Divided Loyalties

by Stephensmat

Optimists, Romantics and Devotees of Star Trek like to think that two enemies can come together against a common foe and leave as friends...well so much for that theory.

Divided Loyalties

Peter was in a fantastic mood. Only three days earlier, he and his partner had conquered the Kingpin, the rubble from the tower was still smoldering, Kingpin's sub-bosses were dragging their feet in figuring out what to do next, and nobody had seen Fisk himself in those three days. It was a victory, a total victory.  It had been a long time since a victory had felt this good, and he was still ready to swing by the tower and blow a raspberry at it at the drop of a hat…

"Peter," Stephen said sternly, destroying his mood. "You were too slow in the generator room."

Peter looked across the Sanctum at his partner.  "What?"

"You were too slow."  Stephen pointed to some of the surveillance camera shots of the takedown at Fisk Towers he was examining.  "The delay nearly cost us the whole thing.  Victor nearly crashed because he had to give you a lift up."

Peter just stared at him in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? There were thirty guards on the other side of that door!"

"Yes, but if you had been faster, then they wouldn't have gotten to that hallway. Victor was shot down!"

"STEPHEN!" Peter shouted disbelievingly. "We won, it made no difference, Victor landed safely, we took down Kingpin, story over, happy endings all around.  Now, can you give me one single piece of evidence that suggests that it matters one bit?"

Stephen sighed and turned back to the Sanctum's console. "No."

"Then why the obsession over this?"

"Because it didn't cost us in this case.  But it well could have.  We cannot afford mistakes like this.  When we have an operation this big, the goal has to be perfection.  We have to work perfectly, for when the bigger problems come."

Peter found that for a moment he couldn't speak. It took a moment before his brain could even begin to formulate a response.  "STEPHEN! We took on the rise and fall and rise again of Harry Vincent, we wrestled with The Goblin and saved Mary Jane, got the best of jungle snakes and drug lords in the Amazon, knocked back The Network of Twelve and Khan, and still had time to deal with your love life, my love life, kidnap attempts, shape-shifting assassins, Diane Burke and fur smugglers.  Not to mention the fun that was Hellmonth, and just three days ago, we took out a fortress that makes Fort Knox look like Wal-Mart, and here we still are!!! ARE THERE BIGGER PROBLEMS COMING?"

Stephen turned his back to his partner. "No."

Peter wasn't fooled for a second.  He pounced onto the ceiling over Stephen's head.  "Stephen, what's up?"

Stephen sighed and handed his partner a slip of paper.  It was a message from Burbank.

Peter read it:

"The Shadow is needed. Bring your partner. Make haste. You will be needed in two days. Important. -- Shao Ngawang, Temple of the Cobras."

Peter looked down, confused. "Who is Shao N…nga…"

"Ngawang.  The birth name of the 22nd Marpa Tulku."

Now Peter was surprised.  "The Tulku?"

Stephen nodded. "Better pack your long underwear. We're headed to the Catskills."

***

"So…who is this guy you're going to see?" Mary Jane asked.

The two men were going to leave within the day, so Victor and Mary Jane had been invited to help pack, and now, while Stephen made last minute preparations for his absence from the city, MJ asked the questions on her mind, being the only one in the group that didn't know the whole story.

"The Marpa Tulku is a Tibetan holy man," Victor answered her.  "The word 'tulku' means 'living Buddha' or 'incarnate lama'.  He's a master psychic, an incredibly powerful telepath who trains psychic adepts in his temple, and has the ability to pass his complete life experience telepathically into his successor. They call it passing the dharma. His 20th generation taught my father how to harness his gifts and sent him back to America. My father actually saved the 21st Marpa Tulku's life and brought him to America after the Chinese overran Tibet."

"Did you get to train under him?" Peter asked, curious.

Victor shook his head.  "Not really.  Though I did spend a good bit of time with him refining my skills after he came to America.  And I attended the burial ceremony for the earthly body of the 21st Marpa Tulku, presided over by the 22nd one."  He chuckled slightly.  "Good grief, that was over 40 years ago.  At any rate, his 22nd generation resides in the new Temple Of The Cobras in the Catskills, training a new generation of adepts."

"So he's where it all started." Mary Jane said quietly. "Well, that explains a lot."

Victor looked confused.  "What do you mean?"

"Stephen," Mary Jane said softly. "He's terrified."

Victor and Peter shared a look.

"Every time he's ready to go, he always thinks of one more thing that he has to do," Mary Jane explained.

Peter nodded. "You know, he did seem kind of edgy yesterday. Why would he be worried?"

Victor sighed. "Unless I miss my guess, this will be the first time he's contacted The Tulku since he found out about Diane's death."

Peter slapped his forehead. "I can't believe I forgot!"

"Who's Diane?" Mary Jane asked.

"Diane was a woman I met, fell in love with, and was so mercilessly betrayed by that to this day there is a great gaping wound where there once dwelled a heart."

Everyone turned to see Stephen standing in the hallway outside Peter's room.

"In any case, that isn't the problem," he continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "Shrevnitz will be here in 10 minutes.  So get your things together."

And with that, he seemed to vanish as quickly as he came.

MJ looked at Peter.

Peter nodded his understanding.  Stephen was nervous.  And that was not good.

***

"Thank you for coming.  I was not certain you would."

Stephen looked across the room at the fifty-ish Tibetan monk with the thousand-year-old psyche.  "Am I really so disrespectful sometimes that you would think I'd spurn a request from you?" he asked.

"No.  But the circumstances that brought us to this encounter have left a raw place in your soul…one that needs to be addressed."

"Oh.  That."  Stephen remembered not to laugh sarcastically.  "So, my uncle wanted you to scold me for my bad behavior the past few weeks?"

The Tulku smiled a calm smile.  "Victor does not know I sent for you.  Unless you told him…"

"No."

The Tulku raised an eyebrow.  "That was a quick answer."

Stephen sighed.  "My uncle and I do not always see eye-to-eye on certain issues."

"Especially concerning Hellmonth."

Now Stephen could no longer hold back The Shadow's cackle.  "And I thought this was a place of respite from the horrors of the world."

"A respite, but not an isolation chamber.  We even have satellite TV here now."

"No kidding.  Watch much pay-per-view?"

The Tulku stayed calm.  "You have developed quite the sarcastic sense of humor.  Influence from your partner?"

"It makes an impressive shield in trying times."

"Indeed.  Would you like to discuss these trying times?"

Stephen turned away and sighed.

***

"Want to talk about it?"

Stephen turned to his partner.  "Talk about what?"

"Oh, whatever it is that's on your mind right now.  And don't try to tell me it's 'nothing'.  I know better."  Peter kept a tight grip on the steering wheel, driving the jeep up the slippery track, toward the top of the mountain. But he still kept his eye on Stephen, who seemed to be getting still more nervous the closer they got to the peak. "What's going on?"

Stephen sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Believe it or not, MJ noticed it first," Peter admitted.

Stephen sighed. "I'm not worried about going up to the Temple…it's not the place, God only knows I've spent enough time there…"

Peter had a brainwave. "It's The Tulku, isn't it?"

Stephen nodded.

"You can't tell me that you don't trust him?" Peter asked disbelievingly.

"It's not that exactly. I trust him, but I don't know him."

"Didn't you train with him?"

Stephen laughed bitterly. "Yes and no. I was up here for two months exactly. I awakened up here, and learned how to block out thoughts and some basic control techniques, but back then I was just a schoolboy, and summer vacation was almost over.  Ready or not, two months after my awakening, I headed back to Manhattan. So I only knew The Tulku for a very short time. Victor was my teacher, not him."

"So that's it! Stephen, trust me on this, you can trust this man, you can rely on this man, you know his motives, you know his means, you've literally put your life in his hands on at least one occasion, he knows your family, he comes highly recommended…"

"Never played chess with him though, have I?" Stephen interrupted with a small grin.

Peter rolled his eyes. "No."

"There you are, then."

"Stephen, you have no reason to be intimidated. I've never met The Tulku, but clearly he can be trusted, he's taught telepaths for centuries, not to mention your grandfather…" Suddenly Peter grinned wider. "That's it, isn't it? The Tulku was your grandfather's teacher, and you never like being compared to him, no matter how much you admire him."

The look on Stephen's face answered the question. "I've never liked scrutiny of my shortcomings."  Suddenly, Stephen's expression changed. "Stop the jeep!"

Peter hit the brakes, and the jeep skidded to a halt.

Stephen got out.

Peter did the same, looking around in confusion. "What?"

"We're here," Stephen answered.

Peter looked around in confusion. There were a few flags lining the edge of the road, but the only building was a small hut, made of reeds and mud, looking empty and abandoned. Stephen was striding between the flags before the hut, and Peter hurried to catch up. "You can't be serious. That's the temple?"

Stephen paused and laughed. "No. Behind it."

Peter looked further, into empty space, and jumped back in shock as from nowhere, less than ten feet in front of them, an enormous building appeared, gilded with gold and ornate stonework, a temple that wasn't there only seconds earlier. "Where the Hell did that come from?"

Stephen paused at the door. "I imagine several people have said the same about me."

***

The two men were ushered into the throne room at once, and left to enter on their own. Walking into the golden room, Stephen walked steadily toward the altar and bowed to the older man sitting on it. "Tulku," he said reverently.

Peter, a little unsure, stood just behind Stephen and nodded respectfully.

The Tibetan lama rose at once to greet them. "Rise, please."  He crossed the room and clasped Stephen's hands in greeting.  "Hello, Stephen."

Stephen smiled warmly.  "It's been too long."

The Tulku smiled knowingly.  "It only seems that way."

Stephen nodded and turned to introduce Peter. "Marpa Tulku, this is my partner, and my friend, Peter Parker."

Peter nodded a greeting.  "Sorry.  I don't think-talk."

The Tulku's eyes locked with his.  "Few people do."

Peter was almost knocked backwards when he felt something sweep into his mind with such swiftness that it was gone before he realized it.

The Tulku smiled warmly. "So you are the one."

Peter was a tad unsure how to take this, but nodded.

"Ying Ko."

Peter spun to see, much to his disbelief, none other than Kuba Khan standing behind a pillar.

At the sound of that psychic voice, Stephen pounced across the room and attacked his archrival, the last descendant of a long line of blood enemies of the Cranstons.

The two combatants struggled briefly, but it became clear that the advantage was all Stephen's. Khan was thrown backward against the pillar, and Stephen was pounding him viciously.

Suddenly, both men were simultaneously thrown in opposite directions across the room by a burst of telepathic energy so strong that Peter's spider-sense screamed for him to leap out of its way.

From his perch high atop a stone pillar, Peter watched as Marpa Tulku crossed the room to stand between the two combatants.

"Stephen, no!" The Tulku said firmly. "He's not here to attack anyone--he was invited."

"What?" Stephen and Peter blurted in unison.

Khan stood and gingerly touched his bleeding nose and lip. "Do either of you know why?"

"You don't know why either?" Peter asked.

Khan shook his head. "I was surprised to get the invitation…to say the least."

Stephen turned and looked The Tulku straight in the eye. "Why?"

Marpa Tulku met Stephen's gaze head-on.  "Because in a few days, when you are prepared, I intend to send you both against one of the most dangerous foes you will ever face."  He looked intently at both men.  "And you had better be able to work together by then, or no one is going to survive."

Khan and Stephen looked venomously at each other.

Stephen punched Khan once more. "That was for Diane Burke."

Peter rolled his eyes and looked at The Tulku. "Work together, huh? Oh, boy. We are so screwed."

The Tulku gave only a calm smile.

Khan scoffed.  "You could have saved the mental effort it took you to locate me.  I am not working with him."

"Believe me," Stephen retorted, "the feeling is quite mutual."

Khan gave Stephen a withering look.  "Something wrong with your vocal chords, Ying Ko?  Or are you just showing off to your teacher?"

Now it was Stephen's turn to scoff.  "If you had actually trained here, Khan, you'd know that adepts who can project are taught to use their mental voices, not their physical ones, in the presence of The Tulku.  It conveys respect for the sanctity of the vow of silence."

"I did not need to train here.  I learned from a superior teacher."

"Ah, yes, the one my uncle put six slugs through when he tried to destroy the Statue of Liberty.  What was his name again?"

Khan lunged for Stephen, only to get pushed back by Marpa Tulku's telekinesis again.

"Enough!" The Tulku commanded.  "Family squabbles are unimportant right now."  He looked at Stephen.  "Believe me, I have no great love of the Khan bloodline either."  He glanced up at Peter, still clinging to the top of the column.  "But this mission will require all three of you to blend your talents into a powerful unison.  You will work together…or you will die separately."

"Ben Franklin," Peter interjected.

The Tulku smiled.  "An effective paraphrase, at any rate."

"You teach American History here, too?"

The Tulku cast a sly glance at Stephen.  "Amazing the things they show on the History Channel these days."  He gathered his composure.  "Time is short.  Follow me."

As the monk left the chamber, Peter descended just a little lower on his column.  "Please tell me the rest of this place has high ceilings, too," he begged Stephen.

Stephen rolled his eyes.

***

While the temple's healer worked on Khan's wounds, The Tulku explained why they had been called.  "His name is Harrison Devin.  He was a student here for several months…"

"Devin!" interrupted Khan. "Is he…?"

"Yes," The Tulku said.

Peter and Stephen shared a confused look.

If The Tulku noticed, he did not let it show. "He mastered mind-clouding a month ago, and was unmatched at psychic defense and mental control. He's a strong projector, one of the strongest I have ever met. Last week, he was training in mental attacks with another student when the student collapsed suddenly. He died minutes later."

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "Really? Just how strong an attack does he have?"

"Strong enough to kidnap one of my teachers, kill two guards on his way out, and vanish into the mountains before anyone noticed he was gone."

This time it was Stephen and Khan sharing a look.  Any adept strong enough to do that was definitely someone to be reckoned with.

It was Peter who gave voice to the doubts of everyone else.  "Great. Now all we have to do is find him, take him down, and bring the teacher back."

"Precisely," Marpa Tulku answered.

Peter groaned. "So why all three of us? You need someone trustworthy, so Khan's out, and you need someone who's skilled at telepathic defense and attack, so that definitely leaves me out. Why the three of us?"

Marpa Tulku gave a dismissive nod to his healer.

The healer bowed, then left the room.

Once they were alone, The Tulku stepped between Khan and Stephen and interrupted their staring contest. "I need someone who is skilled at hunting down an opponent, someone who can fight on multiple levels, someone who has access to a wide range of resources, someone who can pull surprise attacks, someone who knows how to assess a tense situation, someone who can rescue a hostage safely, and someone who can rely on some heavy fighting power. Have I not just described the three of you?" He looked at Stephen. "You have a huge variety of resources and information, a great amount of telepathic power, and the skills required for a search and rescue." He looked at Khan. "But I cannot risk sending anyone against him alone, for if one of your defenses drop, Devin will kill you easily. So I need two strong telepathic fighters. And Khan, you have been spending your life preparing to face a strong telepathic foe in your preparations for a confrontation with Stephen. And you have a personal grudge against Devin, so you are motivated." Finally, The Tulku looked at Peter. "Devin is very well skilled at telepathic control over other people, so while you may be exposed to his control, your immense physical skills will be necessary to fight the people under his command. His mental focus will hopefully be on Stephen and Khan, so you should be able to fight without fear for your mind." He looked at each of them in turn once more. "But I cannot send you all against him until you are ready. The midday meal will soon be ready, and after the meal we will prepare for this foe. You are both skilled in attack, but not as much in defense, and your defenses will need shoring up for this."

Khan grunted.  "These two weaklings will only be in my way.  I want Devin personally."

"You would be hurdling headlong toward your death if you took him on alone," Marpa Tulku returned sharply.  "And, as appealing as the notion might be to me, I cannot in good conscience allow you to do such a thing.  And I suspect you are not truly suicidal."

Khan started to give Marpa Tulku a mental strike in response, but a subtle-but-insistent outward flow of projective energy pushed against his psyche just enough to make him think twice.  "Fine.  Then I will need time to prepare."

"A chamber has been readied for you in the North tower," The Tulku indicated.

Khan gave everyone one more angry glare, then got up and stormed out of the room.

"Very good," Stephen observed.  "It's not easy to cloud Khan's mind into obeying anyone's orders."

The Tulku smiled mysteriously.  "But not impossible."

"You two are scary," Peter noted.

"You're just now figuring this out?" Stephen laughed.

"You I knew about.  Him, on the other hand…"  Peter nodded toward The Tulku.  "So, what's the story with Khan and Devin?"

"Devin's family used their powers to further their own ends. As a result they have a fair amount of financial influence. A year ago, Khan did a deal with Devin to borrow some money so that he could start a lending business as a means to furthering his criminal activities."

Stephen stiffened.  Diane had first encountered Khan when she borrowed money from him in Seattle.

If The Tulku noticed, he did not show it. "Devin gave Khan only half the money."

"O.K., that explains Khan's beef," Peter observed.  "So why did you send him away to tell us this?"

"Because the student and two guards that Devin killed? I sent their bodies down to Frost Valley to register the deaths. The autopsies all revealed the same cause of death. Massive cerebral hemorrhaging."

Stephen gasped. Peter looked surprised.

The Tulku gave him a grim look. "Khan knows some of this already. Devin doesn't just attack your psyche, he attacks your brain. He'll burn out every synapse, he'll rupture every vein. He's a mind-shredder."

