Nathen paced back and forth in the small, dark chamber. The stone walls had a thin coating of water and slime hanging down them, and the floor under his feet was rough. The smell of damp and must hung in the air. His footsteps echoed down through the underground corridors as he rapidly paced back and forth, occasionally checking his watch.

"Where is that infernal minion of mine?" he asked to the air. All that answered him was the soft drip-drip of water.

As his home, it really was not all that bad. And besides, he could have gotten a middling-level apartment if he wanted to. The problem with that was, first and foremost, that required money, and money required him to work. Secondly, none of the other necromancers would ever be caught dead (or in some cases, alive) in a carpeted room with nice beige walls and a small kitchenette off to one side. It seemed to come with the territory that every practitioner of the dark arts had to live in a dark, foreboding place. And far be it from him to break tradition. Though he did kind of like beige...

He stopped pacing and started tapping his foot while staring at his watch. Where was that skeleton? It was not as if he had sent him out to get weapons-grade plutonium or an honest lawyer. All he needed was a small amount of goat's blood. How hard could that be to get?

He sighed. Very hard, in the case of Lenny. The skeleton would probably have trouble finding water in the middle of an ocean.

Trying to get his mind somewhere else besides his terminally late lackey, he decided to do his daily sweep of the room for duct tape. Walking slowly around, he checked every nook and cranny he could find for the sticky gray substance. Phasmus had seemed just a little too willing to rent out this section of the catacombs, and he always had the nagging suspicion that the mummy planned on calling due on all sorts of back-taxes in a most unpleasant fashion.

He had covered three-quarters of the room when Lenny finally walked back in. The skeleton was Nathen's only real necromantic success, at least so far. One of these days he would be known throughout the world as the greatest necromancer ever, he just knew it.

And, perhaps, that day would be today.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, boss, I got it," said the skeleton in his thin, raspy, Gilligan-like voice. He opened a brown sack and pulled out a ten-ounce squeeze bottle of Heinze ketchup. Nathen put his hand to his forehead to massage away the headache he felt forming. "Lenny, is that goat's blood?"

"I think so. Let's see...red...kinda gooey...yup, goat's blood."

He sighed. If he did not know for a fact that the skeleton was too stupid for it, he would almost think Lenny did these things intentionally. "It'll have to do." He took the ketchup and knelt on a bit of the floor he had had Lenny clean earlier for exactly this purpose. Keeping his hand as steady as possible, he carefully drew a five-pointed star on the ground, then a circle around it. When he was finished, he stood and admired his handiwork. It was quite good, if he did say so himself.

"Okay, Lenny, bring me that printout over there." He pointed to a piece of paper on the desk. He had printed it from the Battle.net War Room forum earlier. Most people would have thought the post was a joke, or some guy on drugs. But not him. He was observant. After all, how many people had an IP address that consisted entirely of sixes?

Lenny handed him the paper, and he scanned it over. "All right, now the virg--er, extremely powerful necromancer needs to step over the sign, then say the chant three times. Sounds good." He handed it back to the skeleton, then lightly stepped across the design he had made. He was a little disappointed that he felt no change, but perhaps it would come later.

"All right, Lord of Terror. Time to grant me my wishes." He cracked his knuckles, cleared his throat, then leaned over the symbol and started waving his hands around. True, the instructions said nothing about it, but it was probably a test to make sure only those who actually knew the dark arts could perform it. After all, every spell required some flashy hand-waving to make it work.

"Dum de dum, dum dee dum, all hail Diablo, I like schnitzel." A cool breeze tugged at his hair. He ignored it.

"Dum de dum, dum dee dum, all hail Diablo, I like schnitzel." The room seemed to grow a little darker. It was working!

"Dum de dum, dum dee dum, all hail Diablo, I like schnitzel!" The pentagram burst into red flame as the light fled from the rest of the room. A roiling crimson wash appeared in it, seeming to streak off to infinity. "It's working Lenny!" he yelled as a wind whipped through his room.

Something rose up from within the pit he had opened. Black and red, it swirled around and around, climbing up the sides. Then it oozed into his room, a vaporous mist that started solidifying as he watched. It grew more firm, even taking on the color of flesh, and then...

He frowned. "You're not the Lord of Terror!" Floating in front of him, above the glowing pentagram, was a two-foot-high image of a succubus. It took great force of will for him to concentrate on glaring at her face, instead of letting his eyes slip a little lower to ogle its miniature, but still voluptuous, form, hidden by what could only amount to a few square centimeters of cloth at the most. For some reason the succubus appeared to be wearing a headset of some sort. Then it spoke.

"Thank you for attempting to summon Diablo, Lord of Terror. We're sorry, but Lord Diablo is currently otherwise occupied and cannot accept any incoming summons. We apologize for this inconvenience, and would wish you better luck next time, if there was going to be a next time. This message will self destruct in one second."

"Wha-" was all he could get out before the room exploded in a fury of flames.

A few seconds later, he coughed and picked himself up, then looked around. The room was a mess. Where the pentagram had been was now a charred black pit. Broken furniture and burning debris covered the ground, while thick, acrid smoke hung in the air. An entire wall had been blown out by the blast. It was going to take forever to clean up.

Thankfully, he would not have to do it.

"Lenny, get out here! Where are you, you good-for-nothing minion? Get to work picking all this stuff up!"

"That won't be necessary," said a voice like a sarcophagus lid sliding shut.

Nathen spun around to find a tall, shadowy man in a dark cloak behind him. "What? Who are you? How did you get here? I warn you, I'm a powerful necromancer! Just go away and I won't be forced to destroy you."

"I'm not really worried about that."

"Hmph." Nathen spun back around. Let the guy be there if he wanted. He had more important things to do. "Lenny? Where on earth are you? Come out here and get cleaning!"

"I told you, that will not be necessary."

Nathen spun back around. "Now listen here you...you...big tall dark person! This is my inner sanctum, and if you keep insist on contradicting me, I'm going to get downright rude, okay?"

"Nathen?"

"What?"

"Look down."

Upset at being told what to do, but hoping the man would go away if he did, he glanced at his feet.

"Oh..." was all he managed to say.

And then, "You know, I'm a handsome devil, aren't I?"

"Yes, you were." The figure extended his arm and placed a bony hand on Nathen's shoulder. The room started fading into blackness.

"Er, I don't suppose I can negotiate something here, can I?"

"I'm afraid not. But look at it this way: if you hurry, you can still get good seats."

"For what?"

"The End."

"End? End of what?"

"Everything."

The side of the house exploded outward, an orange and red fireball expanding from the jagged hole and out into the afternoon air. Inside it was what had once been a normal teenager's room. Now, flames crackled across the floor and walls, devouring furniture, carpet, posters...and bodies. In the middle of the raging inferno stood what looked to be a young man, a boy, really. He looked around and smiled, paying no heed to the fiery heat licking all about him.

Someone gasped behind him. Turning, he saw a woman standing outside the door, which had been blown off its hinges by the blast. Her hand was to her mouth, and he could see her face was white with shock and terror.

Perfect.

"Hello Mrs. Applegate," he said nonchalantly. "And goodbye." He raised his hand and shot off a fireball. It engulfed the woman, whose screams lasted for only a few precious seconds before falling silent. The smell of burning flesh became stronger, and he smiled. His eyes glinted red.

Something moved in the corner of his vision, and he turned. If one of the other three boys had somehow survived this long, he intended to cut their pitiable life terminally short. Yes, they had been gullible and stupid enough to summon the Lord of Terror. This was just his way of thanking them.

Yet when he turned to where he had seen the movement, he saw nothing. Just open air, and flames, and smoke.

Open air, located right by the spiraling vortex that had served as gateway for him. He looked closer and saw a hole in the smoke and flames, an area where they did not touch. It was as if part of it had just been cut out and replaced with clean air. A part just over six feet tall, and vaguely humanoid looking.

With wings.

Growling with rage, he brought back his hand and shot off another fireball before he had a chance to think. The bolt hit the transparent shape dead-on. The flames spread outward in an odd ripple-effect, then dissipated. The clear part of the air began to shimmer and twist, and then a figure faded into view. An archangel in full gold-and-silver armor, standing above the pentagon with its hand out. It did not even look at him.

Whatever it was doing could not be good. He flexed his hand and five foot-long claws grew from his fingers. With a roar, he lunged at it.

Fast as lighting the archangel moved, drawing out a silver sword that danced with blue flames. It hit against his claws, thrusting them aside before they could gouge into its flesh. Thence followed several furious seconds of faster-than-sight blows, all of them barely but deftly blocked by the archangel. At one point the weapons locked, and he stared up at the being's dark helmet, wishing he had the time to transform this boy's body into his own. But even like this, it could counter the Lord of Terror only so long before it slipped.

"You shall not defeat me, angel!"

"On the contrary, I just have." The archangel's free hand made one final gesture, then opened towards the floor. A beam of white light shot out and hit the swirling vortex. It wrapped around its edges, then began spiraling inward, collapsing the link as it went.

"No!" Diablo lunged at his gateway, but the archangel's sword flashed out. The flat of the blade hit him hard, and he went sprawling to the side. Even as he struggled to his feet to try again, the portal closed.

The light leapt from the floor and into him, spiraling around and through his new body in a wave of brilliant agony. He felt a tremendous pressure forcing itself upon him, and then something holding him tighter than a fly in a spider's web.

The archangels' wings lashed out and wrapped around him, searing him with pain even as his mortal body felt relief. Bright white light pulsed down the wings and into him, forming a steel barrier around his soul. He tried to fight it, but was too weak in this new form. He felt himself tied and woven into the body like a piece of thread. With a final surge of energy the trap closed around him with all the force of a tidal wave, and the archangel dropped him to the floor.

It felt like he had just been cut in two. A great, agonizing pain flared through his entire body, and his hand was pure fire as the claws retracted back into the flesh. Red haze filled his vision for what seemed like an eternity, and then he was left on the floor, gasping heavily. The archangel stood above him, sword out, its white wings glowing brightly.

He coughed. Acrid smoke filled his lungs, bringing a low, burning pain. Yet he could feel the delicate tissue healing even as the fumes sought to destroy it, feel his new mongrel state forcing it to lengths no mere human could ever achieve. He coughed, and his eyes watered with tears.

"Go ahead, angel. How many can claim they killed Diablo himself?"

The archangel just looked down at him, its face hidden in the blackness beneath its helm. Then it flipped its wrist around and sheathed his sword.

"And let another rise in your place? I think not. It is out of my power, now. You are far less dangerous in this form. Trapped, virtually powerless. Human in every way except the ability to die. I shall leave you to your machinations, Lord of Terror. They need not concern us any longer."

The archangel's wings extended and wrapped around its body. They flared a brilliant white for a moment, and then it was gone, transported back to the High Heavens or whatever other destination it chose. Coughing, eyes stinging, muscles still burning from the pain of the binding, he crawled over to the hole where once an exterior wall had been. Outside, he could hear police sirens pulling up. He could well imagine what the humans would do upon finding a boy among all the wreckage, his clothing burnt but he himself unharmed.

He jumped, falling the two stories to land hard on his feet. He heard a bone snap, then felt it begin to heal itself. Forcing his body upright, he started at a limping jog out over the ground. He would deal with the repercussions of this later, somewhere safe.

He ran for minutes on end, the human body screaming with pain even as it healed itself. Finally he reached an alleyway. Ducking inside, he leaned up against the wall, breathing heavily. They would not be looking this far for a while yet. He could rest, and plan.

