Manhattan, New York
1938

Clack- clack- clack- clack…

Her heels beat out a staccato rhythm as she hurried through the dim, dank confines of the Hudson River docks. Lightning flared reflecting off cracked shards of yellow smeared glass, followed by the wild boom and rumbles of still distant thunder somewhere over Jersey, the storm roiling on the wind and heading for the city. She barely flinched as the garish light illuminated her, squinting to keep the far building in sight and clarity as she picked up her pace just a bit.

Damned heels, she thought, cursing the wardrobe she was forced to wear, needing to appear of Earth rather than flaunting her true colors. She had foregone the stiff and bulky undergarments that etiquette required, but the long, thin pencil-skirt and chunky-heeled pumps were constricting enough, despite how good she looked. Fashion aside she was thankful for the weather in that it allowed her to wear a long coat against the driving, chilly rain, that in turn allowing her to carry her sword. The large, wide-brimmed hat was an asset too; the brim shadowing her perhaps too recognizable face. It was all necessary though, she knew. There were times that required stealth and tact rather than a full frontal assault.

Charis of the Adrastea peered ahead into the gloomy night. The old, cracked walkway was ill lit but there were dull pools of radiance spaced out along the docks, each pier glowing to illuminate the ships berthed along the Hudson. So far uptown they were traders mainly, tramp steamers importing or exporting cargo, an occasional slip set aside for a ferry or a tug but overall the ships were hulking and metal transports. As always too the docks were abuzz with activity as ships were constantly coming in or going out, loading or unloading all hours of every day no matter the weather. There were seamen of every nationality everywhere. Dock workers and longshoremen next in abundance, followed by foremen and officials from customs and the city no doubt checking wares and taking tariff. It was loud and chaotic, which was fine by Charis as she hurried along, men stopping to watch her pass, some even commenting ludely but all far too busy to follow up their propositions.

Still, she was glad when she finally reached her destination. It was a huge, squat building that hung half out over the river, three stories of rotting, weathered wood and stone interlaced with sporadic glass and metal. It had probably been a warehouse at one point in its history, but lately it was a Speakeasy of renown and ill-refute. Perhaps the Speakeasy in the city, where all the rich and famous wanted to be seen. Perhaps not as glamorous or well-known as those in Capone’s Chicago a decade before, but easily as sought after as a haven for alcohol, sex, drugs and other things best left unspoken; anything for a price. It was the latter that Charis sought, though she doubted that she would be the one to pay.

There was a long line of autos arrayed along the far side of the street; hacks waiting for fare to limousines idling against the chill. The service road was a steady stream of trucks and cars, most cruising the docks though some looking to park at the club. A bulky man in a black, long slicker was directing the traffic that slowed with little patience, shining a beam of light into the dark confines of every car that paused. Two others waited at the entryway to the club, they in turn directing the foot traffic, weeding out the undesirables from the crowd before the doors at their own discretion, usually tainted by a bit of green paper. Charis eyed them, sniffing the air and wrinkling her nose before she began to elbow her way to the front of the gathering and the barrier of brass poles and velvet ropes.

“Hold it, doll,” one of the brutes said as she stepped forward trying to look innocent as well as attractively naive. It was a hard act for her to play and took the best part of her will to go against her better instincts. She forced a wide smile however and looked up at the pug-nosed Daemonite draped in Human flesh.

“Problem, handsome?” she said cutely, her tongue clicking as she smacked her lips and batted her eyes. It had taken several tries, an agonizing forever to do her face and she hoped that her efforts were not running in the rain. The brute smirked, his hand sliding to his shades as he leaned for a better look. She saw the tint of jaundice at his eyes even as she cocked a heel and posed for scrutiny, one hand on a shapely hip as her coat flapped open, and showing off her gams as was expected.

The smirk changed to a smile as the man stood tall again and slid a small black book from his jacket pocket. He flipped open the leather cover and thumbed through the pages. “What’s your name, babe?” he asked, producing a pen and jotting something on one of the pages.

“Cherry,” Charis replied with a girlish sounding giggle. “What’s yours?” The ‘man’ ignored her as he leafed through the pages of his booklet, his smile disappearing eventually. He snapped the book closed finally and looked up. “Not on the list, toots. Sorry. Private party tonight. Invites only.” He shrugged, but Charis had expected as much and stepped up closer, her skin crawling as she rubbed up against the disguised Daemonite.

