Martian Sunrise Chapter the Third in the In Darkness Cometh saga by Amy K. Cyrway blkblade@mailexcite.com rayapam@mint.net DISCLAIMER: You'd think by now I'd just cut-and-paste my disclaimers, but writing them is half the fun! I mean, poking fun at the bureaucrats at Disney and Buena Vista, come on! (Shawn wrote this! I had no part in this! --Ed) Anyway, Gargoyles are owned by the above aforementioned companies that my invisible buddy Shawn so proudly insults like a Frenchman taunting-King Arthur. (don't ask.) Caligo, Luc, Arin, Nate, Sierra, and everyone else you don't recognise are mine, and Chimura and Ereinee are Mercedes', and Shade is Sombrero's. Time line? What's that? This fic takes place after all my other stories ... and you should at least read the majority of the ones with Arin and/or Luc in the summary ... it'll make the whole thing so much easier for everyone. Also, I realise I forgot to put a MATURE LANGUAGE content on "Ashes, Ashes..." Oops. Sorry. This one has the same warning, in the form of swearing (Nate, Artemis, and Arin) and violence (everyone else). Now, on with the show! CHRONOS: 22nd CENTURY LOS ANIMUS, NEW OLYMPUS, SOL IV (MARS) KIROS: EPOCH OF SIERRA BROOKLYN: I don't want her help! (Show RC confronting Brooklyn, "Ashes, Ashes...") MALIBU: Previously, on Gargoyles... ABORIGINE: You must go on the Walkabout in the Dreamtime. (Show Goliath and Dingo battling the Matrix in "Walkabout") (Show the Cthulhu/Jabberwocky chasing after Lexington, "Love and War") (Show Malibu being possessed by the Devourer, "Ashes, Ashes...") *** Prologue Brooklyn Ave, Southbound Los Animus, New Olympus, Sol IV (Mars) The mass transit monorail rattled over the busy street. Though most of the denizens were human or at least mostly human, there were few ... oddities ... aboard. The majority of the minority were lupine bipeds, Sirians escaping the War between Sol III and Sirius II, and some were mutate offspring from the infamous Clone Wars over a hundred years ago. One, however, stood out, a massive creature known to all as a gargoyle. Sure, everyone knew they existed--hell, Sol III was practically saved from dehumanisation by the evil Sevarius by the stranger than fiction beings--but most have never seen one up close and live. This gargoyle, however, seemed to radiate an aura of..of..confusion to all around him. Light blue in colour, with dark hair that appeared black unless light hit it just right, exposing a greenish tint to it, he sat in the back, staring out the window with sad ice blue inverted eyes over a large beak. The mutates on board glanced back at him occasionally in fear, whispering amongst themselves. The eyes were a sure indication of a clone. They knew it. But all the clones were destroyed, one pointed out. The NWO took care of that. The NWO are fools, another snarled. They couldn't possibly destroy all the clones on Earth. Maybe all the ones on Long Island in New York, but not the every one on the planet. Just like they tried to do with us, yet another retorted. Why do you think Los Animus got its name? That's all we are. Lost Souls. The city where all outcasts can live in peace. That guy's probably a reject. He's not a Thailog or a Shock Trooper. In fact ... I think he might be one of the originals from the Resistance. This silenced the gossip, and a few seconds later, the group of mutates returned to the small talk topics of the football game and electronic equipment. Am I in control? the lost soul within the gargoyle questioned himself. I can see, can think, can move this body ... but am I in control? He stared out at the buildings towering over them, skyscrapers that dwarfed the Eyrie Building by at least a hundred stories. The red skyline seemed alien to him, as with the entire city. Where am I? Why am I here? What happened to me? He mumbled something intangible to even himself, then turned his head to glance over at the rest of the denizens in the monorail. His eyes moved down to his body, not quite his own. Heavily muscular with a build that Arnold Schwarzennager envious, shrouded in a black shirt and jeans. Tall, almost seven feet. Not his body. "Damn," he whispered, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists. Why couldn't he remember anything past when he saw that creature in the Labyrinth ... ? "Mal! " Ms head jerked up, startled. "Tristan?" he whimpered, realising he was hearing voices. Not a good sign. Sighing, he settled back into his former melancholy position. A memory bubbled up from his subconsciousness. The strange little boy who latched onto Malibu over six or seven months ago, in his time, at least, screamed his name as Maggie held onto him ... holding him from bolting... Shaking his head, he ran a hand though his green-black hair. What has happened to me? A few miles away Route I into South Los Animus Just her luck. Rush Hour. Artemis groaned slightly. "I know, girl," Nate grumbled as he flipped off some hot shot driver in a flashy Porcshe coming pretty damn near clipping her fender. "Wow," Arin breathed as the city loomed more and more over the traffic. "Wow is right," Brooklyn agreed from the back, hanging over the passenger seat where his girl-friend sat. "This place is huge!" "Huge?"Luc smirked. "I think the only word that comes to mind is probably alien. This city's got a weird feel to it." Nate nodded in agreement. "An amazing kind of weird, though," he then added. "I've never sensed so many types of sentients in my life." "Kind of cool, though,"Brooklyn agreed. "I mean, look at this!"He waved his hand out the open window, indicating all the tall steel and glass skyscrapers reflecting one another and the awesome reddish-lavender skyline. "This is so totally breathtaking! And to think that we're on another planet! One that in our time was barren of life, and now, a mere one or two centuries later, a wondrous megatropolis! " He snaked one of his arms around Arin's shoulders in front of him and sighed, bewildered. "Un-- freaking--believable." "Hey, Artemis," Luc piped up. "Are you able to hack into the e-mems of this time period?" "'E-mems?"' Arin questioned. "Electronic memory banks," Nate explained. "Sort of like electronic newspapers, minus the dead-tree edition." The GTO snorted in her usual cynical way. "Sonny, I'm ancient technology to these tellers," she retorted. "Most of the weird looks we're getting is caused by me. Apparently, these people are used to gargoyles and mutates walking around the streets--" there was another snort "--half-naked, Brook." "What?" Brooklyn demanded, oblivious save to the fact that both Arin and Luc were giggling. "Hey, babe, kinda underdressed for the occasion, don't you think?" Arin turned in her seat and made a grab for his loincloth. Brooklyn lightly slapped her hand away, somewhat amused. "I'm not underdressed," he defended. "The two of you, however,--" he pointed to Arin, then Luc "--are overdressed for gargoyles." "Are you dissing the almighty Hawkwind, you pitiful excuse for a Scot?" Arin folded her arms over her chest tightly, as if protecting her "Doremi Fasol Latido" tee-shirt. "The jacket has sentimental value," Luc mumbled humourously, zipping it up to the neck, then throwing the hood over his head and tying it so his beak was the only thing visible. Nate chuckled as the three gargoyles poked fun at one another, even though just a few hours ago, Brooklyn and Luc were at each other's throats about the welfare of Brook and Arin's friend (and technically, Brooklyn's son) Malibu. Nate had watched or rather felt the Devourer try to feed off the poor clone, then, when it found it could not, it possessed him, melding with him, becoming more powerful with the acquisition of a physical body. And when Brooklyn interfered with Luc's attempt to destroy the Devourer along with poor Malibu ... that threw both of them at odds with another, Luc having an understandable hatred for clones. "Well, shit on me," Artemis mumbled suddenly. "And ruin that beautiful paint job?" Nate jested. "Seriously, I managed to hack through the navigational computers to the e-mems. The year's 2143, mon amis, and they are programmed to recognise my make's computer signatures, antique that I am. Anywho, seemed that we made contact with an alien race from Sirius II, and they didn't like us too much, at least their dictatorship government didn't, mainly for the fact we granted asylum to their 'political criminals.' We are now inside the city limits of Los Animus, New Olympus, deep within the Mons Olympus range. Los Animus is sort of a buffer zone between both worlds, mainly because of the fact that Earth is now united under a New World Order, and is ruled by a triumvirate, one from North America, one from Europe/Africa, and one from Asia/Oceania, with a senate underneath them. A lot has changed in seventy years, hey, Nate?" "Keep talking, Arty." "Don't call me Arty. Anyway, the city itself is like an interplanetary Casablanca. The refugees of the Sirians, humans, and even some who escaped the irradiation of the remains of the Clone Wars--shit. " Artemis went silent. Luc paled. "Artemis, what are you talking about?" he whispered. "They killed the majority of the Clone Wars Resistance when they rose to power as well as clones, probably in fear that they would oppose the Triumvirate like they did Sevarius." "Uncle Lex? Kat and Tom? Eddie? Sombrero? All of them?" "Analyzing ... Edwidge Katherine, a.k.a. Eddie, Second-in-Command of the Resistance, Clan Leader of Winslow, survived, died in 2120, hunting accident. Sombrero, M.I.A. Kathryn of Clan Manhattan, presumed dead. Tom of Clan Manhattan, presumed dead. Lexington of Clan Manhattan, decommissioned. Coldstone, no clan, presumed Manhattan, decommissioned. Zanth‚ of the Black Sword, presumed dead. Brentwood of the Labyrinth, dead. Hollywood of the Labyrinth, dead. Demona of no clan, dead. MacDuff, Lennox, a.k.a. Macbeth, d--" "Enough!" Arin snarled, sickened, her mood violently shifting. Brooklyn and Luc both shared her outburst more silently. "Wait a minute," Nate broke the uneasy silence. "Artemis, did anything change from our history? Like, for instance, Brooklyn and Arin's and for that matter, Luc and my disappearance?" "That's a negatory." Her voice suggested a shake of her head, if she had one. "All their histories here, right up till now. However, it gets fuzzier after 2091, the year of the NWO." "No more! " Brooklyn snarled, eyes aglow. "I don't want to know our future!" And, with that, he pulled his knees to his chest and hid his face. Deftly, Arin vaulted into the back seat and wrapped her arms around him. "Brook," she whispered. "At least we know we'll always be together." "'Til death do us part,"' he mumbled, then buried his sob into her chest. Luc stared wide-eyed at the two, unsure of what to do. Nate went back to his driving, flipping off drivers who had no right to be on the road, though he had a feeling the mutate had a telepathic "ear" on their conversation. "What's he talking about?" The tan male