Darkness Before the Dawn *HF*
By Daemon
~~Prologue~~
The ancient wooden staff sliced through the air and struck its target with immense power. The mystical rings attached at the rod's head jingled as it cracked against the head of the practice dummy. The staff withdrew just as quickly and spun in the air gracefully as the wielder returned it to the ready position just under his arm. A spinning back kick followed, as well as a swift flurry of skillfully placed short strikes with the staff. A final strike to the groin with the staff ended the practice session. The sound of clapping interrupting the warrior's focused thoughts.
"I never thought you had it in you," the White King said as he stood in the doorway of the suite of rooms in the White Court mansion.
Gomurr straightened his posture from his battle stance and leaned against his staff. "I still hold a few surprises up my sleeves," he said with a wry smile. Wearing only a pair of loose fitting pants - half of a martial arts uniform - Gomurr looked surprisingly well-built for a man his age. His skin, a soft bronzed hue, was stretched taught over ever-growing muscles and he looked to have grown taller in the last few days. The White King took note as he entered.
Supergrover smiled back at him and walked further into the room. "I like what you've done with the place," he said, looking around the converted sitting room. Thin padded mats covered the floor and numerous martial arts training equipment littered the area. While Supergrover had known all the time of his adoptive father's skills as a physical combatant, it was a different thing entirely to see him in action. Just looking at the mage, one could not comprehend just how deadly he could be. "What was it you wanted to see me about?"
Gomurr mystically summoned a towel to wrap around his neck and he patted the moisture away from his face. "It is about Christian," he said as he walked towards his study.
Grover followed and sat in one of the armchairs at Gomurr's request. "Is there something wrong?"
Gomurr nodded and sat in the chair opposite Grover. "It is not a grave problem, mind you, but I am beginning to become concerned. I have made several attempts to begin the Ascended One onto the Path of Light, but he has resisted all of my teachings. More accurately, he has ignored me. Now, I understand he has been through quite an ordeal at the hands of the Illuminati, but his destiny dictates that we begin his teachings as soon as possible."
"I see," was Grover's only response as he stared into Gomurr's dark, dark eyes.
"I was hoping that you could talk to him sometime."
"Well he's been sleeping a lot lately and I'd rather just let him get adjusted before I do anything drastic."
Gomurr snapped his fingers and the towel disappeared. "Drastic?" he asked as he leaned forward. "Son, don't you understand that the fate of mankind in this age is at stake? Drastic is not the word."
Grover's brow furrowed as he stared deeper into the eyes of his mentor. "You said it yourself earlier. Christian has been through a lot. He's lost his father, we can't reveal that he's still alive to his mother and he's seen things NO child should ever have to see while in the hands of the Illuminati. We're lucky that he's not catatonic from the shock."
"I don't think you're giving the Ascended One his due - especially after over a year of "adjustment". Nor are you thinking about the big picture. Do you want to have the responsibility of denying this world the Golden Age it so sorely needs, or even worse, condemning it to Darkness?
The White King stood now, his anger growing. "He's not just the 'Ascended One', Gomurr. He's my son. MINE. I say when he's ready - no one else. You and your Golden Age will just have to wait." With that, Grover turned and walked away.
Gomurr leaned back in his seat, a hand at his chin. Grover's reaction was understandable. Perhaps he had not been sensitive enough to the situation. But a voice in the back of his head pondered whether Grover would have to be eliminated for the greater good. Gomurr caught himself and pushed the troubling thought out of his mind. But what was more disturbing to Gomurr than the fact that he was hearing evil voices, was that it was his own.
***
Grey Court Starcraft Facility - Seattle, Washington
Busy was not the word to describe the massive room because it would have been an extreme understatement. Most of the guards stationed nearby had never seen so many aliens in their lives. The newly ascended Grey King had made sure that the staff knew that the Pallan workers were to be treated with the utmost respect. Daemon was highly protective of those he considered his people, no matter what planet or class they come from. By another token, the Pallan workers also knew he had high expectations of them.
From his position on the balcony overlooking the massive cavern, Daemon oversaw the Pallan repair of his fallen galaxy class gunship - the Oasis. His eyes watched every move made as he would occasionally talk into the headset he wore, using his powers to adjust the electromagnetic frequency of the microphone so that he could direct his orders and specifications toward the necessary individuals.
In the palm of his hand, he held a rectangular device about the size of a graphing calculator, linked to the onboard computer aboard the Oasis and to his personal computer system at his home. He had somewhat of a sense of security as he read the Pharaohan characters scrolling down the screen. Other then himself, there was only one other person in the Hellfire Clubs capable of reading Pharoahan. And these days, Daemon knew Khalid Hunter could care less about whatever information he was hoarding.
He might feel differently, though, had he the vaguest clue of the volume of information Daemon had downloaded from the Followers Den in Southern Egypt. [Shifting Sands] Khalid had assumed that Queen Nefer, his Pharaohan wife in his previous incarnation, had only recorded history. But she had also recorded predictions - visions she had seen of things that were yet to be. Daemon had been concerned with two particular predictions as of late.
The first one was similar to something Khalid had written down absent-mindedly earlier [Blood Feud]. "From the towers, a tidal wave of darkness will smother world, extinguishing the light of freedom. Dawn will come, but not until the price is paid in blood." If not for the several instances that Khalid's idle Pharaohan scrawls had turned out to be key indicators of future events, be probably would have left the crumpled piece of paper in the wastepaper basket he found it in.
The second one was: "Like the etches on a sundial, the Lion sees the night approaching on him. Damnation become Salvation. In his final hour, he makes his stand with two demons among men and defies the heavens. Betrayed by man, he once again sinks into the sand..." Something about this one bothered him - even more so than the first. He could almost feel the assimilated portions of Kailon's persona whispering in his ear, but ever since his separation from the symbiotic Power Elemental, Ra, he could not completely trust those feelings. He would just have to wait and see.
"Gabe... There you are!" He heard a voice shout from the entrance. Even though he knew she couldn't read anything on the computer link, he closed it anyway.
"Looks like they finished a bit of work on the Oasis," Sharon Stokes said as she made her way to him.
Daemon glanced out of the corner of his eye, taking one moment to utter a command in Pallan. "Look presentable, guys. The girlfriend is here." After turning the transmitter off, he greeted her with a kiss. There was uneasiness there - something different about how they're lips touched. No, she wasn't angry with him, but she was definitely uncomfortable. "Sure have, baby. I told them that everything had to be perfect just for you."
"Mmmm-hmmm..." Sharon answered. "I hope you're not being too hard a taskmaster on my account. I'd hate for them to associate hard labor with me."
Daemon chuckled a bit and smiled broadly. "I'm keeping them on schedule, but trying not to rush them. I want the Oasis in tip-top shape when we go home for Great-Grandpa Tekon's birthday."
"Four hundred years old," Sharon said with a sigh. "I can't believe it..."
"Well when you've got a remnant of Ra, living that long is fairly common."
"Not that," she said as she walked closer to the observation window and stared out at the huge spacecraft. "I guess...I guess I'm just nervous."
"About meeting my family?" Daemon asked.
She nodded silently.
Daemon walked up behind her and held her around the waist, planting a kiss on the top of her head. "You don't have a thing to worry about," he said comfortingly. I'll be nervous enough for both of us. "You're beautiful, intelligent, funny - they'll love you."
"I guess..."
Just... don't be surprised if my walking in there is a shock."
"I know," Sharon answered, remembering Daemon having mentioned that he hasn't seen his family since leaving Earth as Daemon-Ra so long ago. "Have you decided about Khalid, yet?"
"No, I haven't. Hashad wants me to bring him for some reason. Probably has something to do with the 5000th anniversary of Lord Kailon's 'Lion and the Snake' reading coming up. I haven't even mentioned it to him."
"It's your decision. Just like everything..." Sharon said. Daemon was about to ask what she meant by that when she cut him off. "So," she said, stepping sideways out of his embrace. "I noticed that you've been spending a lot of time in the superhuman database. Who's the villain of the month this time?"
"Everyone actually," Daemon answered curtly playing with the small computer device in his hand. "There are just way too many of them still running around out there. Something has to be done. As for who's at the top of the list right now, that'd be Black Vein - Darkheart in particular."
"Considering everything that's gone on lately, I can't say I didn't expect you to start taking the offensive. But why Darkheart? Why not the Illuminati?"
"Well, the Illuminati have been pretty quiet lately, and after learning the depth of their operations from Monet, I doubt we have the resources right now to make a dent. As for Darkheart and Black Vein, I'm damn sure they've got something to do with the violent "illness" that's been popping up all over the world. Toronto, Montreal, Albany, Philadelphia, and then Cincinnati had riots just last night. It's getting worse and spreading fast. You've seen how those people were acting on the news. Even the cops were affected. It's just not natural."
"Well bringing out people's dark sides is certainly his specialty. So what's your plan?"
He smiled. "Easy. Put a team together and blow shit up."
Now it was her turn to smile. "I'll give you one thing. You get straight to the point, don't you."
Daemon kissed her on the cheek and gave a wink as he placed his headset back on, returning to directing the Pallan construction crew. "And that's why you love me."
Sharon just nodded as she watched him yelling in an alien language at someone down below. She did love him, but she wondered if that was going to be enough.
***
Somewhere in China
The structure was extremely odd-looking in contrast to the trees among which it stood tall, overlooking the rolling hills of the countryside. The towering building jutted out from the ground as though it had impaled the very earth upon which it stood. As it rose high into the air, the very tip of it curved slightly in one direction, giving it the appearance of some giant, hooked dagger. The total blackness of its surface could only be distinguished from the darkness of the night by the soft red glow that emanated from the mystical engine within. The surrounding trees and shrubs sported a chilly layer of white frost and dangling icicles from the cold created by this evil construct.
At the base of the spire, a large dark figure moved among several cloaked men. A lightning bolt tattoo across his eye symbolized the power he held over the others, and his position as second only to The Master. The cloaked figures gathered into a circle and interlocked their arms, chanting something barely audible in a language foreign not only to this country, but to this dimension. The man known as Darkheart watched on as the Crimson Dawn energy harnessed from the spire was absorbed into the circle of monks. The entire area took on a harsh scarlet hue. With the chanting becoming louder and more pronounced, a small sphere of crimson energy formed at the center of the circle. Expanding outward until it almost touched the monks themselves, the sphere grew not only in size, but in power and brightness. Darkheart took several steps forward, his eyes wide in anticipation. Still with arms together, the cloaked men finally fell to their knees and bowed as the sphere of energy exploded to reveal an old man who landed hard on the ground before them.