“You should look again, hunk,” she purred, one hand twiddling about his shoulder while the other drifted down his chest, her fingers twisting in his tie. “I just gotta be on the list. Andy said I would be.” She grinned as the sawbuck seemed to magically appear between her fingers. It was not the money however that made gave the Daemonite pause, but the rune inscribed there on.

His eyebrows shot over the thick rims of his shades and Charis felt his body tense under her caress. “Sorry, Ma’am,” he said, his voice cracking just a bit as he stepped back and up the stairs to open the outer door for her. Charis flashed him a wide, white smile as she sashayed past him and into the short hall beyond in the wake of moans and grumbles from the crowd left behind in the rain.

The outer door clicked shut behind her leaving Charis in deathly silence, cloistered in the dim hallway within. It was a death trap she knew, the next barrier against unwanted visitors to the club. She had passed the first barricade however, and so took the three short strides to the reinforced inner door, rapping a rhythm, seven taps on the rusting metal fire plating. A moment later she heard the muffled ratcheting of Tommy guns somewhere behind the walls.

A thin slit opened in the doorway and Charis saw another pair of dull yellow eyes peering out at her. “Hiya,” she said with a grin, holding up the twenty dollar bill inscribed with the Kheran symbol for ‘destiny’. It had taken many days, much money and even more spilled blood for her to learn the required password for tonight’s gathering, but if all went well, at the end of the evening it would all have been worth it.

The eyes glared for a moment, then disappeared as the slit shut with a snap. Charis heard the sound of locks sliding free, and a few seconds later the door opened revealing another mountainous brute of a Daemonite disguised in flesh and strained fabric and looking obviously uncomfortable and grim. He stepped aside and she sauntered within the club.

The stench hit her first, her enhanced senses reeling at the venomous odor, like a viper pit rank and foul. The Daemonite taint was strong, and as her lavender eyes scanned the room she easily saw why.

The Speakeasy was a nest, a gathering hole for the cursed creatures, and the vast open chamber was packed and writhing with them. She could feel them more than see them, her empathic abilities warping their auras so that their pale flesh disguises peeled away. Charis licked her lips as she scanned the crowd, peering through the smoky haze and trying to force the garish and raucous music into the background. Trying to focus…

She saw humans, mundane and ignorant mingling in their midst, which was unfortunate. If things went well, the sheep would be slaughtered with the wolves tonight. Unfortunate, but necessary if what she had learned was true. She had to put a stop to what was happening and the bloody trail of heartless bodies had led here.

Children, she thought, her hands clenching into fists. They had been slaughtering children and stealing their virgin hearts for whatever arcane ritual they were planning. Taking naïve, innocent lives in their quest for dominance over the Earth. They would pay, or she would die. There was no middle ground.

“Take your coat, miss?”

Charis looked slyly to her left and saw the young woman returning her gaze. She was dressed scantily in a short, black satin corseted dress that left her bare breasts bulging and her fishnet encased legs exposed up to her genitals. She had a little white cap pinned into her bobbed blonde hair and a copper collar locked about her throat. She smiled hopefully, but Charis could almost taste the girl’s barely concealed fear. She tried to smile warmly in return.

“No thank you,” she said, slipping the no longer needed Jackson note into the girl’s sweaty palm. Hopefully she would survive to spend it, freely. The girl curtsied and clicked away on six-inch heels as Charis moved into the room.

The music roared, changing tempo as she passed along the bar, ignoring the men, women and Daemonites that leered at her openly. Alcohol flowed freely despite the laws of Prohibition, and along the far wall in smoky, dull light gambling was rampant. People danced in the center of the vast room, flipping and twisting in rhythm to the music, which seemed heavy with brass. Too loud and frantic for the woman named Nemesis by some, Vengeance by others. She preferred the softer tones of woodwinds and string. Music was one of the few things that calmed her otherwise hectic life.

Through the smoky haze she could see a stairway at the far end of the dancehall. It was guarded, leading to the second floor, though she saw a couple laughing and climbing the stairs arm in arm. She glanced upwards and saw several closed doors looping the upper landing that circled the inner perimeter; private rooms no doubt. Focusing her senses and empathy, she could hear the slightest whimpering, an occasional scream of lust or pain mingling with fear. Pleasure rooms, and not her destination this night. There were armed men lining the landing too, all looking far too lax and carrying machine guns casually, as though for show. She ignored them, her gaze scrutiny returning to the main floor.