"A what?" Peter asked.

"A telepathic amplifier," Stephen clarified.  "A projector who can start an epilepsy-like chain reaction of brain waves that creates a brain-damaging condition called 'status epilepticus'.  Literally, it'll fry a person's brain like static discharge on a circuit board.  It's a really advanced skill, but I've never heard of someone actually being able to do this naturally."

"Nor had I," The Tulku clarified.  "And I do not teach it to most students for that very reason.  But Devin is indeed a natural amplifier.  Let him inside your head for even a moment, and he'll tear your brain apart.  He discovered the skill quite by accident, but once he did, he became unstoppable." He looked to Peter. "You are at greatest risk. After lunch, I would like you to see one of my finest teachers. He will teach you a few tricks that may keep Devin from getting into your mind too easily."

Peter nodded. "Thank you, Tulku." He gave Stephen a sardonic grin. "They might even work against you."

Stephen laughed The Shadow's best laugh.  "You wish."

Peter groaned.  "Can you get his ego under control?"

Marpa Tulku smiled.  "I will see what I can do.  In the meantime, there should be a student outside the door to lead you to your lodgings for the evening."

Peter rolled his eyes.  "Great.  I'm being thrown out, too.  O.K., I can take a hint."

As Peter walked out, Stephen turned back to The Tulku. "If there is nothing else?"

The Tulku seemed to debate something for a moment. "There are some things about this mission that you should know, things that I definitely did not want Khan to know. Can you meet me in a few minutes in my chamber? We have some things to discuss."

***

"You miss Diane," Marpa Tulku noted.

"Not really."  Stephen hesitated.  "I think it's more of missing what could have been."

"What could have been?  Or what was?"

"'What was' was not healthy.  What could have been, once she was awakened and aware?  It could have been something."  He frowned in frustration.  "But I'll never know that now."

"You cling to a past that was extraordinarily unpleasant in anticipation of a future that you hope would have been better, because in your mind it could not possibly have been worse.  You choose to do that instead of dealing with the here and now.  I find that irrational."

"No more irrational than simply assuming it wouldn't have been better."  Stephen gave The Tulku a pointed look.  "Unless you know something I don't."

The Tulku's face remained placid, expressionless.  "I know a great many things you do not, Stephen Cranston.  And that is the reason I have asked you here."

Stephen simply stared at the psychic master, unable to put words to the complete confusion in his mind.

***

"Come in, Stephen."

The sound of Marpa Tulku's mental voice startled Stephen out of his contemplation.  He was standing outside The Tulku's chamber, holding a metal case that bore the enchanted dagger Phurba, a knife that had been in the Cranstons' possession quite long enough for his tastes.  And he couldn't even remember knocking…

"You did not.  But I knew you were there.  You still think very loudly, even for an adept."

"But not for a Cranston."  Smiling, Stephen opened the door.  Then, he stared.

Sitting in the room was a desk that had two bowls…and a large, elaborate, antique chess set.

The Tulku sat at the desk and indicated the other seat. "I thought you might like to join me for a game while we ate."

Chuckling despite himself, Stephen closed the door behind him.

***

Khan sat meditating in his chamber. Strengthening the walls around his mind, Khan reflected on the situation. Ying Ko wasn't going to be easy to work with, but Khan had a goal that would make it worth the risk.

Devin.

Khan had worked with him once, and Devin had cheated him. In the grand scheme of things, the dollar loss didn't matter much, but Khan was taught the rules of governing a hostile population from when he was still just a boy. And of those rules, the first was simple. Show that there are reprisals for any kind of disobedience or artifice. If someone speaks against you, make sure he changes his mind fast. Make them aware that it just wasn't worth fighting.

And yet Devin had crossed him, and escaped. It was the only reason that Khan hadn't left. Devin had crossed him, and an example needed to be made.

And yet even as he thought this, Khan knew he was lying to himself. There was another reason, one stronger than revenge. Information.

Khan had seen what Devin could do. When Khan had sent his troops to get the money from Devin, they were under orders to count the money, and to contact Khan when the full amount had been tallied.

Khan had been told that only half of what he had been promised was there. Outraged, Khan ordered Devin killed immediately, but according to the survivors of his guard, it seemed that when they had returned, Devin had ordered them to leave. Despite the training that Khan had given them in resisting enemy mental commands--a precaution in case Ying Ko had discovered them--half of them had indeed left, against their will.

The half that remained demanded the rest of the money. The ones that had been sent out were the lucky ones, for they reported to Khan that Devin had fixed his glare on them, one by one, and wished them dead.  And then, one by one, the entranced guards shook, and screamed, and finally fell.

The remaining guards had decided to head back and take their chances with Khan, who had interrogated them on what had happened for many hours.

Intrigued by what he had heard, Khan had obtained the records from the mortuary that held the bodies of his men, and discovered something chilling. The autopsies all revealed the same cause of death: Massive cerebral hemorrhaging.

Disbelieving that Devin was in fact an adept, much less one that could do this, Khan had studied his family's records, poring over the work that his ancestors had done for centuries, until he found a mere mention of how one of his great uncles died, a century before the Khans and Shadows had ever clashed. A small paragraph which had in it a sentence, in memoriam to the murdered Khan:

He was killed with a glare. The killer called himself a mind-wrecker.  Use of this mental technique unknown.

Looking through the records again, he found exactly three mentions of this "mind-wrecker", later called a "mind-shredder", and each time, all that had fought them had died instantly. None of the mentions had any idea how to duplicate the technique, and each record carried with it a warning: Do not attempt. Do not approach.

Realizing that Devin may have been a natural telepathic amplifier, Khan decided to write off his loss, counted himself lucky that he had not crossed Devin personally, and tried not to get involved.

But now, The Tulku had given Khan an ace. Ying Ko. If he tried for years, he could not have found a better ally against a mind-shredder. But this was The Shadow, Khan's sworn enemy. Would Ying Ko kill Khan in the course of this mission?

No. If he did, he would have to report what he had done to The Tulku. And Ying Ko would not want that. But then, he didn't have to. Despite what he had been told about Devin's ability, Cranstons had a remarkable trait that was handed down through the generations other than power: Arrogance.  And the Khans were experts at manipulating arrogance and turning it into overconfidence…thus exposing fatal weaknesses.

If The Shadow believed that he could handle Devin without Khan, then he would attempt to kill Khan at the first opportunity, but he wouldn't have to do anything. All he would have to do was send Khan on a slightly more dangerous mission, fail to guard Khan's back…

In fact, Ying Ko may have been planning that right now. Ying Ko wanted Khan dead, but he couldn't pull the trigger himself, so the perfect answer would be to have Devin kill Khan, then kill Devin himself, and suddenly Ying Ko's two greatest enemies were dead.

Conversely, Khan could do the same because he didn't want Ying Ko around any more than Ying Ko wanted him around. But Khan had an ulterior motive--knowledge. Khan wanted the skills that only Devin had. Such a power would make him invincible.

But to learn that, Khan would have to keep Devin alive, keep Ying Ko out of the way, and not get shredded himself.

So who would break this fragile alliance first? If Khan were to be successful, then Ying Ko and his partner would have to go. Khan had been trying to do that several times. But Devin could do that all too easily for Khan, unless Ying Ko had Devin kill him first…

Focusing his mind again, Khan shivered. It was going to be quite a tightrope walk.

***

"Build it, brick by brick, make it stronger," the annoyingly smug voice said in his head.

Peter gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. His spider-sense was jangling his nerves, and he felt something trying to twist his mind, but he couldn't think of that.

He was building a wall.

There were, according to teacher Jangbu Shao, two ways for a non-adept to keep intrusions from their minds. One was to occupy it with things that were useless, such as singing songs in your head and doing math, puzzles, or other little things to counter anyone listening in to your thoughts.

The other was to focus your thoughts hard, so that nothing else remained. Peter was thus focusing very hard on a brick wall, until he could see it in his mind, every brick cemented in place.

He could feel Shao in his mind, but he seemed to be pausing at the wall in Peter's thoughts. "Good. But you'll have to keep the wall up."

Peter opened his eyes, and saw Shao concentrating.

Moments later, Peter felt something in his mind move. The brick wall, so clear in Peter's mind began to shift, until Peter could actually see the image of the wall begin to crumble, as if someone were attacking the picture like a regular wall.

One by one, the bricks began to break.

"Focus," Shao urged. "Keep the wall strong."

Peter shut his eyes again, and focused, making himself picture the wall, strong and undamaged again, and the image in his mind hardened.

"So," Shao said. "ever done this with Master Cranston?"

Peter was so surprised by this man calling his partner 'master' that he laughed. "No." Peter said. "He's not the type to teach someone how to work against him. Not even me."  He's more the type to plan how to beat you, Peter added to himself mentally.  Even me. Peter's thoughts held just a touch of bitterness, remembering the bright green anesthetic gas that Stephen had used against him during his month of the psycho-Shadow…

Something latched on to that picture of Peter's struggle with Stephen that night in the Tropical Inn bar. The image of the wall vanished instantly.

Peter's eyes flew open. "Dammit!"

Shao shook his head. "You are easily distracted. I can see in your memories that much of your power is physical, and the use of that is instinctive. You lack mental discipline."

Peter growled. "I'll learn. I learn things fast."

"I know."  Shao smiled. "Then let us begin again."

***

"You still think about her," The Tulku noted, making a move on the chess board.

"More than I'd like to," Stephen agreed, countering the move.

The Tulku admired the strategy, then moved another piece.  "It is not healthy to dwell so much on the past."

"Fine.  Want to erase my memories so that I'll stop doing so?"

The Tulku smiled wisely.  "That is your solution, not mine.  I choose to embrace memories instead of erasing them."

"Becoming one with everything.  The Zen way.  There's a joke in there somewhere."

"A Buddhist walks up to a hot dog vendor and says 'Make me one with everything'."

Stephen laughed aloud.

"Your grandfather told me that joke years ago over tea.  I laughed, too.  I'd never heard such a thing."  He made a move and sipped his tea.  "I still think about him."

Stephen countered and gave him a knowing look.  "Sometimes dwelling on the past is not a bad thing."

"Precisely.  You learn very well when you want to."

"I'm stubborn, not stupid."  He looked over at Marpa Tulku.  "How are you?"

The Tulku sighed.  "I have good days and bad days.  Today is a good day.  Mostly."

"I know losing one of your students must have been hard."

"I am more concerned with the teacher he took."

Stephen's eyes widened.  "Chokyi?"

The Tulku nodded.

Stephen felt his breath catch.  This was completely unexpected.  "Do you think Devin knew…"

"I have only asked myself that question every waking hour since the attack.  Chokyi did not know, no one knew…"

"…but you knew.  And I knew."

"One with everything.  I must have let it slip into the forefront of my thoughts during Devin's training.  There are times I am far too careless with secrets.  Even with 22 generations of experience."  The Tulku looked at Stephen.  And for once, the serene calm in the centuries-old monk's eyes was missing.  "Devin is powerful.  Very powerful.  Once he gets inside your head, he will find your weakness and twist it until it amplifies and takes over your psyche.  I was strong enough to overcome him before he realized he could do this on command.  If I were physically strong enough to do so, I would go after him myself…"

"…but you're not."  Stephen took the monk's thin, shaking hand.  "But I am."

"But not alone.  I cannot risk losing you as well.  You will need all the help you can get.  And Khan can help you."

"But will he?"

The Tulku hesitated.  "Let us just say you both have a vested interest in the outcome."

Stephen felt the burden on his shoulders increase dramatically.  "I still am not sure about involving Peter in this.  He's not an adept; he's got physical powers beyond anything I'd ever seen before, and he's got the smarts to match, but going up against something like this…"

"…will test everything he has.  And everything you have.  And everything Khan has.  But Devin will have weapons at his disposal that you will have to be able to counter.  And you will need to be able to counter them effectively.  You cannot fail, Stephen.  You must succeed.  Because you are the only one who can."  He clutched his student's hand.  "I tried to save her, Stephen.  I tried.  Watching her die was one of the hardest things I have ever been through.  Losing a student is bad enough.  Losing someone who clearly meant so much to you was even harder, because I knew just how you would take it…"  He took a deep breath.  "I owe such an incredible debt to your family.  Your grandfather was the finest student I ever had.  Your uncle has both been so good to me through the years.  Your father…he brought you here when you were a baby so that I could meet the next generation of Cranstons.  And he was so proud of you then.  He would have been so proud of you now."

Stephen felt the lump in his throat and was glad he was speaking with his mind, not his voice.  "I need to believe that."

The Tulku took another deep breath and got hold of his swirling thoughts.  "Being one with everything is a gift.  Even when it causes my still-human heart to ache.  I wish that I could have saved her.  But I could not.  I know you still harbor some resentment toward me because of it, but I cannot dwell on that.  I need your help."  He gestured with his head to indicate the temple around him.  "They need your help.  The whole world needs your help.  And so I come to you in humility to ask another generation of your family for their assistance.  I know that you do not understand completely your lot in life, but trust me when I say that every life in this world has meaning and purpose, and your purpose is very important…"

Stephen gave the monk's hand a gentle squeeze.  "You had me at 'I need your help'.  Because I do understand our connection.  And I know that everything I do comes back to Lamont Cranston's life debt to you.  I could no more refuse to help you than I could refuse to breathe.  Tell me what I need to know."

The Tulku gathered himself, then patted Stephen's hand.  "Let us finish our game and our meal first.  After all, it never hurts to practice your strategic and attack skills before going into battle."

Stephen smiled confidently.  "Never does."

***

The noise was incredible.

Chokyi had just returned to consciousness, but was attempting to hide this fact until he had more information.  Information was not in short supply, but sorting through it was nearly impossible.  The young receptive telepath was in agony. It was too much to take in all at once.  It was unbearably noisy. Loud, chaotic minds were all around him, more than he'd ever sensed in any of his awakened days. So many voices--thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands--and they were all flooding into his mind.

"Do you hear it?" a spoken voice whispered.

Chokyi opened his eyes and saw a face her recognized. "Devin."

Devin was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed in rapture, as if hearing the finest music. "Can you hear the complexity of it? The awe of it all?"

Chokyi looked around. The room they were in was huge and plush, and the wall of glass windows looked out over the skyline of what he finally realized was New York City. Chokyi had only been there briefly, three years ago, on his way to the temple, but he remembered that it was the biggest, busiest place he'd ever seen.  He looked around, trying to get his bearings…

…and then saw on the floor, in the corner, the body of a man in an expensive suit. The look on his face was pure agony.

Chokyi's eyes widened.  Devin had done this.  But why?  "Why did you bring me here?" he whispered.

Devin almost didn't hear him. "The sheer volume of their collective mind is staggering," he said with all the awe of a religious devotee. "But all of them are fools. So weak, so small, so finite. Rushing through their lives, all the while forgetting that the cold hand of death is coming for them all." His eyes opened for the first time, and he looked at Chokyi with a furious intensity. "All but me."

Chokyi was trying to remember the details. He'd been in The Tulku's chamber, caring for the ailing monk, when a loud noise and agonized screams echoed through the temple.  He'd gone to find out what was going on, even as The Tulku tried to call him back, found the dead student and seen pure bloodthirst in the eyes of the other student in the room, and then the world went insane around him.  And that was the last thing he remembered until now. "What do you want, Devin?"

Devin grabbed his shoulder and dragged him to the window. "Look at them. All of them seek something. Most of them seek power and money, but that is what makes them fools. People live today at most for one hundred years, and that's not long at all. I could use my power and have whatever those weak fools below us want. But all of their wants and all of their work is vanity. Can't you feel it, Chokyi? Eventually, they will all meet the same fate.  Sooner or later, life runs out."

"That's what makes us human," Chokyi said quietly.  "It's the way of the world."

Devin's eyes glimmered. "Ah, but we know someone who has discovered a new way.  A way to escape the fate of every man, woman, and child on this planet.  A man who has for more than a thousand years outlasted every friend and every enemy."

Chokyi suddenly understood. "The Tulku?"

The euphoria on Devin's face was deeply disturbing. "Death has no hold on him. The universal predator has no teeth!"

Chokyi gave him an almost pitying look. "Devin, The Tulku isn't immortal. He reincarnates with each generation."

"Please," Devin spat scornfully. "We both know that's not what really happens.  True reincarnation involves death and rebirth.  The old man passes on, and a babe is born to take his place.   But The Marpa Tulku doesn't do that.  He finds a student, trains him to take on the duties of the mission, and then they swap places and his old body dies.  His mind, his psyche, is what moves into the new body, and he stays forever young. It's a telepathic trick which somehow only he knows. But you and I are going to figure it out. And when we do, I will have my fountain of youth, and then I will be ready to pursue the lesser dreams."

Chokyi shook. Devin was mad! "Devin…I have no idea what you are talking about.  The Tulku's successor is sent by the gods, through an endless cycle of life, death, and rebirth, ever moving toward perfect enlightenment.  Why do you think I would even begin to understand the passing of the dharma?"

Devin gave him a condescending look. "You really don't know?  How could you not know?"

Chokyi wanted so much to understand Devin's thought processes, but did not dare peer into his mind.  The look of agony on the dead student's face was etched into his memories.  "Know…what?"

Devin laughed.  "You really are a fool.  And The Tulku holds you in such regard.  I can't believe you don't know."  He laughed again.  "The Tulku needs a body to send his psyche into. How he picks them, I do not know, but if by chance that it has something to do with the successor himself, I wanted to cover all my bases."

