Wild Knight

Chapter 03: Dead Run

By DarkJackel

Disclaimer: Rifts, its contents and constituent materials along with any other parts of the Palladium Megaverse are the property of Palladium Books. While my OC's were created by me they were created with the Occupational and Racial Character Classes from Palladium and as such I give them their due. Similarly I own nothing related to Ranma ½ either. I have no money but if they think this is good enough to make a book of it I would be very thankful for the opportunity.

Key:

"speech"

"written word"

'thought'

'telepathy'

After several hours of flight the TW Sand Ranger combat truck came to a stop outside the boarders of the Coalition State of Lone Star. The three had stopped on the edge of an ancient roadway that, while cracked and pitted from centuries of neglect, was still useful in keeping travelers who wanted to hide from leaving tracks. The sun had begun to dip over the horizon and the lengthening shadows gave the surrounding terrain an unreal quality to it as the White Rose squire and techno-wizard exited the vehicle. Mustang's exit was less graceful than the others. Having been bounced, jostled and banged around in the back of the vehicle throughout the escape the sorely abused white knight fell out of the back of the vehicle. "Land," the knight whispered his sore and beaten body grateful to be on something as immobile as solid earth. While he had performed his share of stunts on horseback, and he already missed his steed, he was trained and, while a good driver, Maverick was not trained in combat driving. That fact had become apparent to Mustang as he slid around the back of the truck, trying to shoot at CS air forces to keep them at bay until they became invisible. After a few seconds Mustang's bearings returned to him and, in time, his body would mend.

"You still among the living?" Maverick asked in jest. As he said this Broli had begun gathering equipment in order to begin setting up camp and the techno-wizard and white knight were quick to join him. From the lack of tent it seemed that Maverick preferred to sleep in his truck. It made sense to Mustang as a layer of molecularly bonded metal and glass would make sleeping safer in the wilderness. Mustang did not begrudge the other man this; after all he had faced a few instances where his sixth sense had been the only thing to save him from monster attacks in the night. As such it made sense that someone without that psionic ability would want some extra protection.

During their flight from New Beaumont Broli has not been able to take everything and it showed as he and Mustang began going through their gear to set up camp. As they began setting up the single tent that the squire had managed to escape with it was clear that two men would be too many so Broli said, "I am going to get dinner going." Receiving ascent he set off to begin preparing dinner.

Fishing through his truck Maverick made sure to keep an eye on his new companions. Although neither of them looked like the people he was searching for the knight, Mustang, had abilities that reminded him of a mystic knight. The mystic knights were deadly warrior-mystics who offered their services to the most evil of clients, most notably Alistair Dunscon's "True" Federation of Magic, and while it was possible that Mustang was a renegade Maverick would keep an eye on him. On the other hand Broli, who Maverick had spent a good deal of time with, seemed like an alright fellow and should prove interesting company. Now all he needed to do was to convince them to join him in travelling to the town of Bourbon, where his cousin TC and his gang would be waiting for him. If they were on the up-and-up then they could part company amicably and if they were the lead he was looking for… he'd deal with that when the time came. Finding what he was looking for the techno-wizard noticed Broli setting up a campfire and laying out foodstuffs. "You taking care of food?" he asked, curious.

In a confident tone the squilb replied, "Just wait and see," as a smirk creasing his wrinkled, golden face as he looked through his seasoning. Noticing the things in the other man's hands he asked, "What are you up to?"

"Motion sensors," Maverick replied, flashing the devices. "Even though we can take shifts watching the camp I prefer to have a little extra warning. Sets up a perimeter and transmits directly to my truck."

"Good thinking. That will make things a lot easier," Broli replied as he got the fire going before continuing, "Oh and before we forget we need to set a watch order for the night. We can take care of it during dinner but you should probably think about what shift you want."

"Alright," Maverick replied as he walked off to set up a perimeter while Broli planned what he would make for dinner.

As the other two went about their respective tasks Sir Ranma took the time to enjoy the quiet. So far this mission had been a complete disaster and while it had been enjoyable to test his skills against the Coalition he would rather his client still be alive. However, now that he had time to think about it, something his client had said when they talked had him on edge. He had said that the troubles with the Dead Boys had started when they had found a casket with a mock-up one of their members wrapped in the CS flag. As part of his mystical training he had been educated in magical lore and this reminded him of a necromantic curse he had read of during his education. It was a nasty curse that could give a weakness to your enemy depending on what is inside the casket with the mock corpse, including cause problems with a government or organization. 'That could be a problem,' Sir Ranma thought, 'at least there is a chance to make up for this. I just need to make sure these two don't get killed along the way.'

As the sun waned in the sky a pair of cloaked figures ran swiftly across the ground, tracking their prey. While their speed was far beyond what a human would be able to achieve neither was going as fast as they could, each waiting for the hateful day orb to sink beneath the horizon as they tracked their prey. Finally the sun set and the two removed turned towards each other.

"Damn took long enough," one of the figures said as he lowered the cowl of his cloak to reveal something straight out of a nightmare. His head was shaved bald and his skin was blackened with rot and pulled tight over his head to the point where it had ripped in places. His eyes were milky-white and glassy yet shown with sadistic malevolence. Rotted lips pulled back to reveal teeth stained a pinkish-yellow by poor hygiene and unspeakable acts of cannibalism. "Thing takes too long to set, eh Hannibal?"

With a thick and cultured voice that seemed at odds with the feeling of decay surrounding the pair the second figure, Hannibal, replied, "Indeed," as he removed his own hood and searched for more signs of their target's passage. Like his erstwhile comrade he possessed a physique that showed great decay. Unlike his travelling companion however Hannibal seemed to pay greater attention to his grooming. His hair was short and slicked back against his rotting flesh and his teeth did not show the same staining, showing signs of regular cleaning that left them as white as his eyes. As the pair removed their cloaks and the sight was a nightmare. Their bodies were desiccated and decayed, with skin stretched horrifically tight over withered muscle and bone and clad only in tattered pants. Upon each man's chest was a bio-comp system, nightmarishly fused to their bodies along with the injection collars around their necks, arms and legs. The tubes that fed the drug dispensers hung loosely from the emaciated frame and served as a marker to what they were.

