and withdrew a long, curved katana.
With one glance at the woman who still slept peacefully, Keller opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. He moved quietly along the passage way and hopped down the stairs into the living room. He found the television on. Dave Letterman was talking to that actor who was in that Greystoke movie.
There was a large man sitting in the easy chair, shrouded in darkness. The small bit of moonlight that penetrated through the drapes, glinting off of Keller's blade, failed to illuminate the other side of the room.
"Who are you?" Keller hissed.
The figure flicked on the lamp next to him, bringing himself into focus while simultaneously ruining Keller's nightvision. Keller instinctively raised his blade in case the figure attacked. But nothing happened.
As Keller's eyes adjusted to the glare, he made out a huge man clad in biker leathers. His long red hair was bound with a silver clasp, keeping it away from his face. One long scar bisected his left eye; Keller wasn't sure if it was a mortal injury, or one that simply never healed well. Sometimes head wounds could do that.
When Keller's vision cleared completely, he looked into the other Immortal's eyes, and shuddered. The eyes were like black pools, threatening to suck Keller in. He switched his grip on his blade and repeated his earlier question. "Who are you?"
The big man sighed. "I was hoping you'd recognize me, Max. But just as well. I am Bran Mac Lyr."
Keller's eyes narrowed. "Of the Clan Mac Lyr, no doubt."
Bran shook his head with a look of disgust. "Wrong, German. My father's name was Lyr. I never had a clan." Bran stood up... and up.
Keller grimaced. This Immortal was definitely a big one. "You want my head," Keller said. It wasn't a question.
Bran nodded. "Your time has come, Max."
"Then let's go," Keller said, stepping forward with his blade extended.
Bran shook his head. "You shouldn't be so eager to die, Max." He looked around. "We won't do it here. Your house is too nice to ruin it with a Quickening. Meet me in one hour at the Bosch Shoe factory on Industrial Road."
Keller nodded. The factory had been abandoned for over twenty years. It was a perfect spot for a duel, and one Keller was familiar with.
"I'll let myself out," Bran said, turning and disappearing through a darkened doorway into the kitchen and out the back. A little later, a engine roared and the Celt was gone.
Keller slowly let his blade drop, and then headed upstairs to prepare. This would likely be the fight of his life.
A short hour later, Keller guided his 1969 Dodge Charger into a parking space outside the Bosch Shoe Factory. He stepped out of the car and pulled his collar up. Breath steaming in the winter air, he made his way across the pavement to the factory itself, noting along the way the shattered windows, spraypainted slogans, and discarded refuse that decorated the building.
Although it hadn't snowed for a while, a thin layer of frost rimed the ground and the windows. Keller expected the heavy door to stick when he tried to open it, but it swung open easily, the hinges groaning a bit. Keller reached into his coat, drawing his sword, and stepped into the building.
He sucked in a sharp breath, It was at least ten degrees colder inside than out. An empty hallway yawned before him, dark and silent. Keller reached out with his senses, and felt the other Immortal deeper within the building. Keller took a deep breath and made his way down the hallway. The heavy door at the end opened up onto the factory floor. Empty and barren now, it was once the home of dozens of machines and workers who cranked out shoe after shoe.
<Ol' Bosch just couldn't compete with the big guys, though,> Keller thought, stepping over the desiccated remains of a rat.
Bran Mac Lyr was waiting for Keller in the center of the room. He had discarded his jacket, and stood in t-shirt and leather jeans, his heavy two-handed Viking broadsword spinning lazily in one hand.
"I was beginning to think you wouldn't show." Bran's voice boomed in the empty darkness. He gave his blade a few practice swings.
Keller shrugged out of his coat and pulled his scarf off. He thought about ditching his flannel as well, but figured the cold would impede his movements more effectively than the heavy shirt.
He moved towards Bran, saying, "I must confess, the thought of flight did occur to me. But I've built too good a life here."
Bran nodded. "Its good that you are prepared to defend it."
Keller was close enough to attack now, but he hesitated a moment, waiting for Bran to make the first move. He realized how stupid that was as the Celt launched a flurry of lightning quick attacks that Keller was hard pressed to hold back. But he did, and when he found an opening, he lunged forward and stung the bigger man with a clean cut across the chest.
As blood welled up in the scratch, the Celt saluted Keller. "First blood goes to you, Max." Keller smiled grimly. "Of course," Bran continued, "last blood is the only one that counts." Bran lashed out with his broadsword, and Keller deflected it. Just barely.