questioned innocently as the woman rocked her beau gently. "He has premonitions," she answered truthfully, stroking Brooklyn's snowy hair, trying to calm him. "He probably saw something that upset him terribly." Luc nodded, worried. Finally, he joined the group hug. Arin put an arm around his shoulder. Surprisingly, Brooklyn returned it as well. And the makeshift family held one another until they heard the klaxon in the distance. "What the hell?" All four--five, including Artemis--beings demanded. Nate shrugged and turned on his two-way radio. "--peat: Sirian Vokhenk-class destroyer coming out of warp ten light- minutes 137 degrees-"there was a crackle of static, and the signal broke. "And obviously, there's a war going on and no one invited us," Brooklyn mumbled sardonically. "Until now," Arin added with equal sarcasm. "And, of course, it's up to us to save the multiverse," Luc muttered, sounding bored. "Again," Arin and Brooklyn shrugged mundanely as Nate headed onto an exit ramp to Mons Olympus Interplanetary Military Starport, for reasons beyond him. Of course, nothing made much reason anymore, he thought sourly. Martian Orbit Martian Defense Force "Starbreaker, this is Draco, do you copy? Over." "Draco, this is Starbreaker, I read you. What's your position? Over." "I have a lock-on with the Dogs. Engage? Over." "That's a negative, Lieutenant! We aren't equipped to face that much firepower. Head back to rendezvous point and regroup with the rest of the squadron. Over." "Affirmative, Captain. Draco, over and out." The space-black Star Furies of the MDF scattered though the void of Martian orbit, reforming a Flying V formation behind the dark side of Phobos, a maneuver taking roughly five minutes to execute. Starbreaker took the point, awaiting the Vokhenk destroyer to enter Martian space. The pilots within the sleek Morrigan-class fighters awaited the Sirians to cross over the line and break the Treaty. The leader of the Furies inside Starbreaker took a deep breath, her right hand on the stick, relaxed but ready, her left on her arsenal. "Furies, this is Starbreaker," she barked. "Shut off engines until I give the word. Keep radio silence until then. Do you all copy?" "Captain!" Hellion gasped. "Do you copy?" Starbreaker snarled, more of a statement than a question. "Hellion, over and out." "Draco, over and out." "Vortex, over and out." "Stoney, over and out." And along down the line, the Furies signed off, though a hint of worry edged all their voices. It was clear that they were confused by her order; they all knew her to be unorthodox in her leadership, but something as so suicidal as to drop power with nothing between them and the destroyer but the lump of rock serving as Mars' larger moon. Starbreaker waited, her breath as even as it would if she was sleeping. Deep, rhythmic, relaxing. She closed her eyes, inhaled, opened them, exhaled. They remained suspended in space for close to a half-hour. Starbreaker slowly reached up and flipped her comm switch. "Furies," she beckoned. "Power up on my mark, weapons readied. Defensive only." "About friggin' time," Stormy muttered just before the link severed. Starbreaker flipped on her instrument controls, watching. The Vokhenk was gaining distance. Thirty seconds... They could only use Phobos's mass to cover for so long... Twenty seconds... "Maneuvering thrusters on-line," she ordered softly. Ten... Instruments read the Sirian destroyer stopped. They know where we are, she thought drily. And they're inside Martian space... Five... Licking her parched lips, she whispered, "Engines on, maneuvering up at a seventy degree slope..." Three... Pulling upward, the Furies rose like fifteen tiny stars, Sol's light glaring off the tinted cockpits, shards of metal in infinite space... Two... The Vokhenk was in their sights... One... Sensors screamed a lock-on by the Sirians... Zero... "Furies, attack!" She screamed, firing off a violent burst of ion flame. The charges hit the hull of the huge ship along the starboard flank. Rolling away, she activated her lasers and swooped down for another volley. The battleship fired, though it could only lock on to one moving target at a time. Hellion pitched along the nose of the ship in a taunting manner before throwing some laser fire into the Sirians' faces. Pulling back, he pitched around for another round. And the Sirians took advantage of his exposed underside, firing at the Star Fury. " Shit! " Starbreaker swore as she watched Hellion spiral out of control into the vastness, his fuselage glowing bright with the melting action of the Sirian laser cannons. "Stormy! Draco! Cover me!" She banked sharp and let loose another volley of ion charges against the titanic ship on its port aft engine as she saw out of the comer of her eye Vortex, Quake, and Phoenix shot down. Grinning maliciously, she fired round after round, reveling the scene as the charges disintegrated though the hull and into the warp coil, destroying the ship in a monstrous chain reaction of combustion. "Dammit! Who's still alive?" She snarled after a few moments of silence. "I am," Stormy choked. "Draco, here." "Trixie, here." "Spike, here." Again, on through the list. Out of fifteen fighters, seven were shot down. "All right, Furies, back to base." she finally ordered, a hint of loss tracing in her voice. Switching off her comm systems, then her weapons, Starbreaker brought her TIEs online to maneuver into Mars' thin atmosphere. Pitching her nose slightly to slow her descent, she braced herself in her seat, the restraints holding some but not all of the hundred g's pounding onto her being. Pulling into a roll once clear of the stratosphere, she switched off TIEs and reintroduced maneuvering jets. Delphi Ridge a thousand yards from MOIMS Luc laid belly down on the dusty red rock, hanging his head over the ledge. He watched through Nate's binoculars the activity down on the base with keen interest as the other three talked a few yards away. He couldn't hear them too well, but it really didn't matter, in his opinion. Right now, only the base was his peak interest. There was a lot of humans and other creatures running around on the landing strips, the majority appeared concerned. Of course, when your enemy suddenly pops up out of nowhere, you don't exactly invite him over for a spot of tea. "Nate," he finally beckoned. "Why exactly did you bring us here?" "Good question," the mutate shrugged, crouching next to the smallest male. "I'm just letting the wind take me, so to speak." "A wind that carries the stench of the Devourer, eh?" Luc glanced up at his friend with an ironic smile. "Poetic, Luc. And yes, in a way, I think that's a good analogy." The cop stood again. "Hey, Brook, Arin, got a deck of cards? I have a feeling we might be here for a little while." Arin snorted. "You're telling me you have a complete arsenal, first aid kit, a cooler full of Coke and beer, and god-knows what other stuff in that ancient tin can of your's, and you don't have a deck of cards?" she jested. "How long is a while?" Brooklyn asked instead with somewhat of a grin. "First off, you call Artemis a tin can again, I won't stop her from running you over." Nate shook his finger at Arin in mock-irritation. "Second, I have no fiiggin' clue. It's not as psionically disturbing now that it's inside that clone--" "Malibu," Brooklyn interjected. "his name is Malibu." "--Malibu, though now it can do more damage with a physical body." Nate shook his head. Luc muttered something, then returned to his binoculars. "So when we run into Mal again, how do we get the bastard out of his head?" Arin questioned. Nate stroked his scraggy goatee, not really saying anything. Ms odd eyes, however, clearly stated, "We can't." "There's got to be a way," Brooklyn whispered, perching next to Luc and staring out at the base. "We can't sacrifice Mal to destroy the Devourer. There's got to be a way to drive it out of him." "Sounds like we need a priest," Arin mumbled, trying to lighten the mood. "Ever seen 'The Exorcist?"' "I've even seen 'The Exorcist,"' Luc retorted with a groan. Nate shook his head. "I really don't know," he whispered. "In our day and age, there's either no religion or an excess of it." "At least the Catholics stopped breathing down gargoyle's necks," Luc grumbled. "Definitely your kid," Brooklyn mumbled under his breath to Arin. "What do you mean, 'my kid?"' She snapped back, somewhat good humoured. "Last I checked, I only claimed 'I' on my income tax." "Since when do you get income?" Brooklyn demanded. "Hey! Something's going on down there!" Luc hissed. "Heads up, amigos!" Nate at the horizon. Seven streaks of red as dark as blood sliced through the sky, each a tail to a metal sliver. As they approached the base, their features became more and more defined as aircraft of some sort. Once over MOIMS, they reduced speed and hovered over the base, touching down gracefully. "Looks like they sustained battle damage," Luc retorted. "May I have a look?" Brooklyn asked, as the dark tan male passed over the binoculars. Peering through them, he surveyed the entities milling around feverishly, refueling or patching up or whatever--he wasn't a mechanic. He watched the cockpits open on the eight fighters (which, to him, appeared to have the fuselage of an X-wing but wings and tail of an F- 16), and one by one the pilots climbed out. The last one, climbing out of on the fighter with the word "STARBREAKER" blazoned on the nose, was a gargoyle, obviously female, with lavender skin. He almost dropped the binoculars. "Angela?" he squeaked somewhat, and realised when she took off her flight helmet, he was of course wrong in his assumption. For starters, her face was somewhat round, almost heart-shaped, though her hair was the same shade, it was cropped around her face, barely brushing her shoulders. Her horns--not peaks, like Angela's--where almost a foot long, jutting from above her eye ridge and shot off at an acute angle on her skull. "What is it, Brook?" Arin questioned. He did not answer; rather, he handed the binoculars to Nate. Nate accepted and searched where Brooklyn was pointing. "Shit," the mutate whispered. "She's the one of the Four. She's the Third." *** A mile away Route 1 southbound He walked the road, once busy an hour ago, now barren of any suggestion of life. After the siren announced the approach of the enemies, most of the denizens scattered to the residential areas. Shops and stores closed, and Los Animus became almost a ghost town, with no indication anyone lived there, save by the lights in the windows. Not natural for a big city, he chuckled. His talons clacking on the reddish grey pavement as he walked, he thought to himself contemplating on what to do next. It was very quiet. He wasn't used to quiet. He started to hum. The humming grew to whistling. He recognised the tune and smiled inwardly. "'I met him in a swamp down in Degoba, where it bubbles like a giant carbonated soda. S-O-D-A soda,"' he sang softly, picking