Chokyi could not have been more shocked. "What are you saying?"

"The Tulku's successor is you."

Chokyi couldn't believe it.  This was completely insane.  He, a lowly teenaged monk, barely a year since his projective breakthrough…he was the dharma heir?  Impossible.  But Devin believed he was, and he'd kill anyone who stood in his way of obtaining this unbelievable goal.  He had to find a way out of here….

"Yes," Devin said, picking the thought easily out of his mind. "Keep thinking about how you've got to get away from crazy Devin.  You still think feeble old Marpa Tulku will come for you?  He will want you back, so he will try a rescue attempt, or at least, send a very special rescuer.  But he will fail.  No one would dare come after me now."

Something The Tulku had talked about once came unbidden to his mind.

"The Shadow?" Devin said, his eyes flashing. He hesitated over a response for a moment, then smiled again.  "He is mortal. He is finite. How could he be a threat?"

Chokyi thought that over. He tried to hide the thoughts.

"Khan?" Devin asked in surprise. "The Shadow knows Khan? The Shadow has fought Khan?" His mind whirled. "If he has fought projective telepaths before, then he could conceivably be a threat. We must keep moving."

"You cannot run forever," Chokyi pointed out.  "No man can escape his fate."

"Until now."  Devin grabbed Chokyi's arm.  "We are leaving.  Now.  And if The Shadow catches up to us, I'll kill him personally."

Chokyi started to protest when something jabbed into his arm and burned through his body.  He looked at Devin, horrified.

Devin held up a hypodermic needle.  "Can't have you using any mental tricks to get yourself free.  I need you.  For now, anyway."

Chokyi would have answered, but the world had started spinning around him, and he finally collapsed to the floor.

***

"I am dying, Stephen."

The calm, flat tone with which Marpa Tulku delivered those words hit Stephen in the gut harder than the hardest battering ram.  His eyes widened.  "What?"

"That is why I called you here."  Marpa Tulku poured fresh tea into Stephen's cup, then refreshed his own.  "I am dying.  I found out two days ago.  I have known for months that something was not right, but I thought the pain and weakness were merely a new way to test my dedication and resolve that all suffering will eventually pass."  He chuckled slightly.  "One would think that after 22 generations of this, I would get better at sensing terminal illnesses."

Stephen couldn't believe it.  It wasn't possible.  After he'd been through so much loss and pain recently, to have it once more rise up and strike someone close to him…"What happened?"

"The exact medical diagnosis from the doctor in Frost Valley was 'non-Hodgkin's lymphoma'.  He gave me six months at most if I did not start treatment right away.  So I thanked him for his time and returned to the temple to prepare for the passing of the dharma."

"Wait.  You walked away from treatment?"

"That would imply that I actually began treatment.  I walked away from any attempts to artificially prolong my existence in this lifetime."

Stephen was floored.  "Tulku…cancer treatments are getting better all the time.  The right combination of treatments could buy you years, maybe even cure you…"

"To what end?  To spend a few more days, months, years in a failing body ravaged by disease and poisonous chemicals?"

"To fight for your life!"

The Tulku gave him a pitying smile.  "You do not understand.  You see life as finite.  And indeed, physical life is finite.  The circle of life, death, and rebirth is ever moving, ever turning, even as the worlds spin through space and time.  None can stop it.  None can control it.  All one can ever do is either fight it to a purposeless end or surrender to it and become a part of it.  Shao Ngawang's part of this cycle is nearly complete.  It is time for me to move on."

Stephen looked frustrated.  "But to throw up your hands and 'surrender' to death?  Have you ever for a moment considered that it might not be your time to die?"

"I would know if it was not.  But it is."

"How?  How would you know?"

"Because I have met my successor."

***

"What are you thinking about, Ying Ko?"

Stephen caught his mind wandering and quickly tightened up his psychic barriers.  "Wouldn't you like to know?" he retorted.

Peter fought to control the jeep as it slid down the track. His passengers were not by any stretch of the imagination chatty; the snippy exchange between Stephen and Khan were the first words uttered by anyone since they had departed the temple. In the two days they'd spent working together before Marpa Tulku had sent them on their way, the three of them had managed to develop absolutely nothing even remotely resembling rapport.  It was like being in the middle of a room full of powder kegs while you were wearing steel-tipped shoes and standing on a flint floor.  The tension was thick enough to taste. Khan was sitting in the front passenger's seat, and Stephen sat alertly in the back seat.  And the vacuum of silence was overwhelming. Nature abhors a vacuum, Peter thought, and he decided to take advantage of the first opportunity to start a conversation, regardless of how awkwardly it had come up. "Romantics, optimists, and devotees of Star Trek like to think that two mortal enemies can come up against a common enemy and leave as friends. What do you guys think?"

"I think buddy movies are one more example of the ridiculousness of the decadent American culture," Khan said flatly.  "So of course the two of you are probably great fans."

"Remind me to deck you later," Stephen retorted. 

Peter threw a look over his shoulder and saw that Stephen had one of his automatics pressed lightly into the back of Khan's seat.  "This road trip is an insult to romantics, optimists, and devotees of Star Trek everywhere," he muttered.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Stephen remarked.  "I've heard tell you've been partnered with worse in the past--heroes and villains alike.  Care to share tales of woe?"

Peter frowned.  "Can we stick to one dysfunctional partnership at a time, please?"

"Oh great and all-knowing Shadow," Khan called mockingly over his shoulder, "do you have a plan for finding Devin?"

"That would depend on what his goal is, and his goal we will determine by what he is doing, and we find out what he's doing by tracking his movements." Stephen answered, his gaze never leaving Khan's head.

"And how do we do that?" Khan asked.

"With a mind-shredder?" Stephen asked, as if the answer were obvious. "How do you think?"

Khan nodded curtly. "We watch the morgues."

***

It was evening by the time they reached New York.

Peter led the way down the staircase into the Sanctum.  Khan was a few steps behind him, and Stephen was right behind Khan with one hand always on his gun.

"The place looks good," Khan noted.  "You rebuilt it well."

Stephen's fingers tightened around the pistol's grip.  "You really don't want to bring that up right now."

"Am I going to have to separate you two?" Peter wisecracked nervously.  "Come on, now.  Can't we all at least try to get along?"

Stephen rolled his eyes, then crossed the room to the console and gestured for quiet. "Burbank?"

"Yes?" came the response instantly.

"I need you to find out if anybody has come into the morgues in New York in the last few days with the cause of death listed as cerebral hemorrhaging. Also, find everything you can on a man named Harrison Devin."

"Understood."

"One other thing."  Stephen reached into his pocket for a sealed envelope and put it into a message tube.  "Specific message for specific agent being sent across now.  Priority delivery procedures."

"Understood.  Do you need a response from the message?"

"No.  The receiver will know what to do.  I need the Devin information and the morgue search ASAP."

"Yes, sir."  The screen went blank.

Stephen cut the link and turned around.  "Something to say?" he said to the Mongolian before him.

Khan was looking at him carefully. "Your agents make you look so good, don't they? You're nothing without them."

"I never needed them when you were the target."

Khan seethed and balled his fists.

Peter got between them. "Now, now, children, let's all play nice."

Both of them glared at him hard.

Peter flinched and stepped back.

For a few minutes there was silence, with Stephen and Khan locked in a staring contest.

Finally, Khan inexplicably pointed at a tapestry. "Is this an original?"

Stephen looked over. "Yeah."

"Really?  Quite a find.  May I ask where you acquired it?"

"Got it from a police auction last year. Some fool was using it as a rug."

Stephen and Khan gave an identical condescending snort in unison, and then returned to staring at each other.

"I think I need a drink," Khan finally muttered.

"Yeah," Stephen agreed, and headed over to the side bar.

Peter sprang across the room and met him there, looking down at him from the wall above the bar. "I'm not sure it's a good idea to introduce alcohol into this situation."

"Try and stop us," Khan retorted, coming up behind Stephen to take the glass.  He held it up for a toast.  "What are we drinking to?"

"To getting this over with as soon as possible."  Stephen clinked his glass against Khan's firmly.

The two men held gazes once more, then each took a sip of their drinks and broke eye contact.

Peter looked down at Stephen from the wall as Stephen turned to pour himself another drink.  "Look…this isn't my idea of a grand time, either, but could you at least try to keep the mental fireworks to a minimum?  I swear, I can hear both of your brains buzzing like a cheap clock radio."

"You haven't heard anything yet," Stephen whispered.

"That's what worries me."  Peter looked up.  "Uh…I think Khan is attempting to make himself at home."

Stephen turned around, drink in hand, and saw to his astonishment that Khan was sitting in his chair, looking over the console. "Khan?" he asked politely.

"Ying Ko?" Khan answered, just as politely.

"Get the Hell out of my chair!" Stephen snapped.

Peter grabbed the wall just a little tighter.  We may have just moved past fireworks on our way to tactical nukes…

Khan calmly stood.

The console's buzzer sounded.

Stephen brushed Khan aside and dropped in his chair as he flipped the switch. "Report."

"The requested information is coming across now."

"Good work," Stephen answered as the pneumatics hissed. Cutting the link, Stephen collected the papers. "Let's go. First stop, city morgue. Khan, after you."

Khan climbed the stairs, Stephen following him, with his hand ever on his gun.

Peter rolled his eyes and followed. "Somewhere, a thousand romantics, optimists, and devotees of Star Trek just rolled over in their graves and cried."

***

"Excuse me, Mr. Cranston?"

Victor Cranston looked up from his book at his butler, who was standing in the doorway to the parlor and looking uneasy.  "Yes, Andrew?"

"This just came for you, sir."  He handed Victor a cream-colored envelope.

Victor stiffened immediately.  Stephen sending a note instead of calling him could only mean trouble.  Big trouble.  He opened the card.

Writing shimmered into view:

"Temujin heir in town again.  Situation very dangerous.  Take MJ and get to the temple ASAP.  Passing of the Dharma imminent.  Tell no one where you are going and let no one see you leave."

Victor felt his blood run cold and his anger boil simultaneously.  The last descendant of the warrior king Temujin--Kuba Khan--was back.  But Stephen needed him to tend to something far more pressing--Marpa Tulku was near death.  As badly as he hated Khan, Victor was in no position to battle him head-on.  That was Stephen's job.  His sworn duty as a Shadow agent was to obey orders, no matter how much the parental side of him wanted to override those duties.  And right now, those orders were to get MJ to safety and tend to the well-being of The Marpa Tulku.  "Andrew, call the airport and have them ready my private plane.  I'll be leaving shortly."  He headed for the mansion's center staircase, then turned back.  "And Andrew…after I leave, lock this place down.  And let no one in."  He quickly ascended the stairs.

"It's that bad, sir?" Andrew called after him.

Victor turned back.  His expression was lined with worry.  "Worse."

***

"I do not know why you insist on taking that taxicab everywhere you go," Khan complained as they headed up the steps to the city morgue.

"My chariot is in the shop," Stephen replied snippily.

"If you two don't stop your sniping," Peter interjected, "I will personally web both of your traps shut.  Let's get this info and get out of here."

"Morgues give you the creeps?" Stephen surmised.

"Let's just say anatomy was not my favorite class in college."

"You haven't done enough killing, then," Khan interjected.

Peter pushed up his right sleeve just enough to expose his web shooter.

"Not out here," Stephen urged.  "Save that for when we really need it."

The three men headed inside the morgue.

***

"Can I help you?" the clerk at the morgue's main desk asked.

"Yes," Stephen said, reaching into his jacket pocket to find an ID card, which he flashed at the clerk.  "I'm Dr. Kent Allard, from the Public Health Service."  He gave a nod toward Peter.  "This is Dr. Curt Connors…"  He gave another nod toward Khan.  "And this is Dr. Owa Tafooliam."

Peter put his hand to his mouth and faked a cough to suppress the laugh that threatened to bubble out.

"We understand there's been a rash of unexplained cerebral hemorrhages brought in here in the past day or so," Stephen continued smoothly, ignoring Peter's reaction.  "We'd like to take a look at them to see if there's anything that might have been overlooked."

The clerk looked skeptical.  "I wasn't aware the PHS had been called."

Khan looked annoyed.  "Typical.  I come all the way here from the west coast per your office's request, and a desk clerk stymies any progress.  I cannot believe your government allows its employees to waste valuable funds like this."

The clerk looked offended.  "Now wait a minute, I'm just doing my job…"

"And badly, at that," Khan sneered.  "Now lead, follow, or get out of our way."

The clerk trembled for a moment, then pressed the buzzer on his desk to unlock the door to the back.

Stephen nodded his thanks, and the three men headed for the back.

"Not bad," Stephen silently addressed his enemy.  "I may make an agent out of you yet."

"You could be ruling these weak-minded fools," Khan responded.  "They could be your subjects, not your impediments."

"Don't even think that just because I can't hear you that I don't know you're sniping at each other again," Peter warned.  "Keep traps and brains shut or I'll toss both of you into a trash bin and compact it around you."

Khan raised an eyebrow and looked over at Stephen.  "You let him threaten you like that?"

"When it suits me," Stephen replied.

All conversation stopped as the three of them reached the autopsy lab.

The coroner looked up from his paperwork.  "Can I help you?" he asked.

Stephen flashed his ring.  "The sun is shining."

The coroner nodded and showed his own ring.  "But the ice is slippery."  Then he noticed Khan's hands were devoid of any fire opals.  "Uh…"

"He has a ring, too," The Shadow's voice informed him.

The coroner's thoughts shifted for a second, then he relaxed.  "Sorry," he said to Khan.  "Thought for a minute you didn't have…er, the proper ID."  He looked back at Stephen.  "What do you need?"

"A look at the bodies that came in with cerebral hemorrhaging."

The coroner led them to the body lockers.  "It's not an unusual way for an older person to die, but to have two reasonably healthy guys come in this way in the last two days is weird."  He pulled out one locker.  "Victim #1, Gordon McAllister, 46, banker, Sandburg O'Toole Investments.  Found yesterday by the cleaning crew of his office just off Wall Street.  His office got trashed, apparently."

"Anything missing?" Stephen asked.

"Liquid assets.  About $5,000 in cash, some gold and platinum ingots, that sort of thing."

"Must have needed money," Peter observed.

"I guess so, because this guy died pretty horribly. His brain was full of blood, and parts of it looked like raw hamburger.  Other than the bleed in the brain, though, there's nothing else wrong with him.  Not a mark on him, no sign of any kind of physical trouble or a struggle.  He just had a massive stroke and died."  He closed the cabinet and opened another one.  "Now this guy put up a bit of a fight--he's got a bruise on his cheek as if he got punched and another one on his knuckles as if he punched back.  Larry Alberts, 36, general manager of the Alger Clifton Hotel in Manhattan.  He came in about two hours ago.  Haven't yet cut into his head to see how bad his brain is shredded, but you can see from the pupils--"  He opened the dead man's eyes to reveal two wide, misshapen black pupils, indicating catastrophic brain damage.  "--that his brain must have just blown up."

"Where was he found?" Stephen asked.

"Dumpster out back of his hotel.  He had all his valuables except his keys."

"Keys to a safe," Khan guessed.

"Or anything else in a hotel--like rooms."  Stephen looked at the coroner.  "How long do you think he's been dead?"

"Three, four hours at most."  The coroner lifted Alberts' arm and watched it fall back down stiffly.  "Rigor hasn't fully set in."

"So he could still be there," Peter realized.

"What, you think maybe these guys are tied together?" the coroner asked.

"That's what we need to find out."  Stephen sent a mental signal, then shook the coroner's hand.  "Thanks for your help.  Let's go."

On the way out, Khan gave Stephen a curious look.  "You're not concerned that your over-curiosity may someday betray your identity?"

Stephen gave Khan a glare.  "Unlike the mercenary warriors you have to hire, my agents have honor."

"All alliances can be broken.  Honor only goes so far."

"Says you."

"Can we discuss this later?" Peter snapped.

Khan looked at Stephen.  "Touchy, isn't he?"

"Careful," Stephen noted.  "Spiders are a lot stronger than they look."

"But they can still be squashed."

As they stepped out of the lobby and into the foyer in front of the exit door, Peter grabbed Khan by the shirt and hoisted him into the air with one hand.

"Down," Stephen urged his partner.

Peter grumbled, then dropped Khan to the floor.

Stephen gave him a look of disapproval, then helped Khan to his feet.

All three men gave each other a look of angry frustration.

The cab pulled up to the curb.  Moe tapped the horn to get their attention.

The standoff broke, and the three men got into the cab.  "The Alger Clifton," Stephen ordered.

The cab pulled away from the curb and joined the flow of traffic.

***

The trio sat in the cab outside the Alger Clifton. It was a fairly nondescript turn-of-the-century Manhattan hotel. It was not overly famous and glitzy, nor was it small and shanty. It was four stories high and occupied the space between a three-story bank and a two-story laundromat.  In fact, there was nothing remotely odd about it at all.

But still the trio shivered when they looked at it. Even Stephen and Khan had stopped glaring at each other when they reached it.  "There is something odd here," Khan finally said quietly.

"Yes," Peter agreed, feeling his spider-sense tingle. "Something is very wrong."

Stephen struggled to place it. "It's like…the oppressive feeling of an empty old house on a dark and stormy night."

"Times a thousand," Khan agreed.