The grin faded as Keller realized that the hit would probably be the only one he would make. The Celt was just too bloody good. He slapped away every attack Keller attempted, and moved so quickly that it took all of Keller's skill just to keep up with Bran.
It wasn't long before Keller fell to his knees, clutching the bloody stump that used to be his sword hand. He looked up into those dark eyes as his oblivion descended. A moment later, Maximilian Keller was out of the Game.
Mel Gibson was playing at Shakespeare on the television, and Rachel Van Horn was not answering her phone. Hazard bit off a curse and turned the TV off. <Enough of this sitting around> he thought, marching angrily to the back door. He gave a high pitched whistle, one beyond the ability of a human to make or hear, and soon enough Perseus' dogs came running. As soon as they were inside, Hazard left the house. He was inside his Lotus and halfway down the drive when the phone in Perseus' kitchen began to ring.
Hazard went into the city, sated his bloodlust on a trio of muggers, and then ambled over to nameless bar in the French Quarter. It was early yet for a place like this, and Hazard was not surprised to find only a few customers ranged around the spacious, darkened interior.
Hazard took a seat at the bar, next to the Angel. He gave the Kherubim his best smile. "What's new, Gabrial?"
To an ordinary mortal, Gabrial would have looked like a nondescript young man. Dark hair, dark eyes, slim build, neither particularly attractive nor particularly ugly. One of those people who never gets noticed, someone who slips through the cracks in society; seen but then immediately forgotten. But to anyone with any kind of experience with the paranormal -- that second sight that seemed so common amongst the supernatural -- Gabrial was a luminous being. Bright blond hair tied into a loose ponytail, golden skin and shining eyes all gave him an aura of power and serenity.
For someone like Hazard, with one foot in the world of mortals and the other firmly placed in the realm of the Undead, the effect was like holding a mirror in front of another mirror -- endless reflections, layered upon each other, one after the other. Hazard's eyes shifted away from the Angel repeatedly, as looking at him too long would give the Vampire a headache. It was a relief that Gabrial's drab, puritanical dress wasn't affected by his aura.
The Angel didn't say a word, staring instead at the empty shot glass in front of him. Hazard grinned sardonically. <Same old Gabrial.>
"Shall I buy you a drink, Gabrial?"
The Angel turned to him, his disguise showing a thin smile, while his true form fairly radiated white light with those soft pearls he called teeth. "Michael, I didn't realize you were there. Buy me a drink, did you say? Please do."
Hazard signaled the bartender and repeated his earlier question. "Been in touch with the grapevine lately, Gabe?"
Gabrial downed the shot quickly, and when the bartender made to take the bottle away, the Angel clamped a hand on the neck. The bartender looked to Hazard, who nodded. The bottle was left with Gabrial.
"Well now, I've heard quite a bit of late, Michael. All the mortals are gearing up for their big heathen festival next month."
Hazard waited, used to Gabrial's style. The Angel downed another shot.
"And then there's the matter of the new Wraith in town."
Hazard looked directly at Gabrial -- a mistake. But this was news. Wraiths were extremely rare. "Does it have a name?"
"Alec Scott," Gabrial said. "He was a painter. He had talent, too. He could really have been somebody someday. But now he's just one more statistic." Gabrial took another shot.
"What happened?" Michael asked softly.
"Sacrificed," Gabrial said sharply.
"Sacrificed...what, has the Blood Covenant resurfaced again?"
The Angel shook his head sadly, staring at the amber liquid in the small glass. "Nothing so simple, Michael. There are dark times ahead for all the nine races." He looked up into Hazard's eyes. "And the ritual murders are only the beginning."
Gabrial stood up then, and Hazard knew he wasn't going to get anything else out of the old Kherubim. As the Angel stepped out into the night, Hazard leaned against the bar and thought about what he had learned. Not a whole hell of a lot, he decided, but it was something. <Perhaps I should look up Alec> he thought.
The travelers stood in the snow, a few meters from the castle wall. Perseus was in the center, clad in jeans and heavy winter jacket, while Shelley stood on his right, her sword slung across her back. Kurt lounged a few feet to the left of Perseus, dressed lightly for someone who hated the cold so much.
Perseus looked up at the great black walls of the castle, and found himself wondering at the number of castle gates he had assailed over the centuries. He barely noticed the fat, full moon or the silvery field of snow that surrounded them on all sides. His attention was focused on the heavy blocks of stone before them.
Shelley shivered and adjusted the strap across her chest. She spoke, creating a cloud of crystals in the air that dissipated almost as quickly as they appeared. "We've been standing here for almost twenty minutes. Can we get on with it?"