As the implications of what had happened sunk in, his rage grew. Perhaps the angels had planned it this way, or perhaps they simply took advantage of an opportunity. Whatever the reason, he was now in just about the worst possible position he could find. Bound as he was to this frail form, he was left helpless, an avatar of Evil trapped in a human body. A fragile, weak, pathetic, unkillable human body. The only thing that could now separate him from it was complete destruction of the flesh, and with the angels refusing to do it, the only force he knew of that could were his own minions, halfway around the world. And he could no more cast a portal spell like this than could the boy who had so stupidly given it up for the Lord of Terror.

Well, humans traveled around the world commonly. If they could do it, then so could he. It would take time, and planning, but he estimated that he could be in the Shadowlands in a day or so.

The where?

He jerked off the wall and looked around, eyes darting in the shadows. He felt acutely aware of how pathetic this teenager's body made him.

Er, hello? Is anyone here?

Diablo spun around, searching the darkness. "Who are you? Show yourself!" Even the body's voice sounded pathetic, a shaky tenor still going through puberty. The sooner he could remake it into his own the better.

Er, I'm not sure how. You see, it's all dark in here, and I don't really know where 'here' is.

Futile rage boiled up within him again. Not only was he stuck in a human body, he was stuck with a human. Soulbound. It was even worse than he had thought.

From the beginning he had distrusted Nighteye's plan, knowing that it could easily be botched by careless humans. Apparently he had been right. Instead of displacing the boy's soul entirely, he had just shoved it aside, cramming himself inside as well. And then tied together so thoroughly that no natural force could separate them. If he died like this (difficult but not impossible) all that would await him would be the Well of Souls.

For one of the first times in his existence, the Lord of Terror felt fear.

Look, I'd really like to know what exactly's going on-

"Shut up, human!" he yelled in his pathetic voice. "You will rue the day you crossed the Lord of Terror. I shall see your soul burn in torment for eternity for what you have caused."

Geez, touchy, aren't we?

He decided to just ignore the human. In a day, he would have access to what he needed to be rid of him. Just another day, and then he would make good his promise. Exiting the alleyway, he started walking along the streets, planning how he could get to Siberia. That blasted human prattled on the whole way.

Back at the house, the firefighters sprayed water on the flames as fast as they could. Afterwards, when they entered the bedroom, one fireman was heard to remark that it looked "like something straight out of Hell."

The air split in half as the blue oval appeared. Its interior glittered like fractured topaz, hiding whatever lay beyond. It stayed that way for a moment, then a foot stepped through, shortly followed by the rest of Brighteye. A second later Robo-Gerbil hopped out. Brighteye turned and made a small gesture at the portal. It began to waver like a sail in the wind.

At just that point a young girl jumped out of it, and then it collapsed to a blue point and was gone.

"Crystal!" Brighteye looked down at the giggling girl in shock. "What are you doing here? You could have been sliced in half!"

The girl laughed. "That was fun. Can we do it again?" The girl looked past Brighteye's shoulder. "Oh, hi Mister Old Angry Man!"

Brighteye turned to look where Crystal was looking. Standing behind her was a gnarled, crotchety old man that looked like a holdover from the Bolshevik revolution. He pointed a spatula at her in what could only be a menacing manner. He spat out a string of Russian, none of which she caught.

He requests that you refrain from doing any more "evil capitalist demon magic" in his restaurant.

Thanks, she replied to the angel. She held up her hands in a gesture of good will. "Robo-Gerbil, please tell Comrade Ivanovich that I won't be doing that any more."

"Acknowledged" The rodent paused for a moment, then a string of Russian came from his voice synthesizer. The restaurant owner glanced at him, then turned back to Brighteye. He gave her a hard glare and shook his spatula at her, then turned on his heel and stalked back to stand behind the counter, glaring out at the world. As far as Brighteye had seen, that was all he ever did. How he kept the restaurant running was a mystery.

"Thanks, Robo-Gerbil."

"Accepted"

Now all they had to do was find Dei' and-

"Why's the big ugly statue man so grumpy?"

Oh yeah. Crystal. She walked over to where the little girl was pointing at the statue of Pitr McBolshevik. "He's grumpy because...er...well, I don't really know."

"Oh." She seemed to consider this for a moment, then her face lit up. "I bet I can make him happy!"

Brighteye quickly stepped forward and put her arms around the girl, stopping her from casting the spell. "I don't think he wants that. I think he's happy being grumpy."

Crystal gave her a look that said she did not believe it. Gotta think fast. "Well, you see, he's an enlightened proletariat farmer, and enlightened proletariat farmers are happiest when they're grumpy, okay?"

"Okay..." She still did not look like she believed her, but at least she was not going to be casting any spells soon. At least, that's what Brighteye hoped.

"Let's go see if we can find the Cat Lady, okay?"

"Yay!" Crystal pulled out of her arms and ran back towards the bathroom area. She swung open one of the doors. "Miss Cat Lady? Are you in here?"

Dei's voice came from inside the door, and Crystal turned back to Brighteye. "I found her!" Then she scampered inside. Brighteye could not help smiling. The six-year-old was just so innocent and intense, it was hard not to like her. Even when she had just turned one's hair bright purple.

She stood and took a quick glance around the restaurant. "Well, at least it hasn't been destroyed by hordes of roving demons yet."

"Agreed. Probability analysis indicates only twenty-three percent chance of that occurrence in the next forty-eight hours."

"Wonderful," she said dryly. That meant they had a one-in-four chance of being horribly killed in the next two days. But what was life without a little uncertainty?

The door to the McBolshevik's opened, making a little bell attached to it ring. Brighteye turned to see who was coming in. Unsurprisingly, it was not a customer, but it wassome sort of humanoid lizard.

"So it's you." He turned and exited.

She stared at the closed door. "Er, what was that about?"

"Personality outline of subject Seth indicates low interpersonal communication skills. Being appears to keep to himself, approaching others only when necessary. Origin unknown."

"I see."

The door to the restroom swung open, and out walked...Adrien?

"Hi guys!" he said cheerfully. "How's Irvine going?"

Brighteye stared at him, wide-eyed. "Adrien? But you...we just left you. In Irvine."

The elf frowned. "What are you talking about? I've been here for over a week."

"But...uh-oh." Very uh-oh.

"What?"

"Er, nothing. Nothing important, anyway."

He shrugged. "If you say so."

Suddenly a crash sounded from the direction of the restroom, accompanied by a high-pitched, feline shriek. "Uh oh," she said again. "Sounds like Crystal's getting into trouble. Adrien, why don't you go see what you can do, okay?"

He nodded, then went back and opened the door. "Oh, hi Die'. What're you doing on the ceiling?" A string of Nez'Chre came from the door. "Banana fruitcake? What about it?" More Nez'Chre. "Oh, well why didn't you say so. But I don't...oh, you mean that giant pink killer octopus. Just a second." He drew his obsidian-bladed katana, yelled a war cry, then charged in. The door swung shut behind him.

Brighteye knelt down next to Robo-Gerbil. "We just left him in Irvine, right? Do you know what this means?"

"Affirmative. One Adrien is genuine. One is false. Query: which one?"

She shot a glance towards the restroom, from which elven curses and large squish sounds emanated. "I don't know. I say keep our guard up."

"Agreed."

A particularly loud crash came from the bathroom. "I guess we'd better go help them out before that thing trashes the entire place."

"Also affirmative."

They headed for the bathroom, where she could hear Crystal's giggling over the din of battle. She sighed. The sooner they got the girl back to Irvine, the better.

Leach waited impatiently while Mu retrieved the container. After spending several hours surreptitiously observing Dragoneyes whenever he could, he had come up with nothing in the way of a theory about her. Conceivably, she could be a hologram, but she interacted with matter just fine, and a forcefield would have shone up like a neon light to him. Even then there had to be a line-of-sight emitter, and she had gone through practically every bit of the headquarters, so it could not be that. Which left him with exactly zero leads. He needed more information, and hopefully this would be a way to get it.

Mu came out from the back area of the infirmary, carrying a bolted-shut metal can with large, neon-orange biohazard signs stamped on every available surface.

"I am still unable to comprehend a possible motivation for your desire to utilize this substance in your endeavors."

Leach simply accepted the can, thinking he might have gotten the gist of Mu's sentence but not entirely sure. "Thanks, Mu. I'll get it back in a little bit, okay?"

"Take caution. The contents located within the container can conceivably cause grievous bodily harm to the majority of the beings in the ranks of Operation Cannot Wait Any Longer."

"Er, sure. Whatever you say. Thanks again." He turned and left the infirmary, keeping the container under a fold of his lab coat to prevent any passing CWALers from noticing it. If they realized what it was, they would probably run away in terror, or declare unholy Jihad on him for daring to bring it out of its triple-lock containment. Neither option appealed to him.

He made it to the main room without incident. With the HQ all-but-repaired, many CWALers were taking this opportunity to sleep or play the Diablo II beta, sometimes at the same time. Pez, for example, was at one station, an odd helmet-like device plugged into the back of the computer. His eyes were closed and moved rapidly back and forth. From what Leach understood, that meant he was dreaming. And judging from the fact that his character onscreen was moving around and fighting, he could deduce what the dream was about.

Walking past the snoozing Pez-Land-Ian, he entered the kitchen. Thankfully, no one was currently about, so he could get to work. He set the container on the countertop. Reaching into one of his pockets, he pulled out a pair of thick, elbow-length rubber gloves. He normally used them for when he had to get close to a computer, to prevent him from inadvertently sucking the power right out of it. However, they also gave excellent protection against anything wet and hence painful. He snapped them on tight, then set to work undoing the top of the container. A triple-redundant set of locks kept it airtight, and it took him nearly a minute to get all the clasps undone. Checking again to make sure no one was around, he unscrewed the lid and laid it to the side.

Its brown, granular contents looked completely harmless, but he knew better. Tugging his gloves tight one more time, he reached inside and got to work.

Almost ten minutes later, he was finished, with only a few drops of water on the floor from where he had accidentally let it slosh over the side of the Pyrex measuring cup. He picked up the steaming mug on the countertop, then walked slowly out, careful to avoid the water on the ground. Now all he had to do was find Dragoneyes.

He was in luck. She was in the game room, sitting at a computer and playing the Beta. He walked over to her, careful not to spill a drop of the mug's contents. Finally, he stopped beside her. When she did not look up, he coughed discreetly. She turned her head. "What do you want? And if it's a date the answer's no and a quick grave."

He shook his head. "No, not that. I just thought you might be getting thirsty." He held the mug out to her. She took it, looking at him suspiciously.

"If you're trying to bribe me into it..."

"No, nothing of the sort. Can't a guy be nice every now and then?"

"Not around here. So what is it?" she asked, sniffing the aroma.

"Triple mocha. Your favorite, if I recall correctly."

She gave him another suspicious glance, then brought the mug up and took a swallow. He waited expectantly, watching the lump in her throat slide downward.

She took the mug away. "Nice. Thanks. But if you even think this entitles you to ask favors in return..."

He shook his head, smiling. "No, don't worry. I'll just leave you to your game now." He turned and walked away, mind racing. That was one possibility down. Whoever this Dragoneyes was, she was not the same person who had left CWAL a year ago. That much had been proven; now all he had to figure out was who, or what, she was.

He went back into the kitchen and, tiptoeing around the water splotches, got to the far counter. He quickly secured the lid back on the container, clasping only a few of the locks shut in his haste to get it out of sight. Looking around, he tried to find a good place to store it for the next bit. He might need it as proof. He considered the dishwasher, but that had rusted shut months ago and he did not feel like forcing it open. Instead, he decided on the refrigerator. Not only was it out of sight, but most CWALers had learned not to open it, ever since that one batch of Lothos' nacho cheese had gone bad and organized the Diary-Product Mafia. It had taken them weeks to get rid of it.