up the pace with a bounce. "'I saw the little runt sitting there on a log, when I asked him his name, in a raspy voice, he said Yoda, Y-O-D-A Yoda! The bounce became a jog. "'Well I'm not dumb, but I can't understand, how he can lift me in the air just by raising his hand, oh my Yoda, Ya-ya-ya-ya-Yoda! "' The jog broke into a run on all fours as he continued to sing his song with a broad smile. Ms spirits soared as a new hope filled his heart. "'Well I used the Force, I picked up a box, I lifted some rocks, while I stood on my head! Well I won't forget what Yoda said! "' He slowed somewhat, pushing back on two legs. His pace slowed back into a walk. "'He said, "Luke, stay away from the darker Side, and if you start to go astray, let the Force be your guide," oh my Yoda--"' He snapped his beak shut, halting in his tracks. There was something wrong with this scene. He scanned the sky, the mountains. And then his inverted blue eyes widened as he noticed the bright red disk rise from the eastern horizon. "Oh ... wow!" he whispered, shielding his eyes from the fight. Could it be ... ? It was impossible! He was a gargoyle! He should be turned to stone! And yet, he was still flesh and blood.... He watched the sun rise a few more seconds before he realised his eyes were hurting. Looking away, he noticed discoloured spots in his vision, like when he stared at a lightbulb. He resumed his trek, though once in a while thought deeply on where he was. Maybe another planet ... ? MOIMS Command Center Commodore Alfonz Perkins crossed his arms over his stout chest and stared down at the gargoyle sitting in what the younger officers so lovingly called "the rack", a normal office chair that only served one purpose: the person in it was on the receiving in of a major tongue-lashing. "Captain MacDuff," he initiated sternly. "lieutenant Ryder informed me of the 'suicide' maneuver you pulled today. Do you mind explaining what happened?" Damn Vertigo, she grumbled inwardly. Aloud, she explained, "The Sirians were reading our ion signatures, trailing us. I had my squadron hide behind Phobos in a cold state before launching a counterattack on the Vokhenk destroyer." "And if you miscalculated the gravity of the moon and cut engines too close, you would have been pulled down to the surface." "There was enough time to fire up engines and maneuvering out before crashing." "And what about the loss of seven of your pilots?" "The Furies were underfunded to begin with, Commodore," she retorted. "What chance did we have standing against a destroyer? We were lucky to get out with half the squadron." "And what about those lost? What about their families?" "For the record, Commodore, my squadron put up one hell of a fight, and if it wasn't for the bravery my squadron showed, the Sirians would have overcome Mars, and finally Earth." Perkins grunted, walked around the room, pacing, thinking. "Sir, if I might add, we would have all been wiped out if we attacked with a frontal approach," she continued, remaining cool, her breathing deep and even. "You're one hell of a fighter, and a leader," he finally stated after a brief silence. "I'd hate to see you demoted or even worse, drummed out. But I knew Hellion to be a little gung-ho sometimes, and had even found him to be almost to the point of mutiny." "He did fall out of attack pattern, along with most of the left wing." "Then until we can get the Furies back in order, you and the rest of the squadron are grounded, and we'll just have to call in some Tyr-class fighters from Earth. Is that clear?" "Sir, yes, sir!" MacDuff stood and saluted. "You are dismissed, Captain MacDuff." She nodded, saluted again, and left the office, a small smile forming on her face. She really didn't think she could pull it off. Sure, she wasn't going to fly for about a month, but it was better than getting dishonourable discharge. She grabbed her duffel from the luggage rack and, throwing it onto her shoulder as she took her aviator glasses from her coat pocket and slipped them on, she exited out to the military parking. Getting into her jeep, she turned over the ignition and drove off toward Los Animus. "Let's go!" Nate ordered after about an hour of waiting, turning on his heel and racing back to Artemis parked at the bottom of the hill. "What the hell?" Arin muttered, looking up from the game of poker she, Brooklyn, and Luc were in the middle of Amazingly, they had found a deck of cards in Artemis' back seat. "She's leaving the base! We've got to follow her!" Getting into the driver's seat, Nate started up the GTO. "Not this again," Luc mumbled, as he gathered up the cards and followed the other two gargoyles to the car. The Captain MacDuff guise dropped, and Sierra MacDuff came into existence, driving at least thirty over the posted limit, radio blaring some old tune. She fingered the dogtags around her neck--they weren't exactly her's, the military nowadays implanted a chip in their soldier's shoulders--, her thumb running on the worn-but-barely readable "L. MacDuff ' and suddenly found her existence in question. With a sour "fuck it", she let go of the chain and returned her attention to the rearview mirror. A very old-style black car was tailing her. "Probably some tourist from Earth," she mumbled to herself A quiet trip home, she pulled onto Mercedes Court, noticing a rather old Ferrari parked in her car port. "What's this with people and old cars?" she muttered, parking the Jeep and getting out. To the human woman getting out of the Ferrari, she questioned, "May I help you?" The woman--definitely civilian--brushed her auburn hair from her shoulder and smiled kindly, her green eyes almost motherly. "My name is Stacia Titan, a historian and genealogist from Columbia University in New York," she stated. "I'm here because of some information I dug up during my research. You see, I'm writing a documentary on the Clone Wars, and I found something you might like to look over." "I don't even know you, Ms. Titan. What makes you think--" "As I said, I did some research," Stacia pulled a folder out of the passenger seat of the car, about as thick as "War and Peace". "I understand you have no record of your family." "How did--" "Please, listen me out. Thank you. I have very powerful friends, including the Xanatos Corporation, who assisted me in my research. Now, if we can sit down and talk somewhere..." Sierra sighed, her hands on her hips. Finally, she gave in to her curiosity. "Come on in," she invited. "Coffee or tea?" As the two women entered the small apartment, the black car rumbled by at almost stalking speed. *** Brooklyn sighed, his head on his fist, staring out the backseat window. "Okay," Nate muttered, more to himself than to his passengers. "We know where she is...though we'll have to wait until her 'company' leaves...though I don't know how much longer that woman is going to hang out...hey, Brook, you sense anything weird about the human?" "Besides the point that she seems familiar?" the copper-red gargoyle questioned. "I've seen her before...I know I have..." "So what now?" Luc whispered, folding his arms over the back rest of the front seat and staring at Arin and Brooklyn with his bright green eyes. "What now?" Arin repeated in a sleepy sort of way. Nate shrugged, parking in a parallel space about three blocks from where they saw the Third's home. He switched off Artemis's ignition, got out, and stretched. Then, walking around to the rear, he ordered, "Artemis, pop trunk." Arin slid out, cracked her knuckles, and looked over Nate's shoulder. "What's up?" she demanded as he pulled out a shredded pair of jeans and a Slayer tee-shirt even rattier than the Marilyn Manson one he was presently wearing. "For Brook," was his retort. "We can't really have him running around with only a loincloth." "Never stopped him before," Arin smirked. "Of course, there are the rare instances he actually gets a hold of my Metallica shirts." Luc snorted, overhearing this, as Brooklyn swiped at him half- heartedly. "Metallica and loincloths don't exactly mix," Luc chuckled. "That's what Arin said," Brooklyn smirked. "Anyway, aren't you a little young to listen to Metallica?" "They aren't really my taste," Luc shrugged as Nate threw the shirt and jeans in, smacking an unsuspecting Brooklyn in the face. "What are these for?" he demanded, wrinkling his brow as he studied the pentacle design of the shirt. "You are not going to embarrass me by running around with nothing but your skivvies," Arin giggled. "But Slayer?" He whined. "Anyway, aren't these--" "Don't worry about it," Nate shrugged it off, leaning against the window. "I have hundreds of tee-shirts. I'm not going to miss it. And the jeans...hell, they're on their last leg. It'll do you until we get out of here." "Fine," he grumbled, taking his talon and poking it through the back of the shirt, ripping two slots for his wings. Slipping it over his head, he looked down, grumbled again, then ripped out the seat of the jeans. Shooting a warning look at Luc, who was still in the car, the tan male snickered, shrugged, then scooted out of the car. He modestly shimmied into the denim jeans, fastened them up, then finally, undid his belt buckle and pulled off his loincloth. A cat-call whistle caught his attention as his line of sight shot upward, staring in horror onto Arin's grinning face peering into the opposite back window. "Arin Leigh MacDuff!" He shouted, struggling to get out of the Goat, catching the seat belt and tripping, Artemis constantly complaining, "Watch the seats...! Damn gargoyles...." "Not bad!" Arin whistled when he finally managed to get himself untangled and stood up, brushing off his knees. "Looking good...you could almost pass for a mosh regular..." "I don't like Slayer," he muttered. "What's wrong with Slayer?" Arin snapped somewhat. Brooklyn shrugged, unthreading his belt from the blue cloth and lacing it through the belt loops of the jeans. They were a little too big around the waist and too long in the inseam, but overall they fit, and that was all that counted. Locking up Artemis, the four then walked along the sidewalk, tinted red with the Martian dust. "By the way," Brooklyn directed over to Luc, walking along side Arin, "what kind of music do you like?" "Hawkwind," he smiled broadly. The red gargoyle choked, pointing an accusing finger at Arin. "See?" He snapped. "He's definitely your son! No one in their right mind would listen to that--that--that--garbage." "'All right, Mister Sister!'" Arin cackled. "'I want you to tell me--'" "'No, stand up and tell the class--'" Luc joined in with a laugh. "'What do you want to do with your life?!'" "Aw, crud," Brooklyn put his hand to his face, covering his eyes. "There's two of them...." "Yeah, but look at that face..." Arin cooed, grabbing hold of Luc's chin and pointing the dumbly smiling beak toward her beau. "Look at it? He looks just like his father, don't you, you handsome young man, you...." Luc just played along, giving