Perseus slowly looked at her. His eyes were shrouded by darkness, but she could see his expression well enough. He was frowning. "So eager, Shelley?"
"Well, I've never seen a Gargoyle before," she said testily.
"Is that it, or are you more interested in paying blood for blood?" Perseus asked. Shelley looked at him, searching his face for some clue as to which answer he expected. Finally she settled on honesty.
"Blood," she said, almost barking the word.
Perseus nodded, a ghost of a smile on his cheeks. "Just as well. It's time. Kurt?"
Kurt stepped forward. "I'm all set," he said. Then, without further preamble, Kurt's body was enveloped by a shadow that formed at his feet and flowed up his body. Shelley watched in horror and fascination as the shape that was Kurt convulsed and twisted, and the shadow expanded. A moment later, the shadow flowed away, and something stood in Kurt's place.
Slightly taller than a man, the creature was massively built, with thick muscles that stretched the loose clothes Kurt had worn. The skin was pale, snowy white, a stark contrast to Kurt's brown skin, an the flesh of the skull had melted away, leaving only a parchment thin layer of flesh that stretched across the skull. Naked, lipless teeth grinned in a skeletal grimace, and the nose was a hump of bone over an empty socket. The eyes as well had melted away, leaving vacant sockets as black as the starless sky. A halo of gray, stringy hair hung from the top of the skull, falling in waves past the creature's shoulders.
Shelley opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clapped over her lips. Perseus held her roughly, and whispered into her ear. "Relax, Shelley. Kurt is Nightspawn. This is his Morphus, his true form. He is the Revenant. And he's on our side."
Perseus waited for Shelley to relax in his arms, and then he let her go. She looked at the thing that Perseus claimed to be Kurt.
"Shocking, isn't it?" it said. The voice was deep and echoing, so unlike Kurt's, and yet the inflection was the same. The attitude was all Kurt.
"Kurt?" she said weakly.
"Please," it said, "call me Revenant." Shelley just nodded.
"Sorry," Perseus said. "We probably should have prepared you for that." She looked at him, and he was grinning. Shelley punched him in the arm, grinning herself.
"Asshole," she growled. Perseus started chuckling softly. Soon he had her giggling, and the more she giggled, the more he laughed.
"Uh, guys," the Revenant interjected. "Can we keep ourselves focused, please?" The two Immortals struggled to control themselves. At last, Perseus was calm, and Shelley was only giggling a little.
<Its weird how at solemn occasions, something you would just smile at becomes a hilarious joke>, Shelley thought.
All trace of humor in Shelley evaporated when she saw twin balls of blue-white light form in the Revenant's sockets. The light grew, swallowing the darkness in the sockets, and Shelley saw a circular patch of darkness form in a spiraling pattern, two feet in front of the Revenant. Shelley's eyes shifted to examine the shadow, and she realized the darkness was not absolute. Currants of gray, silver and diamond white mixed and spun as the patch grew in diameter, expanding foot by foot until it's width was longer than Kurt's new height.
Perseus drew his sword with a quiet rasp, and stepped toward the darkness. Shelley's jaw dropped open when Perseus stepped into it -- and disappeared. The Revenant turned to her. The light was now shining out of the socket of his nose, and around his teeth. It seemed the entire interior of his skull was shining with blue-white light.
"Something like the Quickening...," Shelley murmured.
"Its your turn, Shelley. Go through."
"What, me? No I can't I -- "
"The portal closes when I step through it, Shelley. If you're coming with us, you must go through now." The strange voice sent shivers through Shelley's body. She looked at the "portal." The shifting patterns entranced her, called her to it; unconsciously she took a step towards the portal. Then she shook her head, glanced at the Revenant, and looked back at the portal once more. Nothing in all her life, not even her first death, had prepared her for something like this. Yet here she was, standing in a snowy meadow with some creature that looked like it stepped off the cover of an Iron Maiden album, while some strange darkness spun and twisted before her.
"Well," she said at last, "who wants to live forever?" She stepped into the darkness, and was sucked away.
There was a brief feeling of vertigo, and then she was standing next to Perseus in the courtyard of the castle. She shook her head. "What? How?" she gasped. Perseus silenced her questions with a raised hand. A heartbeat passed, and the Revenant stepped out of the shadow behind them, his skeletal features no longer shining with light.
Perseus stepped out into the courtyard, looking around. At the edges of her perceptions, Shelley felt Perseus scan the area with his senses. Apparently finding nothing, he started walking along the interior of the castle wall, looking for a staircase to the ramparts.