The inside of the fridge glowed green when he opened it, and the shelves looked like something from another planet. Strange, mutated growths sprouted all over the place, and he noticed with a little unease that there seemed to be a miniature altar formed out of bits of tinfoil underneath the light. None of his concern, though, at least not for now.

He placed the container on a relatively empty shelf, then closed the door and headed off to think things over.

Inside the now-dark fridge, a purplish glob of hyper-evolved cottage cheese oozed toward the new arrival, its curiosity sparked by the strange, alien writing that occupied most of its surface. It recognized a recurring, curving symbol, yet it could not attach meaning to it. Perhaps it was a primitive religious icon? What really interested it, though, was the line of blocky symbols running across its front. Though they were in a language it could not understand, it recognized it as a language. Even if it could have read the letters, it was unlikely that it would have realized the importance of them. They spelled out a word synonymous in CWAL with deadly poisons and inhumane treatment. It spelled out a word that could send most of CWAL into spasms by its very mention.

It spelled out "decaf."

Someone tugged on Brighteye's jacket, and a small voice spoke up. "Miss Bright Lady?" it asked.

She turned around. Crystal stood behind her, a somewhat worried expression on her face. "Is Miss Cat Lady mad at me?"

Brighteye looked to where Dei' stood, attempting to dry out her fur under a hand dryer. She had not had a pleasant experience with the octopus. She looked back to the girl and smiled.

"No, I don't think so Crystal. She'll be fine as soon as she's dry."

"Oh. Okay." Her endearing little face lit up in a smile, and she turned away. Brighteye went back to putting the maps and back up on the shelves.

Ten seconds later, she felt another tug on her clothing. "Yes, Crystal?" she asked as she turned.

"Miss Bright Lady, what's a red army?"

A what? She stood confused for several seconds, then realization struck. "Have you been talking with Adrien?"

Crystal nodded and grinned. "He's funny. Not like Mister Laeryn."

"I bet." One of the last things Laeryn would ever like to be called would be "funny." She took a moment to compose her thoughts, trying to figure out the best way to explain a delusional elf's fantasies to a six-year-old.

"Well, the Red Army is a bunch of...er, Enlightened Proletariat Farmers that Adrien thinks will be coming to help us in our fight against the forces of darkness."

"Oh. Okay." She turned and bopped away. Brighteye turned back to the maps and counted to ten. Sure enough, there was another tug. She forced a smile as she turned around. At this rate she would never get the shelf rearranged.

A simple glyph would occupy her elsewhere.

No thanks. "Yes, Crystal?"

"What's the forces of darkness?"

"Hmm..." She tapped her finger to her chin. "Do you remember Sephroth?"

"No."

"Oh. Um...how about the CEO?"

"Mister Marble Man? He's silly!"

Well, she was right, though it made it really hard to try to get the point across. "Um...you know those days where Mister Maggott is really cranky?"

She nodded, wide-eyed. An amnesia attack could not get rid memories from one of Maggott's "bad" days.

"Well, the forces of darkness are the people who want to make everyone really cranky and upset like that, so they have no fun."

"And make lots of things blow up?"

"Well, yes. That too."

"Oh." She thought for a moment. "Why?"

Brighteye shrugged. "I don't really know. That's just what they do, and unfortunately, they're very good at it, and there's a lot more of them than there are of us."

"Oh. Like the big metal choppy things?"

It took Brighteye a second to figure out what she meant. "Oh, the flensers. Yeah, kind of like that. Only these things are a lot harder to stop."

The girl puckered her lips for a moment and frowned, as if she were turning this over in her mind. "Miss Bright Lady?"

"Yes?"

"If there's a lot of them and they're really big and strong and stuff, how can a lot of grumpy old en...enlighted prolariot farmers beat them?"

They can't, she thought. Not without some help. But she held that to herself. Let Adrien hold the delusions, she would deal with reality. She thought about simply trying to comfort the girl and tell her don't worry, there's nothing to be afraid of. But she could not. Instead, she opted for a demonstration that would probably stick in Crystal's notoriously short memory longer than any speech would.

She turned to Adrien across the room. "Adrien, do you have any emergency supplies around here?"

"Emergency? What? Why? Is it a tornado? Hurricane? Invasion of the killer cockroaches from planet Orkin?" He backed up against the wall and stood on his tip-toes, then started looking around the floor. She sighed.

"They're over in the corner, underneath that half-tentacle over there," said the HP.

"Thank you," she said. She took Crystal's hand and led her over to the corner. After heaving the bright pink tentacle off the stack of crates (and finding something to wipe her hands on), she opened the lid of one of them. She glanced inside, but this held only dehydrated food and bottled water. The next crate, though, had what she wanted: candles and matches. She picked one of each up and then knelt.

"Adrien, can I get you to please turn off the lights for a moment."

"Oh, sure, and let all the killer mutant roaches come out while we can't see them! You won't take me alive!"

"Adrien, there are no killer mutant cockroaches. You're starting to sound like Paranoid CWALer."

The elf's eyes darted around. "Who told you that? How'd you know he's been giving me communiqués? Why are you looking at me like that?" He suddenly jumped to the side and raced out the door. It swung shut behind him. Crystal giggled. "He's silly."

Dei', now dried off, shook her head and walked to the light switch, which she flicked off. The room plunged into blackness.

"Now, Crystal, do you see all that darkness?"

"Uh-huh."

"Watch." By feel she struck a match. It flared, then died down to a small flame. She touched it to the candlewick, then shook it until it went out. The candle gave the room a warm yellow color.

"See? The darkness went away, didn't it?"

"Yup!"

"Remember Crystal, all the darkness in the world can't snuff out the light of a single candle, no matter how hard it tries. You understand?"

"Yup. Can I make the light brighter?"

A nagging sensation in the back of her mind told Brighteye that a gentle "no" would be the best answer, and probably the only one that would keep the McBolshevik's from turning into a raging inferno. "Um, how about later, okay Crystal? Right now we need to finish cleaning up."

"Okay Miss Bright Lady!"

Dei' flicked on the lights, and they got back to work while Crystal went off to find something entertaining. If only Adrien were so easy to appease, their lives would be a whole lot simpler.

Cindy Jenson did not particularly mind working at Los Angeles International Airport. The pay was tolerable and the environment air-conditioned, and the people were rarely rude (if not always nice, either). And she saw lots people. People from all walks of life seemed to be flying nowadays, and she was in charge of giving each and every one of them their boarding passes.

Well, maybe not all of them, but sometimes it seemed like it. Especially when she got the weirdos. The guys with spiked blue hair, or tattoos covering every visible inch of their body, or wearing more jewelry than Mr. T at a fashion show.

Of course, all of them looked like Joe Average next to the guy in front of her now. He looked like something straight out of Casablanca, with a dun-colored fedora and trench coat. He also had a large pair of very dark sunglasses that prevented her from seeing his eyes at all. Judging from what little of him she could see, that was a plus. His skin was all yellowish and shiny, like he had an extreme case of jaundice. And he had some sort of weird growths covering his mouth, even though he tried to hide them with the collar of the trench coat. She tried hard not to stare at them as she ran through the spiel, lest she offend a customer and thence lose her job.

"Have your bags been out of your personal possession at any time since you packed them?"

"No," he answered. She swore she heard something clicking.

"Have you received any items from unknown personages?"

"No."

"Okay, driver's license or other photo ID, please." While he dug it out, she took his luggage and slung it on the conveyor belt, sending it off to be mashed, mangled, minced, and crushed on its way to the plane. When she turned back around, he had placed his driver's license on the countertop. Checking the picture, she saw that it exactly matched the man in front of her, even down to the fedora and glasses. People could be so strange at times. But the name matched the one in the computer, so it was out of her hands. She typed in the okay.

The boarding pass printed out of the little slot. She ripped it out and tucked it in his flight information. Handing it to him, she put on her plastic smile. "Gate seventeen. You'll be in row fourteen, seat E. Thank you for flying with us, Mr. Mantis. Please have a pleasant trip."

"Thank you, miss. Have a good day."

He turned and left, heading off towards gate seventeen. She mentally sighed in relief. "Next," she called.

The next person up was a kid. He wore jeans and a shirt for some band she had never hear of, and he could not have been more than fifteen. He stalked up to the counter and glared at her.

"I need a ticket to Russia immediately."

Oh great. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to speak to someone else about purchasing a ticket. I only distribute boarding passes."

He glared harder, if that was possible. Before she realized it his hand had streaked across the countertop and grabbed her by the shirt collar. He pulled her close to him, menace flashing in his eyes. "Listen, mortal. I need to get to Russia now. Either you help me, or you will suffer an eternity of torment at my hands."

Mortal? She was not being paid enough to handle this. Her hand found the security button, and she pressed it several times while staring into the boy's face. This close, she could smell smoke on him, but it smelled like wood smoke, not some sort of drug. With her luck, He had probably escaped from a mental hospital by setting it on fire. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw black uniforms moving towards them. He must have noticed it too, because his eyes flicked over in that direction, then back at her. "You are lucky this time, human. You will not be so again." He let her go, spun, and stalked off. A few people tried to stop him, but he pushed right past them. She did not care; let security handle the madman. All she did was check baggage.

She took a moment to compose herself. "Next," she called. At least after that it could not get any worse.

A loud clomping sound accompanied the man as he walked forward. She looked up. And up, and up. The man towered over her. She would have sworn he was twelve feet high. And (they would never believe this), he had on the exact same costume as the earlier man, trench coat, fedora, and all. The clothes even still had the tags on, saying that they had come from "Joe's Big and Tall" store. She craned her neck to look up at him, forcing a smile she in no way felt. "May I help you?"

"Yes, I have a reservation for D. Flenser." He sounded as if his voice had been put through a meat grinder. She stifled a sigh and started typing it into the computer. It was going to be a long day.

"Ah, there it is. I knew I'd find it eventually. I really must speak to Father about sticking some sort of tracking beacon on it."

Rachel barely heard Crogoth's words. So far they had traveled through half a dozen red holes in space, each time taking a short, mind-numbingly nauseous trip through something that made her dizzy even thinking about it.

"Of course, then everyone else would eventually figure out a way to find out where it was. Oh well. It wouldn't help them, and it certainly could provide a modicum of entertainment seeing them cringe in expectation as it approached. Wouldn't you agree, my darling?"

She ignored him, more out of expedience than any desire to snub him. Right now, all her concentration was going to keeping her teeth clenched and her stomach down, and if she even so much as thought of turning to respond to him, she could lose it. If she could have aimed to get it all over him, even that would not be so bad. But she continued staring at the ground.

"Oh, come now. The least you can do it look up. After all, this is probably going to be your only chance to see it from the outside, and I'd hate for you to miss it."

"Go...to...Hell." She managed to get out through clenched jaws.

"Oh no, I think you've missed the point. You see, that's where we are."

She managed to steel herself enough to turn her head and glare at him. As she did so, she caught something in the corner of her vision. She flicked an involuntary glance over at it, then gasped, all thoughts of nausea instantly forgotten.

It was a giant floating city. She could not tell how far away it was, but regardless it was huge. Lightning seemed to jump from the clouds to it almost continually, striking the different spires with electrical fury. By that light, she made out a gigantic, twisted shape that looked like someone's idea of a nightmare given form.

"What...?"

"Oh, good, I was hoping you'd ask. That's Father's city, An-Rameumptom. It wasn't complete when we left, but it looks like Father's been the merciless slave-driver he always is." He sighed. "It's enough to make a son proud."

The more she learned about this "Father," the less she wanted to meet him. Crogoth tightened his grip on her arm. "Ready, my dearest?"