They were murder wraiths, juicers who had sold their souls to escape death. While even the weakest person who became a juicer would achieve strength, speed, agility and endurance far beyond what an average human was capable of by injecting a series of synthetic chemicals into the body on a continual basis there was a price. The human body cannot sustain such a high level of performance perpetually and the life-span of juicers was dramatically reduced, most living an average of six years past their conversion. That combined with their status of super-soldiers meant that most juicers, those who could not detox, preferred to die in combat rather than wait for their body to self-destruct. It led to a sub-culture that valued recklessness, thrill-seeking and a callous disregard for death.

As for Hannibal he had gone into the life with a plan, become a juicer, make a fortune as a mercenary assassin, detox and retire to live the good life until he died. He had gotten financing to afford the expensive operation and had gone to the extra expense of finding a reputable cyber-doc rather than a cheaper Body-Chop shop. A couple days later Hannibal emerged, a full-fledged juicer assassin and set to work as an assassin, starting with the people who had financed his training and conversion. After that he had quickly amassed a small fortune and attempted detox and that is where things went wrong. Like many juicers he had grown addicted to the power and rush of his chemical-enhanced state and could not stand being reduced to being a "mere" mortal man again. Realizing he was doomed to die young from his addiction Hannibal despaired until he was approached by the Grim Reapers. The necromantic death cult offered him an escape from his fate. In return for his service to the cult and their ultimate master, the Horseman of Death, he would become one of the undead, immortal with both the powers of a juicer and the strength of undead. As an assassin becoming a servant of Death made sense and it was the best offer he had gotten so he accepted. To prepare himself for the transformation he had performed unspeakable acts to taint his soul as poison was slowly added to his mix of drugs until it reached a fatal dose and he was reborn. It was only after becoming a murder wraith that he learned he was bound to obey the one who made him.

Finding what he was looking for Hannibal turned to his comrade and said, "I've got them, let's move."

Seeing the other undead juicer break into a run along the tracks Freddy grinned in a feral manner as he joined the other killer. Their targets had driven fast in their quest to evade the Coalition but with a juicer's speed and the endurance of undeath they could not escape them. As he sped down the ancient roadway Freddy begin imagining how he would kill the prey he was hunting when that time finally came.

The camp had been set up and the smells from the campfire indicated that the meal would be done soon, if it wasn't already, as Maverick returned from setting up a perimeter with his motion detectors. As he approached he saw that Broli and Mustang had removed their helmets and he was finally able to get a good look at his erstwhile companions on their trip. Having seen both his size and great strength Maverick was completely unsurprised that the man was a D-Bee, though the wrinkled features of the gold skinned being belied his probable age. Seeing him approach Broli's beady eyes lighted with good humor as he said, "Maverick perfect timing I just finished the night's stew."

By comparison his comrade, and Maverick was beginning to suspect, superior, was more interested in the food than the company. 'Hopefully that means Broli is as good as advertised,' Maverick thought as he studied the knight. The man had youthful, Asian features, though he doubted Mustang was pure-breed considering his blue-grey eyes. Although the man looked like he was about Mustang's age, or a little younger the techno-wizard did not doubt his skill or the potency of his magic. Even without his magic enhancing him, the man had shown feats of incredible physical performance, suggesting he had gone through rigorous training designed to push a man beyond his ordinary limits. Maverick could guess that with his mystical abilities and combat abilities Mustang could qualify as a super-soldier. Putting aside his analysis of the pair he sat down and removed his hat-like helmet. Blinking a few times as he lost the sensory input from his magic helmet he set the device down and accepted a bowl of the stew. Steam wafted up from the bowl, bringing smells to his nose than made the man's mouth water. Taking up a fork he speared some of the meat and sliced vegetables and brought them to his mouth. Maverick's expression must have betrayed his thoughts because a self-satisfied smirk spread across Broli's lipless mouth.

"It's good," Maverick admitted, pleased that the squire could deliver on his claims, before returning to his meal.

"Of course it is," Broli said, "but every artist likes knowing his work is appreciated."

Having already had the opportunity to sample him squire's work Mustang's opinion was expressed more in consumption than in words, but Broli could tell that he was also pleased. Meanwhile the white knight took this opportunity to study the mage who had joined them during the New Beaumont debacle with a more wary eye. While he was not trained to spot undercover operatives Mustang liked to consider himself a good judge of others. The way Maverick moved showed he did not have the kind of intense combat training that Mustang had gone through or even the kind of training that squires went through. That along with the fact that he had yet to see the man work magic without channeling the energy through a techno-wizard device it stood to reason that he was a techno-wizard himself. Additionally he knew the type of truck the man drove and it wasn't something a native of Lone Star was likely to use. "So," he began, "what is an Arzno techno-wizard doing in Lone Star?"

Unfazed by the comment Maverick finished the mouthful of stew that he had been eating before answering the other man. "Just passing through, too bad the Dead Boys ruined the day."

"Yeah they can do that," Broli replied, "So where you headed now?"

"Bourbon, got some people I'm going to hook up with," Maverick said. "How about you two?"

"Heading up north," Mustang answered for the pair.

"I checked the map during our escape Mustang, Bourbon is near a port city so we can hitch a ride with Mav hear and catch a boat up to New Lazlo," Broli blurted out. Glad that they wouldn't have to walk all the way back to the city-state.

"Alright so who wants first watch?" Mustang asked, glad that they were on to talking business.

"I'll take care of it," Broli said, "Who wants last?"

"Call," Maverick said, "the dawn will give me enough light to work on a design of mine."