Darkheart stepped over the fallen monks, their life energies consumed as well by the incantation, and covered the naked body in the center of the circle. A pale, withered hand reached into the folds of the black robes Darkheart offered him. Finding the strength returning to his legs, the man stood and hooded himself.
Darkheart took a step back from the man and bent to one knee, head bowed in respectful submission. "Welcome back...Father."
"You have done well," the old man said, a hand touching Darkheart on the shoulder. "I can feel the Crimson energies building on this world already."
"All is going according to plan."
"Have you assessed any dangers to our agenda?"
"I have tested the special ones as you suggested, but I found none great enough to stop us, M'Lord."
"Then we are well on our way. But let us not waste time with idle chat," he said, lifting Darkheart to his feet. "We still have much to do."
~~End Prologue~~
~~Chapter 1~~
Rome, Italy - The Grey Citadel
She could barely contain her nervous energy as she scurried down the hallway to Daemon's office suite in the administrative building. It wasn't so much Daemon himself that caused her anxiety. Though still getting acquainted with the intimidating King and his hardnosed approach to things, she was much more concerned with how he would view her performance in her new job as Grey Knight. She fumbled with the reports she carried, dropping a couple as she went. The even less experienced Grey Paladin Siren trailed her, picking up the trail of papers and trying not to lose her own composure. Not only was this job new to her, but this whole world. It had only been a few months since she even came to acknowledge her powers, and now she had major responsibilities in a secret organization of similarly super-powered beings. It was all a little too much for the young woman to take in all at once. And the fact that her very first encounter with Daemon wasn't at all pleasant did nothing to lighten the emotional load.
They both reached Daemon's thick wooden door and stopped, simply staring at the gold nameplate. Siren gulped and looked at Scrib, who stared back. The Paladin silently handed her back all the papers Scrib had lost along the way, and she accepted, shuffling them back into the stack, hopefully in some semblance of order. They both jumped when the door opened, then breathed a sigh of relief when Cici walked by. Their relief returned to apprehension, however, as they noticed her choking back tears.
"Bobbi?" Scrib called, stopping the petite woman as she continued to walk by.
"Oh," she said in her soft voice, dabbing at the edges of her eyes with a handkerchief, "are you here to see Daemon too?"
Siren gulped audibly and managed to squeeze out, "Yes."
Tracy reached over and touched Bobbi's face with a concerned expression, "Ach, why were ye cryin'?"
"No, I wasn't crying..." the meek little woman said, unwilling to admit it, even if she had. "I'm fine. Really. Daemon's waiting for you now I would suppose. Don't want to be late, now do you?"
Now Tracy gulped. "I suppose not."
"OK. Then I'll talk to you later. Daemon wants me to...do something for him." With that, Cici continued down the hall. Tears began to well up in her eyes again as she let the keys jingle in her hand. She never thought she would truly own a car of her own, much less anything else Daemon promised would be delivered to her suite of rooms at the Citadel. 'Belated birthday gifts,' he had called them. He had called her to his office to give her the news personally, along with the keys to a new car - HER car. Such a thing seemed to represent the new freedom she enjoyed. It was HER car and she could go wherever SHE wanted. In fact, this was Daemon's 'orders' to her for the rest of the day. To take her new car and go whereever she wanted. It meant a lot to her, almost as much as Echo's gift, and she was barely able to keep her composure. Picking up her step, she continued towards the garage. There was a whole wide world to explore now. She didn't want to lose a minute.
Finally building up the gumption to move again, Tracy Keenan stepped into the suite and was immediately told to continue on from the waiting room by the secretary, Siren following closely behind. Before she could tap lightly on the translucent glass, Daemon said, "Come in," from the other side.
There was absolute silence as Scrib and Siren sat in the two chairs opposite Daemon's desk. The Grey king didn't look up at first, continuing with whatever paperwork he had been looking over before they came in. The absence of any noise or motion wasn't helping either woman's state of mind. Finally, he pushed the papers aside and looked up.
"Your report?" he asked curtly with outstretched hand.
Scrib placed the papers in his palm wordlessly and waited while he perused the documents. When he looked up, she was terribly afraid of what he'd say.
"Good," he commented, and both women allowed themselves to breath.
"You've done well to acclimate yourself with so many new items, Scrib.
I know it must have been difficult learning about all the alien technology I've brought aboard since becoming King."
"Thank ye, Daemon. Hard work, but I like it."
Daemon nodded. "I'm glad you think so, because there's plenty more where that came from." He flipped through the papers once more and looked up a few seconds later. "I want the defense response time cut in half for mystical threats, and I'm having some new personnel brought in from Palla and Pharaoh that should be briefed on procedure, regulations and integrated into the grid. Also, I'm invoking some standard equipment for all Court members. The specs should be on their way to your office as we speak. See that everyone is notified."
Tracy smiled as she jotted down notes on a pad. This was going better than she thought. It was definitely going to continue to be hard work, but it was damn enjoyable. Siren looked on, encouraged by Scrib's improved mood, and listened intently. If Tracy could do it, so could she.
"I'd also like to see a Danger Room simulation of the Defense Grid in action against a variety of enemies. In fact, I was thinking of increasing the number of required Danger Room training hours for Court members. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. After the grid is fully operational and optimized, we'll run sim's trying to break in. Should test the system for any unforeseen bugs and give us a good workout on top of it."
Scrib was wearing a full smile by now. "Oh, that's wicked," she mumbled as she wrote, especially after seeing what the Defense Grid could do. Daemon's design was terribly effective, even in the crude, unfinished version they had running at that moment. The Grey Court was in for a beating in the Danger Room, a number of them actually.
"Siren," Daemon said, making the young mutant look up from Scrib's notes. "I want you up to speed on weapons, tactics and close-combat within the next 30 days. You've done well so far with the basics, but as Paladin, you need expertise in all areas. Think you're up to it?"
"I guess I'll have to be, won't I." Daemon gave a hint of a smile that made Siren very pleased. He should smile more often,she thought.
"Good answer," he said. "That's all I have for you right now. You may go." As they made their way back out the door, Daemon called after them. "One more thing. I'm assembling a strike force against Black Vein and you two are on it. It's about time you ladies got some field experience. You'll be notified when I need you."
Scrib nodded and closed the door behind her. Siren immediately hugged her. "He doesn't seem nearly as mean as he was when I first got here."
The Grey Knight smiled. "Oh he hasn't even gotten started on us yet."
***
"Hello, Christian," Gomurr said as he entered the boy's play room at the White Court mansion.
The guard at the door to the room closed it behind the mage and snapped back to attention. Gomurr was pleased at Grover's changes to security around the boy. Surely now that the Illuminati knew of his existence, every major subversive organization on the planet would be after the boy. It was about time Supergrover began to recognize the importance of his son.
Christian continued playing quietly with his building blocks, apparently constructing some type of tower.
"I brought something for you today, Christian," Gomurr continued, trying to remain patient despite the boy ignoring him. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small, glass ball. "This is a concentration sphere," he said.
Christian placed a final block on the tower and stood up, skipping about in a circle around it. "Gotta keep warm. It's cold here."
"People like us use concentration spheres to help us understand our powers, and ourselves" Gomurr tried to continue, allowing the ball to float above his open palm.
With determination on his face, the boy began to kick over the smaller block structures he had built all around the tower, shouting, "Boom," every time he knocked one down.
Gomurr floated the sphere over to Christian, hoping to catch the boy's attention with the flying, sparkly trinket, but to no effect. He was as oblivious to the sphere's presence as he was to Gomurr's.
Dropping to his knees, Christian knocked several of the support blocks at the bottom of the tall tower and watched it tumble over, yelling, "Boom," even louder than before. "Yay! The good guys got it!"
Gomurr cursed to himself, quickly walking out, incensed at the Ascended One's continued disregard for his would-be mentor. The door slammed behind him and the sphere fell out of the air.
Without looking, Christian caught it, before it could hit the ground and with the slightest gesture made it disappear. Gomurr would find it later that day on his desk in his office. Christian went on to continue building yet another tower with more small buildings around it.
"The bad guys are building another one," he said. Pausing a moment, he looked towards the door and then back down again. "I don't like the black man. I like the white man better."
A pair of glowing red eyes appeared in the shadowed corner of the room, a low voice coming from the folds of darkness. "Come now child," the voice said. "I'm not THAT pale."
Christian smiled as he continued building the new tower and the eyes disappeared once again. "White man."
***
The Grey Citadel
With a telekinetic blast, Mystikal vanquished the last demon in the simulation, the ferocious beast depixelation into nothing. The computer announced her time and she pumped a triumphant fist - sixteen seconds better than her previous fastest time. She was still in the throws of elation at her new accomplishment when the door hissed open and a voice called from behind.
"Mind if I join you?"
She spun around to see Daemon walking towards her, his leather coat flapping behind him as the double-doors slid shut. "Just finished, but we can start up a new one if you like."
Daemon stopped about five paces from her, hands in his pockets. "I was thinking about a more...personal work-out."
Mystikal smiled. Most people would find such a challenge intimidating and react as such. But knowing this, she intentionally gave Daemon the opposite reaction he was used to. She could tell it got under his skin and liked that. "You think you can take me?"
Daemon raised an eyebrow as Mystikal took a fighting stance. "I think the more appropriate question, my dear, is do you think you can take ME."
She didn't answer with words, but instead rushed in with a flurry of impressive kicks and punches. Her speed was incredible and her strength was astounding. She was "borrowing" Daemon's powers.
Letting her take the offensive, Daemon blocked and dodged most of her strikes, taking a hit now and again to fully gauge how well she copied his abilities. When he was satisfied with his assessment, the battle changed very quickly. Daemon caught Mystikal's leg as she went for a high kick to his head. Her eyes widened (but only a bit) as she felt his fingers clasp down on her ankle like a vise. Stepping into her body, Daemon gave her a light tap on the forehead with his index finger and pushed her back a little.
"Tag," he said. "You're it."