Stephen reached under his seat and took out his shoulder holsters and his dark trench coat, then slipped several additional clips into his coat pockets. "He's in there. Let's do this."

No one argued about the need to stay armed.  Peter checked his web shooters and pocketed a couple of extra webbing canisters.

Khan reached into his pocket and fitted himself with a pair of brass knuckles, one of which had a dagger on the end.

Silently, all three men exited the cab and headed for the hotel.

Stephen led the way into the lobby. The feeling was stronger here. It felt cold. Dangerous.

Stephen and Khan traded a look and nodded by silent agreement, then readied their weapons.

Peter caught the look and flicked the web shooters' triggers into the palms of his hands just in case, then took a deep breath and balled his fists.

Stephen, black coat actually fitting in with the décor, led the way out of the lobby and into the bar. As they moved, he sidled closer to Peter. "Brick wall," he whispered.

Peter started focusing his mind. Stephen's expression was clear. It was time.

***

The hotel bar was dimly lit and fairly crowded, with a few tables and a small stage where a lounge band was warming up before their evening performance, but there was one thing about the room that drew Stephen's stare. It was a man, sitting at a table, calmly eating a meal. There was nothing at all strange about his appearance; nothing striking about his clothes or face…but still, Stephen knew it right away.  It was hard for adepts to hide their presence from one another, particularly projective ones, and there was no mistaking the waves of energy that rippled outward toward them.

Khan followed Stephen's gaze and nodded toward the man. "That's him."

Stephen stepped a little closer, and actually felt as if a feral scream echoed in his mind. He could hear it. He shivered.

Devin looked up sharply. Then he saw the trio and smiled.

"Just shoot him now," Khan hissed.

Stephen shook his head.  "We have to know where he took Chokyi. Peter, if this dissolves into a fight, your job is to find out where he is and get him out of here."

"No argument here," Peter said, nevertheless lightly placing a fingertip on one of his web shooter's triggers.

Stephen led the way closer to the table.

Devin leaned back in his chair and looked up at them. "Hello, Khan. Been a while."

"Devin," Khan returned coldly. "I've come to settle accounts."

"And you didn't come alone," Devin observed. He gave Stephen an interested once-over.  "You must be The Shadow."

Peter did a quick look around the room to see if anyone overheard.

Stephen never took his gaze off Devin. "Yes."

Devin smirked.  "I saw you as taller."

Stephen let the insult pass right over him. "You will give me Chokyi unharmed, you will leave my city, and you will never return."

"And thus concludes the small talk portion of the evening," Devin chuckled. "You would be the rescue team, I assume?"  He shook his head.  "Wow, Marpa Tulku must really be desperate.  Khan, I cannot believe that you of all people are actually here to save the…"

"Don't!" Stephen hissed.

Devin raised an eyebrow.  "You didn't tell him?"  Then he laughed.  "Oh, of course not; how else would you have gained his cooperation for this little mission?"

"Tell me what?" Khan snapped.

"There's a reason Marpa Tulku is so upset about all this."  Devin smirked triumphantly.  "I've got The Tulku's dharma heir."

Khan's expression gaped.

"That's right," Devin laughed.  "Marpa Tulku's ready to reincarnate, or whatever that little trick he does with transferring his psyche into another body to stay immortal.  And I've got his chosen vessel."

Khan whirled on Stephen. "You weren't going to tell me this?"

"Of course not," Stephen snapped.  "But it's not like you really needed a reason to join me in this fight."

Khan thought about it for a second, then remembered the real reason he'd wanted revenge on Devin.  He glared at Devin again. "He has a point there."

Inexplicably, Devin laughed as he looked at Stephen. "You know, I've always been fascinated with the Cranston story. Imagine. Three generations, acting as if the same man. It has a sort of…immortal feel to it, doesn't it?" His eyes glowed with a fierce inner fire. "But you are still weak. Mortal. Finite. You will leave now, and you will not challenge me again."

"I've heard those words from worse than you," Stephen retorted.

Devin leaned closer. "They say you are a fear master. Am I afraid of you?"

Stephen met his gaze. "No."

"That bothers you, doesn't it?" Devin taunted. "You have an enemy you cannot control, or manipulate, or terrify." His eyes glowed brightly. "You're in pain."

"Stephen…," whispered a voice.

Stephen whirled.

His mother was lying on the ground before him, bleeding from a wound in her stomach, his father in a bloody heap next to her. "Help me," she whispered. "Save me…"

"NO!" Stephen screamed.

"Ying Ko?"

Stephen blinked as Khan shook him.  He looked around frantically.

The macabre vision was gone.

Confusion gave way to fury and horror.  He turned an angry glare to Devin.

Devin ignored the glare and shifted his gaze to Peter. "You are in pain too."

"Peter…"

Peter felt the cold horror on the back of his neck and spun.

His uncle Ben Parker lay before him, dying on the ground.

Peter knelt. "I'm here, Uncle Ben."

His uncle's eyes were accusing. "I warned you. Great power, great responsibility."

Peter's eyes teared up. "I know."

"You could have saved me."

Peter broke down crying. "I know."

"Peter!" Stephen snapped.

Peter blinked, then looked at the floor next to him.

There was nothing there.

Jumping up, Peter hissed in embarrassment and fury and turned a web shooter toward Devin.

Khan smirked.  Inferior weaklings.

Devin laughed and turned his gaze on Khan. "You think they are weak? You feel that pain too."

A sudden gunshot.

Khan spun.

His father was running through the room, leaping past things in his way, firing a gun back the way he came. "Kuba! Hide!" he shouted.

Suddenly his pursuer appeared. With a black cloak flying out behind him, and a shrill laugh echoing, The Shadow jumped over a table and landed in a crouch, firing both automatics madly.

His father jerked and fell.

"FATHER!" screamed Khan.

"Khan!" Stephen's psyche shouted.

Khan blinked and his father was suddenly gone.

The trio shared a shaken but angry look, then turned back to Devin.

Devin faded into a black mass. "You cannot defeat me," Devin whispered, now hidden in a darkness that seemed out of place.

Stephen shook but still tightened his grip on his automatics. "I don't know about that. There are three of us and only one of you."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Ying Ko," Khan murmured.

Stephen looked around and saw that everyone in the room was frozen. The bartender, the diners, the band were all completely still, not moving an inch, their eyes glazed.

"Oh, boy," Peter muttered as his spider-sense got several levels louder. "Brick wall."

Slowly, everyone stood and moved closer to the trio. The bartender picked up several bottles, calmly broke them one by one, and started handing them out mechanically.

Stephen drew his automatics and started firing, shattering the broken half bottles in each hand.

The attackers didn't even blink.  They just kept coming.

"Casualties to a minimum," Stephen warned.  Then he kicked over a table into the path of the approaching zombies.

Peter picked up a chair and started swinging it. "Brick wall."

Khan drew his hands from his pockets and started swinging.

Stephen ducked as a bottle was thrown at him and snapped up a nearby plate, throwing it Frisbee-like into a woman's stomach.

Khan blocked one kick and threw two punches.

Peter smashed and jabbed, tossing one man over his shoulder.  He then fired a web into the ceiling, gave it a jerk, and swung around the room, nailing the next man coming toward him in the chest.

An old woman came at him.

Peter hesitated. Did he really want to put an old woman in the hospital?

The woman drew a steak knife and slashed.

Peter instinctively flexed away from the slash, let go of the line, and landed on the wall, kicking outward to knock two men away.

Khan jerked to the side as a knife slashed down at him. He grabbed the attacking hand and swiftly broke the wrist, kicking the woman in the stomach, knocking her away.

Stephen flipped one grasping man over his shoulder, then leapt up on a table to kick another man's jaw viciously.

Khan hammered a painful blow into an attacker with an elbow, and grunted as two men charged him from behind. They knocked him down and started kicking him brutally.

Peter dove from the wall, slid under a table, and swiftly rose, lifting the table with him.  He tossed it into the men attacking Khan.

Khan got back on his feet instantly and raced for the stage.

Two men rushed into the bar from the lobby, looking for the source of the trouble.

"Get out!" Stephen ordered.

Too late.  Their eyes glazed suddenly, and they pounced toward Stephen.

Stephen broke a chair over one man, then snatched up the chair-back, holding up to block two thrown knives, and threw the chair-back as hard as he could at his attackers.

Another chair smashed into his back.  Stephen groaned and slumped for a moment.

Peter started toward Stephen's aid, but felt his path suddenly cut off by something unseen.

And then…the brick wall in his mind started to fade.

Brick wall! he screamed silently at himself, fighting the sensation, as he threw the woman attacking him into the man attacking Stephen.

Khan leapt onto the stage as one man swung his trumpet like a club at him. Khan caught the trumpet and ripped it from his grip, then clubbed the trumpeter.

The drummer whacked him with the drumsticks and the piano player wrapped his hands around Khan's neck.

Stephen tossed two glasses into the mass of attackers and snatched up two chair legs, whipping them back and forth. He gave one quick snap into a man's shoulder and whipped the other leg to the left to block a punch.

Khan had managed to throw off the piano player but the trumpet player was back, this time with a trombone, swinging it madly.

Peter was fighting desperately to keep the image of the brick wall in his head, but it was crumbling. Focus! he screamed at himself as he grabbed an incoming fist and yanked it to the left, sending both his elbow and the fist into another attacker's stomach. Firing two shots of webbing to keep them down, he jumped over the next blow.

Stephen blocked two strikes and started to wade into the crowd, when suddenly another attacker appeared from nowhere. The fish knife the attacker wielded was so sharp that Stephen barely felt it stick into his side.  Hissing in sudden pain, Stephen fought back, yanking the knife out of his side and jabbing it into the arm of his attacker.

Three people dove at Peter, and one of them grabbed his left arm as Peter tried to draw it back. He would have thrown them off, when suddenly his spider-sense buzzed a bit louder and a chair smashed into his face.

Reeling from the blow, Peter realized his mental brick wall was a pile of rubble.  And inside his mind, he could see a virtual wrecking ball swinging toward him.  "No!" he screamed as he frantically tried to rebuild it.

"Peter!" Stephen called as he yanked the fish knife out of one attacker and stabbed it into the thigh of another.  He started to rush to the aid of his partner.

Three people leaped off the bar in unison, bringing Stephen down.

Khan had two people holding his arms still, as another one with a pair of carving knives from the kitchen came closer.  Khan jumped in place, lashing out with both feet, to kick the knife-wielder in the stomach, and dropped to the floor, dragging both attackers down with him.

Khan hissed as a knife slashed the length of his spine, and he spun, smashing his knuckles into a set of teeth.

Stephen grabbed two heads and smashed them together, then got his feet under the third man and threw him off.

Something yanked him to his feet.  He started to swing at it…then realized it was Peter.  "Oh, good," he sighed with relief.  "Where's Devin?"

Peter didn't answer, except to lift Stephen into the air and throw him across the room.

With a horrified yelp, Stephen crashed onto a table.

Peter leaped nimbly toward Stephen and landed in a crouch over him.

Stephen swung a plate at Peter's face.

Peter ducked out of the way and lunged for Stephen again.

Stephen gave him a telekinetic shove and started to project into Peter's brain to find out what Devin had done to him.

As he did, Peter shrieked and grabbed his head.

Stephen's eyes widened as he felt Devin's projective energies surge inside Peter's head against the intrusion.  Devin had taken control of Peter's mind in such a way that any counteracting projection would be over-amplified, frying Peter's psyche.  He couldn't risk pushing any further.  He had no choice but to back off.

Peter took a step back to recover his senses.

Stephen took advantage of the momentary lapse to kick him brutally in the kneecap.

Peter stumbled away.

Stephen rolled off the table, running for the stage.

Khan had thrown his final attacker into the piano when Stephen caught up to him.  "What now?" Khan sarcastically projected.

"Strategic retreat!" Stephen's mind yelled as the attacking mob drove them both back toward the wall.

"No argument here!" Khan agreed.

Both men jumped over the piano, then flipped it on its side, blocking the mob, and ran for the stage door.

Before anyone could get to them, they'd made it out the door and slammed it behind them, then shoved as many things as they could reach against it as a blockade.

"Ying Ko," a mentally and physically exhausted Khan projected as they piled debris ever higher, "what in the world happened in there?"

Stephen was every bit as shaken as Khan was. "I swear I don't know exactly…but the day just got a whole lot colder."

***

The mob pulled at the piano, making no progress, until Peter reached it and smashed into it like a linebacker, shattering it.

The mob spilled out the stage door and began climbing over the rubble to start their chase of the retreating rescue squad anew.

***

"What about your partner?" Khan asked as they stumbled down the corridor, weak from exhaustion and fight wounds.

"He became one of the pod-creatures," Stephen answered, running for the lobby door.

"I told you he'd merely be a hindrance."

"Remind me to deck you later.  Right now, we've got to get out of here."

They smashed into the lobby and ran for the entrance, when they saw that a smaller mob with glazed eyes was waiting for them, dragging things in front of the entrance.

By now, some of the larger mob from the hotel bar had arrived to cut them off in the lobby.

Stephen and Khan traded a quick glance, then turned in unison and ran for the staircase.

On the second floor, the two men pulled everything they could reach into their path behind them and raced down the hallway.

At the end of the hallway, the lights suddenly vanished, and something appeared.

Neither man could say what it was exactly.

It was an immense dark shape, flames licking out of its immense jaws, and a monstrous roar rumbled from it. A moment later the shape changed, and tentacles slowly crept towards them.

Both men had frozen, staring openmouthed at it.

"What is that?" Khan whispered.

"I don't know," Stephen's mind whispered back shakily. "But the last time I saw it, I was four years old and having a nightmare, and I woke up screaming."

Khan looked between Stephen and the monster at the end of the hall. "Devin has recreated your nightmares?"

Stephen nodded, then gathered himself. "It isn't real."

Khan nodded, but didn't look happy. "Then it probably can't hurt us."

Just then the mob had reached the top of the staircase and started to charge toward the men.

Khan and Stephen shared another quick glance, and ran towards the dark shape.

When they were only ten feet way, the monster roared.

An elderly woman came out of the next room in surprise, knitting in hand.  Suddenly her eyes glazed and she hurled the knitting needles at them.

Stephen and Khan agreed silently once again and changed course as they ran for her open door.

Both men ducked inside the room, barely dodging the old woman's stabbing scissors, and held the door shut, again pulling furniture in front of it.  Then Khan fired a telekinetic blast at the window opposite them.

It shattered into shards.

The two men leapt out of it and over to the next rooftop.

As they ran along the roof, the sound of shattering glass drew their attention back to the hotel.

Every window along the side of the hotel was breaking open and from them leaped the attacking mob. Most of them made it to the laundromat rooftop, but some fell to their deaths on the ground below.

The rush began anew, and Stephen and Khan fled along to the end of the rooftop.

Something blurred from the hotel to the laundromat, then blurred from one end of the roof to the other, instantly passing over the running men with an easy leap.

Peter landed right in front of them, cutting off their escape.

Stephen drew his automatics and sent two shots at Peter, who dodged instantly, throwing himself backward off the roof, and catching the side of the wall easily.

"You would shoot your own partner?" Khan silently asked in an incredulous mental tone.

"He'll get out of the way," Stephen replied, then shoved Khan aside and resumed firing, spinning around in place, pounding bullets into the rooftop around him until a perfect circle of bullet holes formed around him. He kept firing till his guns clicked empty, then tucked his arms in close as the weakened roof collapsed beneath his feet, riding the perfect circle he'd cut out down into the laundromat below.

Peter sprang in a full leap at Khan.

Khan hurriedly dropped into the gap himself.

Peter missed Khan by millimeters and put his hand on the roof, checking his momentum in a full spin instantly.  He coldly regarded the rushing mass of Devin's zombie army as they dove into the hole, then turned and sprinted for the edge of the roof.

***

The laundromat was empty, and Khan and Stephen wasted no time getting into the next room and slamming the door behind them. Both of them collapsed against the closed door, exhausted and injured.  "This is unreal," Khan's overworked psyche whispered.

An instant later, there was a heavy impact as what was left of the mob rushed the door.

"No, I'd say it's very real," Stephen replied as the men strained to hold it closed.

The mob rammed it again.

Stephen was in agony from the knife wound in his side, and Khan got shocks of pain every time the door impacted his own slashing wound.  But both men knew they did not dare move away from the door.  "Any ideas?" Stephen asked painfully.

"Don't look at me," Khan retorted. "This is where you usually pull a rabbit from your hat."

Stephen considered for a moment, then reached deep into his coat pocket.  "Well, not my hat…"

Khan raised an eyebrow in surprise at what Stephen had pulled out.  "Is that…?"

"…a grenade," Stephen finished.

"You are insane!" Khan blurted.

"Open the door and knock out that window!"

Khan opened the door just enough to let Stephen toss the grenade through, then cast the hardest telekinetic suggestion he could generate at the window across the room.

The glass shattered into hundreds of shards.

Khan and Stephen took off running.

A concussion blew apart the door just as Stephen and Khan dove out the window.

Khan managed to grab the windowsill with one hand, and Stephen caught his leg, then kicked in the window beneath him and swung into it.

Khan shimmied down the bricks and climbed inside a moment later.

They wasted no time in getting to the door…

…where Peter was waiting for them on the other side.

Khan reacted first, punching Peter as hard as he could.

Peter dodged the blow easily and kicked Khan hard, sending him into the wall.