Of course, it was not as if she had a say in the matter. She simply glared at him. Anything she said would just illicit a flippant comment, and she was still feeling queasy. She did not trust herself to speak.

"Excellent! Let's be on our way, then. And don't worry, this is the last portal trip. After this you'll be involved in much more pleasurable activities." He made a small gesture with his hand, and another one of the hated red ovals opened up in the air. "After you," he said, bowing slightly even as he forced her forward, into the swirling red mouth.

For a brief instant she felt as if the entire world had gone insane. Up and down did not exist, and the red snakelike whorls around her seemed intent on tearing her apart. Then it was over, and she stumbled out onto stone. She tripped on one and fell to her knees, which was too much for her battered stomach. She leaned over, heaving onto the blackish stones. Not much came out; she had not eaten for almost twelve hours. When the retching finally stopped, she remained kneeling over, trying to get the taste of bile out of her mouth.

"There, there," said Crogoth, patting her shoulder. "It takes a while to get used to portal travel. But don't worry, you won't have to do it again."

Using her bound-together wrists as best as she could, she managed to push herself to her feet, with some assistance from Crogoth she would rather have been without. She shivered when she stood. The air here felt warm enough, but something made her feel like she was standing in an icebox. She looked around. They were out in an open courtyard, or as open as it could be with jagged, twisted spires rising hundreds of stories above them. She could see the gray-green sky above, a roiling mass of cloud that spat lightning down to the spires at regular intervals. The peal of thunder was a constant, but muted, background noise.

She turned to Crogoth. "Which one are we going to?"

His eyes seemed to light up. Still holding her by the arm, he pointed towards a spire that towered over the nearby ones. "If I remember right, Father was planning on making his throne room in that one. We'll just-" He did not even have time to blink. All those credit-hours of self-defense focused themselves in her single, powerful kick straight to his crotch. He doubled over with a gasp, his grip on her arm slackening. Seizing the chance, she brought her arms up in a swing, catching him across the jaw with enough force to knock him over backwards. She turned and ran, dodging into what she thought was an alleyway, though no alley she had ever seen curved down and then looped back and turned sideways. She ran into side-alleys, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and that thing that called itself a man. And the more she did so, the more she got thoroughly lost among the twisted, almost organic metal architecture and black stones.

She admitted to herself that she had no idea what she was going to do next. Her entire plan consisted of getting away from Crogoth, nothing more. But she had picked up from Gaval's friends the thought mode of "act now, plan later." It had gotten them out of enough scrapes that it had to have merit of some sort.

She dodged into another alleyway, then skidded to a stop. Thirty yards down it stood several hulking shapes. At first she thought they were someone's twisted idea of statuary, then one of them moved. She shrunk back, clinging to the shadows by the wall. The creatures or whatever they were easily stood eight feet tall, with large, leathery wings. Even from this distance she could make out the claws on their hands.

She carefully inched her way back towards where she came from, trying to make no sound whatsoever. The pounding of her heart in her ears sounded so loud she was certain they could hear it, too.

Up above, something screeched. She darted a glance up, and saw something in flight through the spires. It had two arms and legs, and a membrane of sorts spanning between them. A scorpion-like tail flicked behind it, being used as a rudder of sorts. It glided right over her, then caught a thermal and rose upward, turning the corner as it did so.

What have I gotten myself into? she thought. Unable to answer herself, she slowly backed up. After what seemed an interminable amount of time, she reached the corner.

A hand reached around it and grabbed her shoulder, sending ice through her veins. Crogoth stepped around. He did not even walk with a limp.

He shook his head sadly, making tsk sounds with his tongue. "Poor, poor Rachel. I know I said we wouldn't take another portal, but if you're going to try to pull stunts like that, I'm afraid we'll have to."

"Where...where are we?" The images of those creatures still haunted her vision.

"I told you, Hell on Earth. Or rather, on Inferno. 'Earth' is such a drab name, don't you agree?"

"I..." Earth? But this was most definitely not Earth. Not even the newsclips from the Shadowlands showed anything like this. But then...chills shot down her spine. Maybe they were not on her Earth.

"Oh, and I wouldn't attempt to run away again, if I were you. You stand out like a spotlight here, and not all the fiends are as forgiving as I am. Though many of them are quite a bit hungrier." He smiled, flashing two rows of perfect white teeth. If the effects of her sprint had not been making themselves known in the burning of her lungs and muscles, she would have been sorely tempted to remove a few of them from his mouth.

"Well, here we go. Last time. If you behave, my dear." Keeping an iron grip on her, he made the same motion again, and an identical red oval split the air in front of her. He shoved her forward.

Once again the swirling red energy, the snakes trying to rip her apart cell by cell. And then she was through, stumbling but not falling onto a floor paved in obsidian, with veins of red flowing through it. Crogoth's footsteps sounded behind her, and he grabbed her by the arm again.

"Come now, my pretty, Father should be expecting us." He tugged her up and forward, and she reluctantly followed.

They were in a gigantic rectangular room, easily a hundred yards long. The walls and floor seemed to be made of the same stuff, something black with red lines running through it in almost living patterns. As she watched, they brightened and dimmed, moving along like pulses in a wire. The ceiling, a high, arched affair, seemed constructed of red marble, except that it glowed, and the patterns slowly shifted over its surface. Ribs of something like ebony gave it support and made it look like the chest of a giant as seen from the inside.

At the far end of the room stood a giant black...something. In the dim red light, she could not make out too many details, but even then it looked like a vision taken straight out of a nightmare. Twisted, flowing forms dotted with menacing thorns, curving shapes that her eye tried to follow and gave up, losing itself among tangles that looked more like möbius strips than knots. The entire structure, whatever it was, appeared to have been grown more than made. And over it all, she could feel it radiating cold that chilled her bones, even while sweat from her run still beaded in her hair. Icy tendrils worked their way into her heart, and she swore she heard whisperings, just out of hearing range. Voices that spoke of things in the darkness, eyes just beyond sight, claws and jaws ready to tear her apart if ever she left the firelight.

She gritted her teeth and focused, forcing her rising fear down inside her. Gaval would not let his fear control him, so neither would she. Nevertheless, goosebumps formed all along her arms.

Crogoth seemed unaware of any of the effects she felt. He simply walked merrily forward, and she would have sworn that he was ready to burst out whistling at any moment, from the look on his face. It made her want to hit him all the more.

At long last they reached the twisted form. The red veins in the ground joined together here, twining together like so many tree branches to form a pentagram on the ground. She recognized it as the symbol of Satanists, but there was something else attached to it, some meaning she had seen around Gaval and CWAL. If only she could remember what it was.

"So, you have returned," said a deep, booming voice from within the tangle of black. Whoever spoke was hidden by shadows, but his voice sent involuntary shivers down her spine.

"Yes, Father, I have. And I have brought you a gift," he said, indicating Rachel with his free hand. "This human is known as Rachel Hollis, and both here and elsewhere she was the consort of the Slayer Gaval. I thought she would make a fitting first spoils from our conquest."

"Indeed," the voice rumbled. "However, I have no need of her now. I am otherwise...entertained. Place her in one of the holding cells. Her terror is sweet. Return and tell me of your exploits then."

"Yes, Lord." Crogoth bowed. Rachel had never seen him bow with any sincerity before, yet this looked fit to give a king. He straightened back up, then turned and tugged her along. "Come now, we've got a nice barren stone cell for you to enjoy while you're here."

Just before Rachel turned, she caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes amid all that darkness, eyes that seared coldness down into her soul. Crogoth had to practically drag her the first few steps before her mind started working again.

"What...who...?"

Crogoth stopped and brought a hand theatrically to his forehead. "Of course, I forgot to introduce you." He turned back around, bringing her with him. "Forgive me Father, this will only take a moment. I promised her I'd introduce you, and we just can't have her not know who she is the guest of, after all."

"Very well. Allow me to greet her eye to eye." She thought she caught a hint of amusement in the booming voice. Her blood chilled further, if that was possible. Something stirred on the black throne, then jumped down into the light.

She caught her breath. He was huge, easily twelve feet tall, maybe more, and covered in red skin. Yard-long bone spikes rose from his back, and two huge bull's horns came from either side of his head. He smiled slightly, baring needle-sharp teeth, and her heart shriveled within her.

Crogoth stepped forward. "My dearest Rachel, meet my Father. I believe you may have seen pictures of him while with that boyfriend of yours, but just in case, this is Diablo, Lord of Terror and soon-to-be ruler of Inferno."

Diablo reached out a clawed hand and stroked her under her chin with a touch of ice. "Pleased to meet you," he said smiling a smile that froze her blood. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she could not have moved from that spot if her life depended on it, which it just might. "I hope that you enjoy your stay at An-Rameumptom."

The claw stroked her cheek, and she felt a little dribble of blood slide down it from where it sliced into the flesh. Her eyes were locked on his, huge globes that radiated blackness and cold. She was trapped like a deer in headlights, and felt certain she would last just as long.

He smiled wider, baring yellow, inch-long teeth as sharp as daggers. Something in her system reached a critical point, and blackness overcame her.

The Chaotic Element was having a council of war. Unfortunately, no place within their ad hoc headquarters was large enough to fit an elf, a Nez'Chre, a human, and a robotic gerbil around a table all at once. And when Seth announced that he was going to be attending it, they finally gave up all hopes of holding it in the restroom. So now they sat around one of Comrade Ivanovich's tables, each with a chocolate StalinShake and order of People's Fried Potato Sticks to appease the old restaurant owner (except for Seth, who really could not care less about the communist throwback and had an intense hatred for vegetables of any sort). Crystal had been left back in the headquarters, a movie on to keep her distracted.

"Okay," said Adrien, "the problem is this. Fractured as it is, the Russian military could probably keep the Shadowlands at bay, maybe even repulse them a little bit, if it were not for the Federal Assembly. Without the legislature's approval, any declaration of war made by Putin will basically fall flat. And right now the entire Assembly's in deadlock and couldn't legislate their way out of a paper bag if their lives depended on it."

"Which, in this case, they do," added Brighteye. "If the government remains divided as it is, they will be easy prey for when Nighteye is finally able to move beyond the current borders."

"Lack of territorial expansion noted in recent times. Query: what is preventing Nighteye from expanding now?"

"He's powerful, very powerful, but even he can't spread his influence over ten million square kilometers, especially when what he's trying to control is the closest thing to chaos this planet's ever seen outside of one of Lothos' rampages."

Adrien took a sip of his shake. "Okay, so he's stuck for now, but I really don't think he's going to stay that way. And since the Red Army seems to be taking its sweet time getting here, it looks like we'll need the Russian government to keep the Shadowlands contained."

Brighteye looked at him quizzically. "Red Army?" Did it really exist, then? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dei' shake her head in warning, but it was too late. Adrien stood up and stared off into the distance, a noble look on his face. Behind him stood the flag of Mother Russia, not waving since it was attached to the wall but nonetheless a dramatic icon.

"Yes, the Red Army, Russia's last, best hope for peace. For when the dark evils of the Shadowlands threaten, then is the time that the people shall rise up in defense of their motherland. From every farm and borough, from Moscow to St. Petersburg, from the Baltic to the Black seas, the men and women of Russia shall rise up and come to the aide of their country, fighting with firepower an intractable enemy, driving them back a foot at a time if necessary, until they have expunged the foul plague of the Shadowlands and sent Nighteye and his minions back to the Burning Hells from whence they came. Viva la revolución!"

Adrien stood in front of the flag, his face determined and his hand out in front of him, reaching for Freedom.

Seth clapped a metronome clap. "Bravo," he said dryly. "I'm sure hearing that will make the demons cower in fear. However, since I haven't exactly seen any armed Slavics running to us from either Moscow or St. Petersburg, I say we stick to what we can do."