"Looks like I've got mid-shift then," Mustang said. While mid-shift was the hardest it was also likely to be the most dangerous, hence the most need for his skills.

The rest of the meal and the clean up was performed largely in silence as each of the three went about their respective tasks. Eventually they settled in for the night, with Broli taking watch.

Moving silently at a speed usually reserved for automobiles the pair of murder wraiths charged headlong towards their target. Even though they had killed people and consumed both the magic released at the moment of their death and their flesh the pair were eager to kill again. As they closed in on their prey neither undead juicer noticed the motion detectors as they passed. As they approached they saw no one and quickly split up, Hannibal going to check the tent while Freddy took the kill in the truck.

Swiftly reaching the vehicle Freddy wasted no time driving his rotten fist through the molecularly bonded, reinforced glass of the driver's side window. The glass, which could shrug off anything short of modern weapons without a scratch, shattered effortlessly before his mighty blow. Seeing that he had missed liquefying the head of the man inside Freddy brought his arm down and ripped the door off of its hinges, fully intending to savor the man's terror before ending his life. Instead he heard a clap of thunder as he felt a searing pain pierce his chest.

One of the good things, Maverick reflected, about light armor was being able to sleep in it. It had taken a few nights to learn how but once he had mastered it the skill had saved him on a couple of occasions. This time it had given him time to don his helmet and activate his defenses before a decayed fist had punched through his window with contemptuous ease. Taking a guess he teleported his TW Thundergun and given the attacker a lead rebuke for vandalizing his ride. The enchanted silver bullet struck the supernatural flesh of the monster with the force and power of a runaway freight train, blasting a large hole in the creature. As he saw this Maverick recognized the creature as one of those he was looking for, one of the people that had destroyed his guild.

He had been out that day; helping to showcase some devices the senior members had developed but didn't have time to market. He had returned to find the Arzno Mercenary Corps cordoning off the area around the guild. After sneaking through the perimeter Maverick had found his guild in ruin. Rushing headlong into the building he saw the bodies of his friends and colleagues he searched for his master. When he found the guild master the mortally wounded man had told him that they had been attacked by an unknown group and that this group had stolen the blueprints to a device they had sealed away because of its evil nature. He had taken a copy of the security cameras footage and one of the things he remembered was corpse-like juicers.

Eager to deal with the monster Maverick fired another shot blowing off the murder wraith's right shoulder in a spray of blood, bone and necrotic flesh. The third shot was aimed at the monster's head but he merely twitched it to the side, dodging the shot by millimeters. Effortlessly dodging another shot the monster sneered and said, "Too slow," before grabbing the techno-wizard's leg and throwing him from the truck. Maverick grunted with pain as he landed hard on the ground. Having lost his gun he looked frantically until he found it and desperately dived for the weapon. However before he could reach the revolver it was covered by a boney foot sheathed in rotted skin. Looking up Maverick could see the unloving horror smiling down at him with malice, the grievous wounds already beginning to visibly heal.

In a voice that showed he felt he possessed complete mastery of the situation Freddy reached down and said, "Now scream."

Inside the tent Broli had just finished helping Sir Ranma done his armor when both of their sixth senses started screaming at them to move. Trained to follow such warnings both knight and squire rolled out of the tent as a figure tore through with blinding speed. Coming up in combat stances the pair took in the nightmare facing them. Broli quickly whispered to his superior, "I know what that is, a murder wraith, undead juicer."

Mustang nodded in understanding. Fortunately magic was able to harm almost anything in existence. That was one of the reasons techno-wizard guns useable by non-magic-users were so expensive. Taking up his shield and activating his TW Conduit sword he readied himself to face the undead menace. Although he understood the abilities that juicers and other modified men possessed he had to fight down a wave of condescension whenever he dealt with one. Unlike warriors like mystic knights or cyber-knights modified men used technology instead of intensive training to become super-soldiers, throwing away their humanity, sanity or, in the case of juicers, their lives. Considering that it made perfect sense that some form of undead would be created from them. However Mustang did not let himself get cocky, this juicer was most likely faster, stronger, tougher and more agile than him. 'All I have on him,' he repeated to himself mentally, 'is skill and versatility and that is all I need.'

Turning to face them the murder wraith grinned in a way that exuded confidence and, in life, may have even come across as dashing. In a refined voice that seemed out of place coming from such a revolting creature it said, "Perfect, I do so enjoy a little exercise before a meal."

Underneath his helmet Mustang gave a feral smile. Although he did not advertise it monster combat against powerful creatures was a secret pleasure of his. Moreover this abomination looked like it had some skill and a challenge was the kind of thing he thrived on. With a taunting voice he shot back, "Come let me give you some indigestion then."

Hannibal simply charged and launched a knife hand at the knight, planning to pierce his armor and rip out his intestines. Mustang knocked the strike out of line with his shield and, using the momentum, spun into a decapitating strike which Hannibal quickly parried, setting the knight up for a knee which was redirected and followed with a shield bash. Back flipping away from the shield bash the two warriors watched for any openings they could exploit.

Broli chose that moment to let his presence be known by firing a tri-blast from his TW Force cannon, catching the murder wraith in the chest and burning a deep furrow in it. Almost as if it had been practiced Mustang surged forward and drove his short sword deep into the rotted flesh of his opponent. Hannibal sneered at the pair and said, "I suppose it would take the both of you to match me."

Frowning at that Mustang responded, "Broli help Maverick, I've got this."

Realizing there might be another murder wraith out their Broli replied, "Yes sir," before turning to aid their companion.

Hannibal attempted to follow but with surprising speed the knight got in front of him and said, "Oh no. Your fight is with me beast."

Before Freddy could get his hand on Maverick the techno-wizard teleported his TW Starfire pistol into his hand and shot the undead juicer in the face point-blank. The monster screamed and jumped back to get some room, which was the only thing that saved it from being struck again by a tri-blast of accelerated sub-particles from Broli's cannon. Snarling Freddy took cover behind the combat truck while delivering suppressing fire with his laser pistol, waiting for his undead regenerative powers to heal him. He had not needed to use the weapon since his transformation and the fact he now needed to only feed his rage.

