A/N: Hey and hello to everyone that's still sticking around to read this thing! To Cheryl24, thanks for reviewing, and I know Marckus' explanation in Ch.2 as to why they needed Jeff was a bit muddled. Short answer, yes, they need him to pass through to our earth. More will be revealed as the story unfolds.

I own nothing, Vince owns everything, la dee da da.

On with the fun!

Something was terribly wrong. Jeff's quick eyes scanned the canvas before him, searching the kaleidoscopic splash of colors for imperfections. He furrowed his brow in annoyance. Something didn't look right. He narrowed his eyes, and stepped back, taking care not to trip over the piles of stuff he'd accumulated in his makeshift studio. He gazed at his artwork, tapping his paintbrush on his temple absentmindedly. Finally, he decided to add a few strokes of blue in the upper right corner.

He smiled. Much better.

He grabbed a towel and wiped his hands. It was getting late in the day, and he was getting hungry. Maybe he would clean up and see what Matt and Shannon were up to.

Suddenly, the door to the studio opened with a crash, ricocheting loudly off of the wall. Jeff's head swung around, his eyes wide, every muscle in his body tense with fear.

There were four well-built men, all wearing what appeared to be black armor and each wearing a curved sword on his hip. The bottom half of their faces were covered by black cloth, making their appearance, if possible, even more unsettling. The intruders clung to the late afternoon shadows like advancing spiders. Jeff backed up, staring at his odd-looking attackers and not knowing what to make of them.

"What are you doing in my house?", he asked in a voice that sounded shaky even to his own ears, "What do you want?"

The young Hardy groped around desperately for something, anything, to use against the four strangely-dressed, mask-wearing men that were moving in on him. He found nothing substantial, nothing that would inflict any serious damage. They were almost upon him, surrounding him in the small, cluttered room.

No one moved. They stood, muscles tensed, as if waiting for an unspoken signal to fall upon their prey. And then, without warning or pretense, one of them dove forward, knocking Jeff backwards into the wall.

They moved in to get a secure hold on Jeff, who in turn struggled and beat against them. Hardy kicked one of them square between the legs, causing him to double over in pain. He ran for the door, but found his way blocked by two others. They stared at him, their eyes cold. The blue-haired man began to back up, trying desperately to think of a way out of this. An idea came to mind, one that he thought just might distract them enough to allow him to squeeze out of the door. He lunged forward, and pulled down the mask of the man standing to his right. And froze in shock. Jeff stood staring into a very familiar face.

"Edge?", he said softly, his eyes roaming the other man's face in disbelief.

The de-masked Edge said nothing, staring back at Jeff in what appeared to be cold and silent defiance. This confused the young Hardy even more. If this was a joke, it wasn't turning out to be very funny.

Jeff's gaze turned slowly to the other men in the room, who pulled their masks down as well. Orton. Kane. Batista. They were sneering mockingly at him, as if he was the brunt of a very cruel joke. The Enigma glared at the silent assemblage.

"Alright guys, enough", said Jeff, stepping towards the unmoving group, "What's going o-"

Pain exploded behind his eyes, and the colorful studio disappeared into shadow.

* * * * * * *

Matt stumbled out of Shannon's car, laughing as he nearly fell into the snow piled in his front yard.

"I can't believe you gave me Absinthe!", he giggled, holding onto the car's roof for support.

Shannon smiled proudly, replying, "Shame you're such a lightweight."

"Am not", slurred Matt. He batted his messy brown hair away from his face.

Shannon cracked up laughing. "Sure thing, Matty. Can't wait to tell Jeff about this one. His big strong brother gets wasted after one shot."

Matt just grumbled in reply. "G'night, asshole."

"'Night, lightweight."

Matt slowly made his way into the warmth of the house, vowing to never in his life imbibe Absinthe again. His head was already pounding. He should've known better when Shannon took it out of his "special cabinet".