Adrien sat down. "Yeah, the roads are bad, you know. It'll probably take them a while to get here."

Seth sighed and resisted the temptation to put a hand to his forehead. Sarcasm went right through the elf as if it did not exist.

Dei' spoke up, saying a string of gibberish as far as the others could tell. Robo-Gerbil translated. "Returning to the Assembly, what can we do to repair it?"

Adrien shrugged. "Beats me. That's why we're having a council of war, remember?" He absently tossed a People's Fried Potato Stick into his mouth. "So, any suggestions?"

"First, what do we know?" hissed Seth in his gravelly voice.

Adrien pointed at Robo-Gerbil. "Accessing memory banks...data retrieved. Replaying news clip dated three days ago." There was a slight beep, then the voice synthesizer spoke out in a tone that had to be a news anchorman. "Approximately two days ago both the Federation Council and the State Duma suddenly and without warning broke into dozens of factions seemingly unable to decide on anything at all. Arguments have erupted at the slightest provocation, and on at least three occasions have instigated fistfights. As of the last report from within the Assembly, the Federation Council was debating where they should get coffee, while the State Duma was on the brink of exchanging blows on the matter of what time to dismiss. The cause of this sudden dissolution of relations is unknown, though it is believed to be related to a young man who spoke to the assemblies just before hostilities erupted. Authorities have attempted to track down the man, somewhere in his twenties and of Western European descent, but with no success." Robo-Gerbil's own voice came back. "End of news clip."

"And that's it?" asked Brighteye.

"That's it," confirmed Adrien. "We thought that might have been Nighteye they were talking about, but then they would have said he was African or wore a black mask, at least."

"Still," said Seth, "such infighting is abnormal among humans."

Dei' nodded and spoke, and Robo-Gerbil translated again. "Yes, even CWAL doesn't fight over where to get coffee. Sabotage, perhaps, but not fighting."

"Wait," said Brighteye, "how long ago did they start fighting?"

"Five days previous to today."

She looked around at the others. "That was exactly one day before the Black Mecha showed up in Irvine. I think we would be hard pressed to call that coincidence, even if they are half a world apart."

"Agreed."

"Okay," said Adrien, "so we've pretty much agreed it's some force of Evil doing this, right?" The others nodded. "Now, what do we do to stop it?"

"Well," said Brighteye, "I could try reversing the effects, but it would be difficult. Forcing people to do anything is hard, but Evil has an easier time of it. I may or may not be able to counteract it."

"Well, we've got to try."

"Perhaps," said Seth. "But do not underestimate the foe. It could be that they would use this time of distraction against us, or to advance their own plans while we are occupied elsewhere."

"Could be, but I'm pretty sure that if we don't do something, it'll be even worse."

"Perhaps."

Brighteye spoke up. "What if Dei', Robo-Gerbil, and I go to the Federal Assembly and try to patch things up there while you two stay here and keep an eye on the Shadowlands."

Adrien nodded. "Sounds good. Anyone disagree or have anything to add?" He looked around the table. The only sound was Dei' sipping the last of her SatlinShake. "Okay then, I declare this council of war for the Chaotic Element/Unnamed Faction dismissed."

"You sure?" asked Iolaus, sitting at a table in the game room.

Arcturus nodded. "Positive. As far as we could tell, OEEP was doing business as usual. Customers go in, most of them come out, the staff fights among itself...nothing out of the ordinary. As far as we could tell, it was just another day for them.

"Hmm..." Iolaus rubbed his chin. "Something's not adding up here. I mean, yeah OEEP's a bunch of megalomaniac wackos, but even they should be doing something different after last night. A victory party or something. It's not every day they get to destroy CWAL HQ."

Arcturus shrugged. "Say what you want, that's what we saw. If I didn't know better I'd almost say OEEP had forgotten us, what with everything they've done since the Great Holy War."

"Which is a whole lot of nothing, I know." He thought for several seconds, then shook his head. "Thanks for the report. Keep tabs on them still, okay?"

"Gotcha." Arcturus turned and walked out the front of the StarBucks, unholstering his paintball gun from his back. Iolaus watched him go off to keep surveillance of OEEP/KC's headquarters. Something was just not right. OEEP looked like the perfect culprit, yet they were acting completely out of the ordinary for having just destroyed a good chunk of CWAL Headquarters. Usually there was a victory celebration flowing with alcohol, or not-so-anonymous notes and e-mails sent to the CWALers, telling them how badly they had been beaten and how any day now OEEP would rise as masters of the world. To not even have received a single letter bomb was not only unusual, it was disturbing. OEEP was predictable in its own way, and they were following none of their patterns.

There was a cough behind him. "Er, Iolaus?" He turned. Leach was standing there, looking quite nervous. Iolaus could understand; if he could be killed by one of the most abundant substances on Earth he would be nervous all the time, too.

"Yes?"

"Could I speak with you for a moment? In private?"

Iolaus cocked an eyebrow, but stood up from his chair. "Don't see why not. Lead the way." He gestured, and Leach headed off, threading his way through the maze of CWALers and computer terminals that had already turned the game room back to normal. They finally meandered over to the other side of the room and went down the stairway to the basement. Halfway between the main Headquarters and the Newbie Dungeons, it was cooler down here, and a whole lot quieter. Few CWALers ever had reason to go down here, so they should be relatively safe from eavesdropping.

Finally Leach stopped and turned around. Giving the small central area a once-over with his eyes, he seemed to satisfy himself. "There's no really easy way to say this. I think that Dragoneyes is a fake."

That was certainly not what he had been expecting. "I see...and your reasoning is...?"

"It's...hard to explain."

"Try me."

He sighed and seemed to compose his thoughts. "Okay, every living thing creates their own sorts of electromagnetic fields, fields I can pick up on. Right now I can see the pulses traveling along your nerves, and the jibber-jabber going on among all your neurons. Even robots and undead have their own fields, just of different types. But Dragoneyes...she doesn't have any. Not a single EM field to her count. There's some strange, weak thing that surrounds her, but whatever it is, it isn't bioelectric. I don't know what she is, but she is most definitely not what she claims to be."

"Okay...are you sure it isn't something to do with being draconian?"

"Yes. I was here before she left, remember? I would have noticed something like this."

"But you were in the Newbie Patrol at the time, right? Wouldn't that make contact between you rare?"

"I...yes, it would. But it's not just that. I also ran a test of my own."

"Really? What kind?"

"Come with me, I'll show you."

He turned, and Iolaus followed him back upstairs and into the kitchen, trying to suspend judgement. To come out of nowhere like that, it just sounded unbelievable. But he would wait to draw conclusions. When they got to the kitchen, one of Jolt's corpses was on the floor over by the mocha machine, a spilled cup at his side.

"Oops," said Leach. "Forgot to clean that bit out."

"What?"

Leach made a quick glance to make sure no one else was in the room. "I made Dragoneyes some mocha earlier, as a test." He opened the refrigerator door and reached in a hand. "But instead of making it normally, I used this." he pulled, but his hand remained in the fridge. Frowning, he pulled harder, but it seemed held there by something. He sighed. "One moment please." With his free hand he drew out his Tesla gun and fired a bolt of electricity into the fridge. Something screamed, and then he drew out a small, slightly scorched cylinder, which he rotated to show the label.

"You gave Dragoneyes decaf?"

"Shh!" He looked out the door. Apparently no one had noticed Iolaus' little outburst. "Yes, but that isn't the point. The point is that I gave her decaffeinated mocha and she didn't notice! I saw her swallow it myself without even the tiniest hint of distaste."

Now it was time to draw conclusions. He thought about all this for several seconds. If what Leach said was true, then there was no way the Dragoneyes out there could be genuine. But what if he was lying? And more importantly, why would he lie? Had they gotten all the mind-control out of him from that one raid?

"You don't believe me, do you?" he said.

"It's not that. It's just that..."

"Well you don't have to believe me. Try it yourself. I forgot to flush out the mocha machine, and look what it did to Jolt." He pointed at the corpse on the floor.

It was as good a test as any. Iolaus grabbed a cup from a cupboard and poured the last of the mocha into it. It only filled the cup halfway, but it would be enough. Just to make sure, he brought it up and touched the tip of his tongue to the dark liquid. An instinctual revulsion rose within him and he felt slightly woozy. Yes, that was decaf.

Leach watched him as he walked out of the kitchen. Iolaus did not know whether he wanted the experiment to succeed or not. He worked his way to Dragoneyes, who was absently sharpening her claws with a human femur, probably Jolt's.

"Hey, DE," he said. "I'm trying my hand at mocha-making. Care to test it?"

She blew a small puff of smoke out of her mouth. "What is it with you guys and giving me mochas today?" But she took the cup and brought it to her mouth. She swallowed, and he saw the slight bulge in her throat slide downward. He crossed his fingers, hoping for shuddering rejection.

"Needs more chocolate, but nice try." She turned away and resumed grating her claws across the bone.

He nodded, then slowly turned and walked back to the kitchen, where Leach stood at the doorway. "You see?"

He nodded. "Find Gaval and Fron, meet in my room in five minutes, okay?"

"Yes sir."

Leach headed off, while Iolaus made his way slowly up to his room. Another piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place, changing the rest of the picture entirely. He still had no idea what the picture was, though, and hoped he could figure it out before it grew too late.

Salman abu Ahmed walked up the slope of Mount Moriah, passing by the guards and checkpoints without even a twinge of annoyance. The guards were necessary precautions. All it would take would be one radical Jew with a death wish, and the Dome of the Rock would be no more. His mouth curled in distaste. That one Jew would be the death of his people, if one ever tried that. The chances were almost certain that such a desecration by the children of a usurper would merit declaring jihad, and then they would see which people Allah favored above the other.

From here he could see their Western Wall and all the people gathered there. From his understanding, the Jews waited for the coming of their Messiah, who would rebuild their temple as a sign of his authenticity. He smiled and shook his head sadly, turning towards the gleaming golden dome that gave the mosque half its name. They claimed a temple would be built here eventually; he knew one already had. Only this mosque was dedicated to the one true Allah, and so was more important than any stone and wood construct they would raise.

The fires ran deep between the two peoples. Three thousand years of enmity and contention had followed them, rising all the way back between father Abraham's two sons. Ishmael, the one Allah truly favored, and the younger, Isaac. The usurper, who tried to claim all that was his brother's. But Allah did not lie. Had He not saved Ishmael and his mother Hagar when Abraham had cast them out, brought water forth from the ground to quench their thirst? Allah would certainly not have done that for the younger brother, the one to whom the birthright did not belong.

Three thousand years had proven that. Where the Jews were smitten and scattered across all nations, Allah's chosen people became strong and prosperous by following Mohammed's teachings and the words of the Koran. And today they ruled across the Arabian Peninsula, and controlled that most valuable of modern resources, petroleum. The Christian prophet Jesus had a saying, "By their fruits shall ye know them." One had merely to look at the fruits of Jew and Moslem to see which were ripe, and which rotten.

He finally entered the shaded interior of the mosque, grateful to be out of the sun's heat. There, in the center of the room, resting right under the dome, lay the rock. The place where Abraham was commanded to sacrifice Isaac, and from which Mohammed ascended into heaven. This was what helped make Al-Quds the third most holy city in the world.

He was just in time for the evening prayer. Removing his prayer rug from his back, he unrolled it onto the ground. Its intricate weavings made it a work of art unto itself, as anything meant to worship Allah should be. He knelt down and, at precisely the right time, bowed forward to begin his prayer.

Had anyone been looking closely, they might have noticed that the golden dome atop the mosque was sparkling more than the late-day sun should have made it, as if hundreds of pinpoint fireflies swarmed over its surface.