On the other side of the vehicle Maverick and Broli took a moment to organize a strategy before continuing the fight. Realizing what their enemy was planning Broli told Maverick, "He's planning to regenerate before going at us again, I'll draw his fire and you go around."

"Alright, just don't mess up my truck too much," Maverick said, agreeing with the plan as he picked up his TW Thundergun and got to his feet. Nodding his readiness to the squire Maverick quietly crept around the truck as Broli gave a yell and charged out to draw fire, returning it with his cannon a couple times but mostly just drawing attention.

Reaching the turning point Maverick heard the sound of Freddy reloading his pistol and calmed himself. While a juicer's reaction time was ten times greater than a normal human their hearing was not enhanced like a crazy's was so he should still have the element of surprise. Rolling out to draw a bead Maverick felt the magic coursing through his helmet guiding his aim to put a silver bullet in the monster attacking them. The hammer dropped, igniting the gunpowder in the round and propelling it down the barrel, the magic already charged in the round.

Ducking from another shot from the large D-Bee's cannon Freddy only had a split-second to notice the bullet heading straight for him. While travelling through the air at the speed of sound, to the drug-altered perceptions of the juicer it seemed to be moving in slow motion. Deftly leaning out of the way of the bullet, taking a moment to admire the train of distorted air that followed the round, Freddy decided to get serious. Normally he would take his time in killing his prey, exulting in their terror as he took his time torturing them to death. However these worms could actually hurt him, badly given the amount of damage he had taken. It was time to quit playing and finish them.

Moving faster than his eyes could track the Freddy was in front of Maverick in an instant and delivered a crushing blow with freight-train force to the man, knocking him back. However before he could follow up with another blow he had to jump back to avoid the tri-blast from the squire. Snarling at the interruption he bolted at the other man, leaping into a viscous spin kick followed with a two-handed palm strike that seriously cracked the armor and laid the larger man on his back.

"Looks like you should have invested in some better armor boy," Freddy said, adopting a practiced gait, alternating between slow and quick, which's seemingly jerky style, was designed to disconcert his prey. A clap of thunder and sudden explosion of pain between his shoulders reminded Freddy of Maverick's presence with white hot intensity.

"Forget about me Stumbles," Maverick said in a cocky manner he didn't really feel. During the fight he had noticed that his enemy was making several mistakes and he was determined to exploit them. Chief among these weaknesses was that he wasn't fighting intelligently, instead of focusing on a single target he was retaliating against whoever struck at him last. It was a mistake because it gave them a chance to keep him distracted and wear him down. Given the murder wraith's undead regeneration being worn down wasn't as much of a worry for him but it had been compounded by something else, his sadism. The monster seemed to continually attempt to scare them, not just with his decayed appearance and aura of evil but with actions. That slowed him down, caused him to take his time when he should hurry and focus in on a single target. In the face of his power they were small benefits but Maverick planned to make the most of them.

Hannibal weaved around another sword blow as he appreciated his opponent's skill. That was one of the things that he liked about fighting knights, which this man obviously was. They were extremely well trained and it was great to show them that all of their honor and discipline was no match for training and power. In life cyber-knights had given him problems on a few of his jobs and while he was not as extreme about it as Knight Hunter Hannibal also despised knights of all strips. Before the knight in front of him could react he unleashed a flurry of punches at speeds that would make a rattlesnake green with envy.

Alerted by his sixth sense Mustang parried the blows with his shield, redirecting the motion to spin the other man and allow him to gouge a strike deep into his liver. It would have been a fatal blow had the man been alive but Mustang knew he wouldn't be so lucky. Having lived in Madhaven the white knight was wise to the undead and their ways even though he had not been educated in their lore. Even though his field of experience leaned more towards dealing with ghosts it was enough for him to know to keep up the pressure. "What's wrong I thought juicers were fast," Mustang taunted.

Hannibal cursed as he heard the insult, merely one more in a tally the knight had been continually throwing at him. He knew what the knight was trying to do. Get your enemy angry and cause the other guy to make mistakes. It was only a lifetime spent cultivating a cool and calm demeanor, a demeanor which could be just as irritating as the faceless knight's taunts, allowed him to resist the anger that the knight was seeking to promote. Setting a neutral expression on his decayed face the assassin prepared to launch his next assault.

Mustang decided to take the offensive, having finally managed to cast a superhuman speed spell, and launched himself at the juicer, who drew a laser pistol and fired several shots with the accuracy of a trained sniper. The bolts of focused light washed harmlessly over the knight and he quickly launched into a series of vicious stabs at the murder wraith.

With grace and ease Hannibal danced around the knight's deadly assaults before retaliating with a combo of punches and knife hands that impacted against Mustang's armor of Ithan, wearing it down. It had been an unpleasant surprise to find out he was facing a warrior who could use magic. While a magic-user was, with the power of Death, responsible for his own unlife he did not like fighting people who could alter the fabric of reality with just his will. Still that would not prevent him from accomplishing his mission and he had killed magic-users before so he continued his assault, not giving him a second to weave his magic.

Responding to the sudden shift in offensive momentum with the speed of someone that could sense the danger before it happened he parried the strikes with his shield and sword. Hopes of putting this monster down quickly had been dashed by the insane toughness of the undead juicer combined with his superhuman speed and not inconsiderable skill. It was obvious he had received more than merely basic military training before he underwent his conversion, what juicers called "doing the juice."

Ducking a knife hand from the murder wraith while parrying it with his shield Mustang quickly cast a magic net which bound the undead abomination. Screaming in frustration Hannibal fell to the ground and struggled to break free of his bindings. Not wasting any time Mustang came down at him and began repeatedly thrusting his sword into the tainted flesh of the creature, trying to do as much damage as possible before it broke free.