Stephen threw a projective distraction thought at Peter to force him to turn away.

It worked.  Peter turned his head toward movement he thought he detected.

Stephen leapt onto Peter's back, grabbed Peter's left wrist, and tried to pull it to the side.

Peter flexed his arm hard and threw Stephen off easily, throwing him across the room, where he landed in a heap next to Khan.

"Good one," Khan taunted, trying to regroup.

"Better than you think."  Stephen held up his prize--Peter's left web shooter.

Khan looked surprised.  "Do you even know how to use that?"

Peter suddenly noticed one of his weapons was missing.  He aimed his right web shooter at Stephen.

Stephen telekinetically knocked over a case of detergent from a shelf above Peter's head.

Peter had to break off his aim to dodge out of the way.

Stephen snapped the web shooter onto his wrist, flicked the trigger into position, then grabbed Khan and pulled him toward the window.

Peter recovered his footing and leapt toward them, but Stephen had already shot a web into the overhang of the building above them and sprung himself and Khan to safety.

Peter watched both men swing wildly over the road, then land atop a fast-moving box truck, where Stephen shot another web onto the top of the truck for them to hold onto as the truck sped away.  He started to go after them…

"…no need," Devin's voice called to his numbed psyche.  "They have not yet accomplished their mission.  They will be back."

Peter nodded silently, his eyes still glazed.

"Come. We must go now.  We must prepare for the battle to begin anew."

Peter robotically obeyed and left the room.

***

The drone of the single-engine plane's propeller had gotten on Mary Jane Watson's nerves quite long enough for her tastes, and she decided to voice her frustration to her traveling companion.  "Victor, not that I'm paranoid or anything, but would you mind explaining to me why it was so vital to get me into a single-engine plane and whisk me out of the city before I'd had a chance to pack more than a toothbrush?"

"Yes, I would," Victor responded to MJ's snark-filled question, never taking his eyes off the dark airspace around them.

"O.K."  MJ took a minute to regroup her thoughts.  Barely over an hour ago, she'd been casually relaxing with a pint of ice cream and an evening of reality TV in her grungiest sweats, when suddenly Victor Cranston showed up at her door and told her they were leaving town now, no time for questions, no time for explanations, no time for packing, nothing.  She'd grabbed her keys and her jacket while Victor barged into her bathroom and tossed toiletries into a duffle bag willy-nilly, and without another word, they'd piled into Victor's limo and headed straight for a private airfield, climbed aboard a small prop plane, and were off the ground faster than a startled pigeon in Times Square.  And she had no idea how in the world Victor could see where they were going in the pitch-black darkness around them, with only dimly-lit instruments on a panel to guide them.  "So, where are we going?"

Victor still kept his eyes focused away from her.  "The Temple Of The Cobras."

MJ looked puzzled.  That name seemed familiar--why?  Then it hit her.  "The Tulku's temple?"

"Yes."

"That's where Peter and Stephen are, right?"

"Not any more."

"What?" MJ said, incredulous.

"They're back in the city."

Now she was angry.  "Doing what?  And why aren't we there to help them?"

"Because we have been given a different assignment."

"Like what?" MJ snapped impatiently.

"Agents are not to ask questions," Victor replied curtly.  "They are to follow orders.  Without question.  Or people die."

MJ pondered that for a moment, then suddenly realized what must have happened.  "Stephen ordered you to get me out of the city."

Victor refused to look at her, refused to let her see the frustration in his eyes.  "Yes."

"And he ordered you to take me to the Temple.  Why?"

"We're needed there."  He shook his head and corrected himself.  "I'm needed there."

"But I'm not, yet you're taking me there anyway.  Something bad is about to happen, isn't it?"

"It's already happening."  Victor steered the plane toward a small airfield.

MJ put a gentle hand on his shoulder.  "Tell me, Victor."

"Stephen's gone to war with his worst enemy."

MJ gasped.  She'd heard the stories.  She knew who Victor was talking about.  "Khan.  Victor, we have got to get back there…"

He shrugged the hand off his shoulder.  "We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because there are more urgent things to attend to."  He began to descend the plane.

"Like what?" she protested again.

"Marpa Tulku is dying."  With that, Victor set the plane on the ground and killed the engine.

***

A frantic knock at the rear of a laundry in Chinatown aroused the owner from an early night's sleep, and he stumbled down the stairs to get to it.  "Coming, coming," he said exasperatedly, then peered through the peephole.

A bright orange-red girasol seemed to stare back at him.  He opened the door quickly.

"The sun is shining," Stephen said, fighting like mad to keep exhaustion out of his voice.

"But the ice is slippery," the owner replied.  He looked for Khan's ring.

"He's with me," Stephen asserted.  "We need the stockroom."

The launderer stepped aside. "Behind the soap shelf."

Stephen nodded his thanks, then led the way into a small closet.

"Are you insinuating I need a bath?" Khan said sarcastically.

"Yes, but that's not why we're here.  We both need a rest."  With that, Stephen reached underneath a shelf and flicked a switch.

A trap door just a few steps in front of them opened to reveal a ladder leading down a tight shaft.  "Get down there," Stephen ordered.

Khan looked at him warily, then stepped toward the ladder and descended into darkness.

Stephen followed, then flipped a hidden switch on the wall to close the trap door and seal them inside.

"More subterranean tunnels," Khan observed.  "Did your family invest in the New York Subway System, perchance?"

"No, just lots of real estate."  Stephen flipped another switch and a light came on, illuminating the room to reveal a small efficiency-style apartment, barren of the Sanctum's elaborate trappings, furnished sparsely.  "This is one of my agent rendezvous points.  We'll use this as a recovery room.  With Peter under Devin's control, we can't risk patronizing any of my usual offices."

"And just how long do you propose we stay here?"

"Until we're physically and psychically ready to take on Devin again.  Unless you're feeling suicidal?"

For the first time since their retreat from the hotel, Khan allowed himself to show the pain and exhaustion on his face.  "I'm stubborn, not stupid."

Stephen almost smiled.  "I didn't think so."  He turned to the small kitchenette.  "Let's see if anyone's been down to restock this room lately."  He opened the refrigerator and inventoried the empty shelves.  "Well, there's ice, at least."  He closed the door and opened a cabinet.  "Canned soup.  Looks to be recent vintage, too.  Dried pasta…some rice…"  He opened another cabinet door.  "…and dishes to put it in.  And even some small pots to cook with."  He gave the room an additional once-over, then opened a small cabinet on the end.  "Aha.  The elixir of life."  He held up a bottle of bourbon.  "Join me?"

Khan sighed.  "Alcohol does make a good pain killer."

Stephen nodded his agreement and pulled two glasses out of the cabinet, gave them a rinse, then poured a couple of ounces of bourbon into each.  When he turned back around, he noticed Khan attempting to conceal the swig he was taking of a small vial of something.  He raised an eyebrow.  "Brought your own mixer, I see."

Khan quickly hid the vial in his pocket.  "Medicine."

"Aha.  Ancient Mongolian secret healing potion?"

Khan scowled.  "As if you would even believe in such a thing.  You Americans think so little of Eastern medicine."

"You're right.  Give me good old American pills and a fine French cognac any day."  He handed Khan the glass.  "Speaking of which--wonder if my dutiful agents stashed any of that down here?"  He turned back to the liquor cabinet and fingered each of the bottles inside.

Khan harrumphed and sniffed at his glass of bourbon, then wandered over to the small cot in the corner.

Stephen made sure to duck his head behind the open cabinet door that obscured Khan's view from the corner as he downed the contents of a vial of his own healing elixir that was stashed in the back.  Then he made a frustrated grunt as if he hadn't found what he was pretending to be looking for and closed the cabinet door.  "So, what are we drinking to?" he asked as he made his way over to the worn sofa across from the cot.

Khan began pulling off torn and bloody clothing.  "To living to fight another day."

Stephen stiffly shed his own battered trenchcoat and tossed it aside.  "I'll drink to that."

The two men clinked glasses sharply.  Then they looked at one another for a moment, as if neither knew quite what to do next.

Stephen reached under the cot and produced a first aid kit the size of a suitcase.

Khan eyed it suspiciously, then opened it.

Stephen gave him another glance as if to say Go on.

Khan finally reluctantly pulled out some gauze and cleaning solution.

Stephen did the same.

The two men spent the next hour in silence as they cleaned and dressed their wounds.

***

Victor pulled the thick rope that acted as a doorbell cord for the main entrance to the Temple Of The Cobras and stared at the door impatiently.  "Come on," he muttered under his breath, "I know somebody's got to be in there."

"Maybe they're asleep," MJ observed.  "Like all sane people would be at this hour."

"Peter's cynicism has rubbed off on you," Victor noted.

"Yeah.  He was never that cynical when I knew him as a kid."  She shrugged.  "Or maybe he was and I just never noticed."

"People can be very different behind the aura of invincibility."  Victor pulled on the cord one more time, annoyed.  "I'm going to wake up every monk in this temple if someone doesn't answer this door…"

And as if on cue, it opened.  A monk peered out at them.  "Yes?"

"The sun is shining," Victor's Shadow voice intoned.

MJ jumped.  Intellectually, she knew that Victor had once been The Shadow, and had the same powers Stephen did--but to hear his mind speak was something that still caught her off-guard every time it happened.  It took a second for her to remember to hold her ring up so that the monk could identify her as an agent.

The monk at the door looked oddly at them.  "But the ice is slippery," his mental voice answered.  "May I help you?"

"We need to see The Tulku."

The monk shook his head.  "Marpa Tulku is not available.  I am his senior teacher, Jangbu Shao.  Perhaps I can help you…"

Victor forced himself to stay calm.  "No.  I need to see Marpa Tulku himself."

"That would be quite impossible."

"Why?" MJ interrupted.

Shao looked at her oddly, then gave Victor a questioning look implying his displeasure with the presence of a non-adept in the midst of their discussion.

"Answer her question," Victor stated firmly.

Shao still gave MJ a distrusting glance but focused his thoughts to answer.  "The Tulku is presently indisposed."

"I'm well aware of that, Shao," Victor returned.  "That's why we're here.  Stephen sent for us."

Shao raised an eyebrow.  "Then you have heard back from him?"

Victor returned the inquisitive gaze.  "Should I have?"

Shao looked suspicious now.  "How do I know you really have a directive from Master Cranston to come here?"

"Because they gave you the code phrase," Marpa Tulku's voice answered, a ghostly sound on the wind that seemed to swirl around them.  "Let them in."

Shao reluctantly stepped aside.

The two visitors entered the temple.  MJ looked around at the interior of the stone structure, its walls seeming to echo with the faint whispers of mental voices all around.  "Unbelievable…"

"That's one word for it, yes," Victor agreed, doffing his shoes.

MJ followed suit, and the pair started down the hall, Shao right behind them.  "I should warn you that Marpa Tulku is not himself lately," Shao told them.  "He is not well, and his mind sometimes wanders…"

"I'm aware of the particulars of an ailing and aging adept's psyche, thank you very much," Victor interrupted.

"The Tulku is not the typical ailing and aging adept," Shao returned sharply.  "He is The Marpa Tulku, incarnation of the mystical aspects of Buddha.  He has a mind and spirit far beyond our understanding."

Victor counted to ten in his head before responding.  "I'm well aware of that, too, Shao.  Now, if you will excuse us…"  He started to open the door before him.

Shao stepped into his path.

Victor was clearly not in the mood to be challenged, even by an overprotective monk in emotional turmoil over his supreme lama's impending death.  He gave Shao a glare that would have frozen lava.

MJ actually shivered.

Shao stepped aside.

Victor opened the door.

Marpa Tulku was lying in bed.  He looked tired but otherwise normal as he smiled gently at Victor.  "Welcome, old friend."

Victor knelt at The Tulku's bedside and bowed his head in greeting, then looked at the man whose gift of teaching had spawned the Cranston family mission.  "Good to see you again.  It's been too long."

"That it has."  The Tulku glanced over Victor's shoulder.  "And you must be Mary Jane."

It took a second for MJ to get over her surprise.  "Yeah," she finally replied.  "Sorry, I don't know the protocol here…"

"There is none.  Except that you must come in and sit down."  He looked to Shao.  "Thank you, Shao.  That will be all."

"Are you certain, Tulku?" Shao questioned.

"Yes.  Good night, Shao."

The Tulku's tone left no room for interpretation; he clearly wanted to be left alone, and he wanted to be left alone now.  Reluctantly, Shao left the room.

MJ and Victor watched him go, then turned back to The Tulku…

…who suddenly transformed before their eyes into a gaunt, frail, dying old man.

MJ gasped.  Even Victor was taken aback.

The Tulku sighed, a deep, heavy sigh that seemed to echo through the room.  "You do not know how hard it has been to hold that illusion.  I have been longing to let it go for days now."

Victor finally found his mental voice.  "Does Stephen know…"

"…that I am this sick?  No.  But he knows I am dying.  He did not need a further sense of urgency to his mission."

"What is his mission?" MJ said.  "Is this the same one Peter's on--a fight with Khan?"

"He is not fighting with Khan.  He is partnering with him."

"What?" Victor's mind whirled at the sudden turn of events.  "With that barbarian?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because they must join together, all three of them, to defeat a greater enemy.  And they must do it quickly.  Time is running out…for all of us."

MJ was confused.  "Why?  What was so important that they had to work with that…that Mongolian whatever-he-is?"

The Tulku took a labored breath to gather his strength again, then looked sad.  "The time for the passing of the dharma is close at hand.  But my successor is not."

Now it was Victor's turn to look confused.  "The way Shao has been acting, I'd have sworn he was the one.  You mean he's not?"

"No.  He is not.  My successor…" He took another labored, painful breath.  "…my successor has been abducted…by a mind-shredder."

Victor felt his heart drop into his stomach.

MJ looked uneasy.  "Whatever that is, it doesn't sound good."

"It's not, believe me."  Victor looked his father's teacher in the eye.  "Tell me everything, Marpa Tulku.  I need to know what Stephen's up against…"

"…so you can rush to his rescue?"

Victor hesitated, then nodded.  "So I'm transparent.  Guilty.  But he needs my help…"

Marpa Tulku clutched Victor's hand as if his life depended on it.  "…but I need your help more.  And he needs you to stay safe, just as Peter needs Mary Jane to stay safe under your protection.  Neither of them can afford distractions, Victor.  You, of all people, should know that."  He gave a wistful smile.  "I had to hold your father back more than once from rushing to your aid.  You are a lot like him."

Victor looked humbled.  "I need to hear that.  Because now I'm wondering what he would do in this situation."

"Stay where he is needed most.  And obey orders.  Regardless of whether he agreed with them."

Victor nodded reluctantly.

MJ looked uncomfortable; she was getting the distinct impression three was a crowd.  "Uh…do you two need some time alone?"

"No," The Tulku reassured.  "But I could use some of the tea in that kettle."  He gestured with his eyes to a teapot on the table next to the hearth.

MJ smiled.  "Now that I can do.  It's one of my gifts."

The Tulku smiled back.  "All beings have useful gifts.  They merely need to discover them."

"Yeah, well, this gift came in handy waiting tables."  MJ poured a teacup for the elderly monk, then handed it to him.

The Tulku's hands trembled so badly that he nearly spilled the tea.

Victor instinctively put his hands up to steady the old man's grip and guided the cup to his lips.

The Tulku drank gratefully and smiled at Victor.

Victor felt memories of holding a cup for his dying father on the day of his death bubble to the forefront of his mind.  Lamont Cranston's ultra-powerful psyche could have knocked down walls in those last days, it was so strong…but his body was so weak from progressive heart failure that his hands were too shaky to hold a china teacup.  He looked away to keep his emotional reaction from showing, then crossed himself and said a silent prayer for Stephen's safety…and his swift return.

***

Harrison Devin was on top of the world.  Almost literally.  He looked out of the tenth story window at the bustling Manhattanites below him and laughed to himself.  It wasn't quite as grand as his first vantage point at the financial tower, but those pesky security officers had come close to sniffing him out before he'd escaped from there, and now that they'd made a mess of the Alger Clifton Hotel, he couldn't stay there, either.  So he'd ordered his new arachno-human servant to hoist them to the upper story loft of one of Manhattan's many apartment buildings, and now, after dispatching and discarding the loft's residents and "persuading" a security guard below to keep an eye out for strange shadows, he was settling in for a day of waiting.  After all, Stephen Cranston surely wasn't going to give up this battle.  He would likely fight Devin to the death.  That is, unless Devin could dispatch him first, but then he'd have to deal with Khan…

Sounds of movement got his attention.  He looked around.

Chokyi was beginning to stir again.  And Peter was looking disoriented, as if he were starting to come to his senses.

Dammit.  This was the third time Devin was going to have to renew the hypnotic mind numbing command in Peter's brain within the last few hours.  Something about the mutant's makeup was making his psyche hard to control for very long.  Likely it had to do with whatever physical mechanism he had for his internal advance warning alarm--after all, it wasn't like he wasn't in grave danger if Devin couldn't keep him under control.  But he did need the raw muscle Peter could provide, so it was worth renewing the suggestion.  He crossed the room to Peter, grabbed his chin, and looked him in the eye.

Peter put up token resistance before finally settling down into a numbed heap once more.

"You cannot keep that up forever, you know."