She cocked her head, trying to focus as she saw two men standing in the shadows at the very far end of a hallway on the far side of the building. They were speaking to another brute, their hands waving as the man stoically blocked another fire-plated safety door, legs spread and arms folded implacably. Trying not to look impatient, Charis headed in that direction, letting the tails of her long coat flail in the breeze of her stride.

“…know there’sh a high stakes game, Bluto,” the red-haired man said, his speech slightly slurred, or so it seemed. He was tall, and Charis could see his back muscles rippling through the layers of his pale blue, pin-striped suit as he waved his arms about. The other man was tall and well-built as well, wearing a black, baggy zoot suit minus the wide-brimmed hat. His hair was close-cropped black and his skin almost seemed golden. He glanced her way as she approached and she saw an eyebrow raise over sparkling brown eyes.

“C’mon,” the other said, his body appearing to sway. Charis saw the subtle shifts though in footing and weight and knew the man was not so intoxicated as he hoped to appear to be. “I got bacon, Chromo. Centuries!” Charis watched as the red-haired man slid a long leather wallet from his jacket and peeled out five hundred dollar bills. “I gots the ante, goon. Now open the damned door!”

“Colt,” the bronze-skinned man said, his attention torn between Charis and his friend.

“Move on,” the Daemonite said, stepping forward even as Charis dipped her hand into her reticule, her fingers wrapping about the butt of her Derringer. It was a pitiful gun, even by Human standards, but she had modified it a bit; four bullets instead of two and those would pierce the toughest Daemonite hide. She was about to draw when all hell broke loose.

She saw the red-haired man’s arm arch up, the heel of his palm slamming into the Daemonite’s nose. She winced to hear bone and cartilage crunch with the impact as the Daemonite’s bulky mass lifted off of the floor a good six inches only to fall back and collapse with a thud against the door that he was guarding. Blood gushed from his shattered nose as the flesh-draped demon slumped to the floor.

“Oy,” the bronze-skinned man said as the redhead shifted stance and drove his fist through the lock and knob of the reinforced fire door. There was a screech of rending metal as the locks shattered and the door swung inwards. Charis glimpsed a fluttering light emanating from the dim depths beyond before the red-haired man turned to face her. She gasped in surprise for the first time in millennia…

“Yohn Kohl…” she whispered, her eyes going wide at the sight of the Kheran High Lord. He seemed taken aback for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her in return. She pulled her gun from her bag even as she saw recognition spark in his eyes.

“Charis!” he hissed, his voice laced with venom, wracked with hatred. “Traitorous bitch!”

Charis stepped back and to the side as the Kheran Lord lunged, his clawed hands groping for her throat. She grabbed the lapel of his baggy suit and jerked even as she drove a knee into his balls. Kheran High Lord or not, he was still a male. She pulled, using his momentum to drag him forward and send him splaying to the beer-stained floor with a splud. She shifted to recover but felt an iron-clad grip, a fist wrap about her right wrist. She leaned in, her left arm sweeping to deliver a fierce backhand but felt that hand grabbed as well, stopped in mid-arch.

“You probably don’t want to do this,” a smooth voice said. Charis looked up and into the fierce, dark gaze of the bronze-skinned man, his grip tightening on her arms where he had her grabbed. She blinked as recognition set in.

“You…” she started as the man twisted her wrist and squeezed. Charis heard her gun hit the floor with a dull thud.

“You were about to say?”

“You’re Axel Brass…” The bronze-skinned man smiled a devastating smile and nodded.

“At your service, Ma’am.”

Charis was about to speak, to talk to the greatest mind of the Twentieth Century when she realized the sudden dull. The music had stopped and she could feel eyes on her. She and Brass turned to find the crowd staring at them through a thin, smoky haze. No one moved, and she could not hear the slightest breath.

“Uh oh,” the bronzed man said even as Charis spun in his grip. She twisted her arms as she dipped, shifting her weight and flipping forward into a tight ball, feeling the man’s grip slip as he adjusted to the sudden shift in mass.

“Kill her, Brass!” she heard Yohn Kohl shout as he tipped to his feet. His face was twisted in anger, furious, and his eyes were wild. “She killed hundreds! Betrayed the Coda!”