High above Jerusalem, the air crackled and sparkled, dancing over the city with shimmering sheets of pink and green. Night was approaching, and soon the whole city would be lit by the soft, effervescent glow of shining auroras.

The figure walked across the molten lava. Steep rock walls rose all around the pool, forming the central crater of the volcano. Wherever he put his sandaled foot down, the lava bent downward, as if repulsed by an invisible force. His eyeless black sockets swung back and forth, methodologically scanning the liquid rock. Above him the sulfurous fumes swirled up into the sky, acidifying the air and turning it an ugly mustard yellow.

After nearly a minute of walking through the crater, he stopped, staring down at the lava. Where he looked, the molten stone began to roil and bulge, as if stirred from underneath. Suddenly a glint of silver appeared, and the figure smiled slightly.

The object bobbed in the lava, unscathed by the scorching heat all around it. It was a metal spring, approximately six inches tall, and engraved with runic markings along its entire length. The man nodded, and just as suddenly the boiling lava receded, letting the spring sink back down into the depths.

The figure took his ebony staff in his hands. He waited for perhaps five seconds, seeming to focus his attention inward. Then he held it up over the lava, and plunged downward.

The rolled-up piece of paper shook slightly on the shelf, then toppled over and fell onto the table beneath. No longer confined by the books around it, it unrolled to show a geological map of Siberia.

The only one to notice this, however, was the Head Programmer AI, who was sulking again about being trapped in a secondhand piece of hardware by a bunch of lunatics who would probably get themselves killed, and indeed, should have done so already. As if the giant pink octopus had not been enough, they had then stuck that annoying little brat in here with him and put a movie on. Cinderella, it was. He supposed they had meant well, but they had not been there to see the girl singing along with "Bippity Boppity Boo," and the resulting chaos it caused. Several of his algorithms were still nonfunctional, curled up in the back of the hard drive and muttering over and over about summer squash. By some miracle, the computer that housed him had remained intact, though thrown against a wall. The rest of the room, though, had been completely destroyed and covered in bits of vegetable rind. He had to hand it to the girl. She had destroyed more of the CE/UF in a scant few minutes than all of Nighteye's armies had in weeks. At least they had cleaned most of it up.

And then they had just been on the verge of sending the little brat back to California via wormhole or portal or third-class mail, for all he cared, when Seth had appeared at the door, saying someone was approaching. Everyone had hurried out, even the girl, all thoughts of sending her back probably fleeing from their minds like rats from a sinking ship. He gave an electronic sigh. No one ever remembered the computer.

The door to the men's room opened, and Adrien walked in, followed by Dei'Nar'Ys, Brighteye, Robo-Gerbil, Crystal, and a newcomer, who looked like a jaundiced man in a trench coat. As he entered, he took off his fedora and sunglasses, revealing an insect-like head and compound eyes.

"Oh great, another weirdo," said the AI.

"Ignore the HP, he's always moody," said Adrien.

"HP?" asked the newcomer.

"Head Programmer. He's a copy of the AI in Blizzard's HP, suitably modified to not betray and/or kill us."

"I see." The AI was not sure, but it thought he thought that the insect's compound eyes hardened slightly.

"Anyway," said Brighteye, "In an hour or so we're going to set off to Moscow to try to get the Federal Assembly back in line."

"An admirable goal. Perhaps I should accompany you to--where did this come from?" He indicated the map that had fallen earlier.

"Oh that?" said Adrien. "It's just a map. Probably fell down while we were out."

"Indeed. I ask simply because it looks remarkably similar to the map I used to dispose of the One Spring. In fact..." He bent closer, "I believe this is the same map. Yes, I can see some of my notes on here. But how did you obtain it?"

"COTS operative ßetamantis directed me to carry the map. You never asked for it back."

"Oh." He clicked his mandibles together. Robo-Gerbil, meanwhile, hopped up onto the table and started walking across the map. Suddenly he stopped.

"Error. Internal navigation mismatch."

"What?"

"Location defined as 'Mount Despair' does not match location in memory banks. Calculating vectors." The cybernetic rodent stood still for several seconds, then walked over to the right part of the map. Tracing a rather intricate path along it, he worked his way to leftward. About a third of the way across, he stopped. A small pencil attached to a manipulator arm popped out of his back. It drew a circle on the map. "Location identified."

Everyone leaned close, looking at where Robo-Gerbil's circle delineated. It was about half an inch south of Mount Despair, but still centered on a volcano. Apparently, due to some navigation error, the party assigned to destroy the One Spring had missed Mount Despair and instead thrown the artifact into its southern neighbor, Mount Clinical Depression.

"This bodes ill," said ßetamantis.

"Agreed."

"Wait, wait," said Adrien, "you mean you guys didn't destroy the One Spring of Power?"

"Apparently not."

"You guys have got to go back! That thing must be destroyed, do you hear me? It can't be allowed to remain intact!"

Brighteye spoke up. "Why? You never did say what that was supposed to accomplish."

"Because...oh, it would take too long to explain. Just...Brighteye, you go with Robo-Gerbil and ßetamantis to destroy that Spring. They'll probably need your magic to fish it out of the volcano. Dei', Crystal, the HP and I will go to Moscow and see what we can do about the Assembly."

"Wait, you mean I actually get to go somewhere?"

"Yes, now come on, no time to lose!" The elf turned and walked out the door, Crystal running hot on his heels. Everyone else just looked at each other.

"Is it me," asked Brighteye, "or is he acting a little funny?"

Dei' spoke. "You mean more than usual?" came the translation.

"I am not well enough associated with Adrien to render judgement myself, however I suggest that you keep an eye on him."

Dei' nodded. She turned and stuck a zip disk into the AI's computer, speaking something he could not understand, but the intent was obvious. Excited about finally getting out of this beige prison, he downloaded himself to the disk, which Dei' then ejected and stuck in a pocket. Giving a final Nez'Chre farewell, she exited.

"Telemetry data downloaded. Ready to proceed to Mount Clinical Depression."

Brighteye looked at ßetamantis. "Well, I guess we might as well go get it. At least it can't do any harm."

"I would not be so certain of that. As I am unable to offer a better plan of action, however, I suggest we retrieve it. We can use my vehicle."

ßetamantis watched the CWALers climb into the rental car his insectoid double had brought. He suspected that it was no ordinary rental car, since the people who had delivered it to him had the look of COTS operatives about them. If he was right, he would have to be careful tailing it.

He absently tapped his level against the shadowed roof tiles, one tap every two seconds on the dot. Precision, that was what it was all about. It seemed the lower one went in the echelons of the Burning Hells, though, the less that was heeded. Which was why he preferred to work alone. And as long as he got results, those above him did not seem to mind.

The car pulled out of the parking lot, then turned onto the road and accelerated far faster than that model had any right too. He nodded; not a normal rental car. He continued to tap his level on the roof, timing it precisely. Then, one time, he simply stopped, halting it one centimeter above the surface. He head the soft crunch of weight being put down one of the tiles. He waited, silent, for several seconds.

He whipped around and brought the level up just in time to block a strike from a halberd. "Admirable attempt," he said. "Far too loud, though."

"You should not be so cocky, human." said his assailant, a man-sized lizard being.

"We shall see." He twisted the level and brought it around, knocking the halberd to the side. He swung the level forward, aiming to crush his opponent's ribcage. The other simply released the halberd to with one hand and used it to catch the end of the level in his palm, halting it in mid-swing.

ßetamantis grinned. "My congratulations on your strength, and condolences on your stupidity." He pressed the catch, and the spring-loaded icepicks shot out from either end. The one speared all the way through the lizard-man's palm, coming out the back end covered in a thin slick of dark blood. He ripped the pick out, tearing a jagged gouge through his assailant's hand as he did so. The being cradled his bad hand in the other, stepping back out of range. ßetamantis held his level in front of him defensively. "I have no quarrel with you, not yet. Do not make me get one." He stepped backward, toward the roof's edge. When he sensed it behind him, he gave the lizard-man a slight nod. "If it makes you feel any better, you did better than my last opponent." With that he stepped off the ledge and fell to the ground below.

When Seth looked over the edge three seconds later, he had vanished without a trace.

The Grand Council Chamber was full, every tier filled with angels and archangels from across the High Heavens. They spread outward in perfect circles, each rising just enough above the one before to allow sight. The mass of gold-and-silver armor and glowing white wings was stunning, while the perfect white marble under their feet caught the pure glow of the Firestar overhead, which roiled and bubbled its fiery-white prominences with mathematical predictability. Past it, if one looked hard enough, one could see the far end of the great hollow globe that was the High Heavens, and the geometrically perfect designs in which all structures and gardens within the sphere had been laid out.

Under normal conditions, the angels and archangels would have been out there, supervising the hundreds of thousands of projects under the High Heaven's control, both here and on the mortal plane. But now a Grand Council had been called, and every angel and archangel within the sphere was in attendance. Only cherubim and seraphim remained outside, doing the daily tasks and serving as warning in case the Burning Hells tried to take advantage of this rare event to launch an attack.

When it was confirmed that everyone required to be there was, Gabriel stepped out into the central dais. By a perfectly-designed system of acoustics, strengthened with a bit of angelic magic, all in attendance could hear him clearly. He turned his head, hidden within the dark depths of his helm, to take in the entire assembly.

"My fellow denizens of the High Heavens, we have gathered here today to vote consensus on a course of action. For even now the time approaches when the Sin War may be won or lost. The Hero of Darkness has appeared, and in return we raised the Hero of Light. Now events are manifest that will bring them together for battle.

"Many other events are also in movement, however. A small contingent of beings from a parallel world, one that has already passed this time, has arrived on the mortal sphere. It was immediately apparent which side they represented, and who had won the Sin War in their past. We cannot allow the same to happen here."

The Grand Council chamber was silent. Angels did not applaud or cry encouragement.

"In addition, the Lord of Terror is attempting to further the process to his own ends. Less than a mortal day ago, he possessed a human body, the first step towards an ascension. One of our members was able to halt him before it was complete, and he has been soulbound. It will not last long; already he seeks his mortal allies, and soon we will have to face him as himself.

"The object of this Grand Council is to determine a course of action. We may continue as we have, moving about in secret to further our ends. Or we may come into the open in full power. Or perhaps there is a third alternative. The dais is now open."

Gabriel touched the small crystal sphere on the pedestal in front of him. It glowed white, then rose a few centimeters into the air, casting a timeslow weave across the chamber. It would give them the time they needed to deliberate and decide, until at last consensus was reached. Unanimous, of course.

A handful of archangels came and went. As highest in rank, they received first privilege of speaking. All used precise, well-ordered logical proofs for a course of action. All but one supported continued moderation, often relying on the argument that it had served them well before. The one suggested a direct attack on Evil's encroachment into the mortal planes, the Shadowlands, but even he spoke of revealing as little to the mortals as possible.

Then came the next speaker, appearing in a cylinder of white light. But when it faded away, there stood no angel or archangel. The being looked almost human, with a short stature and gnarled limbs. It had no wings at all, and its physique was frail and stooped. But its eyes...

Its eyes shone pearly white, two glowing orbs set in an unlined face. If it were possible, the Grand Council chamber would have gone quieter. This was no angel or archangel, this was a son of the morning. Rarely did one see them become involved in matters of the High Heavens. Usually they remained in meditation, pondering the universe in thoughts that made the most advanced human computer look dim. For one to appear, even at a meeting as important as this, portended much.

Its glowing eyes scanned the assembled throng of angels, taking in all their millions at a glance. It stepped forward and put its hands on the podium, its stooped shoulders belying the great power within it.