Devin looked over at the impertinent tone of the child monk, who was now awake again.  "I won't need to," he reminded Chokyi.  "Just until I finish dealing with Marpa Tulku's rescue party."

"You really think you can outlast them," Chokyi returned, almost pityingly.  "You do not yet understand that all psychic power has limits.  Even the strongest mental warrior cannot fight forever."

"Unless they're Marpa Tulku.  Or know his secrets."  He smiled at Chokyi.  "See, I think you already know everything you need to know to merge psyches with Marpa Tulku.  But somehow it's locked away inside your brain.  And because I need your brain to stay intact while I obtain that information, I can't just dig around in there.  You fight awfully hard, even when you're out of it--or at least something in your subconscious does.  So I'm going to have to wait for you to drop your guard.  But that's all right.  I have time to wait.  Or at least, more time than Marpa Tulku does."

"You really think so?"

"I know so.  Because Marpa Tulku is dying.  He's got terminal lymphoma.  He's maybe days away from death.  I have that on very good authority."

Chokyi looked startled.  How much had Devin reaped from his mind?  The Tulku was dying, yes; Chokyi was young but wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination, and he'd figured it out as he cared for the elderly monk during the past few weeks.  But how did Devin discover that exact information when Chokyi merely suspected it?  "How do you know that?"

Devin shook his finger at Chokyi.  "Uh-uh.  Not telling you that.  You'll just find a way to pass it on to Marpa Tulku somehow, and I can't have you telling him anything.  Now, it's time for your nap."  And with that, he jabbed another needle into Chokyi's arm.

Chokyi tried to hang on, but the drug was just too powerful.  He desperately cried out for help as consciousness slipped away once more.

***

"Help…someone, help me…"

Stephen jolted awake at the sound of the desperate weak voice in his head.  He could have sworn it was Chokyi, but the moment his eyes opened, the voice disappeared from his mental ears.  Another glance around reminded him of the very dire predicament they were in--Khan was asleep on the cot across from him, covered in cuts and bruises that looked much better than they had a few hours ago, exhausted just as he was from their insane battle with Harrison Devin and his hypnotized minions…one of whom was his own partner, Peter Parker.  He rubbed his eyes, then checked his own wounds to gauge their healing.

Khan opened his eyes at the sound of Stephen's movement.  It seemingly took him a moment to get his bearings as well.  "How long have we been here?"

Stephen checked his watch.  "Not quite twelve hours.  Anxious to get back to the war?"

"Likely no more so than you are."

"Touche."  Stephen stretched and stood up.  "Which means we need to regroup and come up with an alternate strategy.  Clearly taking Devin on head-on without appropriate weaponry was a tactical mistake."

"You realize we'll be fighting your own partner now," Khan noted.

"Really, Khan?" Stephen snapped back sarcastically. "You know, the last twelve hours were really beyond my comprehension."

Khan chuckled.  "Your partnering attitude leaves much to be desired."

"Like yours, right?"

"Good alliances are rare.  But there are times when the enemy of my enemy is indeed my friend.  At least temporarily."  He shook his head.  "Seriously, Ying Ko, insults aside, I don't know why you'd partner yourself with someone like that. I mean…spandex? What were you thinking?"

"It's a different world than our ancestors battled in, Khan. People like Peter are on the new front lines. Quite often, he's the only way I can stay ahead of the super villain curve. But yeah…spandex. The costume would look better in black." Stephen opened a panel on the wall and a new gap in the wall slid open.

Khan shook his head.  "Ying Ko, I think you underestimate the convenience of a door."

Stephen ignored the barb and led the way into the new room, a mini-arsenal with weapons hanging along each wall and finely-tailored suits on mannequins at the end of the narrow room.

Khan raised an eyebrow.  "I take it your partner doesn't know about this."

"Or any of the others either," Stephen agreed, looking through the weapon cases. "Guns are useless against Peter. Long-range weapons he can dodge, and he can bounce away before you can get close enough to ensure you won't miss.  Projectile weapons as a whole are pretty much useless--he's just way too fast and agile. Close quarters combat is also dangerous --he's very strong and relatively injury-resistant.  Get into a fisticuffs battle with him and you'll come out the loser." Stephen did not speak the rest of his strategizing out loud. Which means I'll have to get just outside his reach and stay there. Then he'll have no room to dodge properly, and I'll be just beyond his range of attack.  "I'll handle Peter.  You deal with Devin."

Khan nodded and started looking at the hanging weapons himself. "No guns?"

"Guns would be counterproductive in this fight," Stephen said. "They won't work against Peter and Devin will just duck behind human shields.  We have to avoid civilian casualties."

Khan shook his head. "Still unwilling to sacrifice the useless." He spat scornfully. "That's what makes you weak."

Stephen lifted a pair of long Billy clubs. "No, Khan. That's what makes me strong." He whipped them back and forth. "Besides, in all the time I've fought you I've never seen a gun in your hand. I would think you'd welcome weapons like these."

Khan snorted and looked a little closer. "Why do you keep suits here?"

Stephen gestured over the clothes. "The collar is reinforced to prevent strangulation. The cufflinks on the left sleeve are flash pellets, the cufflinks on the right sleeve is a tracking device and a micro-jammer, the sunglasses have a lock pick hidden in the frame, the shoe has a spring loaded blade the left trouser leg has a blowgun sewn into it, the sleeve has a strangle wire hidden in the lining, the…"

"I get the point," Khan interrupted. "But at the risk of repeating myself, we have to fight both your partner and Devin now. A projective telepath and a superhuman fighter, plus a private army that can be summoned at a moment's notice. You yourself have proven how the combination works. How do we fight it?"

"Let me fight Peter," Stephen repeated. "I know how to win. I have…experience in it."

"In fighting your partner?" Khan scoffed.  "To think my grandfather wanted to partner with yours."

Stephen snorted. "Khan, let me tell you something about Cranstons. We are Shadows." Growing quiet, Stephen opened a small case, pulling out three large grenades. "And Shadows have a way of moving when you aren't looking at them."

Khan raised an eyebrow.  "What are those?"

"These," Stephen explained, "are anesthetic gas grenades. Each produces enough gas to completely blanket a room, up to 200 square feet, and not only fogs vision, but will deaden my partner's danger-sense…making him blind and vulnerable."

Khan looked triumphant. "Your agents have honor…can be trusted.  How nice your trust runs so deep."

Stephen gave Khan a pitying look. "You can't be that naïve, surely?  Let's see. Two powerful, headstrong heroes, used to having things their way. What are the odds that that might lead to some problems? Honestly, Khan, we both know that for people like us true alliances aren't possible forever. One day, it could be a problem, and if it comes to that, I'm not going to be left on a level playing field."

"Does he know about that stuff?" Khan asked.

"Yeah, but he thinks I destroyed it all." Stephen pulled out several battery-powered shock sticks and a battery voltage tester to check their power levels.

"All right," Khan said. "Now we just need to find them."

"They won't stay at the hotel," Stephen said with certainty. "Too many bodies, too much press."

"That was a given.  So, where will Devin go?"

"Somewhere protected, hard to get to, with a large group of people nearby and a lot of places to cut off an attack."

"A high rise? A skyscraper?"

"Makes sense."

"Well, that's not exactly a short list, is it?"

"No, it's not like there's any shortage of those things in Manhattan."  Stephen thought fast. "We can eliminate office buildings. He'd want somewhere private, personal, and luxurious. The sort of thing a world ruler wannabe would have."

"You sure about that?" Khan sneered.

"You would," Stephen shot back.

"Touche," Khan nodded.  "We better check the morgues again."

***

Mary Jane finally found her way to the kitchen.  This place was huge.  No wonder everybody here was psychic.  You'd have to be to find anything here.  She tapped on the wooden door frame.

Shao, stirring porridge in a pot, barely looked up at her.  "Yes?"

MJ could feel his disdain in the air surround her like a cold wind.  "Um…Marpa Tulku was a little hungry and wondered if breakfast was ready yet."

"Marpa Tulku?  Or his guests?"

MJ laughed uncomfortably.  "Well, I could use some food, too, but yeah, Marpa Tulku's hungry."

Shao stirred the pot a bit more forcefully.  "The Marpa Tulku could fast for days on end, sustained only by his spiritual strength.  I hardly think he would be asking for a bowl of porridge from a waitress."

MJ scowled.  "You know, I thought monks were supposed to be humble and kind."

Shao turned to MJ.  "You do not understand.  Life here is very taxing.  The secrets we must keep are tremendous.  It takes a strong man to live this life, stronger than you can ever imagine.  We all strive to emulate the Buddha in all we do and all we are.  We seek perfection, perfection in all things.  We work through weakness and find strength."

"And how do you do that?  By ignoring weakness where you see it?"

"I ignore nothing.  I see everything."

"I'll bet you do.  So you've seen how sick Marpa Tulku is, right?"

Shao turned back to his pot.  "I have."

"And you know he's in dire straits."

Shao stirred.  "He will pull through."

"No thanks to you, right?"

Shao looked up.  "What do you mean?"

MJ strolled into the kitchen.  "Come on, Shao.  Tell me the truth.  You know how sick Marpa Tulku really is.  You're his senior teacher, so surely you're maybe one of only two, maybe three people who knows.  You wouldn't happen to have let that slip to anybody, would you?"

"Of course not."

MJ put on her best pondering face.  "Now, why don't I believe that?  Because I'm an actress by trade and I can spot a bad acting job from a mile away, maybe?"

Shao glared at her.  "You will drop this line of questioning right now."

"You told Harrison Devin about Marpa Tulku, didn't you?"

"I said, you will drop this right now."

"You told him about Chokyi, too, right?  Because I'm sure somebody as sharp as you has figured out that you're not Marpa Tulku's successor, and that made you really pissed off, didn't it?"

"Stop it!"

MJ looked crafty.  "Oh, did I forget to mention that I'm hypno-resistant?"

Shao pulled back.  "You cannot be…you are not an adept…"

"I know.  That's why I had some help."

"That's right, Shao," Victor's Shadow voice swirled into the room, followed by his visual image a moment later.  "She's resistant to your hypnosis…because I made her that way."

Shao felt himself shaking.  "Master Cranston…"

And then further conversation was cut off when Victor's mind threw Shao across the room.  "You betrayed The Tulku," Victor projected angrily.  "You sold Chokyi out to Devin.  What were you thinking?"

Shao mentally shoved back angrily, catching Victor off-guard and causing him to nearly lose his balance.  "It is not right!  Chokyi is a mere child!  He cannot possibly be Marpa Tulku's dharma heir!  I am his finest teacher, a psychic of the highest skill, yet he picks a thirteen-year-old boy who has barely been awakened two years!  The Tulku's illness has driven him mad…"

The projection from Victor's mind once more shoved Shao into the wall.  "How dare you question The Tulku?  How dare you betray the secrets you swore to protect when you came here?  Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Shao projected his energies outward to push the elder man's mind away.  "You have no right to judge me!  Curse you, curse your father, curse your whole family!  You are the one who has corrupted the sacred mission here by flaunting your powers in the outside world, openly using secrets that you swore to protect as well for your own personal gain!  How dare you betray them…"

Victor's powerful projective energies swamped Shao's mental defenses and swept into his brain, surrounding him in darkness.  "Take my father's name in vain again, and I will kill you," his Shadow voice hissed.  "Because Harrison Devin's not the only one who knows how to shred minds."

Shao's mind began to boil, as if an inferno was raging out of control.  He felt himself shaking.

MJ could see Shao going into some kind of seizure.  "Victor, no!" she shouted.

Victor turned his attention to MJ.

Shao struck back physically, swinging a metal pot into Victor's head.

Victor's concentration broke as he stumbled away.

Shao gave Victor a kick in the knee.

The elderly man screamed and buckled to the floor.

Shao moved over him.  "You are right, Master Cranston.  Devin is not the only one who knows how to shred minds.  Why, he offered to teach me in exchange for everything I knew about Marpa Tulku and the line of succession.  And I am a quick study.  A very quick study."  And with that, he swarmed into Victor's still-ringing head and started to amplify the energies therein.

"No--stop it!"  MJ tried to run toward them.

Shao gestured at her to stay back.

A log from the fireplace jumped out and blocked her path.

MJ could see Victor shaking now, his body weakening as his mental energies were being turned in on themselves in an amplification wave that would lead to his direct destruction.  "Help!" MJ screamed.  "Somebody, help!"

And then a presence moved through the room, driving a wedge between the two men and shoving them apart, something so strong that it drove Shao into the pantry, and a blur of motion closed him in there.

It took a moment for MJ to realize who it was.  "Marpa Tulku?"

"Your bravery, Miss Watson, should be a shining example to us all," The Tulku replied, coming into full view, looking weak but steady as he leaned against the hearth.  "But I think we must first turn to Victor, for he needs our help most of all."

MJ agreed, then joined him in coming to Victor's aid.

"Tulku, you shouldn't be out of bed," Victor scolded, his mental voice rough-edged and ragged.

"But you are most glad I am," The Tulku said as he slowly eased his weakened body to the floor, then gently touched Victor's temples.  "Relax."

Victor allowed his defenses to fall to the encompassing power of Marpa Tulku's extraordinary psyche.  "You have serious damage inside your mind," The Tulku told him.  "It may take hours of rest, rebuilding, and retraining to resolve the issues.  Come to my chamber, and I will help you."

"What about Shao?" MJ asked.

Marpa Tulku looked toward the doorway.  "I have ways of dealing with traitors."

With that, two burly Tibetan mountain men came into the room.

"He is in the pantry," Marpa Tulku told them.  "Go easy on him, but make certain he understands what exactly he has done wrong.  Take him to the thought chamber."

The two men nodded, then pried open the pantry doors and dragged Shao kicking and screaming out of the kitchen.

"What will become of him?" MJ asked softly.

"He will spend time separated from the brotherhood.  It is an isolation that he cannot imagine.  No minds to interact with, no one to challenge him, no one to even forgive him."

"A monastery with a solitary ward.  Now I've heard everything."

The Tulku gave her a serene smile that hid more than it revealed.  "Not yet.  Now, come, help me get Victor up."

MJ came over to the pair of men sprawled on the floor.  "Who's going to help you get up?" she asked, trying to drag Victor to his feet.

"When the body is weak, the mind is strong.  Dropping that hypnotic suggestion that I was far better off than I appeared to be has allowed my mind to regain its focus.  I have more power now than you can possibly imagine.  Just watch."  The Tulku breathed deeply, focusing his mind, allowing himself to become one with everything.

And the trembling hands stopped shaking.

And the wobbly legs steadied and strengthened.

And in a moment of incredible grace and power, Marpa Tulku stood on his own two feet with no assistance.

"Teach me to do that," Victor's injured mind muttered.

"Later.  There is much else we have to get done."  He offered Victor a steadying hand, and MJ helped get Victor on his feet.

The monk, his rogue student, and an actress/waitress whose ability to read reactions allowed the sniffing out of a traitor left the kitchen together to start out a new day.

***

"O.K.," Stephen said as he read Burbank's latest missive, "so far today, my agent at the morgue reports three new bodies, all found within a three-block radius."

"I'm getting that chill again," Khan admitted.

"The most recent bodies were found here."  Stephen peered through a set of binoculars at the medium-sized apartment highrise across the street. "Three guards at the entrance, lots of foot traffic. Let's take a closer look at the entrance."

The two men faded from view, and two disembodied shadows crossed the street and headed toward the entrance to the building.

"Hold up," Stephen suddenly noted, putting a hand up to stop Khan.

Khan obeyed.  "Why?"

Stephen refocused his binoculars, watching as two of the guards looked at each approaching person's face and compared them against a pad full of small photos.

Stephen compared the faces himself. "They're looking for who lives here and who doesn't."

Khan grunted.  "This is Devin's new hideout, all right.  Guards at the entrance, bright lights in the doorway.  And check the other guard--the one who's not checking faces."

Stephen did so.  "You're right.  That man is under Devin's control. He's looking for shadows."

"Suggestions on how we get past him?"

"Follow me."  Stephen led the way to yet another Shadow safe haven, then faded back into view and flipped open his cell phone, pressing a quick speed-dial combination. "Hello, Pizza Hut? Yeah, I'd like to order a large pepperoni with extra cheese, and a 2-liter of Pepsi.  The name is Henri Arnaud.  I'm in the Canterbury Towers, apartment 714.  Thanks."  He hung up the phone.

"What are you doing?" Khan asked in an annoyed tone.

"I want to see what happens when someone isn't on the list."

***

Twenty minutes later, the pizza delivery boy walked right up to the door, where he was promptly stopped by the guards.  "Pizza delivery for apartment 714," the boy said.

One of the guards kept an eye on the boy while another picked up a phone and dialed. "Hi, this is Denny at the front door.  I have a pizza delivery down here for you."  A pause.  "He says it's for you.  You didn't order it?"  Another pause.  "Thanks, sir."  He hung up.  "They say they didn't call for any pizzas.  You got the wrong address."

"But they said…," the boy began.

The guard who'd been eyeing him up turned him around and pushed him away.  "They lied.  Now get outta here."

Confused, but intimidated, the boy nodded and walked away.

***

"The third man--the one watching for shadows--didn't do anything," Khan noted, peering through binoculars at the door from their vantage point up the street. "But the other two sure cared about making sure no one who wasn't on the list and wasn't expected got in.  Enough proof for you?"

"It'll do," Stephen said without hesitation.  "Let's go."