Shelley reached behind her and clumsily drew her blade. Moonlight reflected off the polished steel. She glanced at the naked blade, and noticed a reflection -- a dark splotch hanging in the air behind her.
It was growing larger by the moment. Just as Shelley turned to look, she was tackled to the ground. She landed in a heap on the courtyard floor, the Revenant on top of her as something swooped by above them. Perseus heard the commotion and spun on his heels, swinging his sword up in a fluid motion.
Shelley had an impression of a vaguely humanoid shape sporting huge, bat-like wings swooping at Perseus, and then the Immortal's shortsword flashed in a bright arc. A spray of blood erupted in the air, and the winged shape crashed to the ground, a few meters from where Perseus stood.
The Revenant scrambled to his feet, his empty eyes searching the sky for more winged assailants. Shelley rolled upright and hurried to Perseus' side. He was inspecting the creature with his swordpoint, prodding it in the side. It didn't move.
<Small wonder>, Shelley thought. Perseus' strike had nearly cut the creature in half. Shelley couldn't bring herself to look at it for long, however. The Gargoyle seemed to combine the worst traits of bats, humans, and worms to create the most hideous countenance she had ever seen. When she felt her gorge rise threateningly, she looked away.
Perseus laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Any sign of the others?" He whispered to Kurt.
The Revenant shook his head. "Not yet," he said.
"Are they all as bad as this one?" Shelley croaked.
The Revenant seemed to grin. "No. The big one is worse."
"Shit."
Perseus waved the two to silence, and then led the way around the perimeter of the castle proper until they reached the door to the kitchens. Trash barrels were lined up in a niche in the wall, and piles of refuse were scattered about. Shelley guessed that the tourists didn't get to see this part much.
"It appears that the Gargs were looking for dinner," the Revenant whispered at her. Shelley looked at the garbage with different feelings of disgust.
Perseus shouldered the kitchen door open roughly. Shelley heard wood splinter and a lock shatter. She put her head in her hands. Hadn't the Immortal ever heard of alarms? Perseus slithered into the building.
The Revenant was about to follow, when one of the trash barrels exploded, and a dark skinned shape reached out to wrap two pairs of tentacles around Shelley.
Before she could react, her sword had been knocked from her hand and the winding limbs had pulled her tight against the creature's soft, pebbly flesh. Fetid breath washed over her, smelling only slightly sweeter than the stench of refuse that clung to the body like a curse.
Shelley shut her eyes and willed herself not to scream. She felt a slimy tongue caress her cheek, and then heard a wet, meaty "thunk." The tentacles loosened around her, and she opened her eyes to see the Revenant pull her from the Gargoyle's grasp.
"Is it -- ?" Shelley gasped. The Revenant nodded.
They headed after Perseus. Shelley didn't look back.
While Shelley was relieved, the Revenant was privately worried. The first two Gargoyles had fallen too easily.
Perseus, knowing that the Revenant was fully capable of looking after himself and Shelley, quickly threaded his way through the maze of darkened corridors that was the castle's interior.
Moving at a breakneck pace, he came to the room that housed the crystal in moments. Ignoring the dozens of other priceless items decorating the room, he made a beeline for the delicate glass case in the center of the room.
Though the only illumination in the high vaulted chamber was a thin beam of moonlight shining through a tiny window perched high up on the wall, Perseus could see fairly well. He raised the hilt of his sword, making as if to shatter the tiny glass case.
"I would not do that, were I you," said a sibilant voice speaking German. Perseus slowly lowered his shortsword, and turned to look for the speaker. A massive, hunched form loomed in the shadows beneath the window. Perseus heard leathery wings rustle.
"Show yourself, monster," Perseus growled.
"Monster?" came the reply. "You call me monster, Immortal? And what do you call yourself? How many men and women have you callously killed? How many Gargoyles have you cut down without thought or care? And you have the temerity to call me 'monster' simply because my shape does not conform to your standards of beauty. You disgust me."
Perseus frowned. Most Gorgotha had chips on their shoulders; it came with being a hideous, deformed living statue. But this one was melodramatic about it. He flipped the sword in his hands, and sighed.
"Lets just get this over with," Perseus said.
The Gargoyle hesitated a moment, and then shuffled forward, into the light. Perseus involuntarily sucked in a breath. Kurt had been right. This Gorgotha was a big one, almost eight feet tall, and incredibly ugly.
