The Gathering

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Sixteen

     “...So stay back ‘little brother’ when I fix things here. I need you to do this for me. There’s no one I can trust to do this, but you. The trip will take us three weeks at the most and the journey will be long. We have secured passage on the Empress of the Dark and will reach the shores of T’la-yuke shortly. Wherever the hell that is. It’s not on Atlantis; we’ve gathered that much but . . . Oh yeah! Just to remind you, keep a close eye out for that little Niger son of a bitch. He shouldn’t be much trouble, but you never know. I don’t think he’ll find you but be careful anyway. Take care . . . We’ll meet at Queen’s in one month. Be good.” The last of the recordings ended, and he is no closer to figuring out whom these guys are, were for the most part. Who is responsible and why? Well, the why was not often hard to discern. They have many enemies in this life and they will stop at nothing to get to them. These guys had no clue to with whom they were messing with. “The Empress hun! Well, we’ll have to see about that.” He heads off homeward bound, dropping the small, black device to the ground -- blood staining it where his fingers held it. It’s only a matter of time and god knows he has his fill of it.


Seventeen

     He follows, edgy at the fact of everything being cloak and dagger. His presence here remains unknown or simply disregarded, yet he did not want to upset the dessert cart, so to speak. Everything is fleeting in this world and he recognizes this for he could defeat any one opponent in hand to hand. Yet, here they would come one after the other and sometimes in surges and he has no planned escape route. A result from procrastination as he keeps setting that aside for tomorrow, but will tomorrow ever come? Ah! If worst came to worst, he would simply beat his way through. His mark, a being who was a bit taller than he yet far more alien walks the halls in what looks like recognition. He had obviously been here before as he careens directly toward the passenger quarters section of the ship. His little black case never leaves his side as he carries it like a football, cuddled beneath his armpit. He suddenly senses the familiar shift, stirring off to one side of them as he appears from behind an alien plant. The mark does not notice it but he does for it carries the semblance of a tag. There are others interested in the case, arousing rage from deep beneath the foundation of his being for he believes himself unique in its knowledge. The old man has betrayed him; he thought as he steps behind a pillar to watch the second stalker. The deity is a skeletal form with a dense covering of greenish flesh, naked for the world to see his, its mummified appendages. The skeleton is not human, yet not inhuman for it has two legs, four arms and a long, spiky tail. The skull and spine are nearly external as they parade many bone thorns, black tipped and glistening. It moves silently over the metal deck and stops periodically to look around. To see, find any would be observers to his decadence. How he, it, could miss the imposing form of his presence remains unclear and unquestioned? The mark enters a hall leading to many of the quarters, somewhere on the sixth deck. The form stays behind as it notices the room of his objective. As the door closes, it turns and greets the summit of massive, muscular bosoms thrusted into its face. It blinks; one eye then the next before looking up to see the smiling face of his stalker. It coils for an attack but not before feeling the sting of multiple, short jabs to the forehead from a fist nearly three quarters the size of its skull. It stumbles backwards as the shots repeat one after the other, shattering the thick membrane it would call flesh. He continues to step into the attack, beating back his opponent with crushing blow after crushing blow. Rage paints his face with pleasure as he feels the skull powder under his knuckles. He backs his opponent into a wall and drives his knee through its chin, crushing bone and teeth. Then a downward swoop as he closes his fist into the chest, fracturing bone plating. All four of its arms begin dancing around like spider legs trying to grasp at something, anything to change the course of events. However, what could it do against an attacker it can barely see as attacks come from all sides? Rapture becomes its savior as pain blankets it under a curtain of reality normally unknown to it. Snap as one arm crushes under an attack, as it follows the descending, systematic collapse of every appendage with precision and uncanny power. Its dying thought is to question what manner of creature possesses such will for destruction and power to carry it through. It soon meets its god carrying the question on its lips as judgment passes with the eternal punishment. Failure and betrayal carry a heavy weight, one that will never be forgotten.

     He hoists the crippled body over his shoulder like a drunken buddy after a drinking binge. They walk, he dragging the other along with its toes raking the carpeted deck, toward the upper promenade deck where it opens up into the outside world. Lightning arcs dance from black cloud to black cloud under the presiding thunder that beckons the waters to its puppeteer's mastery. The waves crash into the ship as it pierces the undying fury of one of this world’s fiercest elements. The rising corpse plunges into the fingers of the calling sea, lost among the ancients of the windstorm as a meager sacrifice.
     He returns to the hall and finds it littered with observers as they question the origin of the struggle, which now appears to have dissipated. The mark stood under the archway of its open door, looking upon the many people and security until it feasts upon the imposing presence. He fairy-dances among the denizens and deities and passes the mark exchanging only a brief glance as he passes. He finds his way to the lift and disappears beyond the shadows of its open mouth.