Charis twisted free as Doctor Brass’ grip loosened slightly, landing back on the balls of her feet and dancing backwards. In one swift, fluid motion she kicked off the confining heels as her long coat slipped to the floor and she drew her blade, poising it overhead as she eyed the Kheran High Lord. She would kill him without hesitation- if she could- but it was a stroke of luck to find him here. If she could use him, his power…

There were screams eclipsed by a low, guttural rumbling, snarls and rending flesh. All three; Kheran, Human and Adrastean turned at the then sudden uproar as the Daemonites roiled forward midst the bloody sacrifice of the slaughtered mundane, killing all in their path to reach the age-old enemies. Death surged forward.

“Aw, fuck…”

---

East of Tefe, Brazil
Soon…

“Get up!”

I blinked, moaning as I focused on the dark, shadowy figure swimming in my watery sight and hovering over me. The memories faded into the background as the sound of automatic weapon’s fire cut through my personal haze, drawing me back to the present. I could smell smoke and the orange flicker of flames danced in the periphery of sight.

I stared up at Midnighter. He stood over me, straddling me and had a black-gloved hand extended for me to grasp. A limp, sodden cigarette hung from his thin, pale lips, and his eyes seemed wide, almost panicked and darting from side to side. I reached up and closed my fist into his and he hauled me to my feet.

I hissed through clenched teeth as pain shot through my leg. Looking down I could see the gash of the wound, a stray lucky bullet that had pierced my skin. The bullet had been expelled like any other virus, and the wound was knitting closed but it still hurt like Hades. I leaned to the left as I broke his grip, struggling to stand on my own.

“What’s happening?” I asked, looking up the trail towards where I last saw Void and Savant. There was an occasional burst of orange flame followed by the rattle of gunfire and heart wrenching screams. I could smell the viperous taint of Daemonites and knew that we must be close to a huge nest from the tormented sounds of battle and agony. But they had been obviously waiting for us, ready to intercept. I wondered how.

“We got jumped,” Midnighter said, taking the soggy, limp butt from his lips and looking at it foully. He flicked it away into the jungle, swiftly producing and lighting another. “They knew we were coming. Had an ambush all set. Quantum and Savant took out the main lot, but man, that Shaft is somethin’ with that bow. I ain’t never seen nobody move that fast.”

I nodded in agreement. For a human the man was remarkable, the best at what he did. Hero, warrior, leader apparently as Void had clued me in. There was no doubt why he was chosen to lead his team, Youngblood. Pity what happened to them. “Let’s go.”

I hobbled along, Midnighter pacing me but offering no aid, ass hole that he was. Not that I would have accepted, but it would have been nice had he offered. He prattled on that the others were seeking strays, hunting the Daemonite guard like the dogs they were. We arrived shortly in a wide clearing; manmade by the looks as the tree line was sheared back and away, the ground obviously treated to keep the jungle at bay. There were dead Daemonites everywhere; some in full form, others Human husks and still more trapped in-between by death, mockeries of both races and resembling neither. The grass was streaked with blood and the surrounding trees smoldered in the rain, sizzling as the water stanched the slightest chance of fire, snuffing out spotty flames. I squatted at the body of one dead Daemonite, scrutinizing the aberration’s armament, gritting my teeth at the pain in my thigh as I put pressure on the wound.

The Daemonite’s body was scorched as though it had been enveloped by Banefire. Its elongated head was twisted obscenely at the neck and its ugly face blackened with char. No more than it deserved, if that was all. But no. The flesh of its stomach was missing; simply gone. Not ripped or cut away, but voided out. Its entrails were spewed off to the right, steaming, hotter than the rain, which had thankfully lessened to a shower instead of the downpour that had paced most of our trek through the jungle.

“They were trying to kill us.” I looked up to find Jenny Quantum standing over me, watching me. “It’s no more than it deserved.” She stared at the felled Daemonite and me and I realized what had happened. She had used her powers to expel part of the Daemon, twisting it inside out with her ability to alter dimension. I had no love for any Daemonite, but it was still a horrible way to die.

“No more than she deserved,” I said standing, the pain in my leg bearable… Barely. I stared at Jenny Quantum, feeling that oddness about her again. Her face was placid as she stared down at the Daemonite, then at me.

“Void’s found something,” Shaft said, cutting into the uneasy silence. We both looked at him and he stepped back, his robotic arm twitching. He licked his lips as he glanced between us, eyes flitting, “About a hundred clicks down the trail. She wants us.”