"What is this?" Those assembled knew with certainty that it was a rhetorical question. "You reap your fruits, for it was not one year ago that you set this into motion. I tell you now that your haste could cost us the Sin War."

The son of the morning turned, looking straight at the archangel in the tiers that it knew would have input. "Speak," it said.

"We ask your forgiveness, yet we do not see what you mean. We guide the Sin War as best we are able towards victory."

"You guide it towards destruction. You have let a prophecy control your actions. Prophecies hold nothing next to knowledge, and yet you acted on one. You took the cast-off portion of a soul, gave it a body, armed it, and then let it free with only minimal supervision. There was no Hero of Light until you created one. Had you left her, the prophecy would have died unfulfilled. Had you destroyed the so-called Hero of Darkness, there would be no prophesy to fulfil."

"We humbly beg your pardon, but is it not possible that a Hero would have arisen without our intervention." The archangel knew it was treading on dangerous ground. Sons of the morning had been wrong before, but it was very, very rare. "Jesus of Nazareth..." The archangel trailed off. Angels did not interrupt each other, but the glare the son of the morning was sending at it would have melted through neosteel.

"Yeshua bar-Yawsef was no Hero of Light." The being let it hang in the air, and knew before he had said it exactly what its effect would be. Though that man had been unofficially adopted as theirs after his death, they had given no guidance during his life. He was too weak, to flexible, too willing to sacrifice justice to the chaotic heresy of mercy. They had taken steps to twist his teaching to their own, but the man himself had no part of them. And if he had been a Hero of Light, they should have known the location of his soul. As it was, they could only assume he was up in the Firestar somewhere. That was where the angels assumed those who died in the Light went, though few angels had ever gotten close enough to its searing surface to find out. Those that did, did not return.

The son of the morning swept its gaze across the council chamber. "I say unto you, that this endeavor can only fail. Among the Light there are no heroes. Only martyrs. You were warned once, and you continued. Now you reap the harvest. The time fast approaches where you and all the High Heavens must see the end of this attempt. I do not see it as being victory."

None of the assembled moved to speak. Sons of the morning did not know the future any more than any other time-bound being. But they could extrapolate and predict from what they knew. And they knew much; a son of the morning's guess was an atom's breadth away from certainty.

"I leave you to your own devices now, to reap what you have sown, though I do not see success at its end.

"For the sake of the Light, I hope that I am wrong."

Without the CE/UF occupying its restroom, the McBolshevik's was all but deserted. Comrade Ivanovich stood behind the counter like he always did, staring grimly at the world and daring it to do its worst against him.

Suddenly there was a sound from outside. It was the fast clop-clop of horse's hooves, which quickly slowed down to a trot, and then to a stop. A handful of seconds later the door to the restaurant swung open, causing the little bell above it to ring.

The man who entered was shorter than most, and wore a maroon sweater with black pants. His face was covered in freckles, and his hair was a fiery, flaming red, cut only to only a centimeter long. His age was indeterminate, though not above forty. Odd, but not too odd in light of the McBolshevik's recent inhabitants, was the black scabbard and sword he had strapped to his waist. The golden hilt of the sword protruded out, and its end was capped in a large red ruby.

He looked around for a moment, then walked up to the counter. Glancing over the menu, he proceeded to order in perfect Russian.

"Yes, I would like six capitalists on a bun, one with no pickles, four large orders of the people's fired potato sticks, and four Stalinshakes. One strawberry, one caramel, one vanilla, and one chocolate. Oh, and extra ketchup."

Comrade Ivanovich gave him a curt, dour-faced nod and got to work. The man walked over to one of the tables and sat down, shifting his scabbard to a more comfortable position. He idly twiddled his thumbs, passing the time in no apparent hurry.

A minute later there was another sound of horse's hooves outside, and then a whinny. The bell above the door jingled again, and in walked another man. He was thin and looked about forty, with thin-rimmed glasses, all black clothing, and a black hat that had a set of silver scales embroidered on the front. Underneath it, his black hair had been slicked back and pulled into a small ponytail. He looked around and spotted the other man, then made a beeline for his table. "Nice to see you again," he said as he sat down, laying the hat on the tabletop. "Already ordered, I assume?"

"Yes, and I got you your three hamburgers. Honestly, I think you do it out of spite."

"There are starving children in China, and I intend to keep it that way."

The other held up his hands. "Whoah there. Didn't mean to step on any toes."

"Yes you did."

Redhead smiled. "You know me too well."

Another rider pulled up outside. A few seconds later the door opened again, admitting a tall, gaunt woman in a beige pantsuit. Her waist-length silver-white hair had been pulled back by a silver headband, and her nose was red and her eyes watery. She quickly spotted the other two and hurried over to the table, coughing several times as she sat down. "Sorry about that," she said, rubbing her throat. "It's the climate."

"Yeah, I hear you," said Redhead. "Never liked the cold places myself. Give me the tropics anytime. Or the desert, even. Speaking of which, when're we supposed to finally get around to that place over in Israel? I'm looking forward to trying Kosher food."

The dark-haired one shrugged. "I don't know. The boss keeps saying sometime soon, but 'soon' always seems to be next year."

"Ah well," said the woman. "I wouldn't mind if we never got around to it. If nothing else, we'd be out of the job." She took out a handkerchief and noisily blew her nose.

"True. Hey, I think our order's ready." Redhead stood and went up to the counter, where he traded a small pile of rubles for a tray of food. He came back and laid it on the tabletop.

"There we go," he said as he passed them out. "Should we wait?"

"Nah," said Dark-hair. "He's always late. Never have figured out why."

"Yeah, I know." The woman took a bite out of her ground capitalist on a bun, then washed it down with vanilla shake. "You'd think that he, of all people, would be absolutely punctual."

"Mmph." said Redhead through a mouthful of people's fried potato sticks.

They ate in silence for a few seconds. No horse sounded outside, but then the door swung open. The bell gave half of a strangled jangle before its clapper snapped in two and fell to the floor, making a soft thud sound as it hit.

"Oops," said the newcomer. He wore a simple long, black cloak whose hood obscured most of his face. He looked around and spotted the three at the table, then walked to them. "Sorry I'm late," he said as he sat down. "Typhoid outbreak in Africa."

"You're welcome," said the woman through a stuffy nose.

"Never thought you'd show up," said Redhead. "Glad you made it though."

"I assume this one is mine?" he said, poking at a ground capitalist on a bun.

"Yup. Just like you like."

"No pickles?"

"Nope."

"Thank you." He lifted the hamburger to his mouth and ate, a site that most would find quite disturbing but seemed to not phase the others at all.

"You know," said Dark-hair, "seems we're doing this an awful lot lately. This is, what, second time this year?"

"Third," said Redhead. "Remember that time that one doctor almost went on a date with Emperor Auriga?"

"Oh yes. They had good beer, those Canadians."

"You know," said the woman, "I'd really like to see you drunk sometime."

"You shall have to be disappointed."

"Anyway, like I was saying, I don't think we're getting due recompense for what we're doing. I mean, the boss says go, and we go, but it's a lot more often than what our contract stipulates."

"And if I never see California again it will be too soon," added Redhead.

"I rather enjoy it, actually. Nice weather."

Redhead scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, but I agree. We should bring it up with the boss."

The woman entered a sneezing fit. "But how?" she managed to get out.

The four thought about this for a moment, staring down at their food.

"Perhaps if we ask for a raise...?"

The nightstalker silently crept through the streets of the former High Heavens. All around it, marble and glass lay shattered, destroyed by the fierce, relentless war that had finally conquered this place. Up above, the Firestar raged, sending a sickly red light down on everything below. Silence reigned here, the silence of a dead world. The angels had fought valiantly for their home, but with their Hero vanquished and turned to darkness and the very High Heavens itself turning against them, it was a hopeless battle. The kind the Burning Hells liked best.

The creature tiptoed through the rubble, adding not a whit of sound to the engulfing silence. It was made for stealth, and its chitinous feet could walk on practically any surface without a sound. Its eyes scanned the rubble, searching the shadows for anything suspicious. Reports had been trickling back to the higher-ups, reports of things half-seen in the perpetual twilight. It had been dispatched to look into these reports to see if they had any truth to them. More likely than not it was just a bunch of imps seeing things in the darkness, but it never hurt to be cautious. None of the Evils had cared to make the High Heavens anything more than a staging area; Inferno was the real prize. But that did not mean that one of them could not have changed their minds.

For several more minutes it slowly walked over the debris, its chameleon skin shifting to match its background. Any intruders would have a difficult time spotting it among all the light and shadow, which was exactly what was meant to happen.

It finished its survey of this area and turned a corner. And there it was.

It looked like a hole had been cut out of the background. Solid black, not even giving the slightest reflection, stood in front of the nightstalker. It was over six feet high, and from this angle looked almost like a human. Only the eyes broke the facade, eyes that glowed as red as the Firestar. Though its utter blackness gave no hint of details, the nightstalker nevertheless got the impression that it was wearing armor of some sort.

The nightstalker skittered backward, razor claws at the ready. It had never encountered anything of this sort. Indeed, it had never even heard of anything like this.

But that did not mean it would not attempt to kill it.

Yet the creature merely stood there, hovering a few inches above the ground, a living hole in the background. Then it shifted, and two black wings spread from its back. They looked like the wings of an angel, only they erased all light where they spread instead of giving it. The being raised one arm, and the nightstalker saw the silhouette of a sword in its hand. It pointed the weapon at the fiend, then its wings flapped forward, completely and utterly silent, wrapping around the nightstalker like a living cloak of dark. A burning blackness engulfed the fiend, hotter than all the fires of the Burning Hells.

And then nothing.

Dragoneyes knocked on Iolaus' door. Fron had relayed a message to her that CWAL's founder wanted to see her. He probably wanted her input on how to best plan an attack on OEEP. And, of course, she would be more than happy to give it to him. With luck, the two rival groups would tear each other up enough that neither would be fit to stand when Lord Diablo finally decided to send in a full-fledged invasion.

"Come in," came Iolaus' voice through the door. She turned the handle and walked inside. Iolaus sat at his desk, a copy of Air and Space magazine open on top of it. "Oh, DE, I'm glad you could come. We need to talk about some things."

She walked in. "The raid on OEEP?"

"You might say that." He made a small gesture with his hand, almost too small for her to notice. Then two pairs of hands grabbed her arms from behind. "What the-?" She looked to either side. Gaval held one arm, while that newbie that had given her the mocha earlier held the other. She tried to wrench her arms out of their grip, but they had already gotten a firm hold. "What's the meaning of this?" Had they caught onto her? Would she have to make a break for it?

Something moved behind her. She twisted her head and saw Mu, wheeling a portable table over from its position flush against the wall. They must have been waiting behind the door, where she could not see them as she walked in. With rising panic she noted the straps on the table; apparently they did not expect her to go along willingly.

"What, are you going to force me to have a medical exam?"

"Actually, yes," said Iolaus. The two holding her started easing her backward to lie on the table. She could not wait any longer, and since the two did not seem to be slacking their grips any, it was time to take desperate measures. She braced herself, then swung her arm with all the force the reanimation had given her. The newbie was flung forward off his feet, and he lost his grip as he sailed through the air to crash against Iolaus' desk. She wrenched her hand out of Gaval's grip with force that probably cracked several of his fingers. She swung her fist around and connected with his sternum, sending him flying backward. She thought she heard a rib crack.

No time for dawdling, she turned to run out the door. Suddenly white-hot agony lanced through her body, sending her muscles into a flurry of convulsions. Undead or not, she could not take punishment like this. White pain filled her vision, and then she fell to the ground, twitching spasmodically.