Brooklyn big round puppy eyes. "Aw, knock it off, you too," he snorted a laugh at the two fools. "Brooklyn's right, guys," Nate ordered. "We have more important things to do than joke around." "Could have fooled me," Luc muttered. Arin snorted. "Okay, fearless nomad of the timestreams, what now?" she demanded. Brooklyn groaned. "Enough of the Moorcock puns," he commanded. "Loser," Arin cheerfully insulted as she began to skip. Brooklyn shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched behind, his eyes somewhat brooding. Arin was taking this in stride, but then again, she was an excellent actress. Inside, she was probably confused shitless. *** "...this here is a photo of the Resistance, taken circa 2024." Stacia handed Sierra a worn picture, discoloured and faded, though still detailed. Sierra studied it, raising an eye ridge. "For some reason, I thought they would be more...serious..." she smirked, indicating the fact almost everyone in the picture donned a beer and/or hard liquor bottles. Quite a few were making faces, especially the three in the front row, one black with a long beak, a white chubby fellow wearing a Denny's tee-shirt, and a lithe dark red guy with a Rocky Horror Picture Show leather jacket. "Humour was an important part of their lives." The auburn woman smiled somewhat. "The Resistance needed to keep their sanity somehow. The Wars were harsh on the entire world. You'd be surprised how it brings people together during the worst of times." "I see," Sierra nodded. She then pointed to a beautiful lavender female, a scar running down her right cheek, a brilliant smile across her face, her arm laced around a large turquoise fellow. A young boy was attached to the female's leg, and looked a lot like his momma. "She's so familiar," Sierra whispered, pointing to the lavender woman. "She looks a little like me." "This is Angela," Stacia retorted. "And her mate, Broadway. The boy's their son, Tom." Sierra nodded again, staring at the beaked fellow in the middle, a seven-foot tall guy the colour of bricks with a Coke in one hand, his arm draped around a smaller tan female in a black trench coat, her tri-colour hair tied in a bun, and in her talons, a Molsen's. On the tall fellow's shoulders, a little girl, obviously his daughter, grinning broadly. "Brooklyn," Sierra whispered. "The leader of the Resistance, yes. His mate is Arin, and their daughter, Kat." There were others, of course, but Sierra's vision remained locked on the two children, Kat and Tom. "Are they--" She finally whispered, dropping the photo on the table. "Your parents? Yes," Stacia grinned. "At least, that's what I can tell. Gargoyle genealogy is much easier to trace than human, and I have found that before the NWO was established, in or around 2080, that the two children you have pointed out in the picture had a child. However, there was an...incident...and the Manhattan clan was torn apart, Kat and Tom wounded, Lexington, the small gargoyle right here--" she indicated to the olive male with the cybernetic tail next to a deep tan female, darker than Arin, with ram horns, both of them sharing buttershots "--decommissioned, and Luach, Kat's younger brother, missing in action. The child never was found in the wreckage of Castle Wyvern." "And that child might have been me," Sierra nodded, leaning back in her chair. Stacia said nothing, just rummaged through the files, picking up another picture, this one with Kat in the arms of a grey-bearded human, her head resting on his shoulder, her eyes half-closed. The man held her head gently, her long, snowy white hair falling in her face. He had a proud look to his smile. Stacia's face brightened somewhat when she noted the photo the gargoyle was looking at. "That, my dear, is Lennox MacDuff, called Macbeth during the war." "He must have liked children a lot," Sierra remarked. "I a way, I suppose he did." she smiled her mysterious smile. Sierra began skimming some of the papers, her eye ridge arching up occasionally. "And you did all this research through Columbia?" she asked. "Xanacorp helped as well. They still have possession of the Eyrie Pyramid and a major part of the North American Senate." "I see..." Sierra stood up, stretched, and stared out the kitchen window out to the street outside. "It's sort of strange, though. I've never thought my past would lie in the Resistance..." "Somehow, resistance runs in the family." Sierra snorted somewhat, watching three young adult gargoyles and a mutate on the sidewalk across the street, the gargoyles were goofing off, the mutate was constantly turning around and snapping back at them. The brick red gargoyle turned his beak face toward her, his hazel eyes seemed to know she was staring at him. She gasped somewhat. Stacia came up behind her, looking over her shoulder. "It cannot be..." she whispered, lines of concern lining her eyes. "Not yet..." "What?" Sierra demanded. Stacia did not say another word, just pointed to the group. Brooklyn felt an odd presence staring at his back. He turned his head away from Arin just enough to notice a face staring out at them from the window of a home nearby. The face was joined by another, and this one, he recognise with a glow to his eyes. (you!) He 'pathed, not wanting to alert Arin. (it's too soon, Champion,) Titania's voice rang out, surprised. (you shouldn't be here!) (that's exactly what I thought,) he snarled inwardly. (just what the hell is going on here? i see this...creature...possess my friend, then we're dragged here by a sevarius mutate claiming to be a cop and a guy who claims to be my and arin's son--) his thoughts suddenly became jumbled, unable to think out clear words. (calm down, brooklyn,) she soothed. (i'll tell you what i know. the Devourer has awakened, and will destroy our part of the multiverse. however, the--) (--four of Darkness can stop it...i know, i know. we've figured that part out. but what about mal? is it because he's my clone he's a part of this?) (possibly,) he felt her shrug. (I am unclear of what is happening. why is arin here?) Her mind voice suddenly became hard, concerned. (okay, you try to stop her,) he grumbled. (you're changing the subject. what are we suppose to do now? and what about this Third?) (her name is sierra macduff,) Titania sighed. (and she is here with me. I was trying to prepare her...) (...like you prepared luc and me?) "Stacia?" Sierra stared as the human stormed out into the hallway and flung open the front door, glaring at the red gargoyle, who was returning her the same cold gaze. "You," her voice quaked, "dare accuse me of not preparing you?" This caught the attention of his companions fifty meters ahead. "You dare accuse me?" Stacia stalked across the street, pointing a rigid finger at him. "I prepared you with the necessary ability, child, but you refused to accept it and take the help that was offered to you!" "Mother?!" The tan female squeaked. "What are you doing here?!" *** After getting both Brooklyn and "Stacia" calm down and away from each other's necks, Sierra reluctantly invited the four to sit down at her kitchen table, trying to mediate between them, but this was a little farfetched, especially when the tan female--Arin--called Stacia "mother". The gap in species were just a little too hard to swallow. Then there was the mutate, just as flabbergasted as Sierra, though he had more of a worried look to his eyes. The kid--Luc, who looked a lot like a mix between the two other gargoyles--was more interested in his wallet, trying to stay out of the conversation as much as humanly possible, and the red one--surprisingly named Brooklyn--was attempting not to bite anyone's head off. "So, what exactly is going on here?" Sierra demanded, folding her hands onto the table, leaning forward. "Y'know, the best one to tell you that is Ms. Reynard here," Brooklyn muttered, glaring at her through the corner of his eye. "Brooklyn!" Arin hissed. To Sierra, she remarked, "We encountered some sort of creature, an entity that is able to consume life forces...I know it sounds farfetched, but it almost fed off me, and now possesses one of our friends, making it even more dangerous." "What does this have to do with me?" Sierra questioned. Arin clamped her mouth shut and looked at Nate, who was leaning back with only two if the chair legs on the floor. He bit his lip, choosing his words carefully. "I don't believe in magic," he stated bluntly, "but there is something about four gargoyles of different times but of the same bloodline having the power to stop this Devourer." "Like time travel?" Sierra chortled. "Really. This is the twenty- second century, amigo. Do you truly think that time travel is possible?" "Yes!" Arin and Brooklyn retorted. The lavender woman snorted, folding her arms over her chest. "You guys are delusional," she shook her head, as Luc began to peruse the documents on the table before them. "Do you expect me to beli-- " "You're Tom and Kat's child!" the smaller male exclaimed suddenly, his eye ridges high. "You're sixty, no older than sixty-five, that would be about right...." he trailed off excitedly, staring back down at the paper in front of him. His face suddenly fell, a glow edging his eyes. "It's true...Artemis wasn't making it up...." "What?" Arin whispered, leaning over his shoulder, looking at some dossier reports of some sorts. She recognised the faces of friends and family and some from that incident to the twentieth century Clone Wars. On closer investigation, she noticed the line at the top of each paper. Coroner's Report. "Shit," she hissed, slumping back into her chair. "Fucked up society this is, killing those who saved it." Stacia shot the gargoyle she claimed to be her daughter a warning look. "Aw, what do you care?" Arin snapped. "You and Da left me in London for five years to rot in that terrible finishing school, and he was the only one who actually cared enough to fish me out of there! You didn't even attempt to stop Oberon for what he did to me! Why couldn't I just be normal?" And, with that, she ran out. "Arin!" Stacia stood, though Brooklyn beat her to the draw, bolting after the torn woman. "What did she mean?" Luc whispered. Stacia shook her head. "It's a long story, too long to tell in what little time we have," she retorted. "Nathaniel, where is the Devourer now?" "I'm not picking it up anywhere," he shrugged. "Of course, maybe Malibu is in charge right now, so to speak...I don't know." "I still don't understand what you people are trying to say," Sierra retorted. "Are you saying this Devourer creature has a split personality?" "That's exactly what I'm saying," Nate snapped his fingers. "Or as close to a split personality as it gets." Sierra shook her head. "Okay, so you need me," she pointed out. "Then, what's in it for me?" "The satisfaction you just saved the multiverse from total annihilation," Luc grumbled, pushing the documents away from him. She growled. "For shits and giggles," she finally remarked. "Okay, I'll