'Dammit,' Hannibal through in frustration as the net of blue-white energy wrapped around him, binding his arms and legs. He had thought that this knight would have a code of chivalry which, like that of the cyber-knights and most other knights, forbade the use of "dirty tricks" to win a fight. 'Obviously this one does not,' he thought as he desperately struggled to get free. The knight wasted no time as he ruthlessly brought his blade down on the prone wraith.

Seeing that the net would give soon Mustang was not surprised, though he had wished to kill the monster before he had broken free so he could assist the others. As the net tore apart and began to fade Mustang dodged an awkward attempt to grab him by the murder wraith Mustang gathered his telekinetic powers and leapt into the sky to gain distance from his foe while using his psionic levitation ability to gain some height between them, casting a spell all the way.

Reaching the pinnacle of his levitation Mustang stood over the undead juicer like a king upon his throne looking down at a condemned man. The monster snarled at him but before he could do anything Mustang finished his spell and, with a flourish, pointed his sword at the beast. As he did that the bolt of lightning Mustang had called came down from the cloudless sky and struck the monster. Smirking beneath the helmet Mustang let himself drop and cast an invisibility spell, it was time to kick things up a notch.

The problem with fighting juicers, Maverick ruminated, was their agility. Almost to accentuate that point the chemically-augmented undead was weaving around his shots with a casual grace that was very disturbing. He could only hope that Broli could afford to take the heat off of him for a little while as he needed to refresh his defenses and reload.

Fortunately Broli was made of sterner stuff, for he knew his armor was so damaged that if it took another blow it would be a miracle, and used Freddy's arrogance to his advantage once more. Taking up his organic-looking cannon and aiming its shell-shaped barrel at the undead juicer and loosed another bolt. The powerful triple-bolt torn from the three small barrels and flew straight and true at the creature and seared into the monster's flesh. Freddy roared in pain and twisted on his feet to launch into a charge at the meat-sack that had dared to strike him. Closing in he lashed out with a boney-clawed hand, intending to rip the man's head from his shoulders. Broli responded to the blinding assault with reflexes enhanced by his sixth sense and deftly side-stepped the attack while dropping his now-empty TW Force cannon and reached deep inside himself, to hidden reserves of strength all squilbs possessed. With his hands free he reached to his belt and brought a club out to strike the murder wraith in the face like a baseball player striking a home run. Fortunately for Broli squilbs were not just stronger than humans but had natural combat instincts which were only sharpened by training.

As the surprisingly powerful strike hit home Freddy was sent flying in a spinning arc to land on his face. Milky-white eyes narrowed in rage as he rose and turned to see what he had been hit with. "Bone! You decked me with a fucking bone club! Oh you are a dead man!"

Broli smirked beneath his helmet, unfazed by the threat that he would die if the chemically augmented monster struck him again, as he heard Freddy's reaction to his weapon. Among the denizens of Madhaven were several tribes of Haven Mutants who were willing to trade with the Order. One of the things that the Order desired were the mutant bone weapons made by the tribal shaman of the clans, bone weapons which could damage even molecularly bonded or magically enhanced materials. To further sweeten the deal these weapons they could damage the undead, even incorporeal spirits such as ghosts, an ability which was highly prized in the ghost-infested ruins of Madhaven. While it lacked the punch of his cannon it was more than could be done with empty clips.

Freddy let loose with an inhuman howl and launched himself at the squire with murder in his eyes. Broli remained undisturbed in the face of undead furry and set himself to meet the attack with steely resolve. With deft manipulations of his bone club Broli parried the hail of blows that the wraith unleashed on him before slamming the club into his jaw followed by a vicious jab into his stomach, doubling Freddy over. As he recovered Broli didn't let up, bringing the club across the man's face with a wet crack before parrying a retaliatory strike from the murder wraith.

Maverick blinked a few times to make sure he really saw what his eyes told him he just saw. 'Did he just whack that guy with a bone club, and actually hurt him?' he thought with some incredulity. Deciding that there must be something magic or supernatural relating to the bone weapon the techno-wizard filed the curiosity under "things to look into later" and set went to get something from his truck. Going over to the doorway that was torn open by Freddy's initial assault he pulled on a lever to bring the seat forward and access the rear of the vehicle. Reaching back he awkwardly gripped the large item in the back and, with a grunt of effort, hefted it out and set it down on the ground. It was a platform large enough to stand on with straps and latches to lock boots into place and a pair of silver-coated blades coming out from the front of the device. On the sides was a pair of wings, each bent so that they angled up from the main body for a couple inches before angling back down at an angle such that they didn't touch the ground. This was Maverick's back-up ride, his turbo wing-board, a flying marvel of techno-wizardry that he had modified to his specifications.

Without hesitation he stepped onto the platform of the device and strapped in with a hurried precision that reflected his familiarity with the device. Once secure he put a small amount of his magical energy into the board and ascended to survey the battlefield. He had heard the other fight but had been too preoccupied with his own battle to give it much thought. Fortunately Mustang seemed to have things well in hand, fighting the undead super-soldier with a demon's ferocity and ruthlessness. Moving on to the fight he had been engaged in he saw how Broli was fighting and was impressed with the squire's performance. That said he was fighting in armor that was practically ruined at the breastplate, he needed help before either his skill failed or luck ran out. Opening the cylinder on his pistol he expelled the empty cartridges and, drawing a speed loader prepped with rounds, reloaded the revolver. Closing the gun and putting away the loader he charged the pistol with magic and took aim.

Seeing Maverick lifting off into the air and setting up for a shot Broli decided to give him an opening. Ducking under a lightning-fast spin kick by Freddy Broli parried the follow up punch with his bone club to throw the murder wraith off balance, which he quickly recovered. However it delayed him long enough for Maverick to deliver another powerful shot into his back, staggering the monster.