I nodded as Quantum faded from existence…

---

I arrived in the clearing with Midnighter and Shaft in tow, the three teleporters standing at the base of an ancient, dilapidated and probably Mayan pyramid. It was a stunted structure compared to most, faded gray and tan stones covered in moss and vines and barely three stories high and well hidden by the jungle’s overgrowth. It was maybe fifty yards at the base, blocky and imposing despite its stature and inlaid with runes and Hieroglyphs that appeared not unlike any other in the planet’s Southern Hemisphere at a glance. Flat, squared figures were etched into the stone, chiseled in strained poses depicting some historic event or some future calamity, I was not certain which. Savant was at the base, investigating while Void hovered overhead radiating light and glory… Hope. Quantum stood off to the side, eyeing us as we approached.

“It’s Kheran,” Kenesha said indicating areas within the chiseled, weathered fresco, symbols that were ancient by local standards but known to us. “Archaic, even in the Eld Töng, but readable.”

“So, what’s it say?” Midnighter asked, beating me to the question. My Eld Kheran was rusty at best. Savant turned and sneered at Midnighter, then glanced at me before turning back to the glyphs. I looked at Void, sparkling and fading in and out of view. She seemed out of phase somehow, stuck somewhere between now and then.

“Herein is sealed… The path… road… I dunno. The humanoid figure is a Guardian, a Kheran warrior- a Spartan. But some of the sigils don’t jive. Power… Glory of the Host…This one means absolution,” she said pointing to a symbol of curling lines contained within a starburst. “And this one… obfuscation. It makes no sense.”

It’s begun…

We all glanced skyward at the sound of Void’s icy voice. Her face looked pale and flat compared to the silvery shell that held her energy in place, sparkling and flickering with a rainbow’s radiant hue. Her body seemed to quiver and flicker.

We’re too late…

Light began streaming through the cracks, the seams in between the pyramid’s old stone blocks. It was white and pure, blinding. Vegetation withered and fell away where it touched.

“We need to get inside!” I shouted, stepping to the stone.

“Right here,” Jenny Quantum said, pressing her hands to the cool, ancient stone and smiling as it crumbled, disintegrating as though aged and worn with evolution. A passage appeared with a blinding glare of white light beaming out, enveloping our little party of tomb raiders.

I felt the wave of heat as the glare washed over me. My exposed skin reddened almost immediately as though sunburned and I heard Shaft and Midnighter hiss with the pain they had to be feeling. I recognized the light as a spell, one created as a ward to identify intruders, and eliminate trespassers. We Kheran, Savant and myself were passable though marked by the cleansing light. Void and Jenny Quantum were hybrids, somewhere in their lineage Kheribum blessing or Daemonite taint that had allowed them to evolve through mutation and scientific fluke. They would survive. Shaft and Midnighter however…

I screamed as I leaned onto my bad leg, shifting my weight and striking out with a sidekick that took Midnighter full in the chest. I saw his black silhouette etched on my inner eye flying backward out of the glow, hopefully to safety and hopefully in time. Sparkles of lavender drew my attention and blinking tears I saw Savant vanish hugging Shaft in a gentler solution to saving him than my own.

And like clicking a light switch, the radiance simply ceased.

I stood there blinking, struggling not to knuckle the fading spots from my sight, straining with my other senses against attack while we recovered. I could hear Midnighter’s rasping breaths as he gasped for air between hisses of pain. My kick or his unprepared landing had knocked the wind from him. I could smell the foul scent of his leathers smoldering and sizzling on the damp earth and rain. I could see the blurry silhouettes of Kenesha and Shaft at the edge of the clearing, she leading the blinded Terrel back to us. Jenny Quantum stood at the now dark opening of the pyramid, Void hovering just above and out of the line of fire.

“What… the fuck… was that?” Midnighter rasped, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His face that was exposed was a deep cherry red, his perpetual beard stubble burned away. Shaft looked even worse I saw as more of his body armor showed skin burned scarlet and a very bald head bereft of hair and beard. The red taint of my own skin was already fading, as was Savant’s, that which makes us immortal feverishly working to regenerate our damaged cells. Quantum and Void appeared unscathed.

“Rat trap,” Savant offered, stopping to stand above Midnighter. “Simple spell to keep the vermin out of the pyramid. Said vermin meaning the Mayans at the time, but Humans in general.” She shrugged. “Sorry, I should have spotted the trap. But now we know what the ‘absolution’ and ‘obfuscation’ symbols meant.”