go." "Arin!" Brooklyn caught her arm as she reached Artemis, her hand on the handle. "Arin," he whispered softly, meeting her eyes. "What's wrong?" Tears streaked down her cheeks, unsure what to say. "I was sent to a finishing school," she gasped, "because Mother and Da believed they could not bring me up properly in the States, mainly because of my juvenile record." "What?" "I..." she spoke slowly, as if speaking to a deaf person, "had...a...juvenile...record. What part of that don't you understand?" "The fact that you have a juvenile record," he laughed somewhat, for he had no idea how else to respond. "Ut-oh," Artemis groaned. "Stay out of this!" Brooklyn and Arin snarled simultaneously. "I had a juvenile record, bloke. It was erased when I turned eighteen." She crossed over arms over her chest in an "end-of-discussion" pose. "What was on it?" "None of your damn business!" she shouted, the tears flowing more freely as she slouched against the Goat's flank, sliding downward until she was sitting on the concrete. Brooklyn blinked, crouching next to her. "Let's try this again," he suggested. "Piss off!" she growled. "No, I won't," he forced her to look him deep in her eyes. "Whatever you did, you're obviously sorry for it now." "Listen, I don't want to talk about it right now!" Her voice suddenly dropped. "Maybe when the circumstances become less...haptic...Brook, why can't we have normal lives?" "Because things don't work out that way," he answered simply, sitting next to her. He was too shocked to say anything else. "It never does. If it did, I would have lived all my life in eleventh-century Scotland, and died long ago without even meeting you. None of this shit that's going on in my head, no Devourer, no Sevarius, no Quarrymen, nothing. No Arin." She allowed his words to sink in, nodding slowly. Finally, she took a deep breath. "To abnormality!" She remarked with a sullen laugh. Brooklyn kissed her. "Willingly," he added, kissing her again. This one, she accepted it hungrily, savoring it. "Ahem," Artemis interrupted. "I really hate to break up your heartwretching soap opera, but the rest of the gang's coming back this way." "'Rest'?" Arin raised an eye ridge. "There was only Luc and Nate--" "Well, two more joined them," the car retorted gruffly. Arin groaned, stood up, and dusted her jeans off. "I don't understand," she helped Brooklyn to his feet. "Why would Mother be here, of all places?" "And, for that matter, how?" He added. "Last I understood, Mars's soil contains high amounts of iron. That's why it's red. But Titania's fae. You'd think she'd be getting a killer migraine at best." "As long as I assume my human form, I am safe from the Death Metal," Stacia retorted, leading the rest of the group to the car. "That is why I cannot revert to my true form here." To Brooklyn directly, she added, "We did not get off on the right foot, Champion. In a way, you and Luach were somewhat prepared, though not by me; rather, Caligo had shown Luach how to tap infinite energy to fuel his Word, and RC attempted to help you with your telepathy. My job was to aide Sierra into understanding her position in this. However," her green eyes, mirrored by both Arin's and Luach's, became clouded, "We were never successful in completing the tasks given to us." "Not you too," Sierra groaned. "Am I the only sane one here?" "You don't want me answering that," Arin smirked somewhat. "So, Mother, are you planning on joining us on this venture?" She shook her head. "I am not permitted to," she answered simply. "The Lords of the Multiverse only assigned me the task of aiding Sierra until she was united with the First, Second, and Chosen." "I still have no clue what is going on here," Sierra snarled. "We're all in the same boat, babe," Nate stuffed his hands into his pockets of his bomber jacket. "I don't know how we can leave without knowing where the Devourer is, and since he possessed Malibu...it shouldn't have changed its thought patterns that much...." "You brought up the possibility of a split personality," Luc pointed out. "What if Malibu is in control right now? He would sense differently than the Devourer, right?" "Well, that narrows it down to how many gargoyles and/or clones on Mars?" Nate rifled back. "You've got to know the bloke, then, to tell the difference," Arin retorted. "I mean, how many clones in your time like Weird Al Yankovic, They Might Be Giants, and Garth Brooks?" "Garth...Brooks...? As in, country and western?" Nate choked. Arin nodded. "That proves it. All clones are messed up." "No comment here," Brooklyn muttered. *** "'Everything you know is wrong, just forget the words and sing along! All you really need to understand is everything you know is wrong!'" There. That completed his favourite songs by Weird Al. Now what? "'The statue got me high! The statue got me high! A monument of granite sent a beam into my eye. The statue made me die! The statue made me die! It took my hand it killed me and it threw me to the sky.'" He had walked quite a bit in these past few hours, all around. Now, he was back in the actual city, his hands in his pockets, his head bent down, staring at the cracks in the reddish sidewalk, the strange weeds poking through. His green-black hair blew around his face, and once in a while, he would push it away absently. "'My evil twin, bad weather friend, he always wants to start when I want to begin. It scares me so, like I scare myself with that book of Nostradamus up upon my shelf.'" Somehow, singing the nonsense lyrics of the New York duo cleared his mind enough to think of what to do next. For some reason, the thought of Smashing Pumpkins bubbled up. "I don't even like them," he muttered to himself. (YES, BUT THE SECOND DOES.) He froze. Who said that? (YOU DID.) No I didn't, he snarled inwardly. I couldn't have. (DID YOU? WE ARE ONE. THEREFORE, YOU SAID IT, OR RATHER THOUGHT IT.) What are you? (YOU.) Okay, then what are we? (THE DEVOURER.) His inverted eyes widened in remembrance, fear edging them. He remembered the horror...the cold, painful embrace of the entity as it entered him like a thousand knives stabbing his soul. I don't want you. (OF COURSE NOT. BUT YOU HAVE NO SAY IN THIS.) GET OUT OF MY HEAD! (I'M NOT IN YOUR HEAD. I AM PART OF YOU.) I don't want you a part of me. (AGAIN, YOU HAVE NO SAY IN IT.) Mal sank to his knees, his back against a trash bin. "Leave me alone," he whispered hoarsely, feeling tears well in the corners of his eyes. "Leave me alone...why are you doing this...?" (I HUNGER. THEREFORE, I FEED. I EXIST TO FEED.) "No...." Mal sobbed, "'"Son I am able" she said "though you scare me." "Watch said I "beloved," I said "watch me scare you though." said she, "able am I, Son."'" (SINGING NONSENSE WON'T GET YOU ANYWHERE. SUBMIT TO ME.) "Please, leave me alone..." (NO.) Mal sobbed again, as he fought to stay in control. "Brook," he whimpered. "Brooklyn, help me." *** (brook...brooklyn, help me....) Brooklyn's ears suddenly perked up, his eye ridge furrowed. "It's Mal..." he whispered. "He's in trouble..." "No shit," Arin growled. "Where is he, Brook?" He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "Nate..." he finally beckoned. "Already there..." Nate closed his eyes. "...found him...he's about two miles away, toward the edge of town." "And what exactly do we do when we reach him?" Sierra demanded, her hands on her hips, a pose that caused Brooklyn to shutter, reminding him of a certain gargoyle of his past. "We hope to God Mal's still in control," Arin retorted as Nate unlocked Artemis. "And if he isn't...?" "We stop it," Luc finished. "Nate, I'll drive." Nate snorted, but did not argue as he claimed shotgun. Arin, Brooklyn, and a reluctant Sierra climbed into the back seat, though not totally unprepared for a small battle by the holster under her jacket. "Mother...?" Arin questioned as she piled in before Brooklyn. "I'm to stay here, at least until the Devourer is destroyed." Stacia shook her head, backing away from the car. "Good luck, my Champion, and remember your vow." Brooklyn said nothing, only nodded solemnly as he followed Arin. "Aw...Nate! Don't let the kid drive! Please!" Artemis protested. "I thought only the police department were allowed to have sentient CG systems," Sierra questioned. Nate flashed her his badge and grinned. "Lovecraft, detective third class, 19th precinct Bronx," he retorted. "Okay, Luc, remember what I--" Luc was already in motion and shifting into second. Without a lurch. "Damn, kid, you're getting good!" Artemis commented. "I had good teachers," Luc retorted, deadpan. Mal forced open his eyes, slits, watching a black car slow down at the curb. His entire body wracking in pain, he whimpered. "Brook...?" There was some commotion as the red gargoyle attempted to escape the confines of the Goat. Brooklyn finally shook away the seatbelt from his foot and ran over to his friend, easing Mal's head off the ground. "Brook...?" Mal repeated. "Yeah, bro," he whispered. "It's me. Are you going to be alright?" "All fucked up," he coughed. "I have something in my head...and it won't leave me alone...where's Delilah? I need to talk to Delilah!" "She's not here," Brooklyn replied simply. "Too much pain...she can ease the pain..." "He's going into shock!" Brooklyn yelled over to the others. "Let me try something," Luc ordered. The larger gargoyle struck his hand away. "Do you think I'm going to let you touch him after you almost killed him earlier?" he snarled, eyes aglow. Luc whimpered, stepping backward. "I was going to try a Purge, like I did with Nate," he whispered. "I don't trust you," Brooklyn snarled, turning his attention back to Mal. "Hang in there, bro. It's going to be all right...fight it...." "'It's getting dark, too dark to see...feels like I'm knocking on heaven's door...'" Mal quoted weakly. "Brook...I can't...I'm...losing...." "NO!" The copper gargoyle roared. "Mal! Don't do this to me! You can defeat it!" "I don't know--" Mal's eyes suddenly rolled back and closed, alerted Brooklyn as well as Luc that there was going to be trouble soon. Brooklyn stood, walking backwards, slowly, as he watched the dark jeans and shirt shift as though made of shadows, reforming into the dark and twisted armor they all knew to be characteristic of "Brooklyn! Luc! Get back in the car!" Arin shouted forcefully out the rolled down window. "Go," Brooklyn ordered Luc. "Without--" "GO!" the red gargoyle snarled, his glowing. "I'll be right behind you." Luc turned on his foot and sprinted back to the GTO's driver's seat and watched from behind the wheel with Arin and Sierra peering over his shoulder, Nate groaning with a "Not again," thrown in. "What's happening?" Sierra demanded. "That bloke's our friend we were talking about," Arin retorted defensively. "Not anymore," Nate muttered, drawing his nine-millimetre, just in case. Brooklyn backed off easily...his heart racing. "Mal?" He whispered. "Malibu, can you still hear me?" The clone's body moved somewhat, slowly at