Behind her, Leach reholstered his Tesla gun and stepped forward. He picked her up, straining as he did so. "Geez, she's heavy. And that blast should have knocked her out cold, if it didn't stop her heart."

Gaval grunted as he pushed himself up, nursing his cracked ribcage. "Draconians can take a lot of punishment, but if what you say is true there's more than that going on here." He stepped forward and, wincing at the pain, helped to lever Dragoneyes onto the table. They quickly strapped down her wrists, arms, and ankles before she regained full use of her senses.

"Do you require medical attention?" asked Mu, looking at the Slayer's chest with a slight frown on his face.

Gaval shook his head. "Nah, just a cracked rib. I get 'em all the time. I'll be fine until after we figure out what's going on here."

The doctor nodded and set his medical case by Dragoneyes' head. He opened it and withdrew a small syringe. Squeezing a bit out of the top to make sure there were no air bubbles, he then looked down at the increasingly-conscious draconian. "Please immobilize her cranium so that I might administer the hypodermic treatment without undo risk of damage to my personage."

"Err..." said Gaval, looking at Iolaus and Leach to see if either of them had caught all of that.

"I think he said hold her head," said Iolaus. He looked to Mu for confirmation, and the doctor nodded. Gaval stepped up and got a firm grip on both sides of Dragoneyes' head. Mu felt around on her neck for a few seconds before finding the correct position. He stuck the syringe into her flesh and slowly pressed the plunger down.

Halfway through, Dragoneyes tried to twist her head and bite at the doctor's hand, but Gaval was able to hold it still, at the cost of considerable pain to his battered ribs. Finally the last of the yellowish liquid disappeared into her skin, and Mu withdrew it.

"The danger of combustive weaponry issuing forth from her oral cavity has been negated."

"Er, sure. Whatever you say," said Gaval. He took his hands away from Dragoneyes' head, and just barely avoided having a finger bitten off by her snapping jaws. "What do you want with me?" she spit out.

"To find out who, or what, you are," said Iolaus. "Leach here says you don't look like anything he's ever seen, and both he and I have put it to the test. You failed."

"What test?"

"Remember those mochas we gave you? They were made with decaffeinated brew."

Gaval's eyes went wide and he made the sign of the cross. Dragoneyes' head slumped back against the table. Bless these undead tastebuds of hers! How was she supposed to know that they would have the gall to give her decaf?

Mu withdrew a small tape recorder from his kit and flipped it on. "Subject: Dragoneyes, female draconian. Procedure: standard medical examination. Begin recording." He set the machine on the bed above Dragoneyes' head, then began feeling her wrist. He finally located the artery and pressed down on it, looking at his watch. Dragoneyes tried to slash at him with her claws, but the restraint prevented her from doing any more than clenching her fist.

"Subject exhibits cardiovascular pulse rate, as measured at the junction of the right radio-carpal joint, of..." He frowned. "Subjects pulse rate appears to be non-existent." With a slightly puzzled expression on his face, he withdrew a stethoscope from the kit and put it on. He tapped the contact end twice to make sure it was working, then looked at the others. "It would greatly facilitate the process if an individual would secure her cranial cavity to the surface of the diagnosis table." No one moved. Sighing, he pantomimed, holding Dragoneyes' head down. Light dawned in their eyes.

"I'll get this one," said Leach. He walked over and placed his hands on Dragoneyes' forehead, then pressed it down to the table. She growled softly. "You'll pay for this."

"I find that consequence highly improbably in light of evidence gathered up to this moment in time." She glared at him as he pressed the stethoscope to her chest. Mu had thought carefully; had she not been held down, she could have lunged forward, possibly getting just enough distance to dig her teeth into his wrist. As it was, all she could do was stay there, waiting as the cold probe padded over her chest. Most other CWALers she could have at least counted on to succumb to the temptation to ogle her breasts, but Mu was completely professional. For all he showed it he might not even have a sex drive.

She tried once again to blow flames, but something constricted in her throat, cutting it off before she could even get a puff of smoke through. These CWALers were too smart for their own good.

Finally Mu withdrew the stethoscope and placed it back into his kit. "Subject displays no audible cardiopulmonary functions. Inhalations and exhalations are conspicuously absent." She leaned her head back. Great, now she had even forgotten to breathe. What more could go wrong?

Leach, meanwhile, was frowning down at her. "Mu, is it all right if I do my own examination? I feel like I'm getting...something. I have no idea what, and it keeps slipping out of my grip, but it's there."

"Affirmative. Proceed." Leach nodded and stepped to the table's side. He slowly ran his hands through the air an inch or so above Dragoneyes' body, trying to scan her as best as he could for energy fields. That transparent, oily layer still wrapped around her, but now he felt something underneath it. It was so light it might as well be a memory of a dream, but it was there. Every time he tried to latch onto it, though, it slipped away. It was like trying to catch a sunbeam.

"What're you doing?" asked Iolaus.

"Searching the energy fields. There's something down there, and if I can just get an idea of what it is, it might help. Unless Mu's already got a theory."

"Negative."

He focused harder, letting the rest of the room fade from sensation. If he could just reach a little deeper...

The energy skittered and slipped away again. He kept after it, trying to chase it into a metaphorical corner. It seemed to almost consciously dodge his efforts, and he had only seen something do that once before, back when he tried to (and finally succeeded in) absorbing some magical energy.

With that thought he changed his efforts slightly. If it was magic, he had to trick it into presenting itself. He twisted and pulled and pushed with that sense no humans had, sending the half-felt energy sliding away each time. He was fully focused on his task. Gaval might have said something, but if so it only came through as a murmur. All concentration went to catching this little bit of transparent gray.

Gray. He had a color, and it was getting more in focus as he pressed on. Gray and slick like ashes, with the oily tang of-

He grabbed it, latching onto it with a nonexistent grip it could not hope to break.

And suddenly his body erupted in pain.

He arched back, black energy leaping from Dragoneyes to crawl over his body, jumping around like lightning. Gaval suddenly doubled over, a cry of pain coming from him. Iolaus and Mu watched this in confusion and not a little bit of worry. Mu tried to get to Leach, but a black tendril of energy swatted out, filling his hand with burning coldness. He stayed back, having to play the observer.

Leach fell to his knees, the inverse energy leaping from his eyes like a thing alive. Dragoneyes' back was arched in silent pain, and then she began to disintegrate. Skin and scales dissolved away into gray dust, leaving black muscles and tendons behind, which immediately started to decay. She screamed, even as the muscles melted away from her face, leaving small piles of ash on the bleached white bone. The skeleton fell back, jerking for several seconds before lying still among a pile of gray dust.

"EVAAAAAL!" Gaval stood with a stake in hand, his eyes glowing a bright cobalt. He glanced around the room, searching for whatever undead abomination had triggered the Rush.

Leach knelt on the floor, his arms wrapped around him. Black lightning danced across his body, sizzling the air with negative energy. He arched back his head in a cry of pain, and suddenly the energy leapt upward, flying out of his eyes and mouth like an enraged spirit. It struck the ceiling and disappeared. A moment later several square feet of it dissolved into sawdust, trickling slowly down to the ground. Leach shuddered slightly on the floor, and the blue began to fade from Gaval's eyes.

Iolaus cautiously stepped over to Leach and offered him a hand. The EM entity gratefully accepted it, and pulled himself to his feet. "What happened?" asked Iolaus.

"I...don't know. I've never felt anything like that. It was like it was trying to tear me apart from the inside." He shuddered.

"Whatever it was, it was EVAAAAAL!"

"I believe I may have formulated a hypothesis to explain the extraordinary events of the preceding length of time." Everyone turned to Mu, standing at the head of a table, its only occupants now a skeleton and gray dust. "My observations of the rapid decomposition of the female draconian have instigated a train of thought coincident with disturbing implications. It is my hypothesis that said Dragoneyes was subject to necromantic reanimation, the expended energy of which remained an ambient force within her biological system. Upon the attempted, and successful, absorption of said energy by the electromagnetic entity Leach, natural destabilizing forces resumed, hastening the organic decomposition that had been artificially delayed by said necromantic interference. A troubling thought emerges upon my observations of the current advanced state of decay of said female. Total destruction of all soft bodily tissues to the degree observed is consistent with a non-preserved death period of a minimum of two Earth revolutions."

He waited for their responses. They consisted of staring blankly at him, with the occasional blink. Finally, Iolaus spoke. "Hold that thought. Leach, go get Lothos up here." The other nodded, and had taken one step towards the door when it opened from the other side, admitting Laeryn. His eyes darted back and forth as if he were searching for something. He took in the skeleton on the table with barely a glance.

"Okay, which one of you four decided to play the necromancer? And why in the planes would you be involved in it, Gaval?"

"Necromancer?"

The elf nodded and started stalking about the room, checking nooks and crevices. "Yes, necromancer. I could have felt that blast of negative energy a mile away, it had so little control behind it. What'd you do, use the abridged version of the Necromnicron?" He finally worked his way around to the table and looked down at the skeleton there. "I think it's safe to say that you failed miserably, though you're all still alive, which means it wasn't that miserably."

"Wait a second," said Iolaus. "We weren't doing any sort of magic here. We had suspicions about Dragoneyes not being who she claimed to be, and had to force her to undergo a medical exam. Leach tried to do an energy scan or drain or something on her, and picked up something nasty. You can see what the results of it on DE were." He gestured at the skeleton.

"Ah, so that explains the wings." He looked up at Gaval. "Let me guess, you Rushed, didn't you?"

"Yeah. How'd you know that?"

Laeryn sighed and muttered something about backwater planes. He pointed at the skeleton on the table. "Since you weren't trying to raise it, this is the result of removing all the negative energy from an undead. Usually it takes a spell to do that, but Leach here seems to have done just fine without it. From what I felt, a novitiate priest would have done a better job controlling it than he did."

"Hmph," said Leach.

The elf paused in thought. "That still leaves a problem, though. How come I didn't sense it before, and how come Gav here didn't Rush? She's been back for over a week, after all."

"Perhaps I might be able to shed luminescence on that particular conundrum. Observe, located in each ocular socket is a small disc of petroleum-derived polymer, consistent in physical size and construction to be used as a sight corrective."

Silence. Mu sighed and pointed in one of the skeleton's eye sockets. The others leaned forward to look. There, down at the bottom and sitting atop a small pile of gray dust, was a contact lens. Laeryn reached in and retrieved it. He rubbed it between his fingers, seeming to look inward.

"Magical. Never seen anything quite like it before, and its stealthy enough that I wouldn't have noticed it without looking. Its barely stronger than the background magical field, and that hardly exists here at all."

"So what does it do?"

She elf shrugged. "I have no idea. It would take several hours of study, but I think we can skip that part and safely say that it's what kept Gav and I from detecting that she was undead."

"And if her, then probably Krath and Shriek also," said Iolaus. "And they just happened to be killed in the attack, conveniently leaving no remains at all."

"So you think they went back to OEEP?" said Leach.

Iolaus shook his head. "No, I don't. I think that we've been put on the track of a red herring. Everything's too convenient and points directly at OEEP. I think we've got something else going on here."

"They could have made it look that way for that exact reason," said Gaval.

"Gav, do you honestly believe DarkAngel, Revenant, Krusader, or any other member of OEEP is actually capable of a double-deception?"

"Point taken."

Mu coughed. "Might I also remind the assembled personages that the state of advanced decay observed in the draconian is consistent with a date of decease at least two Earth revolutions previous?"

Iolaus frowned, and mouthed some of the words to himself, trying to fit them together. "Two revolutions? Years? You're saying she...she died two years ago?"

"Affirmative."

Iolaus looked around at the other four. "Guys, I think this just got a whole lot more complicated."

"Also affirmative."