“Well, that helps,” Quantum said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Thought you WildC.A.T.s were more on the ball.” I sensed Kenesha tense, felt the anger swell for a brief second, but then just as quickly fade. She shrugged again.

“Shit happens. No harm, no foul. Now I know what to look for.”

“No harm?” Midnighter snarled, tipping to his feet, barely, and facing Savant. “I almost got fried, bitch! You-“ I sliced my sword down, letting it hover between the two. Savant would slaughter Midnighter if he attacked in rage, and by the arrogant smirk curling her lips I could see she was amused with the idea.

“We don’t have time for this,” I said glancing at Void. Her gaze was distant, and I knew that she was seeing some fragmented vision of the future again. “Take the point, Savant. Quantum and Shaft next. I’ll bring Midnighter as back up. Void?”

The woman that was once Adrianna Tereshkova blinked and seemed to come back to us in a brief moment of lucidity. “Quickly,” she said, her voice near to something normal as she flew into the black, gaping maw lighting the way.

Grudgingly we followed, one by one feeling as Orpheus and descending into Hell. And like the bard I glanced back both in sight and mind, hoping for the best…

---

Manhattan, New York
1938

“Well, that was… illuminating.” Doctor Axel Brass wiped gore and black ichor from what was once a tailored suit worth probably a hundreds dollars, now little more than filth-stained rags. Charis watched with some amusement as he scanned the carnage in the club, seemingly taking it all in stride. She could sense the trepidation within him however, the slightest fear as his admittedly advanced mind tried to cope with what he had just seen and experienced.

It had been a slaughter. Luckily however the dozens of Daemonites that had been on hand had been mostly lower caste and not all trained to battle. Granted the rage had been upon them, but even Daemonites needed lackeys and technicians. Those that were warriors fell as easily as the grunts however, and the great hall of the old warehouse was littered with their remains.

When faced with a Kheran High Lord incarnate, a Coda trained assassin and a Century Baby, the outcome had left little room for doubt. The Daemonites had not stood a chance.

With the battle done however, Yohn Kohl returned his attention to Charis of the Adrastea, one of Kheran history’s greatest traitors, at least in his knowledge. He glared at her across the field of slaughter; energy crackling about his hands and barely restrained. Ignoring the dead that littered his path, Kohl strode forward, rage twisting his blood-spattered face.

“Bitch,” he hissed, eyes crackling with anger as he approached. Charis stood her ground, shifting ever so slightly to accommodate his coming assault. During some point in the battle, her illusion had fallen away to reveal her scarlet and black armored stealth suit, though Kohl seemed unimpressed. “It will take more than stolen armor and blade to stop a true Kheran High Lord, traitor,” he snarled.

“And what do you consider High Lord Maestros then? Or Raven for that matter. Your titles impress me even less. Bring your alleged vengeance, oh Lord.”

“Children, please.” Both Charis and Yohn Kohl froze, looking at the bronze-skinned man that stepped between them, his two simple words cutting to the heart and core. Both recalled the reason they were here, though the tension of the moment stretched to snapping. Finally though, Kohl sighed and visibly seemed to relax minutely.

“You’re right, Axel,” he said grudgingly, his eyes still casting daggers at the assassin. “Time enough for her after. Leave, witch. Our time to dance will come.”

“I hate to pull rank, John,” Brass said, “but this is my dance card. I don’t know what bad blood’s between the two of you, but the lady can handle herself in a fight. I’m not about to pass up that kind of help. She comes with.” Kohl stared at his companion for one long moment, then finally nodded and spun on his heel.

“Fine,” he said as he stalked through the shattered doorway and into the dim hall beyond, arrogance or bravery spurring him on. “She’s your responsibility. Just watch your back.”

Brass sighed with exasperation, watching as the woman scooped up her fallen gun as she moved to follow. “What’s up with you two, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Actually, I do,” Charis replied, stepping into the hallway. It was wide and shadowy, lighted by bare bulbs dangling from rusted sockets in the ceiling less than half of which were working. Paint hung in strips on the walls showing mildew stains beneath, and obvious signs of vermin littered the warped wooden floor. She and Brass caught up with the Kheran Lord at the landing of a stairway heading into the depths.

They all heard a faint chanting sound, deep rattling voices spouting gibberish, though both Charis and Kohl made out an occasional word. The smell of vipers drifted up at them, thick and sickening.

“Sounds like Arcana,” Brass said moving up with the others and cocking a palm behind his ear. “I’ve run into more than my share of magicians and occultists the last few months.”