Freddy snarled as his back once again exploded with pain. While fighting the larger man he had managed to mostly regenerate but now that damn techno-wizard was shooting him with his hand-cannon again. Turning to face the man he coiled his legs in preparation to leap up and tear the man off of his platform. Broli attempted to block him but to the murder wraith's eyes he may as well have been moving in molasses. Muscles, only strengthened by his undeath, loosed their strength and propelled him like a bullet towards his target as he unleashed an inhuman roar.

Maverick saw the enemy hurtling at him and pulled back on his platform to give distance and avoid the strike. As Freddy came up on him Maverick shot him in the chest, the thunderous report of his gun sounding like sweet music as he saw the murder wraith go flying back from him. Glancing down at Broli he smirked and said, "Thanks for the set up."

"No prob," Broli said, using the banter to buoy his morale.

Hannibal worked hard to contain his frustration as he tried to strike an opponent he could not see. 'If only I had a multi-optics band,' he thought angrily, 'or at least some rain.' Unfortunately for Hannibal the nature of his transformation had left him a slave to the one who created him and his master felt little need to invest in such things. However his drug-enhanced senses had allowed him to score a few blows against his invisible enemy.

'Invisibility,' Mustang noted with satisfaction, 'is an incredibly useful thing.' For all of their vaunted speed and agility, for all their martial training they couldn't see an invisible man on their own. Of course it had been a gamble that undeath had not granted him such power but it seemed to have paid out. It also helped that he had known that he was facing a juicer. 'Have to thank Broli for that,' he thought as he cut his enemy across the back before jumping back to avoid the retaliatory strike. Touching down in a crouch Mustang launched himself at the murder wraith to bash him with the shield, driving it under him and lifting the monster on his shield before hurling him to the ground and stabbing him through the chest.

Even as he registered the continuing damage against him Hannibal used the opportunity to seize hold of him with one hand while using the other to grab a handful of earth and smear it across the knight's armor. Using his superior strength the murder wraith hurled the other man to the ground and rose to his feet. To his delight he saw that the smeared earth had remained visible, allowing him to see his enemy again. "Now it's payback time," Hannibal said before launching forward.

'Damn I got too cocky,' Mustang thought as he realized what had happened. While he firmly believed that his self-confidence was a benefit Mustang did admit that sometimes it caused him to make mistakes. He scrambled to parry a series of lightning-fast punches and quickly launched himself into a flip over the murder wraith to avoid a powerful kick. Landing Mustang did not hesitate to bash the man with his shield to gain some distance and turn to face him.

The two stared each other down for several moments searching for weaknesses in their stance which could be exploited for their benefit. Overhead the sky rumbled ominously seeming to anticipate the conclusion of this duel as a sudden storm came in. At some signal known only to the pair they launched at each other.

Mustang unleashed a flurry of stabbing strikes with his TW Conduit sword only to have Hannibal dance around the blade with almost insulting grace. For his part Mustang had become an unbreakable wall as blows rained upon him like a monsoon only to be turned away by his skillful parries. Knowing that in a match of pure strength he would lose Mustang freely gave ground and sidestepped attacks when he could. Mustang's powerful blade dug deep trenches through the putrid flesh of the murder wraith while powerful blows struck against Mustang's dwindling barrier until he felt it break.

Suddenly Hannibal grabbed onto Mustang's upper arm and began to crush the armor. Eventually it gave with a crushing sound, exposing Mustang's mortal flesh to the unnatural might of his adversary. With a dark sneer of triumph Hannibal ripped off Mustang's sword arm and cast it aside like refuse.

It took all of his not inconsiderable discipline to avoid screaming in agony but Mustang endured his pain in silence and used it to heighten his focus. Instead he unleashed a bolt of magical energy from his remaining hand into Hannibal's desiccated mid-section. Not relenting in the slightest the white knight continued to bombard the murder wraith with magical energy until there was nothing but charred ashes remaining.

With an angry snarl Freddy continued to try to kill the annoying pieces of trash which were still chipping away at him. Even though he was still dodging more shots than not but those that hit were doing tremendous damage. When he turned to attack the techno-wizard the D-Bee shot him in the back with an ice shooting pistol while remaining ready to parry any attacks with his freaking bone club. As it was he couldn't get one of them out of the air and the other was simply refusing to die. Worst of all they simply were not afraid of him. Even before his transformation into a murder wraith, even before he became a juicer Freddy loved to terrorize others. It had served him well in his youth and when backed up by a juicer's power became an art form. Undeath had only enhanced his ability to cause terror and the fact these warriors were so resolute before him was like an insult to the monster.

Flying above the battlefield with practiced skill, enhanced with a special bond that techno-wizards shared with wing boards, Maverick quickly reloaded his gun, smiling with some satisfaction as the spent shell casings bounced off of the murder wraith's head. 'Still got it,' the young man thought as he closed his gun with a satisfying click. He was going to need to prep some more bullets after this fight but if things went well it would be well worth it. Gliding around to get back to the fight he waited to come into range before taking careful aim.

Seeing another opportunity to set up their enemy Broli fired another three-round burst from the TW Ice Shard pistol that he had drawn during a break in the melee. The razor-sharp shards of magical ice pierced the undead flesh of the murder wraith and embedded themselves in his side. However this time Freddy merely unleashed a spin-kick in his direction that was fast enough to allow him to twist out of the way of Maverick's bullet. Broli counted the bursts he had fired and decided to switch over to single fire. It didn't have the punch of a burst but with the speeds and ranges involved in this fight, combined with the fact he couldn't afford to be hit again, Broli knew reloading would be too risky. Without warning all three combatants heard the shrieking, cracking sound of molecularly-bonded metal and ceramics failing followed soon by the wet-tearing sound of flesh ripping and all three knew. The change that would determine the outcome of this battle had come.