Massaging his tortured head, Matt called for Jeff. No answer. That was strange. Even if he'd gone out to get himself dinner, he should've been home by now.

"Jeff!" The older Hardy roamed the darkened halls of his house, looking for his younger brother.

"Jeff!!" No reply.

A wisp of freezing air stung his cheek suddenly, traveling past him down the upstairs hallway. What the hell?...

Matt could hear a note of fear begin to creep into his normally pleasant tenor. "Jeff, you up here?", he said hesitantly. He approached the door to Jeff's upstairs art studio slowly, peeking around the doorframe.

Wreckage lay everywhere. Paintings, complete and in progress, were thrown to the floor, torn apart, broken in half. Paint cans had been spilled all over the floor. There were great slashes in the wall, and one of the large windows overlooking the property had been smashed outwards.

Matt stood in the doorway, his brown eyes wide, his face the picture of anguish.

He stared at a pool of red liquid on the floor, and nearly passed out. Oh God, was that blood? He swallowed hard, and leaned heavily against the wall, trying to stem the feeling of nausea rising into his throat.

What had happened to his little brother?

* * * * * * *

"My liege."

Emperor Matthew opened one eye, gazing with extreme annoyance at his court mage, who had invaded his chambers in the middle of the night.

"What do you want, Marckus?", he asked, his voice hoarse from the clinging remnants of sleep.

"The Black Guard was successful in their mission, my liege", the great mage replied, his gruff voice pitched low, "The key has been brought to our realm, as commanded."

Matthew sat up, all weariness gone.

"Where is he?"

"The dungeons, my liege. I shall have him brought to you."

"Yes, and while I am waiting, send me Regal. If I am awake, I may as well attend to some business."

Marckus bowed, and left.

While he dressed, Matthew wondered, not for the first time, what his brother's earthly twin would be like. Not having a brother had afforded him many advantages. There had been no dissenting voices, at least from the royals, when he had risen to power. A brother could have challenged him for the throne. Matthew ran a hand through his long, black hair. Would this twin resemble him in any way, or would he be a simple fool, like the peasants Matthew kept under his boot? He sat down in front of the fireplace, and stoked the dying flames. The young monarch honestly couldn't figure out which option he'd prefer.

Matthew was deep in thought when he was interrupted by a clipped, accented voice sounding from the partially open door.

"My lord? You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, yes, Regal, come in, and close the door", said Matthew, who was straightening his rumpled jacket in the mirror. After a few moments, he turned to face him.

"I've received intelligence that there are whispers of a new rebellion", Matthew said, disgust written plainly on his features, "These pathetic malcontents have gathered what they consider to be an army, somewhere in the forests south of here. I want you to find them, and bring me their leaders' heads."

"Forgive me my ignorance, lord", Regal said carefully, his blue eyes cataloguing every nuance of his emperor's bearing, "but I know nothing of these doomed rebels. Who is it that would dare to lead an uprising against you?"

"The Hunter, and the Lion." The two most feared and ruthless opponents to Matthew's rule, leaders amongst the people, both charismatic and charming, both utterly deadly. The young emperor glared at his lieutenant, as if challenging him to refuse his order.

Regal stiffened. "I had heard nothing of their return, my liege."

Matthew stepped closer, his controlled movement reminding the soldier of a striking snake.

"Do not burden me with your incompetence", the young monarch hissed, "I haven't the patience, or the time. Kill them both, Regal. Do it, or it shall be your head hanging on the city gates."

Matthew turned and sat then, an unspoken dismissal. Regal bowed wordlessly, making his way out of the candlelit room without a sound.

The young emperor stoked the flames of the fireplace, waiting for Marckus and the others to arrive. Despite the fire's close proximity, he found that he felt cold.

Suddenly, there was a tap at his door, subtle, yet unmistakable. They had arrived.

"Come", he called, angrily trying to push down the errant nerves roiling in his gut.

The door swung silently open. Matthew stared, before breaking into a predatory grin that gave even Marckus black chills.

* * * * * * *