***

The two guards who weren't hypnotized looked up at the sound of tires squealing as an expensive car skidded and smashed into a parked car a short ways from the entrance.  One of them ran down the street to see if he could help.

Two disoriented men in expensive tuxedos--the driver likely American, the passenger likely Oriental--struggled out of the wreckage.  The driver appeared to be in great pain.

"Are you all right?" the guard asked.

The driver pulled up his trouser leg painfully, and the guard gasped at the hideous looking and profusely bleeding gash that ran all the way down the shin.  "Do you have a first aid kit?"

The guard nodded.  "Come with me."

"I'll call a tow truck," the passenger offered, pulling out a cell phone.  "I can't believe we're going to be late to the theatre…"

The guard helped the driver limp to the front door of the Canterbury Towers.  "I'm gonna help this guy," the guard told his colleague.  "Keep an eye on things."

"Sure thing," the second guard nodded.

The third man, watching the floor, saw no unidentified shadows, saw nothing that the other guards considered sneaky, and did nothing, waiting for the signs he'd been told to watch for.

***

The guard led the wounded man to the first floor's guest restroom and handed him a well-stocked first aid kit. "Want a hand?"

"No, I can handle it," the man assured him and limped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

***

Stephen hit the button on his stopwatch as he dashed into the handicapped stall and locked the door behind him. He reached down to the bloody gash on his leg and simply ripped the entire thing off. The prosthetic wound patch was still dripping fake blood as Stephen whipped out a strip of gauze and a bandage from the first aid kit, soaked them in the fake blood, wiped his "bloody" leg with another gauze pad, then flushed the entire wad down the toilet. 

Stephen checked his stopwatch. Six seconds.  So far, so good.

He stripped off his tuxedo jacket, revealing a false dress-shirt front that he slipped off his neck quickly and secured at his waist. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he turned the jacket inside out, transforming it into a blue custodian's jacket.  He ripped the satin tuxedo strip off one leg of his trousers and wrapped it around his forearm, then doffed the pants and turned them inside out as well to turn them into blue janitor's scrubs.  He dressed in his new disguise and checked his watch.

Ten seconds.  Darn, he thought he was faster at this than that.

Climbing onto the toilet, Stephen extracted a screwdriver from a pouch taped to his side, removed the screws from the wall exhaust vent, and disappeared into the ductwork.

Stephen crawled through the vent shaft, occasionally peering through the nearest vent to ensure that he was indeed approaching his intended target.

Finally, he reached it--the lobby.  Giving himself a wry smile, he affixed the strip of cloth to the shaft wall above him, checked his watch again, and kept moving.

***

If anyone had been watching the rear of the lobby, they would have seen a man in a janitor uniform drop from the overhead vents.

But they weren't, and with the help of a bit of hypnotic suggestion, no one saw the janitor moving toward the fire exit door and opening it, securing its latch with a swatch of duct tape to keep it from locking again as it shut.

The janitor checked his watch, then moved down the hallway until he came to another vent.  A few turns of the screwdriver later, he ducked into it.

***

The guard was getting nervous outside the bathroom. That wounded guy had been in there quite a while.  He rapped on the door.  "Sir, are you all right?" he called.

No answer.

He knocked again.  "Hey, buddy, you O.K.?"

Nothing.

Finally fed up, he opened the door.  "Hey--what's going on in there?"

The handicapped stall door opened, and the man came out, limping a bit. His clothes were rumpled and he looked pale and sweaty.  "Sorry about that," he said.  "Got a little light-headed."

"Should I call 911?" the guard asked, reaching for his cell phone.

"No," the man said, his tired gaze seeming to be a bit more intense for a brief moment.  "I'll just get a cab and go home."  He handed the guard the bloodied first aid kit.  "Thanks for your help."

"Anytime," the guard told him, escorting Stephen to the door.

***

Khan was waiting for him as he limped down the street toward the wreckage. "Look what you did to this beautiful car," he said, handing Stephen back his cell phone.

"Good thing I'm on good terms with the owner," Stephen told Khan, pulling a package out of a concealed compartment in the backseat.

Khan smiled knowingly.  "So you do have transportation other than that filthy taxi."

Stephen refused to rise to the bait.  "Let's go. I left the fire door at the back open."

Khan raised an eyebrow.  "Aren't you afraid they might find it?"

"Not if we get to it first."  Stephen ripped the package open and pulled out his slouch hat.

***

Khan and The Shadow swept invisibly through the unlocked door and down the hallway toward the elevators, unseen by the patrolling guard.

A silent hypnotic suggestion made the guard see something out of the corner of his eye, and the two figures dashed into an open elevator completely unseen as he turned away from them.

"There may be a thousand rooms in this building," Khan noted as the doors closed.  "How do we find the one Devin is in?"

The Shadow pulled from his cloak a small device which looked like a pocket TV. He clicked a button, and a small blinking light appeared on the screen.  "Penthouse," The Shadow said with certainty.

Khan laughed silently. "Where'd you put the tracker?"

"Peter's shoe.  It's strictly short-range. Anything more would have tripped his spider-sense."

Khan hit the button for the top floor.

The elevator didn't move.

Further inspection of the button panel revealed a slot for an access keycard. "We need a security pass," Khan noted.

The Shadow hit the 'Door Open' button. "What we need is a guard."

"I'll handle that." Khan swirled invisibly back into the hallway.

***

The guard who had been patrolling near the elevators was about to turn around on his rounds when he noticed the taped-over latch on the fire door.  He squeezed the push-to-talk button on his microphone. "This is sector…"

And then fire seemed to race up his spine as a taser was smacked against his back. "AARGH!"

As the guard dropped to the floor, an invisible force unclipped his security card from his belt.

***

"You might have waited till he wasn't on the radio," The Shadow snapped as Khan slipped the card into the slot on the panel. "They'll know something's up now."

"But not where," Khan assured him as the doors slid shut and the elevator began ascending. "Devin's people will waste hours searching all the levels now."

"No they won't," The Shadow argued. "If Devin has the slightest inkling that we're here, he'll pull everything he has up to the penthouse to defend him, and we will be walking right into another Alger Clifton-style ambush."

"But he won't be able to get that many people up the elevators in time," Khan retorted. "It's not easy getting this high. Devin's defense depended on us trying to sneak in where we could be cut off by his troops. We are bypassing everyone."

The sound of the whooping alarm could be heard in the elevator shaft.  "Good thing I brought this, then." The Shadow pulled out another very small remote.

"What's that?"

"A plastique detonator." The Shadow hit the button.

***

Out front, all the guards' eyes glazed over, and Devin's new troops started rushing into the building.

From the adhesive strip in the vent shaft, there came a light tone, then a brief sizzle, and then an explosion.

The ceiling caved in, bringing the chandelier down with it…dropping it atop the rushing guards.

***

Devin looked up sharply as The Shadow's laugh reached his ears. "Get Chokyi--we have got to get out of here!"

Peter grabbed Chokyi and followed his master toward the elevator, which dinged open as they got there.

A large grenade loped lightly out of the elevator…and exploded on the floor into a cloud of green gas, which quickly spread through the entire room.

A loud, mocking laugh rang out, echoing off the walls.

Devin swept the room with projective sight and caught only quick fleeting impressions of shapes. Khan and The Shadow were moving, too fast to tell exactly where.  He grabbed Chokyi from Peter and turned to find the freight elevators.  "Find them," he ordered his strongman.

Peter sprang to the ceiling obediently and began crawling along, trying to see through the billowing clouds of gas.

Chokyi, coming out of yet another disorienting drug-induced sleep, recovered his senses quickly.  Realizing this might be his only chance to escape, he hooked Devin's leg and tripped him.

The pair fell to the floor.

Chokyi took advantage of landing on top and scrambled into the smoke to get away from Devin.

A black-cloaked figure caught Chokyi and whisked him off toward the elevators.

A rustle of movement caught Devin's sight, and his mind instantly gave the order.

Peter dove into the mist, bringing The Shadow down in a hard tackle, sending Chokyi sprawling.

"Get rid of the elevator!" Devin ordered.

Peter obediently sprang into the elevator and punched the button to send it down to the ground floor, leaping back out before the doors closed.

"No!" The Shadow shouted, trying to get to the doors.

Peter grabbed him by the cloak and yanked him backwards.

The Shadow hooked his leg behind Peter's and swept the unsteady arachnoid's legs out from underneath him.

Both men went sprawling.

Devin got up and ran through the mist toward the battle…

…and ran smack into Khan, who caught him in a stranglehold.

Devin focused his mind, directed all his strength into his left fist, and slammed Khan in the face.

Khan practically flew into the wall behind him.

***

The Shadow helped Chokyi to his feet. "Are you all right?" he asked the young monk.

It took Chokyi a moment to coalesce his thoughts.  "Woozy."

The Shadow unstoppered a vial of purple liquid.  "This should help.  Drink."

Chokyi downed the contents of the vial.  He felt himself waking up slightly.  "What in the world…?"

"No time for questions."  The Shadow handed him a dust mask.  "This should help keep the gas from affecting you too much…"

And then further conversation was cut off when Devin lunged for the two of them.

The Shadow grabbed Chokyi and pulled him out of the way.

Suddenly, Devin toppled to the floor.  It took a moment for The Shadow to realize why--Khan had landed atop him, and the pair of rivals were now brawling once more.

The Shadow moved away from the melee, then reached into his pocket and snapped something onto Chokyi's left wrist.  "Just in case we get separated."

Chokyi looked confused at the metal bracelet.  "What is this?"

"One of Peter's web shooters," The Shadow answered.  "I'd explain how to use it, but that would take way too much time…"

Chokyi understood and met The Shadow's gaze.

In a fraction of a second, every question Chokyi could have asked about the apparatus and its use was answered.  He nodded his thanks…

…just as the two of them were parted once more by Peter springing into them, splitting them apart with a pair of chest punches that knocked both telepaths for a loop.

"Is there another way out of here?" The Shadow asked while swinging a chair at Peter to break off the attack.

"There may be a service entrance this way," Chokyi told him, staggering to his feet and crossing the room.

The Shadow followed.

Peter was hot on their heels.

Devin got free from his fight with Khan to try to follow.

Khan grabbed his ankle from behind and toppled him to the floor, and the battle began anew.

***

In the next room, The Shadow tried to close the door, but Peter was still way too fast for him, even in his gas-impaired state.  Peter gave the door a shove and The Shadow stumbled backwards.

Peter dove toward him.

The Shadow swung a chair at him.

Peter punched straight through the chair, shattering it into splinters, then lashed back with a kick.

The Shadow had expected this move, and was fortunately standing barely out of range, not flinching even though the kick barely missed him by half an inch.  He'd finally found the right position and the right distance to stay out of Peter's prime fighting window.  Now to keep it that way.  He grabbed a piece of the broken chair and started swinging it at his partner to hold him at bay.  "Chokyi," he called, "find a way out of here…fast!"

Chokyi nodded and began searching for an escape route.

***

Khan leaped at Devin, only to find that his opponent was already moving.

Devin performed a skilled jump kick, a move he had ripped from one of his victim's minds.  The first kick hit Khan in the stomach, and the follow-up punch swung toward Khan's chin.

Khan caught it and used the leverage to flip Devin over.

Devin hit the floor with a thud and rolled nimbly away.

***

Peter jumped back to avoid The Shadow's attacks and landed on a table near the wall.

The Shadow immediately pounced on him, swinging two hard punches.

Balanced on one leg, Peter acutely kicked aside one punch, then neatly reversed his foot's swing to kick aside the other. Reversing his kick a third time, he caught The Shadow under the jaw, kicking him hard enough to flip the cloaked man completely over before he hit the floor.

The landing was painful, but The Shadow forced himself to keep fighting.  He swung his foot hard to the left, the steel-capped toe of his boot allowing him to shatter the nearest table leg.

With Peter's weight on it, the table started to fall, and Peter flipped away…

…where The Shadow was waiting for him.

The Shadow hurled a disk into the ceiling.

The disk exploded in a shattering white light, blinding Peter for just an instant…

…long enough for The Shadow to get in four powerful blows to Peter's back, along the spine.

Peter grunted, but his expression never changed as he lashed back.

***

Khan grabbed a long knife from within his coat and started slashing.

Devin spun easily out of the way and snapped open his own switchblade, jerking it up to block the next slash in one easy motion.

Khan took a step back and swung his blade forward.

Devin pulled back just in time to avoid being disemboweled by the hunter's blade, reaching out with his other hand to catch the incoming fist and neatly break the wrist.

Khan muffled a scream and dropped his knife.

Devin reached to pick it up.

Khan's boot came down and crushed the knife and the outstretched hand as one.

***

The Shadow, thrown hard against the far wall, shook his head to clear it and was horrified to see that the mist was thinning.  He looked around frantically for the reason.

It didn't take long to spot it.  Chokyi had opened one of the patio doors in an effort to find an escape route…and what was left of the anesthetic gas was rushing out into the Manhattan sky.

Dammit.  The Shadow drew two Billy clubs from a harness under his cloak as he moved towards Peter.  Even with the fresh air exchange, it would take a while for the full effects of the anesthetic to wear off in Peter's system.  He still had an advantage.  Now he had to use it.

The Shadow started swinging his clubs.

Peter swerved and pounced forward.

The Shadow dodged to the side, keeping his actual distance from Peter the same as before.

Peter swung, but found that The Shadow was actually just outside his reach.

The Shadow's reach, however, was extended by the Billy clubs that he kept swinging.

Peter moved forward, weaving back and forth, trying to drive The Shadow into a corner.

It worked.  The Shadow was shoved back into the confined space as Peter pressed his advantage.

Desperate, The Shadow waited for Peter to close in on him, then pinned one of Peter's arms to the wall with one club and hammered the elbow joint with the other with every ounce of force he could muster.

The sound of club contacting flesh was followed by the crunch of broken bones.

Peter moaned, but still his expression never changed, even as he fell.  He lashed out with his feet, knocking The Shadow off-balance.  Then he kicked The Shadow's shin.

The Shadow fell to the floor in agony as he felt the bones in his leg snap.

In an instant, Peter was upon him.

The Shadow's hands flashed beneath the cloak and emerged, not with his usual automatics, but with a pair of strange looking weapons.  Sorry, Pete, he whispered to himself. Hoped it wouldn't come to this, but…

The Shadow pulled the triggers. The guns fired out two cables with adhesive ends.

Peter dodged the first cable, but the second caught his stomach.

And then Peter screamed as electricity coursed from the taser gun's line into his abdomen. A static charge crackled around him as he convulsed and finally fell.

The Shadow dropped the spent guns and telekinetically fetched his Billy clubs from their discarded spots on the floor.  Peter had once more been slowed.  Now, The Shadow had to find a way to take advantage.

That is, if he could even move.

***

Khan grabbed Devin by the back of his shirt and drove him forward like a battering ram, smashing his head through the glass window.

Devin groaned in pain but managed to check his momentum, then rammed both of them back into the opposite wall.

Khan momentarily had the wind knocked out of him.

Devin drove his elbow back, trying to hit Khan's throat.

Khan managed to dodge and pulled Devin's shoulders back, then tried to drive his knee up into his back.

Devin somehow managed to pull away from the hold and stumble out of reach.

Trying not to lose the edge, Khan pulled out three razor-edged disks from his coat pockets and tossed them one at a time toward Devin.

Devin dodged one.

The second sliced his side, giving a deep gash.

The third missed, embedding in the wall, where Devin quickly grabbed it, and spun it back.

The disk cut a long gash across Khan's forehead as the Mongol tried to fall out of the way.

***

The Shadow couldn't walk. His leg was as broken as Peter's arm.  He fought back the pain and used the wall for leverage to push himself upright. "Chokyi?" he called weakly.

"Over here," the boy called back.

"Get me something I can use as a crutch."

The young monk looked around frantically, then picked up a tall lamp that had been knocked over and unscrewed the bulb on top.

The Shadow took the pole and used it for support as he checked his remaining weapons and listened to the sounds of brutal combat from the next room.  The macabre thought occurred to The Shadow that if he could somehow keep Peter subdued long enough, he could just leave Khan and Devin to destroy each other and escape with Chokyi, and Peter would eventually break free of the spell holding him hostage once Devin was dead…

"Look out!" Chokyi's mind screamed.

The Shadow looked up just in time to see Peter, now awake and moving, pouncing onto him.

The pair toppled to the floor.

Peter pressed his knee down on The Shadow's chest and wrapped his good hand around The Shadow's throat.

The Shadow struggled, but was neatly and completely pinned.  All his tricks were used up, and he was reduced to nothing more than punching Peter's face over and over.

The blows barely seemed to register on Peter in his hypnotized state as he began squeezing the life out of The Shadow.

***

Khan and Devin had smashed all the furniture in the room trying to use them as weapons, and only one chair remained. Khan was trying like mad to pull it out of Devin's grip.

But as they struggled over the chair, Khan felt something drilling into his mind.  He tried to shore up his mental walls, but it was too late…the mind-shredder had found a way in.

The agony was unbearable, the look on Devin's face triumphant.

Khan fought to keep his mind focused.  The chair…must get the chair…

With one last burst of strength, he wrenched the chair from Devin's grip and smashed it into the mind-shredder's body.

The agonizing feeling ceased, and Khan fell into blissful unconsciousness.

Devin reeled, stunned and weakened, and finally lost all control.