first, then pushed itself to its knees. Finally, after shaking its head, it stood, opening its eyes and stared down at the gargoyle. Brooklyn held a gasp as he noted with some relief that the eyes peering from under the shadowing half-helm were inverted blue. "Mal, are you--" He took a step forward. The larger gargoyle shook his head. "Brooklyn, I'm sorry...I tried to hold on..." he whispered just as a fiery red engulfed Mal's eyes. "Dammit! Brooklyn! Get your ass in the car!" Arin shouted. "Oh, shit...." He did not think twice as he bolted, scampering back on all fours. Nate hoisted himself out the passenger window, sitting on the edge of the door, readying his piece. "Brooklyn, jump onto the hood! Luc, drive!" he barked. Holding onto the roof of the car, the mutate flipped off the safety and felt the characteristic jerk of Luc's novice driving skills sent shudders up his spine. "Dammit!" Nate cringed, catching himself from falling on the pavement whizzing below like a beltsander. Luc was already in third gear by the time he reached Brooklyn, who executed a perfect blind jump onto Artemis' hood, though losing his balance and falling onto the windshield. "SHIT!!!" Artemis cried as the gargoyle impacted with the glass, creating a delicate spider-web pattern on the passenger side. "NATHANIEL PHILLIP LOVECRAFT, YOU OWE ME, YOU BASTARD!" "Just tack it on my bill!" Nate retorted, grabbing hold onto Brooklyn's arm, aiming his firearm as Luc took a sharp corner, almost clipping Malibu/The Devourer, who, out of physical instincts, backed away, tripping over the curb. Sierra rolled down the back window and scooted in the same position as the New York cop on the driver's side, pulling out her service pistol, a Desert Eagle .357 Magnum and steadying her left arm on the roof. Luc, unable to see out the windshield because of Brooklyn's outstretched wing, stuck his head out the window, looked back at the creature chasing after them at--he checked Artemis's speedometer and swore--sixty-seven miles per hour. "'Assholes in the rearview mirrors are closer than they appear!'" He quipped lightly, shifting into overdrive. "Brooklyn, move your ass! I can't see!" "Hey! Watch your language before I wash your mouth out with soap and ground you for speaking that way to your father!" Arin jested sardonically, getting an idea. "Artemis!" She ordered. "Pop your trunk!" "What?" "Just pop it!" Arin barked, hoisting herself in front of Nate and climbing onto the roof and hopping into the large open trunk, rummaging through its contents. Grinning evilly, she found the choice weapon of her family. A taze gun. Standing in the trunk, she switched off the safety, allowing the gun to charge, though holding it in a ready position. Picking up a shotgun with her tail, she slid it on the roof towards Brooklyn, who accepted it reluctantly, rolling onto his stomach and pulled himself onto the roof, using the trunk lid as a shield. "Shoot to slow him down! Don't aim for vitals!" Brooklyn ordered, holding out his hand for some shells. Arin knelt, rummaging her hand on the upholstered floor for the box of ammo, her eyes still on the rapidly approaching demon that was once Brooklyn and Arin's friend. "Easy for you to say!" Nate snapped. "To execute, that's a different story!" Sierra added. "Lock and Load!" Arin ordered, tossing two ammo shells to her beau, who loaded them clumsily into the barrels. Hearing the taze gun beep over the rush of the wind, she fired the weapon, the electric bolt striking dead in the middle of the armored chest. The Devourer stumbled but did not fall. "Shit," she knelt again, switching the taze setting to a higher level as Sierra gun fired on her right, Nate's echoing her's on her left. Brooklyn, who hadn't fired a shot left, ripped the edge of his shirt sleeve to use as a tie for his hair, then got off his stomach and onto one knee, the shotgun across his lap. Meeting the death red orbs of the Devourer, he felt a sudden jar to his mind. (YOU DARE TO TOUCH MY MIND, UNTRAINED ONE?) (it's not your mind to claim, demon,) He snarled inwardly. (YOUR WORDS MEAN NOTHING TO ME, BROOKLYN OF WYVERN,) the Devourer's gaze switched from the hazel eyes of Brooklyn to the bright green emeralds of Arin MacDuff. The tan female suddenly dropped her weapon, her body rigid mortis, her eyes wide but vacant. "SHIT!"Nate swore, as Brooklyn vaulted into the trunk, taking the shotgun with him. He tried pulling her away from the gaze, though her body would not move, even if he used all his strength. Inwardly, he could Feel the Devourer sapping at her fear as if it was feeding off him. He faced her, though it didn't do much good, considering the Devourer had already made telepathic contact with her; once in, it would be impossible to drive out. But he could not leave her to die... He took a deep breath, cleared his head, and locked mouths with her, allowing the floodgates of his mind he so painstakingly created burst open, pulling his subconscious under into a whirlpool of sensations alien and some painful. And then he stood, alone, in a barren wasteland, as strange and unfamiliar to him as the Martian landscape he had left behind. They all were jolted again as Luc swung onto a service road coated with fine red dust, kicking the particles up from the rear wheel drive, creating somewhat of a cloud cover. "What the hell's going on with them?" Sierra shouted to Nate as she shielded her eyes, nodding to the two rigid gargoyles kneeling in the open trunk. A quick telepathic scan from the mutate, and he shook his head. "They're both gone psychically," he remarked over Artemis' engine. "I know Brook's a psion. He probably 'jumped' after her when the Devourer pulled her in." "Not only that, I think we lost the bastard!" the soldier narrowed her eyes, scanning the reddish cloud of dust. "I don't see him anywhere!" "Luc! Pull her over gently!" Nate ordered inside the car. The tan male nodded, downshifting and braking as easily as he could until Artemis was at a complete stop, though he left her engine rumbling. "Now, to assess the damage," Nate groaned, sliding out through the open window. Sierra tried to do the same as Luc threw open the driver's door, causing her to fall onto her backside with a curse. Ignoring her insults directed at him, Luc made his way around the back, where his parents--or rather, the two who would one day become his parents--locked in a kiss, both sets of eyes, hazel and green, vacant of any intelligence. "Hey, Nate," he beckoned, trying to ascertain what happened, "You didn't keel over this time." "Aw, shee-it!" the mutate snarled on realisation of how bad the windshield was. "Dammit, Arty, if I knew this was going to happen--" Luc's question finally hit his ears, and Nate looked up. "I think its the same rules as why I can't sense him as well. He sacrificed some of his psychic abilities when he took a physical body." "Makes sense," Luc nodded slightly, his brows furled. "Nate, is my mother...?" "I don't know," Nate shook his head, popping the hood and examining the quaking motor. "I don't know what Brooklyn pulled to get Inside in Wastelands." Luc had heard of the Wastelands from Uncle Lexington and nodded again. "Can you--" Nate shook his head. "Riiiight," he muttered. "I've had bad experiences in the Wastelands, amigo. Anyway, it's not as easy for me to 'surf the astral plane' like some people. I've got to concentrate hard to even look there, let alone alter it." The tan male scratched his beak. "What if--" "Luc, don't try it, don't even think it." Nate then ordered. "You won't know what you're getting into." He sighed. "Artemis, what's your fuel status?" "Five-eighths gas, three-quarters back-up, meaning nine hours plus what we can get out of the gas...I'll be drivable for another day before-- Nate, I just realised something. Look to the high south." Nate did, blinking as he shielded his eyes at the reddish-yellow sun. Wait a minute... He shot a look at Luc, then back at the sun. "Luc," he beckoned. "Arin's half-human, right?" "Yeah." "Making you--" "Don't make me do the calculations..." "You turn to stone during the day, right?" "Of course I do! What are you driving at--" he stopped, eyes wide in disbelief as he gazed behind Nate. "What are you two talking about now?" Sierra groaned, reloading her Desert Eagle. Luc blinked away, his eyes smarting. "Why aren't we stone?" He asked her bluntly. "I don't understand..." "They don't call us gargoyles for nothing," Luc retorted. "We should be stone right now, and we're not." He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. "Why?" Sierra stared at him pitifully. "I've lived here most of my life, and never 'turned to stone'," she muttered. "What about the other part?" Luc questioned. "The part you didn't live here?" "I don't remember it," she answered simply. "Maybe it's the atmosphere," Nate interjected, inspecting Artemis for any more damage. "It is thinner, and maybe the way the sun's radiation is filtered--" he trailed off as he inspected the undercarriage. "This is too weird," Luc and Sierra both retorted at the same time. "No; weird is what Luc can do," Nate corrected. "This is all in the name of physics and other shit like that...damn glad I'm a cop, not a scientist...." "I don't think my Word's weird," Luc protested. "Riiiiight," Nate snorted. "So what are we going to do now?" Sierra demanded. "We wait until Arin and Brook snap to," Nate shrugged. "And in the worst case scenario: Sayonara, Luc, Sierra, it was nice knowing you, but you guys won't even exist, and I'll still be strapped to Sevarius' operating table, so to speak." Sierra blinked as Luc glared, his eyelids half-open, at the mutate. "Disturbing, Nate," he muttered. "Think about it, Luc. Without Arin, you won't even be born, nor Kat, and without Kat, Sierra. If it wasn't for your father, the Wars would probably still go on, and me and Tris would still be under Sevarius' control." Nate pulled a toolbox from the trunk. "That's why we've got to hold on here. Every action has an opposite affect." Luc glanced at Sierra, who raised an eye ridge at him. "So we wait," Sierra finally remarked. "That's about the size of it," Nate answered. *** Wastelands The air was alive with some sort of current that coursed through his head, not an entirely uncomfortable feeling; just a little...weird. In fact, it seemed to give him energy. "Arin!" He called out, though his words did not come from his throat like he was used to. Instead, it was like thought projection. However, the tendrils of energy intensified the thought/word, scattering it in all directions. Nanoseconds later, one of the tendrils came back, from his left. (shadow...) The thought, Arin's voice, was fleeting, but it was a direction. He sensed the word as a name, though it felt aimed toward him. Falling on all fours, he began to run to the mind voice, though inwardly he hoped to see a crop of rocks or something of the sorts he could jump on for some height to glide, let alone wind in the