Her look was a bit more intense as she attacked again with a roundhouse and a spinning back-knuckle. But Daemon ducked underneath her sweeping leg and caught her hand before she could make contact. He tapped her on the stomach this time and released her.
She was angry by now and came again, this time moving even faster than before. Two kicks, a punch, another kick all came up short. Again and again, she leaped and flipped and spun, trying to find an opening, but none came. As fast as she was, he was still faster. As strong as she became, he was still stronger. At last, as Mysty was bringing her leg down in an axe kick to his shoulder, Daemon caught her leg in one hand and snatched her throat in the other, taking her down to the floor and pinning her there.
"Dammit," she exclaimed in a rare moment in which she showed her frustration in front of Daemon. "Let go."
"What did you do wrong?"
"What?"
"Why did you lose?"
"Because you're too fast."
"No. That's not it."
"You're too strong."
"Wrong again."
Mysty grunted in exasperation. "What then? I wasn't good enough? I didn't push myself to my limits?"
"No. You're a damn good fighter. And among all the Court members, you've clocked more time training than most everyone else has. I've seen your vids. You work as hard as anyone, trying to better yourself and trying to improve the use of your powers."
"Well if I'm so good, why did I lose?"
"Because you were trying to prove something. You're trying to show me you can beat me at my own game, go toe-to-toe with me and show me you can use my powers better than I can. When you fight, fight to win, not to prove yourself."
Mysty simply huffed and turned away from Daemon's gaze. "You gonna let me up or what?"
Releasing his grasp on her leg and throat, Daemon helped her to her feet. "I'm assembling a strike force," he said as he began to walk out, "You're on it. I'll let you know when to meet in the war room."
Mystikal watched as the door closed behind the Grey King and sighed when he had gone. "Computer: Run program from the beginning. Increase to level 9."
~~End Chapter 1~~
~~Chapter 2~~
The Grey Citadel
Daemon paced back and forth near the holographic image of their first target, the intensity of his focus displayed in his unchanging expression. "Omen will deposit us here after Mysty and Byron complete their telepathic and magic sweeps," he said, using his sword, Anubis to point to a spot on the hologram. "We insert in standard arrowhead attack formation with me at point. Echo and Scrib will have my immediate flanks followed by Mysty and Siren. Byron and Omen will bring up the rear. I'm expecting at least three guard platoons to converge on us once we make our presence known."
"I believe I could mask our presence long enough to by-pass the initial wave of guards," Byron said as Daemon paused to change the hologram.
He nodded; pleased at the improvement he'd seen in his court's ability to think tactically. "It's a good strategy that I would have requested myself. But I want them to know we're coming. I want mayhem and destruction. No need to sneak in the back when we could just blow down the front door."
He observed their faces for a moment as he moved on to the second stage of the operation. Scrib and Siren were not used to him or his methods but seemed to be adjusting well given the circumstances. Though Siren was pale, a bit of fear in her eyes. She was the rookie of rookies, about to be placed in a situation of deadly seriousness. True, she had excelled beyond expectations in the Danger Room, but the real thing was always light years beyond training. Her mettle would certainly be tested tonight. Omen River appeared equally as daunted by the task ahead, but he too had showed promise in the Danger Room. Daemon was treading on new territory here with three virtually untested warriors on the strike team.
The image of a black tower spun slowly above the holographic projector, even the artificial red glow of the structure sent chills down everyone's spines. Surrounding the building was a thick wall with a gun tower on each corner. Guards littered the area and missile batteries could be seen in the background.
"This is the main objective. Collateral damage sends a message to Black Vein, but taking down this bitch is priority. It's said that the closer you get to it, the greater the chance of becoming effected by its energy. Byron and I aren't sure how effective she can be in protecting everyone so stay clear. Mystikal and I will be in charge of leveling the building with long-range attacks. The rest of you watch our backs and take down as many structures as you can. I want the place leveled."
"And the guards?" Echo asked, her soft voice so rarely heard that everyone seemed to fall silent at the sound of it.
"I want NOTHING left standing when we leave."
Echo gave him an odd look but decided not to say anything at that moment. There would come a more appropriate time to discuss what was on her mind.
"Scrib," Daemon said. "I trust everyone's been brought up to speed on equipment and have their Jhehuna."
"Aye," she said, raising her arm to display the watch-like device on her wrist. "Everyone should have theirs by now. Otherwise, one of those wankers in supply is gonna get thumped good."
"What does Jhehuna mean anyway?" Mystikal asked, examining her own.
"It's Bulari for 'Companion.'"
"Just wondering why you didn't call it by some cheesy military name like, 'the Grey Companion Unit' or something," she commented further with a chuckle.
Siren laughed. "I like that. I can totally see Daemon yelling at us for not having our 'GCU's'."
Everyone laughed now.
Daemon smirked. "Alright you jokesters. Stop fucking around. Just make sure you know how to use your 'GCU' and that it's functioning properly. And don't forget your sidearms either. We meet in launch bay 2 in one hour."
Everyone dispersed and Daemon stood silently near the holographic projector. Sheathing Anubis and turning off the lights, he waited until a distinct presence made itself known in the dark room.
"Will you be needing my assistance?" the voice from the shadows asked.
"No," Daemon responded towards the glowing red eyes that seemed to hover, disembodied in the corner. "You should keep doing what you're doing and keep a low profile. You're still 'dead,’ remember? And for now, it's best we think of you that way."
"And my position? What happens when people start asking when you will fill it?"
"I'll deal with one problem at a time. But right now, yours is the most important task. Do it well."
"I'll be in touch."
"I know you will."
The eyes disappeared and Daemon left the room.
***
The Mediterranean Sea never looked so sad - not to Sharon Stokes, anyway. Standing atop the balcony of the Citadel's Royal Bedchamber, she looked out over the dark blue waves sitting just under the darker sky. Greyish black clouds hovered over the horizon, casting a shadow over the half-moon's reflection in the water. The overcast skies dimmed the starlight as well, giving the night's darkness that much more power. Only the light from inside the mansion, pouring through the French doors, managed to protect her from midnight's black embrace.
Staring off towards a ship's light far in the distance, she hugged herself against a chilly gust of wind that caused her silken robe to flap about her body. So much had happened in the past year or so. So much sadness from the Millennium Massacre remained, so much hard work put into rehabilitating her brother Michael so that he could walk again, and so much pain caused by what he had done shortly after [see No Angel Came]. Then there was the trouble with Josh and Khalid, and Loki and the revelations about herself that plagued her mind. At times she didn't know up from down anymore. She felt like a foreigner in her own mind, a stranger in her own skin. But through it all was Gabe. Their relationship had remained strong and he had proven to be one of her greatest comforts - her rock, the one constant she could lean on. But there was something wrong of late.
She loved him; there was no question of that. And she knew that he loved her as well. But with things weighing so heavily on her mind, she didn't know if she could continue with him. As with all matters concerning love, it was a complicated situation fraught with conflicting emotions and always that inner voice, the rational mind speaking opposite of the heart. She didn't want to lose him, but could she stay without losing herself?
His approach was virtually silent, not on purpose but a characteristic of his natural motions. But as quiet as he footsteps against the balcony were, Sharon could feel his presence. Daemon wrapped his arms around her waist and planted a soft kiss on her neck.
"Hi," he said.
"Late night again for you, huh?" she asked, trying to distract him as she regained her composure, putting on the brave face she had worn for so long.
"Big operations coming up. Have to make sure everything is set."
"You're a control freak, you know that right?"
Daemon turned her around and kissed her, pulling back with a smile. "I know. Coming to bed soon?"
Sharon sighed and glanced again out to the Sea. "In a minute."
She watched as he disappeared inside and then returned her gaze to the horizon, fighting tears as she thought and thought and thought...
***
Five Oaks Blues Club
Friday nights are always the busiest nights at the Five Oaks. People come in from all over the state of New York, not only for the chicken quesadillas, but to see what world-class blues band the owner brought in that week. The place was packed with people talking, eating, drinking and dancing. From his place at the bar, the blonde bartender watched his patrons have a generally good time as he dried off a number of glasses. "Ron," he called toward the back. "Do you have that order up for Carlisle yet?"
"Not yet, Trace... Not yet... I'm fixing the macaroni and cheese, now..." the cook from the back answered.
Trace went on about his way cleaning the bar as he made his way to one customer who was not a regular. He knew he had to be very cautious as he approached this particular customer. Something about the way the man was sitting let Trace know that he was in deep thought. His tanned fingers drummed against the counter over and over again, occasionally shaping into a fist and slamming it against the surface. Trace leaned against the bar, carefully wiping the dishrag just out of reach of the stranger. "You look down, friend. Want another pint of Guinness?"
Trapped in his own trouble, Gomurr didn't bother craning his head to look at the bartender. "Sure. Why not..." he said.
"One of the requirements for being a bartender, you know, is that you must have good ears. You want to give my ear a workout?"
"Yeah?" Gomurr scoffed. "I doubt you'd understand."
"Couldn't hurt to try, could it?"
"All right," he answered. "I'll tell you all about it. The fate of the entire world lies in the hands of a six-year-old child who must begin on the Path of Light before it's too late. Otherwise, the planet will likely plunge into a millennium of darkness and suffering. I am the only one that can teach him to be a just ruler but he refuses to heed my instructions or to even acknowledge my presence. Not to mention, I've entertained thoughts lately of killing his father and anyone else who gets in my way. So tell me, Mr. Bartender. How are your ears now?"
For a moment, the bartender stared at Gomurr, a confused expression on his face as he blinked several times in succession. "I think you've had enough," he said after the long silence, removing the glass and the bottle away from Gomurr.
Grumbling, Gomurr turned away on the barstool to direct his attention toward the dance floor. Typically, it would be easy for a man of Gomurr's height to be lost in a crowded dance floor. These days Gomurr was closer to a typical height, about five foot seven. The color of his skin had darkened somewhat from the pale white it has normally been. People such as Dr. Torres and Alice had expressed a concern about the physical changes having overcome him recently, but Gomurr didn't mind. After over 800 years at the same size, the change was welcome.
A stunning redhead caught his eye across the dance floor as she moved her hips to the music that filled the club. He walked steadily across the room making a straight line towards his 'prey.' People seemed to jerk away from him as he passed through the crowd as though something bitterly cold had touched them. When he reached her, he took her by the arm. Like the others, she began to back away, but when she met eyes with the mage, she moved a bit closer. She bit her bottom lip as she eyed his physique, Gomurr returning the gesture as he stared hungrily at her body.