“It’s the Eld Töng,” Yohn Kohl offered absently, “though twisted by Daemonite vocals. They defile everything they touch.”

“Defiling or not,” Charis said slipping past the High Lord and starting down chipped stone steps slick with grime, “the voices are reaching climax. And don’t you hear the other, High Lord? The keening whine of children? Hurry!”

Charis took the stairs in leaps and bounds, ignoring the treacherous footing and gambling on inherent skill to protect her descent. She could feel the fear emanating up from the depths, a rising tide of virgin panic threatening to drown her it was so thick. She hit the base floor running, another long corridor only slightly better lit and leading to another solid door. She leaped, not missing stride, extending her leg and locking, bracing for impact.

The door shattered with her kick as she exploded into the room beyond. Charis spun and flipped, ages of training and repetition taking over as she landed lightly in a defensive crouch, her blade poised to the side and at the ready. She could hear her companions just steps behind her as she quickly scanned the vast chamber her eyes widening slightly in horror at the aberration.

The room was dark but for the candles arranged at cardinal points, standing tall on brass fixtures, flickering flames and wax drooling. There was a sigil etched into the floor, ancient Kheran and of Power, a five-pointed star laced with salt and corn meal and blood as well as other unspeakable things. In its center was a huge, circular altar chiseled from obsidian, shining black and polished to a fine sheen. There were children lashed to the altar; six naked waifs, three boys and three girls, virgins all, younger than ten.

Charis staggered at the wave of fear that roiled over her. They were terrified, writhing in their leather bonds as twelve Daemonites swayed and chanted about the disk, screeching to Heaven and Hell in the old words. She could feel the eldritch power building, the room was so charged and waiting for release.

At the head of the altar was the Black Mage, the Daemonite that was manipulating the foul ritual. He was killing the six Human children in a quest for power, though what form she could not imagine. He was tall and formed of man, wearing armor cast of gold and cobalt. A blackened skull flickered amidst a white-hot flame, eyes searing as they turned to gaze upon her. She did not know the Daemonite, but she had heard rumors.

“Nemesis…” his voice hissed as a serpent’s, low and cold. His gaze flickered as he took in the other two, skidding to a halt behind her. “And Yohn Kohl. Welcome to destiny, High Lord shell, Kheran scum.” He spat the last like a curse, his hands blazing in eldritch fire. “Welcome to the end.”

Nemesis had been expecting posturing, a grandiose explanation of plans and ramifications. The Daemonite disappointed in that however, as the fire blazing from his hands erupted to sweep over the altar. She heard the cries, the screams of pain and anguish as the captive children writhed in agony, dying in the blast of Banefire, their souls lost and spiraling down and away into the pentangle. She felt the surge of power as it swirled about the Daemonite, a High Lord in his own right apparently, Master of Science and Magick alike. She sprang forward, blade high, screaming of vengeance…

Time froze…

She saw the ‘rip’ as it appeared, a slash in the very fabric of the air. Sickly, blackened energy drooled from the rent, oozing forth like blood from an infected wound, foul and filled with puss. It sizzled where it hit on the obsidian altar, spewing smoke and stench, eating away at the texture of reality.

The Daemonite Lord glanced aside, hollowed eyes growing wide.

She heard Kohl gasp.

Brass cursed, a huge gun suddenly in hand, the trigger caught in mid squeeze.

It would be known as The Bleed one day; a convergence of Realities. That place where things that might be, possibilities and dreams mixed with nightmare and things best left forgotten and unsaid. For now it was an unknown. A gash in reality that bled corruption, sparked by the deaths of six innocents and gathering power. Growing. Six virgin lives lost to further the delusions of Helspont; Daemonite Warlord and Magus, master of the world.

Golden radiance burned through the cut, bleeding through into now and here. Charis spun, her momentum ripped away as she spiraled to the ground. She hit as the burn rolled over her, and she recognized the heat of nuclear devastation. The rent sparked and spewed death, the slow, creeping heat of cancerous infection. White light blinded her for a moment as she stared at the rip, a feminine form shifting into shape…

She was dressed in silver, a bland yet attractive face wrenched in agony and terror. Her mouth was open in silent scream as the world exploded behind her. Charis felt the heat, gritted her teeth as she strained to see.