Broli looked over to see his superior, his lord with one arm torn off and felt shame settle over him. As a squire he was supposed to support his knight and while that primarily meant as a technical officer Broli fully intended to prove his worth in battle as well. It was with a sense of pride that he noticed his knight made no noise in the face of, what was surely, great pain. He resolved to quickly finish off the beast before him and go to Sir Ranma's aid quickly.

Freddy smiled at the sound of limb ripping, a sound very familiar to the cannibalistic beast. Things had finally turned and now Hannibal and he could finish these insects and they could return in triumph. Turning he was shocked to see that, instead of being the beginning of his partner pulling the other man apart the one armed knight was unleashing an unrelenting torrent of lethal energy at the other murder wraith. Soon nothing was left but charred meat and Freddy decided that retreat would be the best course of action so he fled at a speed that only the man on wing-board could beat.

Wracked with pain and exhausted from his hasty barrage of magical energy Mustang found the smell of charred meat coming from his opponent a satisfying change from the cloying smell of decay that had come from the monster before. It smelled of victory. Almost as if it had been waiting for the fight to finish rain began to fall from the sky, cleaning the air of the dead monster's stink. His vision blurred slightly as the torment from his lost limb and the blood draining from his body the knight turned to look at the other fight and he was not entirely pleased to see the other murder wraith fleeing. "Feh coward," he said with contempt as he fell to his knees before the blackness took him.

As he saw the knight collapse Maverick quickly took charge of the situation. "Broli, disassemble the camp quickly, I'm going to get him into the back of the truck."

"He needs immediate medical treatment," Broli argued, unsure what the techno-wizard was planning.

"He needs more than we can provide," Maverick argued back, "Bourbon has a doctor and he might be able to both save his life and reattach the arm."

"Alright," Broli acquiesced, "But let me take care of him. I've got some first aid training."

"Alright," Maverick agreed and the two set to their given tasks.

Reaching his liege-lord Broli looked at the grievous wound upon his lord. It didn't look good as the bone had splintered and the flesh was torn and ripped unevenly. Knowing what he needed to do the squire searched Ranma's equipment belt until he found what he was looking for. It was a small flask marked with a red cross for clear identification. Every knight and squire was issued a healing potion as part of their standard equipment along with pieces of the white rose, which possessed magical healing abilities. Carefully he removed the other man's helmet in order to administer the potion and he didn't like what he saw. Sir Ranma's face was slightly pale and sweat beaded his brow. Pain was clear on his face even though he had lost consciousness. Uncapping the potion Broli massaged Ranma's throat as he poured it in to ensure the knight swallowed it. As he did that Broli saw the ragged tissue begin to knit together and the pulped flesh come together. It wasn't much but given the horrific injury Sir Ranma had sustained it made sense that it would take more for him to be fixed. Once that was done Broli began working to staunch the wound to stop the bleeding before picking him up and moving him to the back seat of the truck. Once he did that he retrieved the arm and bandaged it so that it wouldn't bleed out before putting it in a cooler in the back of the truck.

As Broli was taking care of his superior Maverick began quickly disassembled the campsite and, without regard for order as speed was imperative, loaded it into the back his truck with his wing board. Once he lashed everything down so it wouldn't fly free during high speed driving he hopped into the driver's side next to Broli and buckled in. "Let's roll," he said as he slammed on the accelerator, hitting speeds of a hundred miles per hour in his hurry.

As they entered the town of Bourbon Broli was not impressed by what he saw. Mostly wooden housing with a few brick structures they didn't even have a wall to defend the city from attack. Traveling at much slower speed due to being inside a city he could see wood and brick buildings no taller than three stories at the most; in fact the town side gave their population as only two hundred and forty eight.

Coming to their destination Maverick slowed the truck and Broli took Ranma out of the vehicle along with his arm. It was a one-story brick building with a sign proudly proclaiming it a hospital, though Broli suspected it was little more than a one or two-person operated clinic. Maverick banged on the door as Broli cradled him gravely injured knight in his arms. After a seemingly unnecessarily long time a partially bald middle-aged man with wire-rimmed glasses and carrying a hand-held lantern came to the door in answer to their banging. Whatever he was going to ask died a sudden death when he saw the unarmed knight in Broli's arms, looking pitifully small when held by the large man.

"Quickly bring him inside," the man ordered as he began leading into the building. Although there was lighting set up along the walls they were darkened causing the pair to suspect that the town shut off power at nights. Seeing that did little to raise their hopes for their ally's well-being as they strode across the creaky wooden floor. However as they were lead into the operating room they were surprised to find high-tech medical equipment including a bed with equipment for micro-surgery.

"Take off his armor and lay him on the bed with the arm while I rev up the genny," the doctor commanded with an authoritative voice as he went to bring up the diesel generator which served as the back-up for his hospital. With a grunt of effort that could be heard in the operating room the generator revved to life with a loud roar. As that happened, the lights in the operating room snapped on and the surgical bed began to power up, ready to work on patients once more.

Walking into the room the doctor rubbed his sleeve against his forehead and began washing his hands for the operation while saying, "Ya'll can leave now, he's in good hands."

Seeing the opportunity to cut out for his own meeting Maverick quickly said, "You should take the chance to fix up your and Mustang's armor. After all you never know when the next crisis will come."

"Yeah," Broli said in a distracted manner as he gathered up his knight's armor and prepared to head out with Maverick to attend their business, both feeling there would be little sleep this night.

Deep within the shadowed depths of his personal tent the ogre necromancer Warlord Cid sat upon a throne made from skulls with soft black velvet back and cushion as he listened to the report from Freddy. Clad, as he preferred, in armor of black leather and bone plate from supernatural beasts with a necklace of goblin skulls around his neck he cast an image of savage power. His dark eyes, well accustomed to handling the gloom and darkness that he preferred were narrowed as he heard of the attack. The more the undead spoke the more Cid had to resist the urge to crush the skull goblet in his hand as his slave finished talking. As he fell silent a death-like silence overtook the chamber as, behind the necromancer, an enormous figure fidgeted with malicious intent as his master's angry visage shown in what little anemic light cast by dim torches. "And so," he said in a low, dangerous voice, "you ran. You ran from two men and an unconscious cripple. You, who have been blessed by the Horseman of Death, fled like a frightened coward just because Hannibal WAS DESTROYED!"