The massive head was swollen up to twice its size, with a bony crest running from the forehead all the way down the back. Pale, glowing eyes looked out under thick thrusts of bone, while huge tusks erupted upward out of the Gargoyle's mouth. The trunk from neck to waist was a mass of inch-long, constantly moving cilia. They gleamed wetly in the moonlight; there were easily hundreds of the tiny tentacles decorating his chest. The arms each had an extra joint, giving him an extra elbow on each arm, and allowing him to touch his toes without bending over. The hands were massive shovel like paws ending in sharp, glittering claws. It stood on short, powerful legs covered in oozing sores, and ended in huge, splay-toed feet. The Gargoyle's claws clicked softly on the stony floor.
"Like what you see?" the Gargoyle hissed. Perseus shook his head, unable to form words.
Without warning, the Gargoyle leapt at Perseus, wings spreading out like a shroud, his huge claws extended in attack position. Perseus slid out of the way by bare millimeters, transforming a killing blow into a wounding one. Three huge furrows were ripped in his side, and he clutched his abdomen as white hot agony lanced through his side.
The Spartan didn't make a sound though. Instead, he retaliated, stabbing his sword into the Gargoyle's left arm. As his weapon cut into the flesh of the monster's bicep, a heavy clap slapped his head, splitting his lip and breaking his nose. Perseus was knocked to the floor, his sword ripped from his hand, still embedded in his opponent's arm.
The Gargoyle raised a foot to squash Perseus' head, but the Greek twisted wildly and rolled out of the way. In a quick movement he jumped to his feet, flowing into a Taido kata as he did so. The Gargoyle attacked again, his strangely elongated arms reaching farther than they should.
Perseus ducked under the attempted grab and rolled toward the Gargoyle. Staying low, he spun out a low kick aimed at the Gargoyle's right shin. Booted foot met bony flesh with a sick cracking sound, and the Gargoyle staggered, dropping back a step. One hand successfully grabbed Perseus by the back of the neck, lifting him off his feet.
But the Gargoyle was unaware that the Taido martial art was designed for aerial use. Specializing in jump kicks and impressive spinning moves, the use of the art was not hindered at all by a lack of connection with solid ground. Perseus drove one foot into the creature's massive head, glancing off the bony spurs, while simultaneously aiming a kick at one of the Gargoyle's elbows.
Another bone shattered, and Perseus fell to the ground. He rebounded almost instantly, lifting up and into a roundhouse kick that drove his foot into the Gargoyle's solar plexus. With a "whoosh" of escaping air, the Gargoyle dropped to one knee.
Perseus took the opportunity to wrench his gladius free of the Gargoyle's bicep. But the Gargoyle recovered quickly from the kick, and a backhanded blow sent Perseus sprawling. His head connected with a pedestal, and some priceless artifact crashed to the floor, shattering like glass.
Perseus struggled to rise, but that last blow had shattered some ribs, and one of them punctured a lung. His lung was rapidly filling up with fluid. Seeing his obvious discomfort, the Gargoyle pressed the attack, leaping at him again, slashing with his claws. Gouges erupted across Perseus' chest, shredding his coat, shirt, and the flesh beneath.
The Gargoyle planted one claw against Perseus' chest, pinning him to the floor, while the other raised for the killing blow. Perseus knew that the Gargoyle had enough strength to crush his skull, and then decapitate him at his leisure. He was suddenly reminded of the battle Lei and he had with that Demon in China, eight hundred years ago. He didn't give up then. He wasn't going to do it now.
With strength born of desperation, Perseus swung the serrated edge of his shortsword up and through the arm pinning him to the ground. Bone and flesh parted before the onslaught of steel, completely severing the claw from the arm.
With a bellow of pain the Gargoyle lurched backward, grasping at the gruesome stump with his free hand, trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood. Perseus ripped the severed claw from his chest and swung himself back onto his feet.
He couldn't wait for his wounds to heal. The Gargoyle's own regenerative abilities were kicking in, sealing off the stump. It would be ready to attack before Perseus was whole.
Every nerve screamed with pain, his chest was a mass of fire, and he coughed up a mouthful of carmine fluid. But the Spartan did not falter. He had trained himself to ignore pain. Pain was only temporary. Death was forever.
With a wordless cry, Perseus lurched forward and drove his sword into the Gargoyle's chest. Metal pierced heart, and the Gargoyle bellowed in pain, lurching backwards to crash into another priceless relic. He fell backwards, dying.
Perseus sank to his knees, letting himself heal. "I hope you rest easier, Quin, " he mumbled. "Wherever you are."
He sat alone in the darkness for a while, before Kurt and Shelley found him.
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