Charis of the Adrastea… You are needed…

Charis saw a city enveloped in nuclear flames behind the silver form. Buildings crumbled as a firestorm swept through the city, a raging inferno bowling over anything that remained, homes, buildings, mountains and monuments. She felt the fear as death roiled over the inhabitants, snuffed like a candle’s flame over and over, ad Infinatum. There was vast pain. Agony.

“Goddess,” she whispered as the world swept on past…

Brazil

Nemesis crouched, blade high, ready to strike.

Savant had gotten them through the pyramid in one piece, reading the signs and setting off the traps. It was like a cheap movie, a video game where their group inched along trying to fend off death with every step. At last however, they had reached the final level.

Charis stared at the vast chamber feeling a sense of Déjà vu. There was a huge altar cut from volcanic stone, black and devastating, a body lying in its center shrouded in black cloth. There were sacrifices tied down with leather thongs at the cardinal points of a star etched into the stone; naked children, again six but indigenous, descendants of the Mayan. There were twelve Daemonites gathered about the altar, chanting and swaying to some arcane ritual, lost in their madness. But there were differences…

In a far corner Charis saw a Kheran; what was left of her at any rate. She was small and withered, lost in robes to hide the ugliness that had taken her form and frame. Her sickly, pale skin was painted with runes and symbols, her eyes glowing with wild magic, her withered fingers flicking madly in arcane ritual.

“Elian,” Savant whispered her voice almost breathless. At the call of her name the deformed Kheribum glanced up, eyes bleeding red and puffy from strain. Her body quivered and shook as though racked with orgasmic ecstasy.

“Too late, Coda witch,” she hissed, white fire flickering from her fingertips and dancing across the altar. The bound and helpless children writhed and shrieked. “The spell is cast!”

“Jesus fuck,” Midnighter cursed even as Nemesis lunged forward. Her blade cut smoothly through the acolytes in her path as she surged forward, dropping two in a flurry of black ichor and raggedy robes. She saw a familiar rip appear in the space above the altar sparkling and oozing blackened energy as the Mayan children squealed and thrashed about in their bonds. If she could free them, free just one there was a chance she could sever the spell.

An arrow flashed past, whispering along her cheek. It slammed into Elian’s shoulder, the dark and corrupted Kheran Seer jerking back and screaming in agony. Fire exploded about the altar as heat and energy roiled, rising into the rent. Dark energy gushed forth spilling onto cold, black stone and sizzling. Charis screamed as fire raged about her.

He comes!

Void’s voice echoed throughout the chamber, drowning out the screams of agony, the crackle of eldritch flame. The others attacked the acolytes as Nemesis dropped to a knee, The Bleed washing through her…

She saw the Coliseum in Rome, the Dead stalking aimlessly, slaughtering all in their path…

She saw England lost in Time; knights riding valiantly forth on pointless quest, a decrepit and corrupted king dying on his throne, sword in hand…

She saw cities ablaze in atomic fire…

She saw devastation.

Destruction…

She saw black. No future. World’s End…

The Worldstorm…

Charis of the Adrastea blinked as her world came crashing back to reality. She shivered as she tried to focus, her mind not quite grasping the twitching black enshrouded form on the glassy obsidian surface before her. She ignored the sounds of frantic battle erupting about her as she focused, raising her sword and ready to strike as the covered form sat up, the shroud falling away. Charis saw fire, white and hot erupt about the familiar redheaded face, charring the handsome features into bleak and bland ugliness. Gaping teeth parted as rasping laughter erupted about her, the familiar form rippling with energy.

“Yohn Kohl…” she whispered, staring at the familiar body draped in red, white and blue armor. The charred and blackened face turned at the sound of her voice. Wide, vacant eyes took her in even as the toothy mouth opened wide and howled with laughter.

No… the voice said, dripping with black intent. No, I’m not…

“Spartan…” Savant gasped.

“Helspont,” Elian whispered.

“Fuck me,” Midnighter spat.

And all hell broke loose…

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To Be Continued...

Next: In Crucible #2: Just what the fuck is going on? Jumping back and forth in time. Helspont reborn! The Bleed oozing out before it should? What happened to Shaft’s arm? Why is Midnighter a teenager, smoking and lusting after women? What’s up with Jenny Quantum and her attitude?

I won’t be answering any of these questions. Suffer. But rest assured that Nemesis will get to the bottom of it all eventually, no matter who she has to kill.

Be here next time for Crucible, Part 2: ‘I Have Seen the Future and it is Now’

On the road to World Storm…

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