"Dance with me," he virtually growled at her though they had already begun to move together to the music.
She pressed against him, grinding her hips into his. Gomurr responded by reaching around and slipping his hands into the back pockets of her tight jeans.
As they danced, a man stormed over from a corner and separated them forcefully. "Amber! What the hell is going on here?" he fumed.
The woman held her head, stumbling a bit in the man's grip. She looked as though she had just woken from a dream, confused and stammering.
Gomurr just smirked. "We were dancing."
"Who do you think you are feeling up my girlfriend? I should break your goddamn nose for that, you little shit."
Gomurr shrugged and gave the man a quick kick to the midsection, sending him flying backwards into a nearby table. Drinks tumbled to the floor and burst in little explosions of liquid and glass. The man crumpled into a ball on the floor, holding his ribs, one of which he would discover later was broken. Amber snapped out of her daze and ran to his side, screaming at Gomurr. He couldn't make out her words, however, over the shouting of the other people in the club. A dozen fights had broken out in small pockets all around them. And like wild fire, they spread into each other until the entire place was ablaze with confrontation and violence. Despite the heat of a hundred bodies crammed into such a small area, there was a prevailing cold. And it followed Gomurr as he walked, untouched through the club. Dropping two twenty-dollar bills on the bar to settle his tab, he strolled out with his hands in his pockets whistling the last tune the band had played before they started to beat each other with their instruments.
"Taxi!"
~~End Chapter 2~~
~~Chapter 3~~
Grey Citadel - Launch Bay 2
"Alright, people," Daemon said, walking into the launch bay with determination in his step. "Let's get ready to move out. GCU's at full capabilities?"
"Check," each of the strike team said after reading their unit's self-diagnostic.
"Then lock and load."
Everyone drew their Mark-5 Razer pulse handguns from their holsters and locked a power pack clip into place before returning it. Everyone, that is, except Echo.
"Echo," Daemon said as he walked up to her, "Where's your sidearm?"
As usual, her response was silent, as she looked down at her own uniform, highlighting the absence of either a shoulder belt, waist belt or leg belt standard issue holster. She looked up at Daemon again and shrugged.
Daemon found himself distracted for a moment as he too looked over her tight-fighting uniform. "Well don't you think you should get one before we leave?"
She shook her head.
"Oh fuck. This is bad," Scrib mumbled.
Daemon's expression was quickly beginning to contort into a scowl. "I don't know if you got the memo or not, but Mark-5 Razers are standard equipment for all combat personnel, and that includes you. I suggest you go get one from storage. I'm on a schedule here and I don't want to be late to kick Darkheart's ass."
Echo shook her head again. "No guns," she said calmly, despite Daemon's growing antagonism.
Mystikal cringed, knowing Daemon's temper intimately. "I'm going to go hide over there," she whispered to Siren, who took a couple of steps back herself.
"What do you mean, "no guns"? Daemon spat. "There's a reason everyone's supposed to carry a gun. It's back up in case our powers don't work or especially in your case, if your abilities don't particularly have much offensive power. It's for your own good, now go get your damn gun so we can leave."
She simply shook her head again.
Daemon's anger was beginning to get to him now and he stepped closer to Echo, glaring at her, his voice low and enraged. "I will NOT have you endangering MY team because YOU have some problem with killing. If you have to kill you will do it and you will fucking do it gladly. Do I make myself clear? Now get your FUCKING gun."
Echo stood fast and crossed her arms, continuing to stare up at him. He was standing so close that she could feel the angry heat from his body and almost smell his emotions. Though the argument seemed to be about following his orders, she knew that it was more about his concern for her safety and that of the team. At that moment, he reminded her of someone else she knew who had a...passionate temperament - another killing machine with whom she'd gotten into similar arguments. It was odd how alike and yet how different they were, but she definitely saw it, especially in his eyes.
They stood there like that for a few seconds as everyone else looked on.
Neither seemed to back down and the stalemate appeared as though it would go on forever.
Daemon finally spoke again, his anger burning hot inside him. Were Echo a man, he would have resorted to violent persuasion by now, but they both knew he wouldn't lift a hand against her. "Put...on...the gun."
Echo vented a quick breath through her nostrils in frustration and picked up a gun belt from a nearby table, wrapping it around her waist. She gave a look to Daemon as though to say, "Happy now?" before taking her place in the arrowhead formation.
Daemon stalked over to the point position and gave Omen River the signal to open a wormhole.
Echo whispered in Daemon's ear as he was in front of her, "Don't expect me to fire it."
Daemon whispered as well over his shoulder, "We'll finish this later," before stepping through the wormhole.
***
Santa Monica, California
The secluded beach was lit only by the flickering luminescence of the campfire. The tide was slow and rhythmic on this end of the coast, the water sloshing back and forth over the moist sand. The Pacific Ocean breeze blew gently over the couple sitting close together on a blanket near the fire. Hand in hand, they stared in silent awe at the star-filled sky.
The young man turned to the woman near him, love in his eyes. Turning too from her absent-minded stargazing, the young blonde faced him. In an instant, their lips touched and they held each other close, enjoying the peace they found here alone.
A sonic boom shook them from their amorous embrace as a fiery red blaze streaked overhead out over the ocean. The crackling fireball plummeted into the dark waters with a horrible crash causing a shock wave so powerful that it knocked the couple onto their backs. They looked at one another with questions written on their faces, but they wouldn't have time to address them at that moment as they both noticed the water bubbling and churning not more than a few hundred feet out from shore and moving in a straight line towards them. They barely had time to shuffle away before the water just in front of them spiraled up as though into a tornado's funnel cloud.
Just as suddenly as the falling star surprised them, the funnel of water took on the shape of a towering humanoid man. The giant liquid construct stretched his mighty arms and, unfortunately for the happy couple who were bearing witness, turned his gaze towards them. The creature came down from the lofty height of his full size and came face to watery face with the frightened man.
"This is Earth, is it not mortal?" the colossus boomed.
The man trembled visibly, standing between the monster and his girlfriend, unable to form the words.
"Answer!"
"YES!" the woman shouted at last, bursting into tears as she did.
The creature smirked and stood back up, taking a survey of the surrounding area before looking again down at the couple. The Parliament has chosen an interesting world for the Gathering, he thought, before disappearing again beneath the waves, leaving the couple dumbstruck by what they saw, but without a thing to prove the story true.
And while they discussed an oath of silence over the incident, the water elemental made his way cross the Pacific Ocean.
~~End Chapter 3~~
~~Chapter 4~~
White Court Mansion
Guard duty at any Hellfire Court facility had only two conditions - superhumanly deadly or boring and quiet. Tonight, as it had been for the past few months or so, was like the latter. As a former U.S. Marine who had served in operations across the globe, the lack of action was torture on the guard as he paced the hallway of the upper level bedroom suites. Though the alternative usually involved an impossibly powerful foe with whom only the Court members themselves could contend with, the guard longed for maybe just a simple burglary to stop, or a suspicious noise - even if it only turned out to be an errant squirrel. As he passed near the door of the White Mage Gomurr, he thought he might get his wish. A few odd noises came from beyond the door and caught his attention. Moving to place his ear against the varnished wood, he heard a grunt and then the sound of several glass items breaking.
"Master?" he called, trying the door to find it locked. "Master Shang Chek?"
There was another grunt, a thump and the sound of a piece of furniture hitting the floor.
"Master?!"
More commotion.
"Master I'm coming," the guard said finally, as he kicked down the door with rifle at the ready. He was not prepared to see Gomurr with a woman straddled over him, lying on the floor near his overturned desk. Nor was he prepared for the burst of Crimson energy that impacted his armour and sent him flying back into the hallway.
The woman ran back into Gomurr's bedroom, trying to cover herself with a meditation rug as Gomurr stood and walked towards the guard. The scowl on his face was a sight few had seen on the generally mild-mannered sorcerer. The guard looked up as Gomurr came to stand over him.
"Master...I..."
Gomurr would hear no apologies as he struck the man again and again. When he had finally had his fill, Gomurr stepped back, his anger satiated for now as he regarded the guard's broken face and the blood-spattered wall on which his unconscious body lay. The mage didn't bother to wipe the blood from his hands as he stepped back into his bedchamber to finish what he had begun with the young lady.
***
Texas, just outside Houston
The battle was going just as Daemon had planned it. Surveying the battlefield, he took note of how his team was performing. He had deliberately paired them off in such a way that the less experienced could follow the other. Omen River used his Mark-5 with exceptional precision, laying down excellent cover fire for his teammates while taking out as many guards as he could. Byron hovered over the battlefield, constantly scanning for mystical threats while finding time to fire blasts of hellfire at clusters of soldiers or buildings. Displaying her remarkable power-mimicking abilities, Mystikal attacked large groups of soldiers with an array of powers while Siren watched her back. Morphing into a Rhino, she charged through a line of guards, taking out who ever was left standing by turning into a giant ape and tossing them about like rag dolls. Echo and Scrib were showing fierce hand-to-hand skills, both supplementing their fighting with the well-placed use of their powers. Daemon was transfixed on Echo for a moment, her movements so fluid and graceful. She looked less like she was fighting and more like she was dancing. The fact that she had managed to hold her own without firing a shot from her Mark-5 was equally impressive.
As he watched, Daemon took measure of the remaining force left to resist their attacks and found them wanting. "Phase two," he called through his GCU.
Mysty appeared next to Daemon. With a nod to each other, they let loose a telekinetic and energy beam barrage upon the defenseless spire's base. The ground trembled as the structure began to collapse. Now, firing blast after blast of energy pulses at the remaining buildings, it wasn't long before the entire camp was nothing more than flaming rubble.
"We've got runners," Omen River said, taking aim at what few soldiers had managed to flee.
Daemon placed a hand over the gun and Omen River lowered his weapon. "Let them go. We need someone to report back to Darkheart what happened here. Lucky bastard wasn't here this time, but I want him to know for damn sure that we're coming for him. Take us home."
With that, Omen River opened another wormhole and the strike force returned to the Citadel, leaving a trail of death and destruction behind them.
~~End Chapter 4~~
~~Chapter 5~~
White Court Mansion
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Gomurr didn't bother to look at Supergrover as he continued pacing back and forth in his office.