***

The Shadow was still punching weakly, blackness creeping in on the edges of his vision, when the squeezing abruptly stopped.

Peter looked around the room, completely confused.  "Where am I…"

The Shadow pounded his jaw with the hardest right cross he could throw.

Peter was momentarily knocked backwards but quickly flipped himself into a defensive crouch. "…and why are you hitting me?" he demanded.

The Shadow fought his way to a sitting position.  Despite himself, he managed a laugh.  "Welcome back, old friend."

"What are you babbling about...?"  Suddenly, Peter saw Chokyi in the corner and realized what must have happened. "Uh…you would be Chokyi, right?" he said to the boy monk.

"I am indeed," Chokyi replied with a slightly amused smile.  "I believe formal introductions can wait until we make our escape, though."

"Yeah," The Shadow sighed in agreement.

"Are you O.K.?" Peter asked, cradling his broken arm as he crossed the room to help his partner.

"Where's Devin?" The Shadow demanded.

Peter smiled wryly at Chokyi.  "He's fine."

Suddenly, something tingled both The Shadow's mind and Peter's spider-sense.  "Get Chokyi out of here!" The Shadow ordered, grabbing his makeshift crutch again.

Peter grabbed Chokyi and bolted for the patio door as The Shadow dragged himself into the next room…to the source of the mental impression.

Khan was lying unconscious on the floor.  But there was no sign of Devin.

Oh, no.  The Shadow limped over to Khan to see if by some miracle he was still alive, because if he wasn't, then that meant that Devin likely was…

Something kicked the crutch out from under him and grabbed him by the neck as he fell.

Devin's furious face filled The Shadow's vision as something sharp and agonizing invaded his mind.

The Shadow tried to shore up his mental defenses, but that only made the intruding power in his brain surge.  He felt his own psychic energies spreading, growing, swelling in his head until his mind felt as if it was on fire.

The Shadow squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his pulse pounding and the vessels in his head threatening to burst, and tried desperately to hold on.  The pain was intense.  The noise was overwhelming.  The chaos was incredible.  But there had to be a way to stop this reaction.  There had to be…

***

"Check," Marpa Tulku said, moving his queen to threaten Stephen's king.

Stephen looked surprised.  "Wow.  I never saw that coming."

"You underestimated me."

Stephen nodded and laughed slightly.  "I'll not make that mistake again."

"Not only did you underestimate me, you overestimated your own skills and concentrated on offensive moves instead of defensive ones."  The Tulku sighed.  "You will have to do better when you face off against Harrison Devin."

Stephen slid a pawn into the path of The Tulku's queen to block the attack momentarily.  "How am I going to fight a mind shredder?  You said it yourself--once he gets inside your head, he'll find every weakness and twist it until it amplifies and takes over.  And boy, does my psyche have its share of weaknesses."

"Your mind is easily overcome once someone manages to get into it, true."  The Tulku moved to counter Stephen's blocking tactic.  "It is an unfortunate side effect of your family's extreme projective nature that your receptive energies do not sense certain intrusions until it is too late.  But you do have the ability to overcome this kind of attack."

Stephen moved to better position his chess troops for another skirmish with The Tulku's pieces.  "Tulku, I understand you want me to find out these kinds of things for myself, but I don't have time for cryptic clues and happy platitudes."

"Then I will give you none."  The Tulku snapped up one of Stephen's pieces with his queen.  "You already know how to defeat this attack.  In fact, you are possibly the only one who can."

Stephen retaliated by taking a pawn from The Tulku.  "Tell me how."

"Mind shredding works by telepathic amplification.  Devin will push into your brain and attempt to ramp up your energies by turning them back in on themselves.  But to do this, he must actually enter your mind and keep a stream of commands surging into it…"  The Tulku moved his queen into a position of simultaneous defense and attack.

Stephen's eyes widened.  "…thus opening himself up to a counterattack through his own open portal."  He hooked his knight and captured The Tulku's queen and exposed the elderly monk's king.

The Tulku smiled.

***

The Shadow forced opened his eyes and met Devin's glare.

Devin felt the hurricane-force surge of over-amplified projective energy he'd created inside The Shadow's psyche slam into his own brain.

"Checkmate," The Shadow said coldly.

Devin gasped, gave a scream that made no sound…and then the mind-shredder simply fell over, dead.

The Shadow toppled to the floor.  His body was as limp as a cooked noodle, his brain was ravaged by the onslaught, and his psychic energies were completely drained.

The last thought he had before darkness engulfed him was relief.

***

Khan struggled to wakefulness. His head was pounding brutally.  It took a moment for him to realize that he was, indeed, still alive.  He opened his eyes, and forced them to focus.

Wiping away the blood from his head wound that was trickling into his eyes, he could finally make out Devin lying dead on the floor, bleeding from his eyes and ears…

…and archrival Ying Ko, lying unconscious across from the dead man.

It took a long moment for Khan to realize what that scene meant.  The untrustworthy business partner who'd cheated him out of potentially millions was dead, and his greatest enemy was lying before him, beaten and broken.  He laughed weakly…then roared with hearty, triumphant laughter.  "At last," he declared, crawling forward to finish off the defenseless Shadow.  He reached for the knife lying nearby…

…and a web spun his hand to the floor.

"No!" he yelled in frustration.

"Yes," Peter's sarcastic voice responded.

Khan looked up to see Peter directly overhead.  He focused what was left of his psyche and attracted the blade off the floor, then turned it to hurl itself toward the arachno-human…

…and another web suddenly engulfed the blade and pinned it to the floor as well.

Then more webbing shot over Khan, dancing and twisting in mid-air, covering him with the sticky substance and tying him to the slab floor.

Peter looked around.  That wasn't him directing the webbing…

…it was Chokyi, who was firing a web shooter and telekinetically directing it with incredible precision to practically glue Khan down.

"Wow," Peter said, impressed.  "They teach web spinning 101 at that temple, too?"

Chokyi smiled.  "I'm a quick study."

Peter couldn't help but laugh.  "I'll say."

The Shadow, brought around by the commotion, found the lamp post he'd been using for a crutch and cracked it down hard onto Khan's head, knocking the Mongol cold.

Peter dropped to the floor next to his partner.  "You O.K.?"

The Shadow tried to project an answer, but could not muster the energy for it.  He pulled the scarf down to reveal Stephen Cranston's exhausted face.  "Ask me after I've had a nap."

"No time for that," Chokyi said, his hand quickly going to his temple.  His eyes were wide with wonder.  "My brother is calling."

Peter looked confused.  "What?"

Stephen laughed slightly.  "Devin got it wrong.  It's not Marpa Tulku who reincarnates.  It's his twin brother."

Peter looked over at Chokyi.  "No way…"

Chokyi nodded, feeling realization surge open his mind to incredible new truths.  "It's true.  Marpa Yeshi, the first Marpa Tulku, lost his twin at birth.  When he was near death, a powerful young student arrived…the reincarnation of his long-lost twin brother.  The reunited brothers joined their minds and souls as one…and the student became the new Marpa Tulku.  And it was as if there had been no other.  Each generation's Marpa Tulku eventually meets his twin and joins psyches with him, then the old body passes on and the new body serves the ongoing mission and the cycle begins anew."  He looked over at Stephen.  "And the end of the current cycle is drawing near."

"Then we need to get out of here," Stephen decided, trying to get to his feet.

Peter struggled to help him.  "Well, thanks to you breaking my arm, this little trip's going to be a lot harder than it otherwise would."

"Like I really had a choice, since you were intent upon killing me," Stephen retorted.

"Yeah, yeah.  We'll get into the particulars of that later.  Meanwhile, you climb on my back…"  He turned to Chokyi.  "…and you climb onto his back, I guess."

Chokyi instead walked over to Khan.  "When the webbing dissolves, you will leave this place, this city, this country," Chokyi ordered Khan's defenseless psyche.  "And you will not return.  This is the condition under which I will spare your life in light of your evil and treachery."

Khan didn't answer or even acknowledge the command.

"Think he got it?" Peter wisecracked.

"He understands," Chokyi informed them.

"Good," Stephen said simply. "Let's go."

***

Marpa Tulku could barely stand the pain.  The lymphatic cancer that had spread into his lungs was impairing his breathing, his heart was straining to keep up its rhythm as the cancerous organs drew life-giving blood from the rest of his body, and even forcing his mental energies through his body to try to shore up his strength was no longer enough.  But he could not let go…not now, not like this…

…and then, suddenly, his mind felt a touch it had longed to feel for days.  His eyes lit up.

Mary Jane, tending to the ailing Victor, saw the change in the elderly monk's face.  "What is it?"

The Tulku's mental voice was filled with joy and his smile was so wide that it threatened to split his face in two.  "My brother is alive…and drawing near."

MJ looked confused for a moment, then the meaning of those words finally hit her.  "And Peter…?"

"…is fine."  Now the emotions were almost too much for even The Tulku to handle.  "They all are."

"Oh, thank God," Victor's still-aching mind whispered.

Everyone felt relief flowing through them like water as each said their own thankful prayers.

***

Hours later, after Moe Shrevnitz had ferried the exhausted trio to a private airstrip, after a former student of Marpa Tulku had flown them up to the mountain, after another graduate had driven them up the mountain, Stephen, Peter, and Chokyi finally returned to the Temple of the Cobras.  Stephen still could not walk without assistance and Peter was still one-armed, but Chokyi was completely recovered from his ordeal…helped immensely by the realization of his true mission in life and the determination to fulfill it.

As they walked up the walkway toward the temple, Peter was wincing almost as bad as Stephen.  "There'd better be some aspirin here," he muttered.  "Thanks to all the telepathic wars that went on inside my head, I've got one whale of a headache."

Stephen smiled slightly and decided to help his partner out. He reached out to Peter's mind and sent a relaxing suggestion to ease the headache…

…but was shocked to realize he couldn't get in. Peter's mind was blocking him somehow.

Surprised, and a little startled, Stephen pushed harder, digging through the block.

Peter shook his head. "What are you doing?"

Stephen was so startled he dropped the suggestion. "Just trying to ease your headache a bit."

Peter gave a tired smile. "You must be wiped. Normally I don't even notice."

"Yeah," Stephen laughed, slightly spooked. "You never noticed before."

As conversation stalled, Stephen hid his concern. Peter's mind could block his projections to the point that he'd notice whenever Stephen tried something. Stephen knew that mind clouding wouldn't be affected, because mind clouding suggestions were too subtle to be blocked without telepathic aid, and Peter was still a non-adept.  But direct telepathic probes were going to be a problem from here on out.  And he couldn't help but wonder what that was going to mean for any future struggles…

Then he dismissed the thought.  Nothing…yet. Just means that I can't put anything into Peter's head without him noticing. Not a problem…today.

Chokyi interrupted his thoughts. "How did you do it?"

Stephen looked over at the young dharma heir as they hurried down the path. "Do what?"

"Defeat Devin's attack.  No one else had been able to do so before."

Stephen smiled through the pain of his leg. "Devin's victims were all either non-adepts or receptors whose natural energy flows helped pull his amplification signals in unwittingly. Mind-shredding works by amplifying all the power in a mind to the point where the brain cannot handle the load and the synapses simply burn out. But I am not a receptor. I'm a projector. My natural bioelectrical energy level is already really high, and my thoughts naturally flow outward, not inward, so much so that I have to keep a damper on them most of the time to keep them from pushing too hard on a non-adept. As a result, when Devin amped up all that power into my psyche, I could push it out just as fast--and a lot harder."

"You sent it all back into his mind," Chokyi said, understanding.

"And he couldn't handle it."

"Good thing, too," Peter agreed, "because otherwise, you'd just given him the equivalent of a mental tactical nuke."

"He couldn't have handled it," Stephen pointed out.  "It takes an extraordinarily well-trained adept to handle that much energy without destroying themselves."

Peter rolled his eyes and looked over at Chokyi.  "Promise me that when you become Tulku, you'll work on getting his ego under control."

Chokyi smiled mysteriously.  "Tulkus do not like to make promises that cannot be kept."

"Yeah, yeah."  Peter pounded on the temple's door.

***

As the trio approached the door to Marpa Tulku's chamber, the door to the room opened…and MJ rushed toward Peter.

Peter caught her with his good arm and held her tightly, grateful to see her again.

Stephen, leaning on Chokyi's shoulder for support, smiled…then saw who was following MJ out of the room.  "What happened to you?" he asked.

Victor, leaning heavily on a silver-handled ebony cane, smiled tiredly as he walked over to Stephen.  "Tussled with a student.  You?"

"Tussled with a partner."  Stephen forced himself to stand upright and hopped down the hall to cut the distance between them.

Current and former Shadows embraced each other tightly.

Chokyi gave a serene smile, then quietly moved away…for he had his own reunion to attend to.

***

A knock at the door of a guest chamber roused Stephen from his tumo hours later.  "Come in," he called.

The door opened, and Peter peered in.  "Feeling better?" he asked.

Stephen took a moment to switch from mental to vocal replies.  "Finally.  You?"

"Yeah."  Peter flexed his arm, wincing slightly.  "I've had worse."

Stephen smiled wryly.  "Well, for once, I can honestly say I haven't.  I've broken fingers, ribs, collarbones, and my nose on multiple occasions, but never my leg."  He flexed his foot and winced as well.  "Tumos must mend leg bones really slowly."

Peter closed the door and leaned against the wall.  "So, you mind me asking how you managed to slow me down enough to get in that kind of blow on my arm?"

Stephen gave him a knowing look.  "No, but I suspect you've already figured it out."

Peter took a seat on the wall.  "You told me you destroyed all of that stuff."

Stephen leaned back.  "I lied."

"So I noticed.  Planning on making that a common practice?"

"What, using gas on you?"

Peter climbed to the ceiling and looked down at Stephen.  "Lying.  I can deal with the gas.  I can't deal with the lies."

Stephen looked up at Peter.  "Let's get one thing straight.  I live my life in shadow, driving evil from the darkness into the light where it cannot survive.  To do that, I have to use every weapon at my disposal and be prepared for anything.  You are my best friend, my partner, and practically my brother.  Would I lay my life on the line for you?  Absolutely.  Would I go to the wall for you?  Absolutely.  Would I hesitate to do whatever it took to defeat you if you ever turned against me?  Not for a second."

"That is not a good partnership base," Peter pointed out.

"Probably not, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

Peter chuckled despite himself. "I know you will. I don't know whether to pity you or hate you for it."

Stephen shrugged. "Do either, both, or none of the above, but know this:  I've always been willing to use whatever I want to achieve the goal. When did I ever pretend I wouldn't?"

Peter shook his head. "You're right. You've never pretended otherwise. So you're saying you'll give up neither the gas nor the lies?"

Stephen looked him in the eye.  "The gas is all gone, and that's the honest truth.  Will I promise not to have any more made?  No.  Because that would be a lie.  And I don't like lying when I don't have to."

The two men looked at each other for a long moment.  Then Peter nodded.  "O.K., then.  So I guess we go back to being bestest buddies?"

"If you still want to."

Peter smiled.  "Yeah.  I do.  Because it's not like I've never told a whopper or two…or never had to take on a friend in a battle neither of us really wanted."

More silence.

"How's MJ handling all this?" Stephen finally asked.

Peter grimaced slightly.  "She's a little freaked out.  I think this pegged her weird-o-meter more than just about anything else she's been through with us."

"She'll get used to it."

"Yeah."  Peter shook his head.  "Guess this is why superheroes have rotten love lives."

A memory touched Stephen's mind.  He dismissed it quickly.  "Yeah.  It is."

Peter realized what had just crossed Stephen's mind.  "Sorry--didn't mean to bring up bad things…"

"Don't be.  Because it's something I'll always remember.  But I don't have to let the memories run my life.  A wise man told me to embrace my memories instead of erasing them."

"You learned something up here?" Peter asked sarcastically.

Stephen rolled his eyes.  "Don't look so surprised. She's dead. It's time I let her go. Let the dead stay buried and all that."  A pause as he made certain he really was convinced of that.  "Want some tea?"

"Sure."

Stephen cut his eyes over to the kettle over the fire. It floated off its hook and hovered over a small table, then poured tea into two cups and set itself down on the hearth.

Peter raised an eyebrow.  "Is that a new trick, too?"

Stephen laughed slightly.  "Just showing off a little.  I had to stretch my mind a lot to counter you during our little skirmish.  Now, you going to come down here to join me, or am I going to have to show off a little more and float your cup up to you?"

"Coming."  Peter hopped to the floor and took a seat on a kneeling cushion.  "I learned something, too.  I learned I never want to be psychic.  It's cool enough, but I remember how loud your brain was when I had it, and having Devin inside my head was enough of a reminder that I never want to have anybody's thoughts in my brain ever again."

Stephen nodded his agreement.

Silence stretched once more.

"I could have taken you," Peter said quietly.

Stephen gave his feral smile. "You and what army?"

"Well, from where I was looking when I woke up, I wouldn't have needed one."

Stephen started to give Peter a mental nudge in his brain as a tease, but stopped when he felt resistance.  Once more, the change in their dynamic gave him pause.

Peter noticed.  "Something wrong?"

Stephen smiled mysteriously.  "Nope."  Then he cranked up the force behind the tease ever so slightly.

Peter felt the nudge and flashed a backhanded slap at Stephen designed to miss him by mere fractions of an inch.

Stephen ducked back.

The pair of tired heroes broke down laughing as their bonds of friendship renewed.

THE END