barren landscape of yellows and browns. No sooner than the notion rose, a rather strong gust of wind came across his back. Curious, he opened his wings experimentally, catching the upward current, pulling him quickly up to a suitable height. Of course, he assured himself, this was all in his mind. Or was it? If he failed Arin, she would be the one who suffered. Sometimes the mind was more realistic than real life. "Arin!" He called out again, willing the wind to increase speed, which obediently did. (shadow! help me! please!) Arin pleaded. Who was Shadow? He noticed the landscape changing drastically, becoming darker, with vegetation, like a swamp, as he glided twenty feet above. "Arin!" "Brooklyn!" It was almost an echo, if he had actually said his own name. He paradoxally hovered for a few seconds, then continued on his way. "Brooklyn!" "Malibu?" He finally realised, banishing the wind and gliding down to the soft ground. The blue clone at least, the mental aspect of Mal was tied in black shadowy tendrils against a tree, the only part visible was his beak, nose, and eyes. "The bastard's got Arin, bro!" Mal interjected. "They went deeper into the swamp!" He pointed with his beak behind Brooklyn. "Lemme get you out " "Don't worry about me!" Mal snapped, wiggling his eyebrows in an "I-know-something-you-don't-know" look as the tendrils melted away. "I had to wait until the Devourer was out of range before I could do that. Right now, if he kills Arin, we're all screwed!" Brooklyn glared at his clone. "Hey, the Wastelands are what you make of them," Mal shrugged. "RC taught me that." "Really," Brooklyn groaned as they bolted on all fours into the indicated direction. "Why would she tell you that?" "Because she knew you wouldn't listen to her." "Figures," the red gargoyle muttered. "How long have you been here, and why didn't you free yourself earlier?" "Because I couldn't before," Mal answered simply. "And when you just appeared, it was like the binds were weakened." Brooklyn said nothing, just nodded, as the two covered ground at impossible speeds, one thing on Brooklyn's mind. He had to save Arin. "And how many times have you done that?" Mal snickered. "Done what?" "How many times have you saved Arin's bacon from the fire?" Mal demanded. "I mean, doesn't it seem like she's a perfect target for any other-worldly entity who wants to make a strike at either Macbeth, you, or the clan in general?" "Quiet," Brooklyn ordered somewhat bitterly as a pulsation of some sort infiltrated his mind. He closed his eyes, though it seemed futile; he could still "see" the area around him, the dark, dank swampy trees reaching out to snag at him. Concentrating all his will on the pulse, he managed to get a fix on its location. And, with it, a weak whisper. (shadow...) "ARIN!" Brooklyn bellowed, eyes glowing as he lapsed Malibu. The pulsation became stronger, louder, as if driving something inside his mind, clawing feverishly to get out. The swamp gave way to a more surrealistic landscape, an achromatic field with a building that, on first glance, it seemed abnormally huge, paradoxally filling their minds capes, an ancient Greek temple. On a closer look, however, the pillars were laced with dark shadows, faces that screamed soundlessly. "Shit," Mal whispered as he halted, kicking up grey sand, behind Brooklyn. "Hey, Brook, do you have a clue what this is?" Brooklyn shook his head slowly, the pulsation becoming audible--or was that his blood pumping through his ears in rhythm to it?--as he stared in horror at the ungodly building. "I know," the blue clone continued, his voice taking on a low and even tone, somewhat eerie and pained. "They're all the souls the Devourer had consumed. Millions...billions... infinite lives taken...the Devourer had built this unholy temple in my mind with the consumed souls as his building blocks...we've got to hurry, Brook, before Arin's next." Without a word, the copper red gargoyle bolted into the temple entrance, into the darkness of a pained soul, leaving Mal outside. The clone crumbled to his knees and sobbed. "You were always so much stronger than I, Brook," he mumbled, his tears coursing down his cheeks. "Why can't I fight it? Why?" Brooklyn had already penetrated the darkness, realising Mal stayed behind. It was probably better for him to, he reassured himself, as he ventured further into the labyrinth with nothing to guide him save for the pulsing in his mind and the faint mental whisper of the woman he loved. (HALT!) The sudden rumble ordered, freezing the young gargoyle in his tracks. (WHO ARE YOU TO THINK YOU CAN ENTER MY REALM?) "Your realm?" Brooklyn snapped back. "It isn't your realm to begin with. Your realm is the Oblivion where you belong!" (AH...YOU KNOW OF OBLIVION...YOU PERHAPS VISITED AS WELL...NO MATTER. YOU, AS UNTRAINED AS YOURSELF, DARE TO VENTURE INTO MY WORLD. I SHALL ENJOY ASSIMILATING YOU AS I DID YOUR CLONE.) "Over my dead carcass," Brooklyn muttered, breaking into a run. (THAT CAN BE ARRANGED.) "Shadow!" He heard Arin scream, from his right. "Shadow, please! I need you!" "Arin!" He shouted back, skidding on the slick marble-like floor. He finally regained his equilibrium and spun to that direction, finding shadowy tendrils grasping and groping at him, slowing him down. He slashed at his intangible attackers, eyes aglow with white-hot anger and determination. "Hold on, Arin! I'm coming!" As much as he tried, the shadow creatures continued emerge, two popping up when one fell. They grabbed his arms and bound his legs; they wrapped around his neck and face and finally penetrated his mind. The pain was unbearable as he screamed, the creatures crawled through his brain, exploring, learning everything they could. His eyes remained blazing, his body unmoving, as he tried to think with the little rationale he could still muster. Had to get rid of the creatures... All in the mind... Had to get rid of the creatures... All in the mind... His thought patterns became erratic, desperate. He managed to close his eyes, gathering what remained of his ravaged his thoughts, compressed them, formed them, and then forced them out at the attackers. "RELEASE ME!!!" He bellowed, snapping his eye lids open, finding control of his motor skills as he strained his arms and legs to break through the shadowy binds. The creatures whimpered, as they snapped away from his psionic assault. The echo of his order still resonated the walls as the shadows retreated into they dark corners of the parthenon, staring out that the gargoyle they had underestimated with sightless coal eyes. (IT SEEMS YOU ARE NOT AS UNTRAINED AS I FIRST PERCEIVED YOU TO BE,) the Devourer muttered. (I APPLAUD YOU ON YOUR DETERMINATION, BUT YOU WILL FIND IT FUTILE, FOR IT IS ALREADY TOO LATE FOR YOUR LOVER.) His rational thinking suddenly snapped with his deafening roar, frightening away what remained of the Devourer's pet shadows. With a burst of speed, Brooklyn raced on all fours, wings outstretched, his face contorted more like a biblical demon. Mentally, he probed for Arin, sweeping all around, suddenly grasping hold of her weakening mind. It was like grabbing his hand, engulfed with warmth and love, but it was fleeting; dying, even. (NO!) He cried mentally. "Bright Sun! Stay with me! Be strong! Fight it!" His clairvoyant sense abruptly warned him of something else, something large, behind him. Cursing his foolishness as he pivoted on the ball of his foot and leapt at his stalker, eyes blinding with rage. (TOO LATE, BROOKLYN OF WYVERN,) The Devourer grinned. "Fuck you!" Brooklyn spat, forcing another wave of psionic energy onto the evil entity, who yelped in pain. Brooklyn jumped back, in a fighter's defensive stance, though his eye ridge shot up. "That's right..." he smiled maliciously. "You gave up some of your abilities to take a physical body...the Wastelands are no longer truly your's to wreak havoc on." (DOES NOT MEAN I CANNOT. I MAY NOT BE ABLE TO RULE, BUT I CAN STILL DESTROY!) Backing up, Brooklyn reached out for Arin again. The connection was weak, but thank the gods she was still alive. Quickly, he turned, following the link to the center of the parthenon, a large open room with a floor that reminded him of a pattern he remembered out of an occult magazine he stumbled over at Matt Bluestone's apartment once. In the direct middle of the room, a slender silver chain suspending from a point unknown was wrapped and bolted around thin wrists. "Arin," he whispered, padding toward her body. The achromatic light filtering through the open walls intensified the bleakness of the scenario. "Arin? Oh, god, Arin?" Reaching upward, he touched her hand. Pale emerald eyes fluttered open, staring down at him. "Shadow...you've finally come," she whispered hoarsely, then blinked, he face betraying her weakened state. "Wait...you're too real to be Shadow--Brooklyn? Can it--?" "Not now!" he hissed, glancing up at the chain and, forcing a rush of energy onto it, snapped it, catching Arin in his arms. Unraveling what was left of the chain, he repositioned her so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. "None of this is real," she muttered, her face buried in his neck. "And yet why do I hurt...?" "The mind's more powerful than it seems," Brooklyn explained quickly, as he bolted for an gap between two pillars out into the harsh unreal light of the Wastelands. "And it took me this long to understand that." A faint smile crossed her face. He slowed down long enough to stare her in the eyes, his expression of worry and concern. "Are you all right, bright sun?" he whispered, caressing her pale cheek. "I'm so tired." Her voice was soft and distance. "My head hurts..." "I would imagine," he nodded. "What did it do to you?" She shook her head and groaned. "It got into my mind...like little bolts of electricity running through my nervous system...I couldn't think...I tried to resist...Brooklyn, it was trying to fight off a Mack truck with a stick...then you came...he almost had me, Brook..." she trailed off. "It was stalling me," he whispered in realisation. "It was bluffing..." (WAS I?) The two gargoyle psyches stared up at the parthenon as it slowly transmogrified into something smaller...more compact...darker...demonic...sentient...evil. The Devourer's true form. Arin's eyes widened, burying her face into Brooklyn's shoulder, truly terrified. He could only hold her protectively as he stood his ground, attempting to clear his thoughts and assess his advantages. 1.) The Devourer had sacrificed the majority of its psychic abilities to possess Malibu. 2.) Brooklyn had hurt it earlier. He could do it again. He hoped. 3.) Brooklyn had a marginal clue what he was doing. Again, he hoped. 