"You nearly killed him! What in God's name did you think you were doing?"
Gomurr remained silent as he stared at the picture of Christian on Grover's desk.
"Answer me, damn it!"
"Oh shut up, you petulant child," the mage finally said.
"What?"
"You heard me. Have you any idea the pressures I face? Do you know what it's like to seek out something lifetime after millennial lifetime and failing at each turn? I have been charged with forging Man's salvation, and the one chance that comes along after so long is denied me by an impudent brat like yourself."
"How dare you presume..."
"I'll presume more than that," Gomurr said as he stood and approached Supergrover. "I'll dare to presume that you are jealous of your own son. I'll presume that instead of fostering the boy in the manner in which I had hoped to do with you, you have decided to deny him any hope of ever rivaling his father. I'll presume that in a way, you are vying with your own son for the attention of your adoptive father. But you are NOT the Ascended One Grover. You never have been and you never will be. Once you accept your place and the responsibility you have as the Ascended's father, we'll all be better off."
"What's gotten into you?" Grover asked, softer this time, the concern evident in his voice. "It's like you're a different person. And it's not just your physical changes - the height, the muscles, the darker skin. Your personality has been changing for months now."
"What I've been doing is growing weary of catering to your deluded whims."
"You beat a man into a coma with your bare hands!" Supergrover shouted again. "You at least owe me a goddamn explanation."
But instead of offering one, Gomurr grabbed Grover and shoved him forcefully into the wall behind him "I owe you NOTHING, you worthless mongrel."
Supergrover stood stone-like, a grim expression on his face as he stared into unfamiliar eyes. "You gonna hit me, 'father'? You gonna flex your new muscles and beat me into a bloody pulp like you did that guard?"
Gomurr continued to stare daggers into Grover's eyes, but his trembling hands belied the inner turmoil.
Grover slowly pried Gomurr's hands off his collar and ushered him back to his seat. "You need help. But I don't know what's going on with you."
Gomurr couldn't look up at him anymore. He couldn't bear to see the hurt he had put in this young man's eyes, having to watch his only paternal figure become a vengeful animal. "I...I need to meditate, to get away from here. I cannot be among others in this condition. Perhaps...perhaps...I should return to China for a time, to my old monastery." He stood and walked out the door, his gaze still cast into nothingness like a wandering zombie.
Grover pounded his fist against the empty seat Gomurr had left. He wanted so badly to help him, to fix whatever had broken, but he didn't know how. There was definitely something going on. What exactly that was, would have to be a question left unanswered for now.
***
Darkheart let out an angry cry and overturned the table at which he sat. His food and dishes spilled out onto the floor with a crash and he threw the cell phone into the messy pile.
Coming to stand next to Lao Tsung on the scaffolding around this latest spire, Darkheart lamented his organization's failures. "It's the fifth facility this week, m'Lord. At this rate, we will not be able to keep ahead of them in construction."
Lao Tsung looked very uninterested as he examined the spire, running his fingers along the smooth black material. "Then you must commit more troops to guard the facilities."
"I'm already spread out too thin. This endeavor has tapped all of my resources."
"You told me they were no threat to my plans."
"I didn't...It was a...miscalculation on my part. I didn't anticipate them being so proactive. There was no precedent for it."
"Then learn, adapt and destroy them. Or at the very least divert their attention. I can ill afford to lose my foothold in this world now."
"Divert their attention..." Darkheart repeated to himself and mused. "I think I know what to do now. Thank you, m'Lord."
***
The ship is of a configuration never before seen in this sector of the galaxy. On its hull are emblazoned the symbols of over a hundred worlds - all united in a consortium of scientific investigation larger than any endeavour in history. But though they represent a peaceful collective of scientists, this particular ship is meant for an entirely different purpose.
A dozen external weapons stations were prominent along the star craft's body, and several internal bays housed a number of small fighters. Also aboard this lethal alien machine was a squadron of warriors assembled from each of the consortium worlds, representing the best of the best killers of those races. As with similar crafts with similar personnel and armaments across the galaxy, they were on a mission of dire importance.
Over a year ago now, a small portion of an emerald liquid was stolen from a heavily guarded research center orbiting a world on the outskirts of the Milky Way. This liquid possessed the ability to duplicate any complex cellular structure given simply tactile contact to a sample. With enough of the liquid, sentient beings could be duplicated perfectly down to the cellular level, including memories, powers and abilities. Though the stolen sample was minimal in and of itself, it would take only the right chemical cocktail to allow it to multiply and grow into tons worth of duplication material in a few weeks time. The most disturbing part was that any duplicates could be totally bonded to their creators, totally compelled to act out their orders. A rogue element with the potential to create duplicates of important figures or create a superhuman army was a situation no one wanted. Thus, the death squads were disbursed across the galaxy to find and destroy the duplicates and their creator in the hopes of preserving the balance of power and keeping possibly the worse cataclysm ever to plague galactic civilization from occurring.
The navigator emerged from the cockpit in the forward section, stepping through the small portal into the troop compartment. The soldiers, each a different shape, size, colour and texture, all looked up at the feline alien entering their area. It had been days since their departure and they were growing restless. But the navigator's grim expression soon cracked a smile, displaying his enlarged canines.
"We have just entered the Sol System," he said. "Terra is near and you'll finally get to do what you've been waiting to do."
One of the troops drew a long, curved field knife from its sheath and ran his scaly finger along it's edge, checking the sharpness of the blade.
"You'll get to taste blood soon," the soldier spoke to his weapon.
~~End Chapter 5~~
~~Chapter 6~~
It was peaceful on the western face of the Citadel's estate with only the sound of the wind and the waves reaching over the outer wall to the large grassy lawn. And without the clutter of office buildings, towers and the like as on the East side, the sky was so big and open. It was one of the main reasons she chose to have a small cabin built here where she could get away from the hustle and bustle of the Grey Mansion at the top of the island's crest.
Echo sighed with contentment as she brushed one of her horses in the stables. Having sent the stable hands away for the day, she had taken to the care and grooming of the horses herself. With long strokes, she used the wide brush to smooth the Arabian's shiny coat, losing herself in the silent repetition.
Her dog, Maheegun lay near her feet while she worked, resting in a bundle of hay. Suddenly, his ears shot up and he raised his head, looking towards the stable's entrance. Leaping into a sprint, Maheegun charged out of the stable. Echo didn't turn as Daemon walked in, Maheegun walking about him, wagging his tail excitedly. Not many visitors had ventured out here just yet. He let out a soft howl as a greeting, sounding almost like an odd ‘hello.’
"Daemon," Echo greeted him without turning from her task. She had heard him coming even before Maheegun did.
"Echo," Daemon responded, coming to stand just behind and to her left. "We need to talk."
"Oh?" she asked, though she knew this conversation was coming all along.
"I don't appreciate blatant disregard for my orders," he began. "If I tell you to wrap a damn boa constrictor around your neck, I expect it to be done and without argument."
Echo smirked as she moved on to brushing the horse's mane. The Grey King was always one for overstatement so she knew he did not mean that literally, but the point remained the same.
"You MUST understand that if I'm to maintain my authority, I cannot abide by insubordination on any level and from anyone," he continued.
"As it is, I should punish you for that infraction as an example to the others."
Echo stopped and turned towards him with a raised eyebrow.
Daemon stared back for a moment, unsure how to take the rather indignant gesture. "I'm going to let it slide this time. But if you ever have any objections to my orders from now on, keep it to yourself until we can meet privately."
She smirked again, going back to grooming the horse. "Is that all?"
"No. I also wanted to talk about this, no-killing thing..."
"Nothing you can say will change my mind on that, Daemon," she interrupted quickly. Daemon didn't think he'd ever heard this particular tone from her before. "It's not that I can't kill, but that I choose not to."
"You don't have to remind me how experienced you are in the field. I've picked up a fare amount of that from my information sources. I just want to ensure the safety of any strike team I put you on."
"Well Daemon, I can tell you I'm experienced enough to know how to take people down without killing them. I get the job done. Isn't that enough?"
"I suppose it will have to be until I can persuade you otherwise."
"People have tried and failed to persuade me in that regard for ages. Do you really think you can do any better?"
Daemon didn't respond for a moment as he sized her up. If in nothing else, this seemed to be one of the few areas where she would not waver or compromise. Though it would leave a bad taste in his mouth, he had to accept that he could not force her to make such a fundamentally personal change no matter what "power" he held over her as King. She was right that the success of the mission without casualties was foremost, and the means by which it is accomplished secondary. She had proven her capabilities in accomplishing the former last night without resorting to his brand of combat. Daemon sighed as he petted Maheegun on the head who looked up at him wagging his tail.
"In any case, you WILL carry your Mark-5 with you on all combat missions. When and how you use it will be at your own discretion. Keep in mind that it has a stun energy setting as well."
"Right. Are we finished now?"
"Yes."
"Good."
There was a short silence between them as Echo continued grooming and Daemon did not move from his spot.
"I've never ridden a horse," Daemon said finally.
Echo turned and smiled. "You should learn."
Now Daemon smiled as he began to walk away. "Yes. I think I should."
***
Middlegate, Nevada
"Oh for fuck sake..." Scrib said as they stepped through Omen River's wormhole. "Yer kidding me right? This can't be happening."
Siren looked about the demolished town, watching the people run in all directions panicked and injured. "No, I don't think they were joking when they described it as 'pandemonium'."
"I still want to know what freak forgot to lock the doors at The Vault," Mystikal said, "There must be a hundred super villains all over Nevada."
Daemon sniffed the air before turning back to his team. "Most of them have passed through here within the last two hours. They're on foot so they couldn't have gotten far. Byron, Mysty, you two run air recon out to a radius of 12 miles. I want to know who, when and in what direction they're headed. Omen River, you're on round-up. Grab as many allies as you can find. MG has wanted some action lately, the White Court might want a piece and I'm sure the Hellions could use the workout. The rest of you, round up the norms and get them some first-aid. Go."
Scrib ran beside Daemon for a moment before fanning out to collect the frightened populace of this poor town. "You think it was an accident?"
He smirked as he looked around, still assessing the situation. "Doubt it. Darkheart is desperate. He's trying to keep us busy, trying to buy himself some time."
"Time for what?"