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Eighteen

     The solid thud against her shoulder was enough to stop her in her tracks. The force of the impact was severe and unexpected as she struggles to keep upright. The power was common for this place, as its populous is predominately Supernatural, yet the size behind the being was uncannily demeaning. However, upon the contact, her mind quickly floods with visions, memories of a past life. Hers or it's? She did not know, but they are strong and violent. Set under a crimson stained haze, revenge paints its world with the need for redemption. It so great that she begins to feel her sharp nails dig into her palms as she shudders with the familiarity of the images. First the smiling lips of the blond sex pot, who stripped for the joy of exhibitionism, despite her fortunes in both the Coalition States and the New German Republic. She had a wild and wicked streak that denoted a far more violent past. Her name was, is Julia Wittman. She was an ex NGR Borg Soldier, with a deadlier background hidden under her belt. Then comes the image of the old human Avatar, ancient Wyrm who took her into his arms and bed. His passion was as great as his hate and he loved with the same anger with which he killed. Asher Gray was a formidable force against the Coalition and Lord Dunscon of the Federation of Magic. Then it quickly shifts to young Carnie Webber, an entrepreneurial thief with many other talents. He held his young son, North as they played, leaping from Ley Line to Ley Line with adeptness -- dodging the throws of supernatural demons that lived among the energy lines. His wife, Angel is a GED Spotter, designed and created by the great scientist of the Coalition Experimentation Labs of Lone Star to seek out Magic Users, Supernatural Shape-changers and Psychics that are the Coalition’s enemies. They are to tag these fiends’ presence for future assaults, yet still be able to fight them on their terms. She fought on the ground the many demons that were their enemies as they emerged from mystical portholes. Carnie made it a habit to provoke the evil denizens of the Federation’s underworld and he walked among them with effortless ease. Such talent was uncanny, especially for a young human with so much potential and valor. Yet, what saddened her is the knowing that he carried so much disdain for what or who he truly is. So much so that he lost the fact that he is genuine and truly a great man. She remembers him vividly, and held him special to her heart. Suddenly the image of him floods her memory. The painful images of the impish, black demon who walked along side the beautiful Julia Wittman, as they march into battle or into the bed room. Power incarnate he is, without question. Veiled under evil intent and macabre delight, he made the rules on his terms and defied anyone who dared stop him -- arrogant in a word. He enjoyed tormenting his victims as they fell to his feet, defeated by his strength or cunning. He was a juggernaut, a force onto his own who would not step down from any challenge, no matter how great. Granted, he had his weaknesses, for she knew she was stronger, faster and smarter than he. However, he was cruel and aggressive, making him dangerous. Yet, he came by his naturally and she, a gift from her goddess, Ethras. She is one of her chosen to be a guardian and protector, whose abilities became enhanced in this dimension. In the end, she felt him alien to this world, yet natural in so many unsuspecting ways. He was perhaps more human than human, yet she feared him. And she feared virtually no one. By the time she had pivoted upon her feet to look, he had faded within the flood of pedestrians as they came upon her or passed her by unsuspecting of her purpose. The advantage of these supernatural demons and monsters were that they are massive and grotesque. However, the disadvantage of these supernatural beings is that they are massive and grotesque. Deano Bravo can simply meld into their mass effortlessly and disappear. However, that has been his method of operation, which she knew of at least. She did not recognize him as she caught the vague image of blue under his cap. At which she questions whether it was him or someone else from that era, yet none with blue hair, that she could remember. And the rot hue of his flesh was too similar, his flesh, eyes and aura were black, verging on oblivious. The mere image of his presence disturbs her. All though, the last time they met, they played on the same team. Yet, Julia kept him in check and she is not in sight. Was she here? This place did not accept humans kindly and Deano would not prove sufficient a presence to abate their approach if they chose to confront her. Although brash enough, Julia was well able to attempt such a risk all the same. This, she did not question. But Julia was not at Deano’s side. Could that be his purpose? She had no time to dwell, yet she began to follow as her original purpose quickly fades to the depth of her wondering conscience.