Attempting to forestall his master's fury Freddy frantically stuttered, "B-but the other two had already inflicted a great deal of damage on me, if he had been play'n possum and killed us both then who would inform you my lord."

Taking a moment to calm himself by draining the repurposed human skull of its blood-flavored wine Cid passed the vessel to a waiting slave before rising from his throne. At ten feet tall, not including the wild main of reverse-spiked black hair, even the chemically enhanced undead before him came up short even when not kneeling. From beneath his sloping brow the small eyes that had just recently burned hot with anger now shown with a gaze that was cold and calculating as he stared down at the killer prostrate before him. After waiting long enough that he knew the monster would begin to hope for forgiveness Cid spoke, his voice dangerously soft.

"So you did it all for me."

Head snapping up Freddy looked at his master with a hopeful expression and said, "Yes my master it was so you would be ready."

"So I would be ready," he started, his lips secretly moving with an incantation under his breath as he finished, "Yet you forgot the most important thing, where they ran to."

With that Cid completed his spell and Freddy's nerves, all dead since his transformation, exploded in overwhelming agony. The spell had come upon him without warning so he had been unable to attempt to resist it or attempt to temporarily break Cid's control, which would give him the chance to kill his master and gain freedom from his bondage. Instead he fell to the ground screaming in all consuming torment, helpless before the death wizard's power.

"Fortunately I do not have to rely on you to find them," Cid derided as he walked over to a table on which were several maps and a human skull that he had enchanted with his necromancy. Taking the skull up in his meaty hand he held it up and said, "Skull of Knowledge where are the ones I seek."

"In a hospital… in the village of Bourbon is the one you seek, healing from the battle," the skull said in a raspy voice as dry as sand.

"Bourbon," he said as he put down the skull and searched for it on his maps. Finding one that included the small village he began to plot his course of action. "Marcus," he called to the witch who had been silently watching the proceedings.

"Yes master," the witch Marcus said clad in the heavy black robes and skull mask that the Grim Reapers wore. Unlike the other magic-users in Cid's forces Marcus did not acquire his magic from study or training. Instead he practiced witchcraft, the "style" of selling your soul to a powerful supernatural evil being for immense power by forming one of three different pacts with the being. Marcus had the strongest and most desirable of the pacts, the pact of union. As such his spirit was merged with a tiny fragment of his master, the Horseman of Death, giving him a taste of the raw power of the supernatural. However because their power was completely dependent on their patron training and experience could not increase their powers.

"Rally the troops and load the zombies we move at once," Warlord Cid commanded as he turned to face the other man, seeing the cruel smile that was on both Marcus' face and that of his vulture demon familiar. Considering that he had been willing to become little more than a slave for power Warlord Cid suspected getting to command an army was something that he greatly enjoyed.

"Yes my lord," the dark mage said with a small bow before leaving the tent.

As the curtain of flayed human skin closed behind him the warlord began planning his strategy as he savored Freddy's agonized screams. If everything went as planned he could claim both the artifact and be able to claim the title of Warmaster from another of his patron lord's warlords. It was not his ultimate goal but for the war-like D-Bee death mage it would be a worthy acknowledgement of his power. Deciding that he would like to be alone he turned to the giant shadowy figure behind his throne and said, "Jason, take that coward and leave me."

Groaning in acknowledgement the massive figure, almost twelve feet tall, moved into the weak light revealing his third murder wraith, Jason. Unlike Freddy and Hannibal he had been a titan juicer, a variant of the juicer process that traded speed and reflexes for supernatural strength and extreme toughness. Not to say there were not faster or more coordinated than average humans but not as much as standard juicers. They were also much larger, the process which reinforced their skeletons causing a growth spurt similar to that experienced during adolescence. Cid took no offense in the other being's silence, understanding that Jason was mute, and took some enjoyment that, like death itself, his strongest minion was silent.

Taking his fellow murder wraith up with his large hand the giant human strode out of the tent at a casual speed, his heavy steps thundering in the silence as he left, the slave trailing behind him having left the skull-goblet and decanter of blood-infected wine behind for his master. Now alone the warlord finished working out his plan to sacrifice this town with great anticipation. It had been too long since he had gone into battle. Cid hoped that he would be able to find the man who killed Hannibal, not to avenge the weakling but to avenge the insult paid by killing one of his murder wraiths.

In the hospital, as the doctor worked to reattach Sir Ranma's arm, the knight had regained consciousness, thanks to a local anesthesia. However instead of waking the white knight felt that something within him had changed and sunk into meditation.

Author's Notes: This chapter is a little shorter than I had planned, sorry but it was just at a good stop point.

An interesting note is that ALL members of the Order of the White Rose are, by their membership in the Order, guilty of treason against the Eternal Order of the Mystic Knights, the largest mercenary force in North America. That is why if they are captured they will be tortured without mercy and killed like dogs, and the Order of the White Rose members know it. Personally I consider that quiet impressive.

Now one of my main villains makes his move. Will Ranma recover in time to aid Maverick and Broli or will Cid end his journey here? There was a good reason for me to choose to let Sir Ranma be wounded here. Until now most of the villains have not been able to significantly hurt him even if they hit. The change in that dynamic is one of my reasons but there are others. I wonder if anyone could guess what the other is.

One thing I am working on is custom magic items and weapons for my main characters. If anyone has any suggestions I would be more than happy to hear them out.

Please review, remember that commentary and speculation help to fuel my creativity so please review, PM and/or comment at , my e-mail address.