"Wish I knew. Now get going. Tonight's gonna be a long night."
***
The Grey Citadel - Royal Bedchamber
The outer room of Daemon's suite was completely dark except for the blue glow of his computer screen. He sat low in the chair at the desk, nestled into the soft leather with his arms crossed and his eyes transfixed on the monitor. The map of the world appeared with red dots scattered about the landscape, thin white lines randomly connecting them in different ways as the computer attempted to interpolate where the next dot would appear. Daemon appeared stoic on the outside as he watched, but was burning on the inside. It took well over 27 hours to round up all of the escaped super human convicts that had 'escaped' from the Vault and provide necessary assistance to their victims in a dozen
Towns. The combined forces of the Grey Court, White Court and their mutual project, the Hellions, managed to pull it off without much incident. But it cost Daemon's strike force against Black Vein valuable time and energy. The planned strike for that night had been put on the back burner and it would be another 8 hours before he felt they would be ready for another mission. He had to plan their next move very carefully. The Vault escape was obviously a ploy to keep them busy, which meant two things - Darkheart was unable to adequately defend against them, and he was biding his time for something. Daemon wondered where this deadline led and what future situation it foretold. The last time he miscalculated when an enemy would execute a plan was New Years of 2000, and he did not want a second massacre on his conscience.
"Gabe," Sharon Stokes called as she came to stand in the doorway of the study, the light from the bedroom shining through her translucent nightgown.
"Yes?"
"I...I'm not sure I can do this any longer..."
"I won't be but a few more minutes hon. I'll be in bed soon."
"That's not what I meant. I..."
"I have to know where Darkheart is building his next spire," Daemon interrupted, engrossed in his work at the computer. "We've been taking out the ones he's built already and he's never there. But I'm sure he'd be running around a construction site to oversee things."
Sharon sighed and took a few more steps into the room, her hands fiddling with the cloth of her nightgown. "Gabe, I need some time...to get my head straight, ya know? I...I just feel like...there are cobwebs or something up there just mucking everything up so I can't think. It's..."
"What did you say?"
Sharon looked up finally from where her eyes had been fixed on the floor. "Huh?"
"You said cobwebs...webs...a web..."
"What?"
Daemon's eyes widened and he stopped the program before excitedly typing in a new command. In seconds, the computer connected the dots and sure enough, it looked like a spider's web - concentric circles reaching outwards across the globe. Daemon looked closer and commanded the program to extrapolate the center of the web. A dot appeared in Central America and Daemon pointed. "There. He's building one there in Nicaragua." Getting to his feet and running over to the surprised woman, Daemon swept Sharon up into his arms. "You're a genius," he exclaimed.
Daemon had put her down and began heading for the door before Sharon could say much more. Daemon was totally oblivious to history repeating itself of sorts.
"Where are you going?" she finally got out.
"I have to plan the next offensive. There's intelligence to be gathered, scenarios to be run - I've got to restructure the entire way we've been fighting and I've got less than 8 hours to do it. I'll talk to you soon." He blew her a kiss as he left. "Love you."
Sharon sat down on the floor, tears welling up in her eyes again. Her eyes drifted to the desk where she saw a pen and a notepad. She couldn't get through to him while he was concentrating on a mission, she knew that much. But it hurt too much to wait until he would pay attention. Standing up and walking over to the desk, she sat and took the pen and pad and began to write, her heart breaking as she scripted each word.
~~End Chapter 6~~
~~Chapter 7~~
The blackness of his soul was overwhelming him. As he walked along the rolling hills of Southern China, Gomurr struggled to contain the violence and hatred that seethed in his heart. His staff stabbed the ground at a steady pace as he walked, leaving a trail of crimson puncture wounds in the earth behind him where every living thing that touched where the staff had been, withered and died. Something startled a flock of birds from the trees to the west and they fluttered about overhead. Gomurr stopped and stared up at them his lip trembling from the horrid feelings he struggled to control. Through eyes that now perceived things through a layer of evil, Gomurr saw each lifeforce of the birds. The bright lights of their vitality marred the landscape as did the trees and the grass. Their vivrance corrupted the perfect darkness of the cold, lifeless world that lay beneath. Gomurr’s hand clutched tightly to his staff, crimson energy bleeding from his eyes as the urge to extinguish those lights grew and grew. He bit his lower lip to stop its shaking even as a sphere of energy began to build up in his free hand. No, no, no... he told himself repeatedly, but the energy bolt continued to swirl and churn with arcane power. The coppery taste of blood invaded his mouth, his teeth grinding too deep into the flesh of his lip. The warm substance seemed to spark his tongue on fire and light up all of his senses at once as the lust for more overshadowed him. Gomurr screamed as he lifted his arm into the air, struggling against himself but to no avail. The blast that erupted from his hand, though it managed to incinerate the entire flock, was nothing compared to the wave of crimson energy that burst from Gomurr’s entire body in all directions. Not a living thing was left within a full mile radius of his presence.
At the epicenter of this terrible scene, Gomurr fell to his knees as tears rolled down his darkened cheeks. The conflict within him was almost unbearable. On the one hand, there was the the Crimson Dawn’s influences - making him bigger, stronger, younger-looking and full of the fire and vigor he had not felt in ages. And on the other hand, the curse of the Dawn struck to the very core of who he was - changing his personality into someone he did not wish to be, awakening the most carnal, selfish, hurtful desires within him. He had come to China to find his center once again, hoping that the familiar surroundings of his training as a boy long ago would help him focus.
Wiping away the last of the tears, Gomurr finally stood again to reknew his journey. The village he had called home nearly a thousand years ago was near now, and the monastery would be close by. There, he might find the external peace he needed so that he may conentrate on regaining that same peace in his heart.
***
The Realm of the Crimson Dawn
It is said in some circles that the Crimson Dawn was created from the blood of a demon that had been slain by its brother, and that the demon's vengeful spirit is what makes that Realm what it is. While this is only one of the many mythical explanations for this world's existence, the end result of all the legends is the same - that the Realm is pure evil to the core. But there are those that would counter that argument with two words, Ebon Knights. They are the few and possibly the only noble and uncorrupted souls left in that barren place. Existing as spirits given form inside mystical armour, their sole responsibility is to guard the Crimson Blade. Held within the confines of a hidden temple, this dagger is the one weapon capable of piercing the Ebon Vein. Were it to fall into the hands of anyone save the rightful Proctor, it could mean disaster for a billion worlds. But the Ebon Knights are unparalleled warriors and have met every challenge across the millennia with victory. But a hooded figure, stepping through the front gate of the temple planned to break that long-standing record.
"Halt!" one of the knights shouted as he drew his black sword that sparked and flamed with power. "None save the Proctor are free to walk these sacred grounds."
"Do you bare the marks of Proctorship?" another asked, coming to stand next to his comrade.
Beneath the shadowy hood, the cloaked man smiled. "Here. Let me show you my credentials," he said, lifting his open palms to the Knights. They were not expecting the two bursts of Crimson energy that knocked them off their feet.
"Infidel!" the other Knights shouted as they rushed to attack.
Lao Tsung removed his hood and, surprisingly, took a fighting stance.
Minutes later, the evil sorcerer walked among the fallen armour of the
Ebon Knights. His objective lay at the center of the temple upon an onyx alter carved into the shape of a serpentine dragon. Lao Tsung stepped up onto the raised platform and took the curved blade in his hand. He chuckled as he ran a finger up and down the wide blood-groove.
"My birthright awaits."
~~End Chapter 7~~
~~Chapter 8~~
The Realm of the Crimson Dawn
The huge towering spire was the tallest single structure in the realm, dwarfing even some of the mountains that survived the frequent earthquakes that shook such things into piles of rubble. Lao Tsung stood transfixed before the entrance to the very center of this world. Despite it's importance, it lay unguarded, for none would dare set foot beyond the doorway. Nor could any harm befall that which lay inside, for there was only one thing in the universe that could harm it. And the fierce Ebon Knights guarded that weapon, or so it was before now. Lao Tsung made his way through the labyrinth of tunnels and passageways, the heat of the lava flow beneath the temple almost charring his robes. But he persisted and finally stood face to face with the Heart of the Crimson Dawn. The thumping of the huge organ rang in his ears in a steady rhythm. Thick arteries and membranes held it in place at the center of the chamber as the Heart pumped the very stuff of life through the Realm. With dagger in hand, Lao Tsung approached it, and it began to beat faster. It knew he was there, and it knew what he was about to do. Lao Tsung laughed aloud a deep bellowing laugh.
"Are you afraid?" he asked of the Heart, knowing it could not answer him save to beat faster.
He laughed again as he caught the sight of the Ebon Vein, the large black vessel that ran across the Heart of the Dawn. Therein lay his key to power, the means by which he would end the reign of that thief Gomurr and claim what was his. With a vengeful slash with the Crimson Blade, the Ebon Vein was cut and bled onto the stone floor. And Lao Tsung knelt there in front of the stream and took handfuls of that blood to splash on himself. He continued to laugh as he drew ancient symbols in a circle around himself. With a few chanted words, he at last took a handful of the flowing blood and drank. The rush of power was immediate and all encompassing. He watched as youth returned to him, stacking his bony frame with muscle like braided steel. His veins glowed beneath his skin, bright with the power of the Dawn. His pale skin seemed to burn from the inside out until it was completely black. And the mark of the Crimson Dawn was emblazoned once again on his face, but now also on each palm.
Standing up on revitalized legs, Lao Tsung magically changed his old robes into a rendition of his ancient fighting uniform and ascended upon a black cloud to the very top of the spire. Weaving his hands in a magical dance, he forced the issue, letting the power from this realm flow through the spire back to the one on earth. Two worlds were about to collide and the universe would scream in agony of the Dawn's coming.
***
Seven and a half hours after Daemon had begun preparing for this battle, a combined White and Grey Court strike force struck hard and fast as Omen River opened a wormhole into the heart of the huge Black Vein complex. The Grey Court stood at it's Inner Court's full strength, the Outer Court remaining behind to guard the Citadel. Of the White Court members able to make it on short notice were Supergrover, Ozymandias, Cyclops and Toby.