4.) The Devourer had lost its bargaining chip. Thrice, Brooklyn hoped. Brooklyn took hold of the neutral energy threads flowing around him and Arin, forging an invisible barrier around the two of them. The strands caused a sudden gust of wind to pick up, whipping his long white hair around his face, though Arin's tri-coloured locks stayed strangely still. (i dare you to try feeding off her again,) Brooklyn snarled mentally, his eyes leering, taunting, glowing hotly. (YOU ARE TOO COCKY, BROOKLYN,) the demon snarled, its red orbs cruel. (JUST BECAUSE YOU THINK YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING DOES NOT MEAN YOU DO. YOU ARE NOT OMNIPOTENT HERE, FAR FROM IT.) Arin peered out of the corner of her eye, her arm covering her face as it laced around Brooklyn's neck. "It's not real," she repeated over and over, rhythmically, a chant. (QUITE THE CONTRARY, TITANIA'S DAUGHTER, IT IS QUITE REAL.) Brooklyn's eyes narrowed, sparking like lightning. The Devourer did the same, a mocking mirror image of the gargoyle standing before it. Both awaited the other's strike, though it never came. The only sound heard was Arin's chant, carried in the wind. That, and the Devourer screaming in pain as Malibu raked its back from behind. He stood in a ready position, his eyes flaring the eerie black characteristic of the clones. Brooklyn was only able to regard him quickly-- he was too busy concentrating on keeping the shield up--though he did notice there were modifications to Mal's usual battle gear. The spiked shoulder and knee guards as well as the red loincloth were still there, though he now had a gold breastplate and arm guards. At his side was a three-foot steel pole attached to his belt. He drew it quickly, twisting the ends, revealing a collapsible pair of nunchucku. "Come on, you bastard," Mal snarled. "You don't want them." (I ALREADY HAVE YOU, CLONE,) The Devourer smirked. (YOU ARE NOT SERIOUSLY THINKING YOU COULD TRADE HER FOR YOU, DO YOU?) "You've got to admit, I'm a much funner fish to fry," the blue gargoyle quipped, yanking the halves taunt, causing two blades to emerge from the ends. "Anyway, I know how to use the Wastelands. Brook doesn't. Don't you think I'll be more of a challenge?" (YOUR FUTILE ATTEMPT TO SAVE YOUR FRIENDS AMUSES ME.) "'Futile?' I don't think so," Mal swung the weighted segment at the Devourer, flicking it ever-so-slightly to bring the blade across the front of the neck. It roared, slashing out at the clone, who jumped away at the last minute, whipping his 'chucks again, tangling it around the wrist of the shadowy demon. Brooklyn didn't waste much time as he used the energy strands to reach out beyond the Wastelands...back into the Real world...searching for their anchors...there.... "We're going home," he whispered to Arin, who only mewed a slight reply. Looking back up at the enraged demon fighting the taunting clone, he met the inverted eyes of Malibu briefly, who nodded in understanding. With that, Brooklyn pulled at the tendrils, yanking them upward and out, the scenario drastically dematerialising into a white light. *** "'I've got an orgone accumulator--'" "Shut up, Luc." "'--and it makes me feel greater. I'll see you sometime later, when I'm through with my accumulator.'" "Luc!" Nate snarled. "If I wanted to hear Hawkwind's Greatest Hits, I would ask." Luc whimpered, gnawing on his bottom lip. "'Swallow the sea, it'll make you a man, let the wind go and you'll understand. Swallow the sea, and see that you do, people like me 'cuz I'm sea-sick of you--'" "'I drive really slow in the ultrafast lane, while people behind me are going insane! I'm an asshole, he's an asshole, what an asshole. I'm an asshole, he's an asshole, such an asshole--'" "Okay, I'll shut up! Jeez," Luc crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. "Sing again, and I'll rip out your vocal chords," Nate warned half- heartedly as he pulled out a couple of blankets from the back seat. Handing one to Sierra, who shook her head. It was getting late; by Sierra's chronometer, it was nineteen hours. "Fine," the small gargoyle pouted, crossing his hands over his chest. Abruptly, there was a thud and a curse as the two gargoyles frozen in the truck gained consciousness, tumbling out to the red dust. "Shit!" Arin grumbled, rubbing her elbow. "Are you all right?" Brooklyn whispered, helping her up as Luc bolted to aid her on the other side. "I'll be fine...I'm just tired," she muttered. "What about Mal? I mean, we sort of just left him..." "I tried to grab him," Brooklyn explained. "But I couldn't find his 'anchor', so to speak. It was like he never had a physical body to begin with." "You learned much on your expedition, kemosabe," Nate nodded, the only one understanding. "Not enough," Brooklyn's eye ridges furled. "I was bluffing him, the way he was bluffing me. If it wasn't for Mal, I might have lost Arin." As to add emphasis, he pulled the tan female into a close hug. "So he's still in control?" Luc questioned. Brooklyn shook his head. "He's trying," he sighed. "But, personally speaking, I really don't think he'll be able to defeat the Devourer alone." "Then we'd better pray he can deal with the creature on the inside while we fight out here in the Real World," Nate muttered, getting into the driver's seat of the Goat. "C'mon, everyone. Let's get going. Brook, I'm gonna need your help. You know what Mal senses like, right?" He waited for the copper gargoyle to nod, then continued. "It's your job to locate him now." "This is getting too damn weird," Sierra grumbled. "I'm being pulled around by a group of friggin' crackpots." "Hate to differ," Luc smiled, claiming shotgun. "We are a far cry from crackpots." "Total loonies, now that's more like it," Arin mumbled as Brooklyn helped her into the back seat. "So what now?" Sierra grimaced, sheathing her Desert Eagle. "Take a guess," Brooklyn smirked humourlessly as he leaned back and closed his eyes. "Don't tell me we've got to search out the bastard?" Sierra groaned. "In the words of one of my friends," Luc grinned. "'That's a big friggin' Ayuh!'" "Who says that?" Arin demanded. "Her name is Kerridwen, but everyone, including her parents, called her C-4," Luc explained nonchalantly. "From Maine?" the tan female's mouth quirked upward. "Sounds like an Outklaw." Luc nodded vigorously. "And to think," Arin mumbled under her breath. "I thought that was an 'guys-only' club." "Brace yourselves," Nate warned as his odd eyes focussed on the ripple in front of Artemis' grill. "I think it's coming..." Throwing her into reverse, but not yet taking his foot off the brake, his eyes narrowed. The ripple intensified, growing larger, becoming more defined in shape, taking the form of a winged creature, vague at first, but finally solidifying into the Devourer/Malibu hybrid. "Now," he rumbled, the red orbs scanning the GTO's occupants. "Where were we?" "Definitely not here," Nate snarled, foot moving from the brake to the gas in the matter of mere milliseconds. Turning the wheel sharply, he swung Artemis's tail end around, clipping the creature ever so slightly as he expertly shifted into first. The Devourer/Malibu chuckled as he picked himself up, dusted himself off in almost mockery, and reached out behind him, a surge of black power surged from his hand and created another vortex rift in the space/time continuum. "Yee-haw!" Nate shouted, whipping the ancient car around again, barrel-assing toward the evil entity. "You humour me, Nathaniel," he smiled cruelly, jumping into the vortex. "Yo, Sierra, you may not like this," Luc warned as they hit the rift going roughly fifty miles per hour. *** The passing around of the analgesics was becoming routine as Arin, Luc, Sierra, and Nate popped four each. Brooklyn chose to deal with the dull headache as he stared out at the lightening sky. There were no visible road; in fact, it seemed they were out in a fallow field, with weeds and grass as high as a man was tall. "Where are we?" He whispered. "My speculation?" Nate offered. "From what I can figure out, Luc is the First, Brooklyn, the Second, and Sierra, the Third. I know Caligo is the Fourth, but each time we met up with him, it was the wrong Caligo. So this must be where we're suppose to meet him." Brooklyn groaned, and from what Nate could perceive, it wasn't because of the headache. "How about when, bloke?" Arin hissed. "15th century Milan, Italy," the mutate retorted. "He told me so himself." "It'll be morning soon," Luc retorted, getting out of the car. "We should stay out here for the day." "By the looks of it, this field hasn't been used for quite some time," Brooklyn nodded. "What happens at--you don't seriously believe we're going to 'turn to stone', do you?" Sierra rolled her eyes. Arin only smirked. "What about Artemis?" she then asked Nate. "I'm going to stay right here, thank you very much," the car snarled. "If I get another smashed window, or even a scratch, I'll get Zo‰ to go mediaeval on your sorry ass!" "We could all use some rest," Nate agreed, arching his back. "I feel like I haven't slept in days," Ain yawned. Brooklyn nodded in agreement, helping her out of the car. "I'm going to enjoy this..." "About as much as a hot bath and a large mug of warm apple cider on the side, a good book--" Brooklyn whispered, hugging her gently. "--And the one you love," she added, leaning her head on his shoulder. Luc smiled somewhat as he waded a little from the rest of the group, trying to see what was around, if there were any roads. Another, whole new world! His to explore! "Tonight," Arin continued, "I'd like to see Milan. It's suppose to be a very romantic city." "Then we will," Brooklyn agreed, holding her tighter, though his thoughts darkened at the thought of his father. "What the hell!" Sierra swore, unable to move. Brooklyn snorted just before the sun rose, solidifying the four gargoyles into stone slumber. Nate, with his cool and cocky smile, examined each one of the statues. The two lovers, embraced; the curious little twerp, staring out through the grass, and the shocked shitless warrior, her sightless eyes wide in horror. "Well, Arty, it's up to you," he remarked as he took his cowboy hat from the floor of the passenger-side floor and, after brushing it off and reclining back in his seat, plopping the leather hat over his face. "If anyone comes, wake me up." "That'll be a chore," Artemis mumbled. "And don't call me Arty!" *** THUS ENDS PART THREE OF "IN DARKNESS COMETH": Next time, on WVRN, enter Caligo, but which Caligo? And once the Four unite, they will find a schism between them, and it's up to Arin and Nate to patch it up...but will they fall into the trap of the Devourer? *Insert maniacal laughter.* Stay tuned! SOUNDTRACK: "Yoda" and "Everything You Know is Wrong" is by Weird Al Yankovic, from "Dare to be Stupid" and "Bad Hair Day", respectfully. "I Wanna Rock" is by Twisted Sister, from "Stay Hungry". "The Statue Got Me High", "My Evil Twin", and "I Palindrome I" are by They Might Be Giants. All three are from "Apollo 18". "Orgone Accumulator" is by Hawkwind, from "Masters of the Universe". "Seasick of You" is by Eleven, from "Thunk". "Asshole" is by Denis Leary, from "No Cure for Cancer". --Black Blade "My Cosmic Song Goes On For Eternity"