The Grey and White Court's forces were fighting fiercely against Darkheart's minions even as crimson energy began to spill through the weakened dimensional divide. The battle raged all around them, but the two dark-skinned men stood like marble statues, unmoving amidst the chaos. They stared at each other with vicious intent smoldering in their eyes. Daemon made a slight gesture with his hand and Anubis appeared with a faint flash of light. Darkheart smiled and crossed his arms, smug in the notion of his own superiority.
"You are about to lose now, Daemon," he said as soul-devourers began to appear all around him, circling him in dark trails. One for each of your allies and a SPECIAL one, just for you."
It was Daemon's turn to smile as he assumed a battle stance. "Not this time, Darkheart. Like a responsible man, I always bring protection," he said, motioning towards the enchanted medallion about his neck. "Byron gives the nicest presents, doesn't she?"
Darkheart's smile faded and he reached out into the stream of flying soul devourers. The black monsters quickly coalesced into a sword of his own and the battle soon began.
Darkheart could barely hold his own against the Pharaohan at first. Daemon's speed, strength and agility were much too great for him. It was all he could do to survive, though he wouldn't dare let Daemon think he was giving this losing fight his all. As time went on, however, and crimson energy continued to build on earth, Daemon grew slower and weaker. Magic was beginning to fill the air and affect his remnant of Ra's ability to function. He had little trouble performing in the midst of magic most of the time, but the air was saturated with it now. The once azure sky had gained a tint of red, streaks of deep crimson appearing with more and more frequency.
A spinning roundhouse caught Daemon across the chin and sent him to the ground. He recovered to his feet quickly and gathered himself for a counter. Darkheart took a step back and laughed, watching Daemon's chest rise and fall heavily. He was short of breath, growing tired. Daemon, too, came to realize his worsening condition and screamed an angry battle cry as he rushed to finish this fight as quickly as possible.
Their swords clashed again and again, intermittent punches and kicks finding their way through the openings. Darkheart caught a front kick to the mid-section and nearly lost his head to Anubis, barely managing to spin out of the way. A steady stream of blood trickled down the side of his throat. He reached to the cut and brought his hands in front of him, inspecting the thick, warm liquid as it ran down his fingers.
"First blood to you," he said with a sneer. "But it will be your last. I'm going to rip through your stomach and hand you your entrails. I'm going to tear every organ from your putrid carcass and spit on..."
"Oh shut up," Daemon said calmly as he charged again.
Across the battlefield, Scrib dodged a charging soldier and fired her Razer at another that was attacking Mystikal from behind. The noise was a cacophony of screams, explosions and weapons fire of all kinds. The smell of burning structures mixed with that of burning flesh and the ozone from her own gun stung her nostrils. The smoke was thick from the fires and the sun was being filtered to glow red in the bleeding sky. This was the combat experience Daemon was talking about - that which no simulation, no matter how realistic, could ever truly duplicate. As Knight, this was her element and despite her initial misgivings, it felt right. As she took down another row of soldiers with well-placed energy pulses, she noticed the dark rift begin to build at the base of the huge spire around which they fought.
"That cannot be good," she mumbled to herself as she stared.
~~End Chapter 8~~
~~Chapter 9~~
All eyes were transfixed on the hundreds of ebony tentacles that surrounded the great spire, wriggling and squirming in all directions like serpents. Wrapping themselves around the spire in a shadowy cocoon, it seemed to harden from the gooey black liquid state it had retained before, to a crystalline shell. The soldiers all stopped fighting and instead, left their enemies where they stood and lined up in row after row before the spire to bow before it.
Exhausted, Daemon fell victim to a swift kick to the midsection from Darkheart that knocked him back, and a hard overhand right that drove him to one knee. Darkheart laughed, seeing the great Power Elemental deprived of his legendary stamina and invulnerability. Turning his attention from the apparently defeated Pharaohan, Darkheart smiled up at the mystical commotion occurring at the top of the tower.
"Kneel," he shouted to the speechless Hellfire contingent. "Kneel to your new Lord and Master."
No sooner than Darkheart bowed his head before the spire, did the shiny black exterior crack as crimson energy fought to burst through. And with a sudden jolt, the shell exploded outwards and the new Lao Tsung floated down from the apex, crimson energy oozing from every pour.
"I am the Proctor of the Dawn once again!" Lao Tsung shouted, raising his marked palms.
Barely able to gather the strength to stand, Daemon yelled possibly his last few orders, "Destroy the tower!"
But before anyone could move, Lao Tsung summoned shadow warriors to restrain them. "I have at last broken through the wall that separated our worlds, making it a gateway. This world and all who live here will be mine."
"We'll fight to the death against you," Omen River screamed, trying unsuccessfully to focus his powers as the shadow warriors sapped his strength.
Lao Tsung smiled. "No," he shook his head. "The Crimson Wave has already been started. When it finally comes, this world will completely and totally be merged with the Crimson Dawn. The entire world will be marked and thus indebted to serve the Dawn's Proctor forever. You will all be my slaves."
Supergrover felt himself going numb as the worlds continued to merge. His hearing and vision kept cutting in and out as though reality was being flicked on and off like a light switch. It was as though he were being pulled, or more appropriately, pushed out of this reality. As the red glow from the spire began to build at the coming of the Crimson Wave, Grover wondered if the true Proctor, Gomurr even had the power to stop such a thing. Christian was his last thought before he blinked out of existence in this realm and the Crimson Wave exploded across the multiverse.
***
The grey stone walls reverberated with the sound of his chanting, each echo harmonizing with every new verse he sang. The sound was calming and uplifting all at once, surely both needed by the weary mage from whom it all originated. Gomurr sat crossed-legged on his favourite meditation rug, a circle of candles burning all around him inside another circle of candles and then another. The fragrant aroma of their burning penetrated his every cell and did further to ease him as he struggled with containing the new and frightening demons that had erupted in his psyche of late. He had made significant progress now, his darker urges beginning to subside more and more into the dark corners of his mind where they belonged. That evil voice that he had listened too was now silenced and replaced by the voice of reason and justice once again. Gomurr smiled, even as he continued to chant with closed eyes. He was becoming whole again.
Suddenly, something overcame him, knocking him onto his face with tremendous force, a crimson light and a chill breeze passing over and through him like a wave of evil. The candles seemed to flee at the wave's passing, the fire frightened by the cold, the light pushed into hiding by the darkness. Gomurr chanted louder and more fervently. It was all he could do not to let out that evil beast within. The overwhelming feelings again receded but not without great effort, and seemed only to remain so by force of will. The pressure at the floodgates of the evil in his mind had increased a hundred-fold.
Calling his staff to his hand, Gomurr walked the several flights of stairs from out of the bowels of the ancient, abandoned monastery to stand near the front gate. Gazing into the sky, his jaw dropped. There was red now where once was blue, the green trees were black as coal and the grassy knoll upon which the structure stood had turned to dust.
"This is not possible..." Gomurr said to himself softly. "This is NOT possible!" he shouted at the scarlet sky. And yet every molecule of his being told him it was true. The Crimson Dawn was here, on earth. His gaze fell downward as he hung his head in sorrow, and he caught his reflection in a pool of spilled water. He barely recognized himself. His skin was as ebony as the deepest shadows and the red mark of the Crimson Dawn glowed fiercely across his eye. He lifted his palms and he saw the marks on each hand, the symbols of his authority as Proctor. But if he truly retained sovereign dominion over the Dawn, how then was that realm brought to earth without his knowledge or consent? And that sudden rush of cold evil, could that have been the dreaded Crimson Wave?
As his mind wrapped itself around what had happened, he reached out with his mystical senses and knew in a sudden recollection.
"Lao Tsung," he seethed and then passed silently through his own shadow.
~~End Chapter 9~~
~~Chapter 10~~
The Crimson Wave had spread from the very top of the main spire with the same virtually unstoppable power as it's oceanic namesake. The huge burst of Crimson energy passed in, around and through everything in it's path, changing it, transforming it into dark amalgams from the world that came before and the corrupted Realm of the Dawn. Everyone on the planet saw the sparking red wall of energy streak towards them. Few comprehended it, but all became victims to its power. The mark of the Crimson Dawn was quickly emblazoned on the faces of every man, woman and child on earth, binding them without question to eternal servitude under the Proctor.
Chaos reigned wherever there were two or more humans in one place. The evil inside, like a horrible cancer of the mind, devoured their sense of right and wrong and plunged them into barbaric depravity and violence. Riots abounded and the entire planet seemed to erupt at once in bloodlust. Even the noble hearts of the members of the Hellfire Court suffered under the Dawn's dark influence.
Lao Tsung was very pleased with himself as he watched teammates and friends go at each other's throats with every intention of killing them. Most enjoyable, though, was Daemon. The thorn in his son's side lay writhing in pain on the ground, the apparent mixture of mystical energy and the remnant of Ra having ill effect on his fragile mortal form. He smiled as Daemon clutched his stomach and screamed in agony. It was quite the show. He did not see, however, the fiery sphere of mystical energy before it slammed into his face and knocked him to the ground.
"How...?" Lao Tsung began, but looked up to see the answer to his question. "Shang Chek. I like the new look. Glad you could be here to witness the hour of my destiny's fulfillment."
Gomurr rose steadily from the shadow of the tower, the burning tattoos set off by his totally black skin. "Usurper! You have no right to claim the mantle of the Proctor," Gomurr raged, showing the marks on his palms.
"Yet here I am," Lao Tsung gloated.
"What power you have, you STOLE from the Heart of the Dawn. You have no rightful claim. There must be balance."
"How dare you! My father was Proctor and his father before him and the one before and the one before. It was my destiny to rise but your intervention cost me that."
Gomurr's eyes narrowed into angry slits. "Tar had let the Dawn corrupt him and went mad, attempting to do what you have finished. I did what was required and was rewarded for my efforts. The Dawn is a gift, not a birthright. And now I must do what I should have done centuries ago."
Lao Tsung smiled, despite the rage that boiled within. "Try it, Shang Chek. But you will have to get through THEM, to get to ME," he said motioning towards the Hellfire Court team who were bearing down on Gomurr.
They attacked en masse with everything they had. Using his martial arts skills and a number of mystical shields, Gomurr was able to stave off their attacks without harming them, but they kept coming at every turn. With so many different attacks to defend so quickly, Gomurr wouldn't be able to execute an effective spell to take them all down gently even if he could think of one.
Gomurr ducked an attack from his left by Echo, spun out of the way of Scrib, slipped by Mystikal's energy blast and counterattacked all of them with his staff all the while starting a chant. Cyclops latched onto Gomurr with his power, multiplying the apparent gravity around the mage a dozen times. Though his strength had been greatly enhanced by saturation of the Dawn’s energy, Gomurr found himself pinned to the ground by his own weight. His chanting grew faster in an attempt to hurry the spell to completion as the strike force bore down on him once again. With a final word, it was finished and a flash of light erupted from his body, both blinding and stunning everyone into unconsciousness. With Cyclops down and his pwoer’s effects released, Gomurr rocketed towards Lao Tsung, slamming him into the side of the tower. With the wave of his hand, Gomurr's staff appeared in his hand and magically transformed to have a wide blade on each end.
"It ends now, Lao Tsung."
The despotic Proctor slid to his feet and leaned against the wall, also forming a blade-staff in his hands. "You're right, Shang Chek. Let this be our last battle."
The clang of their weapons against each other was fast and furiously paced, as were the kung fu moves they wove into their attacks. Both had been masters of multiple forms for hundreds of years and had honed their abilities to deadly precision. That, coupled with their magic, made this battle a spectacular display to watch.
Gomurr struck Lao Tsung in the nose with a spinning elbow and followed with a knee to the stomach. Ducking out of the way, Lao Tsung managed to elude Gomurr's initial kill strike, but was severely cut down his side by the next. Darkheart, seeing his father's blood drawn, started towards the fight to help, but was tripped up by Daemon. The large black man sneered as he got up, returning his dark sword to his hands. Daemon too stood, forcing back the pain of the war that raged inside him, and attacked with Anubis. Like a deadly ballet, the four combatants danced to the sound of their weapons clashing - their orchestra. In a triumphant crescendo, Gomurr ran Lao Tsung through the gut with his blade and Daemon cut off Darkheart's sword-carrying hand at the forearm. Both men screamed in pain and both fell to their knees. Daemon, too, collapsed with exhaustion, leaving the rest to Gomurr.
Carrying the dying mage over his shoulder, Gomurr made his way back to the great temple of the Heart of the Dawn. The wound in the Ebon Vein still bled. Placing Lao Tsung in front of the Heart, Gomurr cast the spell of sacrifice. The blood that flowed from Lao Tsung's wounds soon began to rise into the Ebon Vein, the glow of the crimson energy the evil sorcerer had stolen returning to the place where he had unjustly claimed it. The body soon faded into nothingness, vaporizing before Gomurr's eyes, the sorcerer's spirit commended to the void. Gomurr placed a hand over the Ebon Vein and sealed the wound. When the balance had been returned, the Heart thanked him. Then, through the will of the Proctor, the Crimson Wave was turned and was drawn steadily back to the temple until the worlds separated once again and the rift between dimensions was sealed.
The Hellfire Club members dropped to the ground feeling the Crimson energy being drawn out of them, their minds clearing. And as the world they knew returned from the darkness, Grover, appearing in a flash of burgundy dimensional energies, fell to the ground with a loud thump.
~~End Chapter 10~~
~~Epilogue~~
The White Court Mansion
He was a completely different animal now, and everyone was simply going to have to get used to it - at least until it wore off. As he made his way through the long central hallway towards the library, passersby couldn’t help but stare. Most didn’t recognize him at all, giving him a questioning glances as if to say, “And who are YOU supposed to be?” Those who had been informed of the mage’s external changes were still taken aback by the stark differences. Even those who knew him very well, like his adoptive son Supergrover, didn’t quite know how to handle the new appearance. Only one person was surprisingly unfazed by the consequences of the Crimson Dawn’s near takeover.
“Hi!” the child said happily, looking up into red and black eyes.
Gomurr was almost speechless. It had been weeks since the last time the boy even acknowledged his existence. And now, even behind the raven-skinned façade of his Crimson Dawn saturated body, the boy recognized his ‘grandfather’. “Why hello there,” Gomurr said with a smile.
“You’re all better now.”
“Am I?” the mage questioned, glancing down at the deep red marks of the Crimson Dawn on each black palm. “Most would say I have changed very much.”
“You’re not the black man anymore.”
“Come now, child. Look at my skin.”
“No, silly,” Christian giggled, seemingly amused at Gomurr misunderstanding him. He got closer to Gomurr and pressed a small, pudgy finger into Gomurr’s stomach. “In there. No more black in there.”
Gomurr blinked. Had the boy been peering into his soul all this time?
“I like the black here though,” he said taking Gomurr’s hand and examining the deep colour. He looked up again into Gomurr’s eyes, even as the man could only stare back. “Let’s go see Daddy!” The boy tugged on Gomurr’s arm, pumping his little legs towards his father’s office.
The ancient wizard couldn’t help but chuckle along with the spirited child. “Alright, alright. But this is the faster way over here,” he said, pointing down another side corridor.
“Oh! I know how to get there fast!” Christian suddenly exclaimed excitedly. And in the blink of an eye, he and his teacher disappeared.
***
Daemon walked through the door of his suite staring down at the palm-sized Pharaohan computer that had quickly become as steady a travelling mate as his GCU. With the small stylus, he crossed out two names on his infamous ‘Hit List’ as it had been affectionately named by the other Grey Court members – Shang Tsung and Black Vein. Gomurr himself had seen to the former’s demise and the latter had quickly deteriorated into nothing after the failure of their grand scheme. What few cells that still lingered would either defect to another organization probably already on the ‘Hit List’, or become fodder for those seeking to cannibalize the group’s remaining resources. Darkheart himself, however, had managed to escape while everyone recovered from being slaves to the Crimson Dawn. He would surely be out for revenge. That was simply the type of man he was – arrogant, head strong, and prideful enough to try and strike those who humiliated him. With Daemon having been the one to defeat him sword-to-sword, going so far as taking his right hand, there was no doubt who his next target was. All the better. It would save Daemon time from tracking him down and finishing what he started. His prey would come to HIM for a change.
He stumbled a bit as he passed into the bedchamber, still feeling the effects of the Crimson Dawn on his body. In truth, he was surprised that he had even survived that length of exposure to such high amounts of mystical energy. By all accounts, the Crimson Wave should have killed him, though he would be loathe to admit it to anyone. As it was, no one had much of a recollection at all of the few hours before or after the Wave. Daemon thanked God that none remembered seeing him in the condition he was in immediately after the battle – moaning in pain, barely able to stand on his own…weak… Odd that he would even think to be grateful to a Being he barely spoke to anymore. He knew God was there, alright. His childhood was all too filled with Sunday morning church services and family prayers that he would not at least recognize the Creator’s existence. It had just been so long since he’d felt faithful enough or worthy enough to speak to Him.
Letting his palm computer drop to the floor near his bed, Daemon fell backwards onto the soft comforter covering the king-sized mattress. As the air from the covers wafted upwards, his enhanced senses caught the scent of a certain young woman that he missed very much. He looked about the room and wondered where she had gotten off to while he was out saving the world yet again. Turning his head in the other direction, he noticed an envelope standing up on his desk in the study just beyond the doorway separating the rooms. Curious, he walked into the room and saw clearly now, his name written in swoopy script on the otherwise, plain white envelope. Taking the note from inside, he began to read – his heart sinking as he did so. He could almost hear her saying the words. A hand brushed what appeared to be a tear stain towards the bottom of the page-long note. He could see her crying in his mind’s eye and it hurt him more than what the note had to say. He couldn’t deny that things between them had become…strange. Just the other day he had spoken too much about it with Echo out on the Great Lawn. It was much harder to come face-to-face with those facts however, and what it all meant. In the back of his mind, he had seen it coming. He only wished that it was a long way off, or at least that he would be prepared to handle it when it came. But there were some things that even a master strategist like Daemon could not plan for. Sharon was gone, at least for a little while – off to clear her head away from the mansion, promising to return in due time.
It looked like his upcoming trip to Pharaoh would be short by one passenger.
***
The White King’s Office
“Hi Daddy!”
Supergrover looked up from his desk to see Christian and Gomurr standing in front of him. Rising from his seat and coming from around the desk with open arms, he caught Christian in mid-air as the boy had flung himself into his father’s arms. “Hey, little man. How’s it going?”
“Look! He’s all better!” Christian said pointing at Gomurr.
“I know, I know.” He gave a sideways glance at Gomurr who, for some reason, looked shocked. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to start teleporting him around?” the White King asked.
“I…I…” the wizard stammered. “It wasn’t me.”
Grover smirked. “I mean it. Teleporting can be rough on the stomach, and I don’t want him getting sick.”
“No…I’m telling you, I didn’t do it.”
Gomurr’s eyes, wide as saucers, told Grover that something was amiss. “So what are you saying?”
Gomurr simply shook his head and motioned towards Christian who by now was playing with a snowglobe he had discovered on Grover’s desk. “Christian?” Grover said, trying to get the boy’s attention.
Christian continued shaking the snowglobe violently and then stared inside. “There’s a little man in there!” he exclaimed. He looked closer at the glass as the little man gave him the finger. “That’s not nice,” the boy scowled, and with a small gesture with his finger, filled the watery snowglobe with tiny sharks.
“Christian,” Grover said more intently this time, taking the boy by the shoulders. “How did you get to Daddy’s office so fast?”
The boy smiled. “I can go fast!”
“Yes son, but how?”
“I ‘ported.”
“You ‘ported?”
“Yeah like this!” Before Grover realized what was going on, Christian had teleported to his chair and was spinning around in the swiveling leather seat. “Wheeeeeeeeeee!”
Grover stood up straight and looked at Gomurr. Neither man was sure whether to be happy at the boy’s development, or frightened at the ease with which the child wielded such power. “And you didn’t teach him that, did you?”
“Not in the least.”
“Christian?”
“Yes Daddy?”
“How did you learn to do that?”
“From the ‘mentals, silly.”
“The ‘mentals…” both men repeated in confusion.
“Yeah. They can do lots of cool stuff. I have to learn to do all that stuff.”
“And where are these…’mentals…where are they from?”
“They’re from all over. But they’re havin’ a party in the mountains.”
Now Grover and Gomurr were totally confused.
“Daddy?” Christian said in a serious tone, stopping the spinning chair simply by willing it to a halt.
“Yes Christian.”
“Can I be a ‘mental when I grow up?”
~~End~~